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THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  BART. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


J      '    n     -    •    .1 


WITH   ALL  HIS   INTRODUCTIONS   AND   NOTES 


ALSO, 


VAEIOUS  READmGS,  AND  THE  EDITOR'S  NOTES. 


ELEGANTLY    ILLUSTRATED. 


BOSTON : 
PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON,    AND    COMPANY. 

NEW   YORK:    J.    C.    DERBY. 
1855. 


.1^ 


f^ 


CONTENTS. 


\*  THE  PIECES  MARKED  WITH  AN  asterisk  (*)  HAVE  NOT  BEEN  INCLI7DED  IN  ANT  FORMER  EDITION 

OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT's  POETICAL  WORKS. 


FAGE 

The  Lay  OF  THE  Last  Minstrel  9 

Advertisement  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication  16 

Preface  to  the  first  edition  1805  ib. 

Introduction ib. 

Canto  1 11 

Canto  II 23 

Canto  III 28 

Canto  IV. 33 

Canto  V 40 

Canto  YI 46 

Appendix  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel .  54 

Marmion 80 

Notice  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication  83 

Advertisement  to  the  first  edition  ib. 

Introduction  to  Canto  I. — To  William 

Stewart  Rose,  Esq ib. 

Canto  L— The  Castle  87 

Introduction  to  Canto  II. — To  the  Rev. 

John  Marriott  A.  M 94 

Canto  II.— The  Convent 97 

Introduction  to  Canto  III. — To  WUliam 

Erskine,  Esq 104 

•  Canto  III.— The  Hostel,  or  Inn 1 07 

Introduction  to  Canto  IV. — To  James 

Skene,  Esq 113 

Canto  IV.— The  Camp 116 

Introduction  to  Canto  V. — To  George 

Ellis,  Esq 124 

Canto  v.— The  Court 126 

Introduction  to  Canto  VI. — To  Richard 

Heber,  Esq 137 

Canto  VI.— The  Battle 140 

Appendix  to  Marmion 154 

The  Ladt  of  the  Lake 180 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication 183 

Argument ib. 

Canto  I. — The  Chase 184 

Canto  II.— The  Island  193 

Canto  III— The  Gathering  202 

Fac-Simile  of  the  MS.,  Stanza  I ib. 

(Placed  after  the  Contents.) 

Canto  IV.— The  Prophecy 210 

Canto  v.— The  Combat 219 


FAQg 

The  Ladt  of  the  Lake. 

Canto  VI.— The  Guard-Room  229 

Appendix  to  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 240 

The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick 269 

Preface ib. 

Dedication 270 

Introduction ib. 

The  Vision 272 

Conclusion 281 

Appendix  to  Vision  of  Don  Roderick 285 

Rokebt 292 

Notice  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication 296 

Advertisement ib. 

Canto  I ib. 

Canto  II 306 

Canto  III 314 

Canto  IV 323 

Canto  V 332 

Canto  VI 343 

Appendix  to  Rokeby 356 

The  Bridal  of  Triermain 379 

Preface  to  the  first  edition ib. 

Introduction 382 

Canto  1 383 

Canto  II 388 

Canto  III 396 

Conclusion 407 

Appendix  to  the  Bridal  of  Ti'iermain 410 

The  Lord  of  the  Isles 412 

Notice  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Advertisement  to  the  first  edition  414 

Canto  I .-. 415 

Canto  II 422 

Canto  III 430 

Canto  IV 437 

Canto  V. 446 

Canto  VI 455 

Conclusion 466 

Appendix  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles 469 

The  Field  of  Waterloo  502 

Conclusion 509 

Appendix 511 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PAOE 

Harold  the  Dauntless 512 

Introduction it. 

Canto  L 51S 

Canto  II 517 

Canto  III 521 

Canto  IV 52-i 

Canto  V 528 

Canto  VL 532 

Conclusion 535 

CONTEIBLTIONS  TO  THE  BoEDER  MlNSTRELSY. 

Introductory  Kemarks  on  Popular  Poetry.   537 

Appendix 553 

Essay  on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad  555 

Appendix 571 

Imitations  of  tlie  Ancient  Ballad. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  Part  1 574 

Part  II 577 

Part  III. 584 

Appendix 586 

Glenfinlas;  or,  Lord  Ronald's  Coronach...  589 

Appendix 593 

Tlie  Eve  of  St.  John 594 

Appendix 597 

Cadyow  Castle 598 

Appendix 602 

The  Gray  Brother..., 604 

Appendix 606 

"War-Song  of  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light 
Dragoons 607 

jiAXLADS  Translated  oe  Imitated  from  the 

German,  <tc 609 

William  and  Helen ib. 

Tlie  Wild  Huntsman 613 

Tlie  Fire-King 616 

Frederick  and  Ahce 618 

The  Battle  of  Sempach 619 

Tlic  Koble  Moringer 621 

*The  Erl-King 626 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES, 
In  the  order  of  i/ieir  composition  or  publi- 
cation   627 

*  Juvenile  Lines.     From  Virgil.     1782 ib. 

*  On  a  Tliunder  Storm ib. 

*  On  the  Setting  Sim ib. 

Tlie  Violet ib. 

To  a  Lady,  with  Flowers  from  a  Roman 

Wall 628 

*Bothwell  Castle ib. 

*Tlie  Shepherd's  Tale ib. 

*  Cheviot 631 

*  Tlie  Reiver's  Wedding ib. 

Tlie  Bard's  Incantation 632 

HeUvellj-n  633 


FAOS 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

The  Dying  B;u-d 634 

The  Norman  Horse-Shoe  ib. 

Tlie  Maid  of  Toro 635 

Tlie  Palmer ib, 

Tlie  Maid  of  Neidpath 636 

Wandering  Willie  ib. 

*  Health  to  Lord  Melville,  1806 637 

Hunting  Song  638 

Tlie  Resolve 639 

Epitaph,  designed   for   a  Monument   in 

Lichfield  Cathedral,  at  the  Burial-place 

of  the  family  of  Miss  Seward ib. 

Prologue  to  Miss  Baillie's  Play  of  the 

Family  Legend ib. 

The  Poacher 640 

Song — "  Oh,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that 

mortified  air"  642 

The    Bold   Dragoon;    or,   the    Plain    of 

Badajos ib. 

On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe ib. 

"  For  a'  that  an'  a'  that." — A  new  song  to 

an  old  tune 644 

Song,  for  the  Anniversary  Meeting  of  the 

Pitt  Club  of  Scotland ib. 

Pharos  Loquitur  645 

Lines,  addressed  to  Ranald  Macdonald, 

Esq.,  of  Stafi'a ib 

*  Letter  in  Verse,  on  the  Voyage  with  the 

Commissioners  of  Northern  Lights. — 
To  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch, 
1814 ib. 

Veeses  from  Waverlet. 

*Bridal  Song 647 

*  Waverley 648 

*  Davie  GeUatley's  Song ib. 

*  Scene  in  Luckie  Macleary's  Tavern. ...  649 

*  Hie  away.  Hie  away ib. 

*St.  Switliin's  Chair ib. 

*  Davie  GeUatley's  Song 650 

*  Janet  GeUatley's  alleged  Witchcraft.. .    ib. 

*  Flora  Macivor's  Song ib. 

*  Lines  on  Captain  Wogan  651 

*  Follow  me.  Follow  me  652 

*  Tlie  Author  of  Waverley ib. 

Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of 

Kintail — From  the  Gaelic  ib. 

Imitation  of  the  preceding  Song 653 

War-Song  of  Lachlan,  High  Chief  of  Mac- 
lean.— From  the  Gaelic 653 

Saint  Cloud 654 

The  Dance  of  Death  ib. 

Romance  of  Dunois 656 

Tlie  Troubadour ic 

From  the  French 657 


CONTENTS. 


V 


FAGB 

IfRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Song,  on  the  lifting  of  the  Banner  of  the 
House  of  Buccleuch,  at  a  great  Foot- 
Ball  Match  on  Carterhaugh  657 

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief. 658 

rEOM  Gut  Manneking. 
Songs  of  Meg  Merrilies — 

*  Nativity  of  Harry  Bertram 658 

*  TVist  ye,  TVine  ye 658 

*  The  Dying  Gipsey  Smuggler ib. 

*The  Prophecy 659 

*  Songs  of  Durk  Hatteraick  and  Glossin  ib. 

The  Return  to  Ulster ib. 

Jock  of  Hazeldean 660 

Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu ib. 

Norah's  Vo-w 661 

Macgregor's  Gathering ib. 

Verses  composed  for  the  occasion,  and 
sxmg  by  a  select  band,  after  the  Dinner 
given  by  the  Lord  Provost  of  Edinbmgh 
to  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  of  Russia 
and  his  Suite,  19th  December,  1816  ...  662 

From  the  Antiquailt. 

*Time ib. 

*  Epitaph  on  Jon  o'  ye  Girnell 663 

*  Elspeth's  Ballad ib. 

*  Mottoes  in  the  Antiquary,  1-20 ib. 

From  the  Black  Dwarf. 

^Mottoes,  1,  2 665 

From  Old  Mortalitt. 

*  Major  Bellenden's  Song 666 

*  Verses   found   in  Bothwell's   Pocket- 

Book ib. 

*  Epitaph  on  Balfour  of  Bm-ley ib. 

*  Mottoes,  1,  2,  3 ib. 

The   Search   after  Happiness;    or,  The 

Quest  of  Sultaim  Solimaun  667 

Mr.  Kemble's  FareTvell  Address  on  taking 

leave  of  the  Edinburgh  Stage  6*71 

Lines  "written  for  Miss  Smith ib. 

The  Sun  upon  the  "Weirdlaw  Hill 612 

The  Monks  of  Bangor's  March ib. 

*  Letter  to  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch  6*73 

From  Rob  Rot. 

*  To  the  Memory  of  Edward  the  Black 

Prince 673 

*  Translation  from  Ariosto 674 

♦Mottoes,  1-5 ib. 

Epilogue  to  The  Appeal 675 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Mackrimmon's  Lament 675 

Donald  Caird  's  come  again 676 

From  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothlan. 

*  Madge  Wildfii-e's  Songs 677 

*Mottoes,  1-7 678 

From  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor. 

*  Lucy  Ashton's  Song ib. 

*  Norman,  the  Forester's  Song ib. 

*  The  Prophecy 679 

*  Mottoes,  1-6 ib. 

From  the  Legend  of  Moxtrose. 

*  Ancient  Gaehc  Melody ib. 

*  The  Orphan  Maid 680 

*  Mottoes,  1,  2,  3 ib. 

From  Ivanhoe. 

*The  Crusader's  Return 681 

*The  Barefooted  Friar ib. 

*  Saxon  War-Song .' 682 

*  Rebecca's  Hymn ib. 

*  The  Black  Knight's  Song  683 

*  Song — The  Black  Knight  and  Wamba  ib. 

*  Funeral  Hymn ib. 

*Mottoes,  1-9 684 

Epitaph  on  IL-s.  Erskine 685 

From  the  Monastert. 

Songs  of  the  White  Lady  of  Avenel — 

*  On  Tweed  River ib. 

*  To  the  Sub-Prior ib. 

*ToHalbert 686 

*Halbert's  Second  Interview 687 

*  To  Mary  Avenel 688 

*  To  Edward  Glendinning ib. 

*The  White  Lady's  FareweU ib. 

*Border  Ballad 689 

*  Mottoes,  1-20 ib. 

From  the  Abbot. 

*  The  Pardoner's  Advertisement 691 

*  Mottoes,  1-17 ib. 

From  Kentlworth. 

*Goldthred's  Song 692 

*  Speech  of  the  Porter  at  KenUworth 

Castle 693 

*  Mottoes,  1-13 ib. 

From  the  Pirate. 

*Tlie  Song  of  the  Tempest 694 

*  Claud  Halcro's  Song 695 

*  Harold  Harfager'a  Song ib> 


CONTENTS. 


FAOE 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 
Feom  tue  Pirate. 

*  Song  of  the  Mermaids  and  Mermen  ...  695 
♦Noma's  Song  696 

*  Claud  Holcro  and  Noma ib. 

*Song  of  the  Zetland  Fishermen 697 

*  Clevel.ind's  Songs  698 

*  Claud  H;xlcro's  Verses ib. 

*  Noma's  Incantations ib. 

*Brycc  Snailsfoot's  Advertisement TOO 

♦Mottoes,  1-12 ib. 


On  Ettrick  Forest's  Mountains  dun 701 

Farewell  to  the  Muse 702 

The  Maidof  Isla ib. 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come :  being  new 

words  to  an  auld  spring ib. 

Part  Second  703 


Feom  the  Fortunes  of  Nigel. 
*  Mottoes,  1-24 


705 


Feom  Peverii,  of  the  Peak. 

♦Mottoes,  1-19 "707 

Feom  Quentin  Durwaud. 

*  Song— County  Guy 709 

♦Mottoes,  1-10 ib. 

Feom  St.  Ronan's  "Well. 

♦Mottoes,  1-9 710 


The  Bannatyne  Club ib. 

*  Letter  in  Verse  to  J.  G.  Lockhart,  Esq., 

on  the  composition  of  Maida's  Epitaph    712 
Lines,  addressed  to  Monsieur  Alexandre, 

the  celebrated  Ventriloquist 713 

Epilogue  to  the  Drama  founded  on  "  St. 

Ronan's  WeU" ib. 

Epilogue — (Queen  Mary) 714 

From  Redgauntlet. 

♦  "As  Lords  their  Laborers'  hire  delay"  715 

From  Tue  Beteothed. 

♦  Song— Soldier,  Wake ib. 

* The  Truth  of  Woman ib. 

♦ I  asked  of  my  Harp ib. 

♦  Mottoes,  1-6 716 

From  the  Talismak. 

♦  Ahriman 716 

♦  Song  of  Blondel— The  Bloody  Vest  ...  717 

The  Bloody  Vest— Fytte  Second  ...  718 
♦Mottoes,  1-10 ib. 


Txam 
LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

♦  Lines — "  When  with  Poetry  dealing" 719 

From  Woodstock. 

♦An  hour  with  thee 720 

♦Mottoes,  1-8 ib. 

♦Lines  to  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp 721 

♦  Mottoes  from  Chronicles  of  the  Canon- 
gate ib. 

From  the  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

♦  The  Lay  of  Poor  Louise ib. 

♦Death  Chant 722 

♦Song  of  the  Glee-Maiden ib. 

♦Mottoes,  1-5 723 

♦The  Death  of  Keeldar ib. 

Feom  Anne  of  Geierstein. 

♦  The  Secret  Tribunal 724 

♦Mottoes,  1-12 ib. 

The  Foray 725 

Liscription  for  the  Monument  of  the  Rev. 

George  Scott 726 

♦Lines  on  Fortune ib. 

♦  Mottoes  from  Count  Robert  of  Paeis, 

1-13 ib. 

♦  Mottoes  fi-om  Castle  Dangerous,  1-5 ....  728 


DRAMATIC  PIECES. 

LLvLiDON  Hill;  a  Dramatic  Sketch  from 

Scottish  History 729 

Pi-eface ib. 

Act  L— Scene  L 731 

Macduff's  Cross 748 

Dedication ib. 

Introduction ib. 

Scene  I ib. 

The  Doom  of  Devoegoil 753 

Preface ib. 

Act  L— Scene  1 754 

Auchindranb  ;  oe,  The  Ateshire  Teagedt  784 

Preface ib. 

Act  I.— Scene  L 790 

The  House  of  Aspen 812 

Advertisement ib. 

Act  I— Scene  L •• 818 


/•■■ 


.■^■■.J^ 


/ 


9 


THE 


POETICAL    WORKS 


OF 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  BART 


®l)e  Cau  of  tl)e  Ca0t  itttnstrel: 

A    POEM,  IN    SIX    CANTOS. 


Dum  relego,  scripsisse  pndet ;   quia  plariraa  cemo, 
Me  qnoqne,  qui  feci,  judice,  digna  lini. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  EDITION  1833. 

The  Introduction  to  the  Lay  of  The  Last  Min- 
BTREL,  MTitten  in  April,  1830,  was  revised  by  the 
Author  in  the  autumn  of  1831,  -when  he  also  made 
some  corrections  in  the  text  of  the  Poem,  and  sev- 
eral additions  to  the  notes.  The  work  is  now 
printed  from  his  interleaved  copy. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the  original  MS. 
of  this  Poem  has  not  been  preserved.  We  are 
thus  denied  the  advantage  of  comparing  tlu-ough- 
out  the  Author's  various  readings,  which,  in  the 
case  of  Marmion,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  the  Lord 
of  the  Isles,  &c.,  axe  often  highly  curious  and  in- 
structive.— Ed. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

A  POEM  of  nearly  thhty  years'  standmg'  may  be 
supposed  hardly  to  need  an  Introduction,  since, 
without  one,  it  has  been  able  to  keep  itself  afloat 
through  the  best  part  of  a  generation.  Neverthe- 
less, as,  in  the  edition  of  the  "Waverley  Novels  now 
in  course  of  publication  [1830],  I  have  imposed  on 
myself  the  task  of  saying  something  concerning  the 
purpose  and  history  of  each,  in  their  turn,  I  am 
desirous  that  the  Poems  for  which  I  first  received 
Bome  marks  of  the  pubhc  favor,  should  also  be  ac- 
companied with  such  scraps  of  their  hterary  bis- 

i  Published  in  4to  (jCI  Ss.),  January,  1805. 
2 


tory  as  may  be  supposed  to  carry  interest  along 
witli  them.  Even  if  I  should  be  mistaken  in  think- 
ing that  the  secret  history  of  what  was  once  so 
popular,  may  stiU  attract  public  attention  and  cu 
riosity,  it  seems  to  me  not  without  its  use  to  record 
the  manner  and  chcumstances  tmder  which  the 
present,  and  other  Poems  on  the  same  plan,  at- 
tained for  a  season  an  extensive  reputation. 

1  must  resume  the  story  of  my  literary  labors  at 
the  period  at  which  I  broke  off  in  the  Essay  on  the. 
Imitation  of  Popular  Poetry  [see  post],  when  I  had 
enjoyed  the  first  gleam  of  pubhc  favor,  by  the  suc- 
cess of  the  first  edition  of  the  Minstrelsy  of  the^ 
Scottish  BorSer.  The  second  edition  of  that  work, 
pubhshed  in  1803,  proved,  in  the  language  of  the 
trade,  rather  a  heavy  concern.  The  demand  in 
Scotland  had  been  suppUed  by  the  fii'st  edition,  and 
the  curiosity  of  the  Enghsh  was  not  much  awaken- 
ed by  poems  in  the  rude  garb  of  antiquity,  accom- 
panied with  notes  referring  to  the  obscure  feuds  of 
barbai-ous  clans,  of  whose  very  names  civilized  his- 
tory was  ignorant.  It  was,  on  the  wiiole,  one  of 
those  books  which  are  more  praised  than  they  are 
read." 

At  this  time  I  stood  personally  in  a  diiferent  po- 
sition from  that  which  I  occupied  when  I  first  dipt 
my  desperate  pen  in  ink  for  other  pm-poses  than 
those  of  my  profession.     In  1796,  when  I  fu'st  pub- 

2  "  The  '  Lay'  is  the  best  of  all  possible  continents  on  tht 
Border  Minstrelsy." — British  Critic,  August,  1805 


10 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lished  the  translations  from  Biirger,  I  was  an  insu- 
lated individual,  ■with  only  my  own  wants  to  pro- 
vide for,  and  having,  in  a  great  measure,  my  own 
inclinations  alone  to  consult.  In  18u;{,  when  the 
second  edition  of  the  Minstrelsy  appe:ired,  I  had 
arrived  at  a  period  of  life  when  men,  however 
thoughtless,  encounter  duties  and  circun^tances 
which  press  consideration  and  jihms  of  life  upon 
the  most  careless  minds.  I  had  been  fur  some  time 
married — was  the  father  of  a  rising  family,  and, 
though  fully  enabled  to  meet  the  consequent  de- 
mands upon  me,  it  was  my  duty  and  desire  to  place 
myself  in  a  situation  which  would  enable  me  to 
make  honorable  provision  agaiust  the  various  con- 
tingencies of  life. 

It  may  be  readily  supposed  that  the  attempts 
which  I  had  made  in  literature  had  been  unfavor- 
able to  my  success  at  the  bar.  The  goddess  The- 
mis is,  at  Edinbm-gh,  and  I  suppose  everywhere 
else,  of  a  peculiarly  jealous  disposition.  She  will 
not  readUy  consent  to  share  her  authority,  and 
sternly  demands  from  her  votaries,  not  only  tliat 
real  duty  be  carefully  attended  to  and  discharged, 
but  that  a  certain  air  of  business  shall  be  observed 
even  in  the  midst  of  total  idleness.  It  is  prudent, 
if  not  absolutely  necessary,  in  a  young  barrister, 
to  appear  completely  engrossed  by  lus  profession ; 
however  destitute  of  employment  he  may  in  real- 
ity be,  he  ought  to  preserve,  if  possible,  the  ap- 
pearance of  full  occupation.  He  should,  therefore, 
seem  perpetually  engaged  among  his  law-papers, 
dusting  them,  as  it  were ;  and,  as  Ovid  advises 
the  fair, 

"  Si  nuUas  ent  pnlvis,  tamen  excnte  nnllam."! 

Perhaps  such  extremity  of  attention  is  more  espe- 
cially required,  considering  the  great  number  of 
counsellors  who  arc  called  to  the  bar,  and  how  very 
BmaU  a  proportion  of  them  are  finally  disposed,  or 
find  encouragement,  to  follow  the  law  as  a  profes- 
sion. Hence  the  niunber  of  deserters  is  so  great, 
that  the  least  lingering  look  behind  occasions  a 
young  novice  to  be  set  down  as  one  of  the  intend- 
ing fugitives.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  Scottish  The- 
mis was  at  this  time  peculiarly  jealous  of  any  flirt- 
ation with  the  Muses,  on  the  part  of  those  who  had 
ranged  themselves  under  her  baimers.  Tliis  was 
probably  owing  to  her  consciousness  of  the  superior 
attractions  of  lier  rivals.  Of  late,  however,  she  has 
relaxed  in  some  instances  in  tliis  particular,  an  em- 
inent example  of  which  has  been  shown  in  the  case 
of  my  friend,  Mr.  Jeffrey,  who,  after  long  conduct- 
ing one  of  the  most  influential  literary  periodicals 
of  the  age,  with  imquestionable  abihty,  has  been, 

1  If  dast  be  none,  yet  brash  that  none  away. 

'  Mr.  Jeffrey,  after  condncting  the  Edinbnrgh  Review  for 
twenty-seven  years,  withdrew  from  that  office  in  1829,  on  being 


by  the  general  consent  of  his  brethren,  recently 
elected  to  be  their  Dean  of  Faculty,  or  President, 
— being  the  liighest  acknowledgment  of  his  pro- 
fessional talents  wliich  tliey  had  it  in  their  power 
to  offer.'  But  tliis  is  an  incident  much  beyond  the 
ideas  of  a  period  of  tliirty  years'  distance,  when  a 
barrister  who  really  possesstsd  any  turn  for  lighter 
literature,  was  at  as  much  pains  to  conceal  it,  as  if 
it  had  in  reality  been  sometliing  to  be  a.shamed  of; 
and  I  could  mention  more  than  one  instance  in 
which  literature  and  society  have  suffered  much 
loss,  that  jurisprudence  might  be  enriched. 

Such,  however,  was  not  my  case ;  for  the  reader 
will  not  wonder  that  my  open  interference  with 
matters  of  light  literature  diminished  my  employ- 
ment in  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law.  Nor 
did  the  solicitors,  upon  whose  choice  the  counsel 
takes  rank  in  liis  profession,  do  me  less  than  jus- 
tice, by  regarding  others  among  my  contempora- 
ries as  fitter  to  discharge  the  duty  due  to  their 
clients,  tlian  a  young  man  who  was  taken  up  with 
running  after  ballads,  whether  Teutonic  or  national. 
My  profession  and  I,  therefore,  came  to  stand  near- 
ly upon  the  footing  wliich  honest  Slender  consoled 
himself  on  having  established  with  Mistress  Anne 
Page :  "  There  was  no  great  love  between  us  at 
the  beginning,  and  it  pleased  Heaven  to  decrease 
it  on  farther  acquaintance."  I  became  sensible  that 
the  time  was  come  when  I  must  eitlier  buckle  my- 
self resolutely  to  the  "  toil  by  day,  the  lamp  by 
night,"  renouncing  all  the  Delilalis  of  my  imagina- 
tion, or  bid  adieu  to  the  profession  of  the  law, 
and  hold  another  course. 

I  confess  my  own  inclination  revolted  from  the 
more  severe  choice,  which  might  have  been  deemed 
by  many  the  wiser  alternative.  As  my  transgres- 
sions had  been  numerous,  my  repentance  must  have 
been  signalized  by  unusual  sacrifices.  I  ought  to 
have  mentioned,  that  since  my  fourteenth  or  fif- 
teenth year,  my  health,  originally  delicate,  had 
become  extremely  robust.  From  infancy  I  had 
labored  under  the  infirmity  of  a  severe  lameness, 
but,  as  I  believe  is  usually  the  case  with  men  of 
spirit  who  suffer  under  personal  inconveniences  of 
this  nature,  I  had,  since  the  improvement  of  my 
health,  in  defiance  of  this  incapacitating  circum- 
stance, distinguished  myself  by  the  endurance  of 
toil  on  foot  or  horseback,  having  often  walked  thirty 
miles  a  day,  and  rode  upwards  of  a  hundred  without 
resting.  In  this  manner  I  made  many  plea.sant  jour- 
neys through  parts  of  the  country  then  not  very  ac- 
cessible, gaining  more  amusement  and  instruction 
than  I  have  been  able  to  acquire  since  I  have  travel- 
led in  a  more  commodious  manner.  I  practised  most 

elected  Dean  of  the  Facnlty  of  Advocates.  In  1830,  nnder 
Earl  Grey's  Ministry,  he  was  appointed  Lord  Advocate  ol 
Scotland,  and,  in  1834,  a  Senator  of  the  College  of  Justice  by 
the  title  of  Lord  Jeffrey. — Ed. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


11 


gilvan  sports  also,  with  some  success,  and  with  great 
delight.  But  these  pleasures  must  have  been  all 
resigned,  or  used  with  great  moderation,  had  I  de- 
termined to  regain  my  station  at  the  bar.  It  v-is 
even  doubtful  whether  I  could,  with  perfect  char- 
acter as  a  jurisconsult,  retain  a  situation  in  a  vol- 
unteer corps  of  cavalry,  wliich  I  then  held.  The 
threats  of  hivasion  were  at  tliis  time  uistant  and 
menacing ;  the  call  by  Britain  on  her  cliUdi-en  was 
universal,  and  was  answered  by  some,  who,  like 
myself,  consulted  rather  their  deshe  than  their 
abiUty  to  bear  arms.  My  services,  however,  were 
found  useful  in  assisting  to  mauitain  the  discipluie 
of  the  corps,  bemg  the  pomt  on  whicli  theh  consti- 
tution rendered  them  most  amenable  to  miUtary 
criticism.  In  other  respects,  the  squadron  was  a 
fine  one,  consisting  chiefly  of  handsome  men,  well 
mounted,  and  armed  at  theh*  own  expense.  My 
attention  to  the  corps  took  up  a  good  deal  of  time  ;■ 
and  while  it  occupied  many  of  the  happiest  hours 
of  my  Ufe,  it  furnished  an  additional  reason  for  my 
reluctance  again  to  encounter  the  severe  course  of 
study  indispensable  to  success  in  the  jm-idical  pro- 
fession. 

On  the  other  hand,  my  father,  whose  feelings 
might  have  been  hm't  by  my  quitting  the  bar,  had 
been  for  two  or  thi'ee  years  dead,  so  that  I  had  no 
control  to  thwart  my  own  inclination  ;  and  my  in- 
come being  equal  to  all  the  comforts,  and  some  of 
the  elegancies,  of  hfe,  I  was  not  pressed  to  an  irk- 
some labor  by  necessity,  that  most  powerful  of  mo- 
tives ;  consequently,  I  was  the  more  easily  seduced 
to  choose  the  employment  whicli  was  most  agree- 
able to  me.  This  was  yet  the  easier,  that  in  1800 
I  had  obtained  the  preferment  of  Sheriff  of  Sel- 
kirkshire, about  £300  a  year  in  value,  and  wliich 
was  the  more  agreeable  to  me,  as  in  that  county 
I  had  several  friends  and  relations.  But  I  did 
not  abandon  the  profession  to  which  I  had  been 
educated,  without  certain  prudential  resolutions, 
wliich,  at  the  risk  of  some  egotism,  I  will  here 
mention  ;  not  without  the  hope  that  they  may  be 
usefid  to  young  persons  who  may  stand  in  circum- 
stances similar  to  those  in  which  I  then  stood. 

In  the  first  place,  upon  considering  the  lives  and 
fortunes  of  persons  who  had  given  themselves  up 
to  Hterature,  or  to  the  task  of  pleasing  the  pubKc, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  circumstances  wliich 
cliiefly  affected  their  liappiness  and  character,  were 
those  from  which  Horace  has  bestowed  upon  au- 
thors the  epithet  of  the  Irritable  Race.  It  re- 
quires no  depth  of  pliilosopliic  reflection  to  per- 
ceive, that  the  petty  warfare  of  Pope  with  the 
Dunces  of  his  period  could  not  have  been  carried 
"Sn  without  liis  suffering  the  most  acute  torture, 
Buch  as  a  man  must  endure  from  musquitoea,  by 
whose  stings  he  suffers  agony,  although  he  can 
ii"ash  them  in  his  grasp  by  myriads.     Nor  is  it  ne- 


cessary to  call  to  memory  the  many  humiliating 
instances  in  which  men  of  the  greatest  genius  have, 
to  avenge  some  pitiful  quarrel,  made  themselves 
ridiculous  during  their  fives,  to  become  the  stiU 
more  degraded  objects  of  pity  to  future  times. 

Upon  the  whole,  as  I  had  no  pretension  to  the 
genius  of  the  distinguished  persons  who  had  fallen 
hito  such  errors,  I  concluded  there  could  be  no  oc- 
casion for  imitating  them  in  their  mistakes,  or  what 
I  considered  as  such  ;  and  in  adopting  fiterary  pur- 
suits as  the  principal  occupation  of  my  future  fife, 
I  resolved,  if  possible,  to  avoid  those  weaknesses 
of  temper  which  seemed  to  have  most  easily  beset 
my  more  celebrated  predecessors. 

With  this  view,  it  was  my  first  resolution  to 
keep  as  far  as  was  in  my  power  abreast  of  society, 
continuing  to  mamtain  my  place  in  general  com- 
pany, without  yielding  to  the  very  natm-al  temp- 
tation of  narrowing  myself  to  what  is  called  fiter- 
ary society.  By  doing  so,  I  imagined  I  should  es- 
caj^e  the  besettmg  sin  of  fistening  to  language, 
which,  from  one  motive  or  other,  is  apt  to  ascribe 
a  very  xmdue  degree  of  consequence  to  fiterary 
pursuits,  as  if  they  were,  indeed,  the  business, 
rather  than  the  amusement,  of  life.  The  opposite 
course  can  only  be  compared  to  the  injudicious  con- 
duct of  one  who  pampers  lumself  with  cordial  and 
luscious  draughts,  imtil  he  is  unable  to  endure 
wholesome  bitters.  Liiie  Gil  Bias,  therefore,  I  re- 
solved to  stick  by  the  society  of  my  commis,  in- 
stead of  seeking  that  of  a  more  fiterary  cast,  and 
to  maintain  my  general  interest  in  what  was  going 
on  around  me,  reservmg  the  man  of  letters  for  the 
desk  and  the  library. 

My  second  resolution  was  a  corollary  from  the 
first.  I  determined  that,  without  shutting  my 
ears  to  the  voice  of  true  criticism,  I  would  pay  no 
regard  to  that  which  assumes  the  form  of  satire. 
I  therefore  resolved  to  arm  myself  with  that  triple 
brass  of  Horace,  of  wliich  those  of  my  profession 
are  seldom  held  deficient,  against  all  the  roving 
warfare  of  satire,  parody,  and  sarcasm ;  to  laugh 
if  the  jest  was  a  goo'd  one,  or,  if  otherwise,  to  let 
it  hum  and  buzz  itself  to  sleep. 

It  is  to  the  observance  of  these  rules  (according 
to  my  best  belief),  that,  after  a  fife  of  thirty  years 
engaged  in  fiterary  labors  of  various  kinds,  I  at- 
tribute my  never  liaving  been  entangled  in  any 
fiterary  quarrel  or  controversy  ;  and,  which  is  a 
still  more  pleasmg  result,  that  I  have  been  distin 
guished  by  the  personal  friendsliip  of  my  most  ap 
proved  contemporaries  of  all  parties. 

I  adopted,  at  the  same  time,  another  resolution, 
on  wliich  it  may  doubtless  be  remarked,  that  it 
was  weU  for  me  that  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  do 
so,  and  that,  therefore,  it  is  a  line  of  conduct  which, 
depending  upon  accident,  can  be  less  generally  ap- 
plicable in  other  cases.     Yet  I  fail  not  to  record 


12 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tliifl  part  of  my  plan,  convinced  that,  tliough  it 
may  not  be  in  every  one's  power  to  adopt  exactly 
tLe  same  resolution,  lie  may  nevertheless,  by  his 
own  exertions,  in  suiuc  shape  or  other,  attuiji  tlie 
object  on  which  it  was  founded,  namely,  to  secure 
the  means  of  subsistence,  without  relyinf^  exehi- 
Bively  on  literary  talents.  In  this  re9i)ect,  I  de- 
termined that  literature  should  be  my  staff,  but 
not  my  crutcli,  and  that  the  profits  of  my  htcrary 
labor,  however  convenient  otherwise,  sliouhl  not, 
if  I  could  help  it,  become  necessary  to  my  ordi- 
nary expenses.  With  this  purpose  I  resolved,  if 
the  interest  of  my  friend;  could  so  far  favor  me, 
to  retire  upon  any  of  the  respectable  offices  of  the 
law,  in  which  persons  of  that  profession  are  glad 
to  take  refuge,  when  they  feel  themselves,  or  are 
judged  by  others,  incompetent  to  aspire  to  its 
liiglier  honors.  Upon  such  a  post  an  autlior  might 
hope  to  retreat,  without  any  perceptible  alteration 
of  circumstances,  whenever  the  time  should  arrive 
that  the  public  grew  weary  of  his  endeavors  to 
please,  or  he  liimself  should  tire  of  the  pen.  At 
this  period  of  my  life,  I  possessed  so  many  friends 
capable  of  assisting  me  in  this  object  of  ambition, 
that  I  could  hardly  overrate  my  own  prospects 
of  obtaining  the  preferment  to  which  I  limited  my 
wishes ;  and,  in  fact,  I  obtained  in  no  long  period 
the  reversion  of  a  situation  which  completely  met 
them. 

Thus  far  all  was  well,  and  the  Author  had  been 
guilty,  perhaps,  of  no  great  imprudence,  when  he 
relinquished  his  forensic  practice  with  tlie  hope  of 
making  some  figure  in  the  field  of  literature.  But 
an  estabUshed  character  with  tlie  public,  in  my  new 
capacity,  still  remained  to  be  acquired.  I  have 
noticed,  that  the  translations  from  BUrger  had  been 
unsuccessful,  nor  had  the  original  poetry  whicli  ap- 
peared under  the  auspices  of  Mr.  Lewis,  in  the 
"Tales  of  Wonder,"  in  any  great  degree  raised 
my  reputation.  It  is  true,  I  had  private  friends 
disposed  to  second  me  in  my  efforts  to  obtain  pop- 
ularity. But  I  was  sportsman  enough  to  know, 
that  if  the  greyhound  does  not  run  well,  the  hal- 
loos  of  his  patrons  will  not  obtain  the  prize  for  liim. 

Neither  was  I  ignorant  that  the  practice  of  bal- 
lad-writing was  for  the  present  out  of  fashion,  and 
that  any  attempt  to  revive  it,  or  to  found  a  poeti- 
ciil  character  upon  it,  would  certainly  fail  of  suc- 
cess. 'ITie  ballad  measure  itseK,  which  was  once 
listened  to  as  to  an  enchanting  melody,  had  be- 
come liackneyed  and  sickening,  from  its  being  the 
iccompaniment  of  every  grinding  hand-organ ;  and 

'  Thus  n  has  been  often  remarked,  that,  in  the  opening 
couplets  of  Pope's  translation  of  the   Iliad,  there  are  two  syl- 
lables forming  a  superfluous  word  in  each  line,  as  may  be  ob- 
lerved  by  attending  to  such  words  as  are  printed  in  Italics. 
"  Achilles'  wrath  to  Greece  the  direful  spring 
Of  woes  unnumber'd,  heavenly  goddess,  sing  ; 


besides,  a  long  work  in  quatrains,  whether  those 
of  the  common  ballad,  or  such  as  are  termed  ele- 
giac, has  an  effect  upon  tlie  mind  like  that  of  the 
bed  of  I'rocrustes  upon  tlie  human  body  ;  for,  as  it 
must  be  both  awlrward  and  difficidt  to  carry  on  a 
long  sentence  from  one  stanza  to  another,  it  fol- 
lows, that  the  mcanhig  of  each  period  must  be 
comprehended  within  four  lines,  and  equally  so 
that  it  must  be  extended  so  as  to  fill  that  space. 
The  alternate  dilation  and  contraction  thus  ren- 
dered necessary  is  singularly  mifavorable  to  nar- 
rative composition;  and  the  "Ciondibert"  of  Sir 
William  D'Avcnant,  though  containing  many  strik- 
ing passages,  has  never  become  popidar,  owing 
chiefly  to  its  being  told  in  this  species  of  elegiac 
verse. 

In  the  dilemma  occasioned  by  this  objection,  the 
idea  occurred  to  the  Author  of  using  the  measured 
short  line,  which  forms  the  structure  of  so  much 
minstrel  poetry,  that  it  may  be  properly  termed 
the  Romantic  stanza,  by  way  of  distinction ;  and 
which  appears  so  natural  to  our  language,  that  the 
very  best  of  our  poets  have  not  been  able  to  pro- 
tract it  into  the  verse  properly  called  Heroic,  with- 
out the  use  of  epithets  which  arc,  to  say  the  least, 
unnecessary.'  But,  on  the  other  liand,  the  extreme 
facility  of  the  short  couplet,  which  seems  conge- 
nial to  our  language,  and  was,  doubtless  for  that 
reason,  so  popular  with  our  old  minstrels,  is,  for 
the  same  reason,  apt  to  prove  a  snare  to  the  com- 
poser who  uses  it  in  more  modern  days,  by  en- 
couraging liina  in  a  habit  of  slovenly  composition. 
The  necessity  of  occasional  pauses  often  forces  the 
young  poet  to  pay  more  attention  to  sense,  as  the 
boy's  kite  rises  highest  when  the  train  is  loaded  by 
a  due  coimterpoise.  The  Author  was  therefore 
intimidated  by  what  Byron  calls  the  "  fatal  facil- 
ity" of  the  octosyllabic  verse,  wliich  was  otherwise 
better  adapted  to  his  pm-pose  of  ijnitating  the  more 
ancient  poetry. 

I  was  not  less  at  a  loss  for  a  subject  wliich  might 
admit  of  being  treated  with  the  simplicity  and 
wildness  of  the  ancient  ballad.  But  accident  dic- 
tated both  a  theme  and  measure,  which  decided 
the  subject,  as  well  as  the  structure  of  the  poem. 

Tlie  lovely  young  Countess  of  Dalkeitli,  after- 
wards Harriet  Ducliess  of  Buccleuch,  had  come  to 
the  land  of  her  husband  with  the  desire  of  making 
herself  acquainted  with  its  traditions  and  customs, 
as  well  as  its  manners  and  history.  All  who  re- 
member this  lady  will  agree,  that  the  intellectual 
character  of  her  extreme  beauty,  the  amenity  and 

That  wrath  which  sent  lo  Pluto's  gloomy  reign, 
The  souls  of  mighty  chiefs  in  battle  slain, 
Whose  bones,  unburied  on  the  desert  shore, 
Devouring  dogs  ^nd  hungry  vultures  tore." 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


13 


rourtesy  of  her  manners,  the  soundness  of  her  un- 
derstanding, and  her  unbounded  benevolence,  gave 
more  the  idea  of  an  angelic  visitant,  than  of  a  be- 
ing belonging  to  this  nether  world ;  and  such  a 
thought  was  but  too  consistent  with  the  short  space 
she  was  permitted  to  tarry  among  us.'  Of  course, 
where  all  made  it  a  pride  and  pleasure  to  gratify 
her  wishes,  she  soon  heard  enough  of  Border  lore  ; 
among  others,  an  aged  gentleman  of  property," 
near  Langholm,  commimicated  to  her  ladyship  the 
story  of  Gilpin  Horner,  a  tradition  in  wliich  the 
narrator,  and  many  more  of  that  country,  were 
firm  believers.  The  yoimg  Countess,  much  de- 
lighted with  the  legend,  and  the  gravity  and  full 
confidence  with  which  it  was  told,  enjoined  on  me 
as  a  task  to  compose  a  ballad  on  the  subject.  Of 
course,  to  hear  was  to  obey ;  and  thus  the  goblin 
story,  objected  to  by  several  critics  as  an  excres- 
cence upon  the  poem,  was,  in  fact,  the  occasion  of 
its  being  written. 

A  chance  similar  to  that  which  dictated  the  sub- 
ject, gave  me  also  the  hint  of  a  new  mode  of  treat- 
ing it.  We  had  at  that  time  the  lease  of  a  pleas- 
ant cottage,  near  Lasswade,  on  the  romantic  banks 
of  the  Esk,  to  which  we  escaped  when  the  vaca- 
tions of  the  Court  permitted  me  so  much  leisure. 
Here  I  had  the  pleasure  to  receive  a  visit  from 
Mr.  Stoddart  (now  Sir  John  Stoddart,  Judge-Ad- 
vocate at  Malta),  who  was  at  that  time  collecting 
the  particulars  which  he  afterwards  embodied  in 
his  Remarks  on  Local  Scenery  in  Scotland.'  I  was 
of  some  use  to  him  in  procuring  the  information 
which  he  desired,  and  guiding  him  to  the  scenes 
which  he  wished  to  see.  Li  return,  he  made  me 
better  acquainted  than  I  had  hitherto  been  with 
the  poetic  effusions  which  have  since  made  the 
Lakes  of  Westmoreland,  and  the  authors  by  whom 
they  have  been  sung,  so  famous  wherever  the  En- 
glish tongue  is  spoken. 

I  was  already  acquainted  with  the  "Joan  of 
Arc,"  the  "  Thalaba,"  and  the  "  Metrical  Ballads  " 
of  Mr.  Southey,  which  had  found  their  way  to 
l^cotland,  and  were  generally  admired.  But  Mr. 
Stoddart,  who  had  the  advantage  of  personal 
friendship  with  the  authors,  and  who  possessed  a 
strong  memory  with  an  excellent  taste,  was  able 

1  The  Duchess  died  in  August,  1814.  Sir  Walter  ScoU'i 
lines  on  her  death  will  be  found  in  a  subsequent  page  of  this 
collection. — Ed. 

5  TJiis  was  Mr.  Seattle  of  Mickledale,  a  man  then  consider- 
ably upwards  of  eighty,  of  a  shrewd  and  sarcastic  temper, 
which  he  did  not  at  all  times  suppress,  as  the  following  anec- 
dote will  show  : — A  worthy  clergyman,  now  deceased,  with 
better  good-will  than  tact,  was  endeavoring  to  push  the  senior 
forward  in  his  recollection  of  Border  ballads  and  legends,  by 
expressing  reiterated  surprise  at  his  wonderful  memory.  "  No, 
sir,"  said  old  Mickledale  ;  "  my  memory  is  good  for  little,  for 
it  cannot  retain  what  ought  to  be  preserved.  I  can  remember 
all  these  stories  about  the  anid  riding  davs,  which  are  of  no 


to  repeat  to  me  many  long  specimens  of  their  poet- 
ry, which  had  not  yet  appeared  in  print.  Amongst 
others,  was  the  striking  fragment  called  Christabel, 
by  Mr.  Coleridge,  which,  from  the  singularly  irreg- 
ular structm-e  of  the  stanzas,  and  the  Uberty  which 
it  allowed  the  author,  to  adapt  the  sound  to  the 
sense,  seemed  to  be  exactly  suited  to  such  an  ex- 
travaganza as  I  meditated  on  the  subject  of  Gilpin 
Horner.  As  applied  to  comic  and  humorous  po- 
etry, this  mescolanza  of  measures  had  been  already 
used  by  Anthony  Hall,  Anstey,  Dr.  Wolcott,  and 
others ;  but  it  was  in  Christabel  that  I  first  fotmd 
it  used  in  serious  poetry,  and  it  is  to  Mr.  Coleridge 
.that  I  am  bound  to  make  the  acknowledgment  due 
jfrom  the  pupil  to  his  master.  I  observe  that  Lord 
I  Byron,  in  noticing  my  obligations  to  Mr.  Coleridge, 
which  I  have  been  always  most  ready  to  acknowl- 
edge, expressed,  or  was  understood  to  express,  a 
hope,  that  I  did  not  write  an  unfriendly  review  on 
Mr.  Coleridge's  productions.*  On  this  subject  I 
have  only  to  say,  that  I  do  not  even  know  the  re- 
view which  is  alluded  to ;  and  were  I  ever  to  take 
the  unbecoming  freedom  of  censuring  a  man  of  Mr. 
Coleridge's  extraordinary  talents,  it  would  be  on 
account  of  the  caprice  and  indolence  with  which  he 
has  tlu-own  from  him,  as  if  in  mere  wantonness, 
those  unfinished  scraps  of  poetry,  wliich,  like  the 
Torso  of  antiquity,  defy  the  skill  of  his  poetical 
brethren  to  complete  them.'  The  charming  frag- 
ments which  the  author  abandons  to  their  fate, 
are  sxurely  too  valuable  to  be  treated  like  the 
proofs  of  careless  engravers,  the  sweepings  of 
whose  studios  often  make  the  fortime  of  some 
painstaking  collector. 

I  did  not  immediately  proceed  upon  my  pro- 
jected labor,  though  I  was  now  furnished  with  a 
subject,  and  with  a  structure  of  verse  which  might 
have  the  effect  of  novelty  to  the  public  ear,  and 
afford  the  author  an  opportimity  of  varying  his 
measure  with  the  variations  of  a  romantic  theme. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was,  to  the  best  of  my  recol- 
lection, more  than  a  year  after  Mr.  Stoddart's  visit, 
that,  by  way  of  experiment,  I  composed  the  first 
two  or  three  stanzas  of  "Tlie  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel."  I  was  shortly  afterwards  visited  by 
two  intimate  friends,  one  of  whom  stiU  survives. 


earthly  importance  ;  but  were  you,  reverend  sir,  to  repeat  yom 
best  sermon  in  this  drawing-room,  I  could  not  tell  you  half  an 
hour  afterwards  what  you  had  been  speaking  about." 

s  Two  volumes,  royal  octavo.  1801. 

*  3Ied  win's  Conversations  of  Lord  Byron,  p.  309. 

'  Sir  Walter,  elsewhere,  in  allusion  to  "  Coleridge's  beauti- 
ful and  tantalizing  fragment  of  Christabel,"  says,  "Has  not 
our  own  imaginative  poet  cause  to  fear  that  future  ages  will 
desire  to  summon  him  from  his  place  of  rest,  as  Miltou  longed 

'  To  call  up  him  who  left  half  told 
The  story  of  Cambnscan  bold  V  " 

JsTotes  to  the  Abbot. — Ed. 


14 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Tliey  were  men  wlirwe  tiilents  iniglit  have  raised 
them  to  the  liigliest  station  in  literature,  had  they 
not  preferred  exertinj^  them  in  their  own  profes- 
eiou  of  the  law,  in  wliich  they  attained  equal  pn:- 
ferment.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  consulting  them  on 
my  attempts  at  eonij)ositi()n,  havin;^  equal  confi- 
dence in  their  sound  taste  luid  friendly  pincerity.' 
In  this  specimen  I  had,  hi  the  jihriuse  of  the  Iliyh- 
laud  servant,  packed  all  that  was  my  own  at  least, 
fur  I  had  also  included  a  line  of  invocation,  a; 
littJe  softened,  from  Coleridge — 

"Mary,  mother,  shield  us  well." 

As  neither  of  my  friends  said  much  to  mo  on  the 
subject  of  the  stanzas  I  showed  them  before  their 
departure,  I  had  no  doubt  that  their  disgust  liad 
been  greater  thim  their  good-nature  chose  to  cx- 
V  press.  Looking  upon  them,  therefore,  as  a  failure, 
1  threw  the  manuscript  uito  the  fire,  and  thought 
as  little  more  as  I  could  of  the'  matter.  Some 
time  afterwards,  I  met  one  of  my  two  counsellors, 
who  inquired,  with  considerable  appearance  of  in- 
terest, about  the  progress  of  the  romance  I  had 
commenced,  and  was  greatly  surprised  at  learning 
its  fate.  He  confessed  that  neither  he  nor  our 
mutual  friend  had  been  at  first  able  to  give  a 
precise  opinion  on  a  poem  so  much  out  of  the 
cummon  road ;  but  that  as  they  walked  home  to- 
gether to  the  city,  they  had  talked  much  on  the 
subject,  and  the  result  was  an  earnest  desire  that 
I  would  proceed  ■with  the  composition.  He  also 
added,  that  some  sort  of  prologue  might  be  neces- 
sary, to  place  the  mind  of  the  hearers  in  the  situa- 
tion to  understand  and  enjoy  the  poem,  and  recom- 
mended the  adoption  of  such  quaint  mottoes  as 
Spenser  has  used  to  announce  the  contents  of  the 
chapters  of  the  Faery  Queen,  such  as — 

"  Babe's  bloody  hands  may  not  be  cleansed. 
The  face  of  golden  Mean  : 
Her  sisters  two,  Extremities, 
Strive  her  to  banish  clean."  s  ] 

I  entirely  agreed  -with  my  friendly  critic  in  the 
necessity  of  having  some  sort  of  pitch-pipe,  which 
might  make  readers  aware  of  the  object,  or  rather 
the  tone,  of  the  publication.  But  I  doubted  wheth^ 
(r,  in  assuming  the  oracular  style  of  Spenser's 
laottoes,  the  interpreter  might  not  be  censured  as 
the  harder  to  be  understood  of  the  two.  I  there- 
fore introduced  the  Old  Minstrel,  as  an  appropri- 
ate prolocutor,  by  whom  the  lay  might  be  sung,  or 
sjK»ken,  and  the  introduction  of  whom  betwixt  the 

'  One  of  these,  William  Erskine,  Esq.  (Lord  Kinnedder),  I 
have  often  had  occasion  to  mention  ;  and  though  I  may  hardly  i 
l>e  thanked  for  disclosing  the  name  of  the  other,  yet  I  cannot 
bat  state  that  the  second  is  George  Cranstonn,  Esq.,  now  a 
Senator  of  the  College  of  Justice,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Core- 
noose.  1831. — [Mr.  Cranstonn  resigned  lis  seat  on  the  Bench 
in  1839.] 


canto.«,  might  remind  the  reader,  at  inteivals,  of 
the  time,  jjlace,  luul  circimistances  of  the  recita- 
tion. This  species  t»f  cadre,  or  frame,  afterwards 
afforded  the  |)oem  its  name  of  "  The  I»ay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel." 

The  work  wius  subsequently  shown  lo  other 
friends  during  its  progress,  and  received  the  im- 
primatiir  of  Mr.  I'rancis  Jelfrey,  who  had  been 
already  for  some  time  distuigui.shed  by  liis  critical 
talent. 

Tlu!  poem,  being  onco  licensed  by  the  critics  as 
fit  for  the  market,  w'ius  .soon  finished,  proceeding  at 
about  the  rate  oF  a  canto  per  week,  lliere  was, 
indeed,  little  occasion  for  pause  or  hesitation,  when 
a  troublesome  rhyme  miglit  be  accommodated  by 
an  alteration  of  the  stanza,  or  where  an  incorrect 
mciisure  niiglit  be  remedied  by  a  variation  of  the 
rhyme.  It  was  finally  published  in  1805,  and  may 
be  regarded  as  the  first  work  in  winch  the  writer, 
who  has  been  since  so  voluminous,  laid  liis  claim 
to  be  considered  as  an  original  author. 

ITie  book  was  published  by  Longman  and  Com- 
pany, and  Archibalil  Constable  and  Company,  llie 
principal  of  the  latter  firm  was  then  commencing 
that  course  of  bold  and  liberal  industry  which  was 
of  so  much  advantage  to  his  comitry,  and  might 
have  been  so  to  liimself,  but  for  causes  which  it  is 
needless  to  enter  into  here.  The  work,  brought 
out  on  the  usual  terms  of  division  of  profits  be- 
tween the  author  and  publishers,  was  not  long 
after  purchased  by  them  for  £500,  to  which 
Messrs.  Longman  and  Company  afterwards  added 
£100,  in  their  own  misolicited  kindness,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  uncommon  success  of  the  work.  It 
was  handsomely  given  to  supply  the  loss  of  a  fine 
horse,  which  broke  down  suddenly  while  the  au- 
tlior  was  riding  with  one  of  the  worthy  publish- 
ers.* 

It  would  be  great  affectation  not  to  own 
frankly,  that  the  author  expected  some  success 
from  ''The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  Tlie  at- 
tempt to  return  to  a  more  simple  and  natural 
style  of  poetry  was  likely  to  be  welcomed,  at  a 
time  when  the  public  had  become  tired  of  heroic 
"hexameters,  with  all  the  buckram  and  bin<ling 
wJiich  belong  to  them  of  later  days.  But  what- 
ever might  have  been  hia  expectations,  whether 
moderate  or  unreasonable,  the  result  left  them  far 
behind,  for  among  those  who  smiled  for  the  adven- 
turous Minstrel,  were  nimibered  the  great  names 
of  William  Pitt  and  Charles  Fox.*     Neither  was 

2  Book  II.  Canto  II. 

'  Mr.  Owen  Rees,  here  alluded  to,  retired  from  the  house  of 
Longman  &  Co.  at  Midsummer,  1837,  and  died  5th  September 
following,  in  his  G7th  year. — Ed. 

<  "  Through  what  channel  or  in  what  terms  Fox  made  known 
his  opinion  of  the  Lay,  I  have  failed  to  ascertain.  Pitt's  piaise, 
as  expressed  to  his  niece,  Lady  Hester  StatJiope,  witliin  a  few 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


If 


the  extent  of  tlie  sale  inferior  to  the  character  of 
the  judges  who  received  the  poem  with  approba- 
tion. Upwards  of  thirty  thousand  copies  of  the 
Lay  were  disposed  of  by  the  trade ;  and  the  au- 
thor had  to  perform  a  task  diiBcult  to  human 
vanity,  when  called  upon  to  make  the  necessary 

weeks  after  the  poem  appeared,  was  repeated  by  her  to  Mr. 
William  Stewart  Rose,  who,  of  course,  communicated  it  forth- 
with to  the  author ;  and  not  long  after,  the  Minister,  in  con- 
versation with  Scott's  early  friend,  the  Right  Hon.  William 
Dundas,  signified  that  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  find  some 
opportunity  of  advancing  the  fortunes  of  such  a  writer.  "  I 
remember,"  writes  this  gentleman,  "at  Mr.  Pitt's  table  in 
1805,  the  Chancellor  asked  me  about  you  and  your  then  situa- 
tion, and  after  I  had  answered  him,  Mr.  Pitt  observed — '  He 
can't  remain  as  he  is,'  and  desired  me  to  '  look  to  it.'  " — 
LocKHART.     Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  226. 

1  "  The  poet  has  undep^estimated  even  the  patent  and  tangi- 
ble evidence  of  his  success.  The  first  edition  of  the  Lay  was 
a  magnificent  quarto,  750  copies  ;  but  this  was  soon  exhaust- 


deductions  from  his  own  merits,  in  a  calm  attempt 
to  accoimt  for  his  popularity.* 

A  few  additional  remarks  on  the  author's  liter 
ary  attempts  after  this  period,  will  be  foimd  in 
the  Introduction  to  the  Poem  of  Marmion. 
Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830. 

ed,  and  there  followed  an  octavo  impression  of  1500  ;  in  1806, 
two  more,  one  of  2000  copies,  another  of  2250  ;  in  1807,  a  fifth 
edition  of  2000,  and  a  sixth  of  3000  ;  in  1808,  3550  ;  in  1809, 
3000 — a  small  edition  in  quarto  (the  ballads  and  lyrical  pieces 
being  then  annexed  to  it) — and  another  octavo  edition  of 
3250;  in  1811,  3000;  in  1812,  3000;  in  1816,  3000;  in  1823. 
1000.  A  fourteenth  impression  of  2000  foolscap  appeared  in 
1825;  and  besides  all  this,  before  the  end  of  1836,  11,000 
copies  had  gone  forth  in  the  collected  editions  of  his  poetica" 
Works.  Thus,  nearly  forty-four  thousand  copies  had  been  dis- 
posed of  in  this  country,  and  by  the  legitimate  trade  alone, 
before  he  superintended  the  edition  of  1830,  to  which  his  bio 
graphical  introductions  were  prefixed.  In  {he  history  of  Brit- 
ish Poetry  nothing  had  ever  equalled  the  demand  for  the  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel."— 2,i/e,  vol.  ii.  p.  226. 


16 


®l)e  Caij  rjf  tl)c  Cast  iHinstrcl. 


TO    THE 
RIGHT     UONORABLE 

CHARLES   EARL   OF  DALKEITH, 

THIS    POEM    IS    INSOUIBED    B7 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

The  Poem  now  offered  to  tlie  Public,  is  intended  to  illustrate  the  customs  and  manners  which  anaently 
prevailed  on  the  Borders  of  England  and  Scotland.  The  inhabitants  living  in  a  state  partly  pastoral 
and  partly  warlike,  and  combining  habits  of  constant  depredation  with  the  influence  of  a  rude  spirit  of 

I  chivalry,  were  often  engaged  in  scenes  highly  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament.  As  the  description  of 
scenery  and  manners  was  more  the  object  of  the  Author  than  a  combined  and  regular  narrative,  tfieplan 
of  the  Ancient  Metrical  Romance  was  adopted,  which  allows  greater  latitude,  in  this  respect,  than  would 
be  consistent  mth  the  dignity  of  a  regular  Poem}  The  same  inodel  offered  other  facilities,  as  it  permits 
an  occasional  alteration  of  tneasure,  which,  in  some  degree,  authorizes  the  change  of  rhythm  in  tlie  text? 
The  machinery,  also,  adopted  from  popular  belief  would  have  seemed  puerile  in  a  Poem  which  did  not 
partake  of  the  rudeness  of  the  old  Ballad,  or  Metrical  Romance. 
^For  these  reasons,  the  Poem  was  put  into  the  mouth  of  an  ancient  Minstrel,  the  last  of  the  race,  who, 
as  he  is  supposed  to  have  survived  the  Revolution,  might  have  caught  somewhat  of  the  refinement  of 
modern  poetry,  without  losing  the  simplicity  of  his  original  model.  The  date  of  the  Tale  itself  is  about 
the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  wlien  most  of  the  personages  actually  flourished.  Tlie  tiine  occupied 
by  the  action  is  Three  Nights  and  Three  Days? 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold, 
The  Minstrel  was  infirm  and  old ; 

1  "  The  chief  excellence  of  the  Lay  consists  in  the  beanty 
of  the  descriptions  of  local  scenery,  and  the  accurate  picture 
of  customs  and  marinen)  among  the  Scottish  Borderers  at  the 
lime  it  refers  to.  The  various  exploits  and  adventures  which 
occur  in  those  half-civilized  times,  when  the  bands  of  govern- 
ment were  so  loosely  twisted,  that  every  man  depended  for 
safety  more  on  his  own  arm,  or  the  prowess  of  his  chief,  than 
on  the  civil  power,  may  be  said  to  hold  a  middle  rank  between 
nistory  and  private  anecdote.  War  is  always  most  picturesque 
where  it  is  lea^t  formed  into  a  science  ;  it  has  most  variety  and 
interest  where  the  prowess  and  activity  of  individuals  has  most 
play  ;  and  the  nocturnal  expedition  of  Diomed  and  Ulysses  to 
leize  the  chariot  and  horses  of  Rhesus,  or  a  raid  of  the  Scotts 
or  the  Kerrs  to  drive  cattle,  will  make  a  better  figure  in  verse, 
than  all  the  battles  of  the  great  King  of  Prussia.  The  sleuth- 
dog,  the  beacon-fires,  the  .fedieood-azes,  the  moss-troopers, 
the  yell  of  the  slogan,  and  all  the  irregular  warfare  of  preda- 
tory expeditions,  or  feuds  of  hereditary  vengeance,  are  far  more 
captivating  to  the  imagination  than  a  park  of  artillery  and  bat- 
talions of  well-drilled  soldiers." — Jlnnual  Review,  1804. 

'  "  It  must  be  observed,  that  there  is  this  difference  between 
the  license  of  the  old  romancer,  and  that  assumed  by  Mr. 
Scott :  the  aberrations  of  the  first  are  usually  casual  and 
ilight ;  those  of  the  other,  premeditated  and  systematic.  The 
old  romancer  may  be  compared  to  a  man  who  trusts  his  reins 
to  his  horse ;  his  palfrey  often  blunders,  and  occasionally 
breaks  his  pace,  sometimes  from  vivacity,  oftcner  through  in- 


His  wither'd  cheek,  and  tresses  gray, 
Seem'd  to  have  known  a  better  day ; 
Tlie  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 

dolence.  Mr.  Scott  sets  out  with  the  intention  of  diversifyin/ 
liis  journey  by  every  variety  of  motion.  He  is  now  at  a  trot 
now  at  a  gallop  ;  nay,  he  sometimes  stops,  as  if  to 

'  Make  graceful  caprioles,  and  prance 
Between  the  pillars.' 

A  main  objection  to  this  plan  is  to  be  found  in  the  shock  whicl 
the  ear  receives  from  violent  and  abrupt  transitions.  On  thi 
other  hand,  it  must  be  allowed,  that  as  different  species  o* 
verse  are  individually  better  suited  to  the  expression  of  tlia 
different  ideas,  sentiments,  and  passions,  which  it  is  the  object 
of  poetry  to  convey,  the  happiest  efforts  may  be  produced  by 
adapting  to  the  subject  its  most  congenial  structure  of  verse." 
— Critical  Review,  1805. 

"  From  the  novelty  of  its  style  and  subject,  and  from  the 
spirit  of  its  execution,  Mr.  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel 
kindled  a  sort  of  enthusiasm  among  all  clas.ses  of  readers  ;  and 
the  concurrent  voice  of  the  public  assigned  to  it  a  very  exalted 
rank,  which,  on  more  cool  and  dispassionate  exaaiination,  its 
numerous  essential  beauties  will  enable  it  to  maintain.  For 
vivid  richness  of  coloring  and  truth  of  cos'roie,  many  of  its 
descriptive  pictures  stand  almost  unrivalled  ;  it  carries  us  back 
in  imagination  to  the  time  of  action  ;  and  we  wander  with  the 
poet  along  Twecdside,  or  among  the  wild  glades  of  Ettrick 
Forest."— Monthhj  Review,  May,  1808. 

3  •■  We  consider  this  poem  as  an  attempt  to  transfer  the  re- 
finemenls  of  modem  poetry  to  the  matter  and  the  maaner  of 


HANJO  I. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


h 


The  last  of  all  the  Bards  was  he, 

Who  sung  of  Border  chivalry ; 

For,  welladay  !   their  date  was  flp-d, 

His  tunefid  bretliren  aU  were  dead ; 

And  he,  neglected  and  oppress' d, 

Wish'd  to  be  witli  them,  and  at  rest.' 

No  more  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 

He  caroll'd,  light  as  lark  at  morn ; 

No  longer  courted  and  caress'd, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest, 

He  pour'd,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay: 

Old  times  were  clianged,  old  manners  gone  ; 

A  stranger  fill'd  the  Stuarts'  throne ; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  call'd  liis  harmless  art  a  crime.  / 

•^  ^ ^      ,-  ■  III!   iiMiijiiri-| "  I 

A  wandering  Harper,  scorn'd  and  poor,      / 
He  begg'd  his  bread  from  door  to  door,     | 
^nd  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 
The  harp,  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

He  pass'd  where  Newaj-k's^  stately  tower 

ifi«  ancient  metrical  romance.  The  author,  enamored  of  the 
lofty  visions  of"  chivalry,  and  partial  to  the  strains  in  which 
ihey  were  formerly  erahodied,  seems  to  have  employed  all  tlie 
resources  of  liis  genius  in  endeavoring  to  recall  them  to  the 
"avor  and  admiration  of  the  public,  and  in  adapting  to  the 
taste  of  modern  readers  a  species  of  poetry  which  was  once  the 
delight  of  the  courtly,  but  has  long  ceased  to  gladden  any  other 
eyes  than  those  of  the  scholar  and  the  antiquary.  This  is  a 
romance,  therefore,  composed  by  a  minstrel  of  the  present  day  ; 
or  such  a  romance  as  we  may  suppose  would  have  been  writ- 
ten in  modern  times,  if  that  style  of  com))0-ition  had  continued 
to  be  cultivated,  and  partakes  consecjuently  of  the  improve- 
ments which  every  branch  of  literature  has  received  since  the 
time  of  its  desertion." — Jeffrky,  Jlpril,  1805. 

1  "  Turning  to  the  northward,  Scott  showed  us  the  crags 
and  tower  of  Smailholme,  and  behind  it  the  shattered  frag- 
ment of  Erceldoune,  and  repeated  some  pretty  stanzas  as- 
cribed to  the  last  of  the  real  wandering  minstrels  of  this  dis- 
trict, by  name  Barn  : 

'  Sing  Erceldoune,  and  Cowdenknowes, 

Where  Homes  had  ance  commanding, 
And  Drygrange.  wi'  the  milk-white  ewes, 

'Twixt  Tweed  and  Leader  standing. 
The  bird  tliat  flees  through  Redpath  trees 

And  Gledswood  banks  each  morrow. 
May  cliaunt  and  sing — Swent  /reader's  haughs 

And  Bonvy  howms  of  Yarrow. 
'But  Minstrel  Burn  cannot  assuage 

His  grief  while  life  endureth. 
To  see  the  changes  of  this  age 

Which  fleeting  time  ]irocureth  ; 
For  mony  a  place  stands  in  hard  case. 

Where  blythe  folks  kent  nae  sorrow. 
With  Homes  that  dwelt  on  Leader  side. 

And  Scotts  that  dwelt  on  Yarrow.'  " 

htfe,  vol.  vi.  p.  78. 

2  "  This  is  a  massive  sjjnare  tower,  now  unroofed  and 
minous,  surrounded  by  an  outward  wall,  defended  by  round 
flanking  turrets.  It  is  most  beautifully  situated,  about  three 
miles  from  Selkirk,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Yarrow,  a  fierce 
and  precipitous  stream,  which  unites  with  the  Ettricke  about 
a  mile  beneath  the  castle. 
3 


Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  bh'chen  bower : 

Tlie  Minstrel  gaze'cTwith  wishful  eye — 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  nigh, 
With  hesitating  step  at  last. 
The  embattled  portal  arch  he  pass'd, 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oft  roll'd  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Duchess'  mark'd  his  weary  pace. 
His  tunid  mien,  and  reverend  face. 
And  bade  Iter  page  the  menials  tell. 
That  they  should  tend  the  old  man  wjgll : 
For  she  had  known  adversity. 
Though  born  in  such  a  higli  degree  ; 
In  pride  of  power,  in  beauty's  bloom. 
Had  wept  o'er  Monmouth's  bloody  tomb ! 

Wlien  kindness  had  liis  wants  supplied. 
And  the  old  man  was  gratified, 
Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride :    - 
And  he  beiian  to  talk  anon, 


"  Newark  C;ustle  was  built  by  James  II.  The  royal  arms, 
with  the  unicorn,  are  engraved  on  a  stone  in  the  western  side 
of  the  tower.  There  was  a  much  more  ancient  castle  in  its 
immediate  vicinity,  called  Auldwark,  founded,  it  is  said,  by 
Alexander  III.  Both  were  designed  for  the  royal  residence 
when  the  king  was  disposed  to  take  bis  pleasure  in  the  exten- 
sive forest  of  Ettricke.  Various  grants  occur  in  the  records 
of  the  Privy  Seal,  bestowing  the  keejiing  of  the  Castle  ol 
Newark  upon  ditTerent  barons.  There  is  a  popular  tradition 
that  it  was  once  seized,  and  held  out  by  the  outlaw  Murray, 
a  noted  character  in  song,  who  only  surrendered  Newark  ujion 
condition  of  being  made  hereditary  sherifT  of  the  lorest.  A 
long  ballad,  containing  an  account  of  this  transaction,  is  pre- 
served in  the  Border  Minstrelsy  (vol.  i.  p.  3G9).  Upon  the 
marriage  of  James  IV.  with  Margaret,  sister  of  Henry  VIII., 
the  Castle  of  Newark,  with  the  wliole  lorest  of  Ettricke,  was 
assigned  to  her  as  a  part  of  her  jointure  lands.  But  of  this  she 
could  make  little  advantage  ;  for,  after  the  death  of  her  hus 
band,  she  is  found  complaining  heavily,  that  Buccleuch  had 
seized  ujion  these  lands.  Indeed,  the  office  of  keei>er  was  lat- 
terly held  by  the  family  of  Buccleuch,  and  with  so  tirni  a 
grasp,  that  when  the  Forest  of  Ettricke  was  disparked,  they 
obtained  a  grant  of  the  Castle  of  Newark  in  property.  It  was 
within  the  courtyard  of  this  castle  that  General  Lesly  did  mili- 
tary execution  upon  the  prisoners  whom  he  had  taken  at  the 
battle  of  Philiphaugh.  The  castle  continued  to  be  an  occa- 
sional seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family  for  more  than  a  century  ; 
and  here,  it  is  said,  the  Duchess  of  Monmouth  and  Buccleuch 
was  brought  up.  For  this  reason,  j)robably,  Mr.  Scott  ha» 
chosen  to  make  it  the  scene  in  which  the  Lay  ol'  the  Last  Min- 
strel is  recited  in  her  presence,  and  for  her  aiiiuse-nont.'  — 
Schetky's  I/lustratiuns  of  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Jilinstrul. 

It  may  be  added  that  Bowhill  was  the  favorite  residence 
of  Lord  and  Lady  Dalkeith  (afterwards  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Buccleuch),  at  the  time  when  the  poem  was  composed  ;  the 
ruins  of  Newark  are  all  but  included  in  the  park  attached  to 
that  modern  seat  of  the  family ;  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  no 
doubt,  was  influenced  in  his  choice  of  the  locality,  by  the 
predilection  of  the  charming  lady  who  suggested  the  subject 
of  his  Lay  for  the  scenery  of  the  Yarrow — a  beautiful  walk  on 
wliose  banks,  leading  from  the  house  to  the  old  castle,  is  called, 
in  memory  of  her,  the  Ditckrss's  fValk. — Ed. 

'  Anne,  Duchess  of  Buccleuch  and  Monmouth,  representa- 


18 


iSCOTT'6  POETICAL  VVOIIKS. 


CANTO   I. 


1 


Of  gcMul  Earl  Francis,*  dead  mul  gone, 

And  of  Earl  Walter,'  rest  liiin,  God ! 

A  hruvcr  ne'er  to  battle  rode; 

All  I  huw  full  many  a  tale  he  knew, 

Of  tl.o  old  warriors  of  Hucclouch : 

And,  would  (li(!  noble  Puche^  deiini 

'Co  listen  to  an  old  man's  .strain, 

'riiou'^h  siifT  Ilia  luuin,  his  voice  though  weak, 

He  thouLrht  even  yet,  the  f^ooth  to  speak, 

That,  if  siie  loved  the  luirp  to  liear, 

Ilo  could  make  music  to  her  car. 

The  humble  boon  was  soon  obtain'd ; 
The  Aged  Miustrel  audience  gain'd. 
But,  when  he  reach'd  the  room  of  state, 
Where  t<he,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate, 
IV'rcluince  he  wish'd  liia  Ijoon  denied : 
For,  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried, 
Ilirf  trembling  hand  had  lost  tlic  e;xse, 
W  tiich  marks  security  to  please  ; 
And  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy  and  pain, 
Caine  wildcring  o'er  his  aged  brain — 
He  tried  to  tune  his  liarp  in  vain  !* 
Tlie  piiyuig  Duchess  priused  its  chime, 
And  gave  him  heart,  and  gave  Ixim  time, 
Till  every  string's  according  glee 
'Was  blended  into  harmony. 
And  then,  he  said,  he  would  full  fain 
He  could  recall  an  ancient  strain, 
lie  never  thought  to  sing  again. 
It  was  not  framed  for  village  churls. 
But  for  liigh  dames  and  mighty  carls; 
He  had  play'd  it  to  King  Clmrles  the  Good, 
>  Wlien  he  kept  court  in  Holyrood ; 
And  much  he  wish'd,  yet  fear'd,  to  try 
The  long-forgotten  melody. 
Amid  the  strings  his  fingers  stray'd, 
And  an  uncertain  warbling  made. 
And  oft  he  shook  liis  hoary  head 
But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild. 
The  old  man  raised  his  face,  and  smiled ; 

tlve  of  the  ancient  Lor(t%  of  Bacclench,  and  widow  of  the  nn- 
fortunatc  James,  Duke  of  Moiimoatli,  who  was  beheaded  in 
1685. 

1  Francis  Scott,  Earl  of  Bacclench,  father  of  the  Duchess. 

«  Walter,  Earl  of  Bacclench,  grandfatJier  of  the  Da(;hess, 
and  a  celebrated  warrior. 

3  "  Mt.  W.  Dundas  (see  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  226),  says, 
that  Pitt  rtpeated  the  linesi,  dt3cribi[^;  the  old  harper's  crnbar- 
raxsmcnt  when  asked  to  play,  and  said, — '  This  U  a  sort  of  thing 
which  I  might  have  expected  in  painting,  but  could  never  have 
fancied  capable  of  being  gi%'en  in  poetry.'  " 

*  "  In  tlio  very  first  rank  of  poetical  excellence,  we  are  in- 
clined to  place  the  introductory  and  concluding  lines  of  every 
canto,  in  which  the  ancient  strain  is  suspomlpd,  and  the  feel- 
ings and  sitnalion  of  the  mirjtrel  hims'-If  df-scribcd  in  the  words 
of  the  author.  The  elegance  and  the  beauty  of  this  setting, 
if  we  may  fo  call  it,  though  entirely  of  modem  workmanship, 
appears  to  ns  to  be  folly  more  worthy  of  ajlmiration  than  the 
bolder  relief  of  the  antiques  which  it  enclose*,  and  leads  us  to 
regret  that  the  author  should  have  loasled,  in  imitation  and 


And  lightcn'd  up  liis  faded  eye, 
Witli  all  a  jxict's  ecstasy ! 
In  varying  eadenct!,  soft  f>r  strong, 
He  swept  the  sounding  clinrds  along; 
The  present  scene,  the  future  lot, 
Ili.M  toils,  his  \       '  "  r^ut:     / 

('olddTm-Ten.  .  :,  ' 

In  the  full  tiile  of  song  were  lost ; 
Each  blank,  in  faithless  ineniorv  void, 
The  piit;t's  glowing  thought  Buj)j)lied; 


And,  while  his  luirp  responsive  rung, 
/Twas  thus  the  Latest  Mixsteel  sun, 


y 


^c  Can  of  tl)c  Cast  fllinstrcl. 


ca.nto  first. 


I. 

The  feast  was  over  in  Branksonio  tower,* 
And  the  Ladyc  had  gone  to  her  secret  bower ; 
Her  bower  that  was  guarded  by  word  and  by 

spell. 
Deadly  to  hear  and  deadly  to  roll — 
Jesu  JIaria,  shield  us  well  i*"^ 
No  living  wight,  save  the  Lridye  alone. 
Had  dared  to  cross  the  threshold  stone. 

IL 
The  tables  were  drawn,  it  was  idlesse  all; 

Knight,  and  page,  and  household  squire, 
Loitcr'd  tlirough  the  lofty  hall, 

Or  crowded  round  the  ample  firt; ; 
The  .stag-hounds,  weary  with  the  cliase. 

Lay  stretch'd  upon  the  rushy  floor. 
And  urged,  in  dreams,  the  forest  race, 

From  Teviot-stoue  to  Eskdale-moor.' 

antiquarian  researches,  so  much  of  those  powrrs  which  scrm 
fully  rijunl  to  the  task  of  raiding  him  an  ittdrpeudcnl  repu- 
tation."— Jeffrky. 

*  Sse  Appendix,  Note  A. 

«  "The  ancient  romance  owes  much  of  Its  interest  to  the 
lively  picture  which  it  affords  of  the  times  of  chivalry,  and  of 
tho?e  usages,  manners,  and  institutions,  which  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  a'ssociatc  in  our  minds,  with  a  certain  combina- 
tion of  magnificence  with  simplicity,  and  ferocity  wilh  roman- 
tic honor.  The  represcLtations  contained  in  those  perform- 
ances, however,  are,  forthc  most  part,  toorndcand  naked  to  give 
complete  satisfaction.  The  execution  is  always  extrenv'y  un- 
equal ;  and  though  the  %vritcr  sometimes  touches  npon  tlie  ap- 
propriate feeling  with  great  effect  and  felicity,  .still  this  appears 
to  be  done  more  by  accident  than  design  ;  and  he  wanders  away 
immediately  into  all  sorts  of  ridiculous  or  uninteresting  defiils, 
without  any  apparent  consciousness  of  incongruity.  These 
defects  Mr.  Srott  has  corrected  wilh  admirable  addr>.'ss  and 
judgment  in  the  greater  part  of  the  work  now  before  us  ;  and 
while  he  has  exhibited  a  very  striking  and  impressive  picture 


CANTO  I. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


19 


III. 

'Nine-and-t'W'enty  knights  of  fame 

Ilung  their  sliields  in  Brankaome-Hall  ;* 
Nine-and-twenty  squires  of  name 

Brought  them  their  steeds  to  bower  from  stall ; 
Nioie-and-twenty  yeomen  tall 
Waited,  duteous,  on  them  all : 
They  were  aU  knights  of  mettle  true, 
Kinsmen  to  the  bold  Buccleuch. 

IV. 
Ten  of  them  were  sheathed  in  steel, 
With  belted  sword,  and  spur  on  heel : 
They  quitted  not  their  harness  bright, 
Neither  by  day,  nor  yet  by  night : 

Tliey  lay  down  to  rest. 

With  corslet  laced, 
PiUow'd  on  buckler  cold  and  hard ; 

They  carved  at  the  meal 

With  gloves  of  steel. 
And  they  drank  the  red  wine  thi-ough  the  helmet 
barr'd. 


Ten  squires,  ten  yeomen,  mail-clad  men, 
Waited  the  beck  of  the  warders  ten ; 
Thirty  steeds,  both  fleet  and  wight, 
Stood  saddled  in  stable  day  and  night, 
Barbed  with  frontlet  of  steel,  I  trow, 
And  Avith  Jedwood-axe  at  saddlebow ;' 
A  hundred  more  fed  free  m  stall : — 
Such  was  the  custom  of  Branksome-HaU. 

VL 

Why  do  these  steeds  stand  ready  dight  ? 
Why  watch  tliese  warriors,  arm'd,  by  night  ? — 
They  watch,  to  hear  the  blood-liound  baying  : 
They  watch  to  hear  the  war-horn  braying ; 
To  see  St.  George's  red  cross  stre:miing. 
To  see  the  midnight  beacon  gleaming : 
Tliey  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  gmle, 

of  the  old  feudal  usages  and  institutions,  he  has  shown  still 
greater  talent  in  engrafting  upon  those  descriptioas  all  the  ten- 
der or  magnanimous  emotions  to  which  the  circumstances  of 
the  story  naturally  give  rise.  Without  impairing  the  antique 
air  of  the  whole  piece,  or  violating  the  simplicity  of  tiia  bal- 
lad style,  he  has  contpved,  in  this  way,  to  impart  a  much 
greater  dignity  and  more  powerful  interest  to  liis  production, 
than  could  ever  be  obtained  by  the  unskilful  and  unsteady 
delineations  of  the  old  romancers.  Notliing,  we  think,  can 
afforJ  a  finer  illustration  of  this  remark,  than  the  opening 
stanzas  of  the  whole  posm  ;  they  transport  us  at  once  into  the 
days  of  knightly  daring  and  feudal  hostility,  at  the  same  time 
that  they  suggest,  in  a  very  interesting  way,  all  those  softer 
sentiments  which  arise  out  of  some  parts  of  the  description." 
— Jeffrey. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  D,  and  compare  these  stanzas  with 
She  description  of  Jamie  Telfer's  appearance  at  Brauksome. 


Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome^s_lordly  towers, 
From  Warkworth,  or  Nawortli,  or  merry  Carlisle.* 

VII. 

Such  is  the  custom  of  BranlisoiQe--IIalli — * 

Many  a  valiant  knight  is  here ; 
But  he,  the  chieftain  of  tiiem  all, 
Ilis  sword  hangs  rusting  on  the  wall, 
Beside  his  broken  spear 
Bards  long  shall  tell  • 

How^Lord  Walt^r.J;iy2  ' 

When  startled  burghers  fled,  afar,  ' 
Tlie  furies  of  the  Border  war  ; 
When  the  streets  of  liigh  Dunedin* 
Saw  lances  gleam,  and  falchions  redden, 
And  heard  the  slogan's''  deadly  yell- 
Then  the  Chief  of  Branksome  feU. 

VIII. 

jCan  piety  the  discord  heal,  \ 

/     Or  stanch  the  death-feud's  ermiity  ? 
.'Can  Cliiistitm  lore,  can  patriot  zeal, 
/      Can  love  of  blessed  charity  ? 

^iSX-^'^^^^y  *°  ^^^^^  '^oly  shrine. 

In  mutu.al  pilgrimage,  they  drew ;    / 
Implored,  in  vam,  the  grace  divine 

For  chiefs,  their  own  red  falchions  slew: 
While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 

Wliile  Ettrick  boasts  the  luie  of  Scott, 
Tlie  .slaughter 'd  chiefs,  tlie  mortal  jar. 
The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war. 

Shall  never,  never  be  forgot  ?' 

IX. 

In  sorrow  o'er  Lord  Walter's  bier 

The  warlike  foresters  had  bent ; 
■  And  many  a  flower,  and  many  a  tear, 

Old  Teviot's  maids  and  matrons  lent ; 
But  o'er  her  wsirrior's  bloody  bier 
Tlie  Ladye  dropp'd  nor  flower  nor  tear  !' 

Hall  (Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  5),  to  claim  the  protection 
of  "  Anld  Buccleuch" — and  the  ensuing  scene  (page  9). 

"  The  Scotts  they  rade,  the  Scotts  they  ran, 
Sae  starkly  and  sae  steadilie  ! 
And  aye  the  ower-word  o'  the  thrang 

Was — '  Rise  for  Brauksome  readilie,'  "  Sio. 

Compare  also  the  Ballad  of  Kinmont  Willie  (vol.  ii.  p.  53). 

"  Now  word  >5  gane  to  the  bauld  keeper, 
In  Branksome  ha'  where  that  he  lay,"  &c. — Ei>. 

^  There  are  not  many  pa-jsages  in  English  poetry  more  im- 
pressive than  some  parts  of  Stanzas  vii.  viii.  ix. — Jeffrey. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 
«  Edinburgh. 
'  The  war-cry,  or  gathering-word,  of  a  Border  clan. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

•  Orig.  (1st  Edition,)  "The  Ladye  dropp'd  nor  tiffh  not 


U  J  iwlajU-ijA  -LJ.J44M.  J 


20 


isUOTTS  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


CANTO  I. 


Vengeance,  deop-brwuling  o'er  the  hIjuii, 

Iliul  lock'd  the  source  of  softer  woe ; 
AikI  litiriiiii^'  pride,  luiil  hii^li  ilLsdiiiii, 

l-'orbade  the  risiiiij  tear  to  How; 
Until,  timid  liifi  sorrowing  chin, 

Her  son  lisp'd  IV'nu  tlio  nurse's  kneo — 
"And  if  I  Uve  to  be  a  intui, 

My  father's  deatli  revenged  -sliall  be  I" 
llien  fa.st  the  niotlier's  tears  did  seek 
To  dew  the  iiihuit's  kindhn;^  clieek. 

X. 

All  liMisc  her  neglig^cnt  attire, 

All  \iKi»e  her  golden  ludr, 
lliiri'^  Margaret  o'er  her  slaughter'd  sire, 

An('  wept  in  wild  dt;sp;dr  : 
But  n(  ♦  alone  the  bitter  tear 

Had  filiid  grief  supplied  ; 
For  hopeless  love,  and  anxious  fear, 

Had  lent  their  mingled  tide : 
Nor  in  her  mother's  alter'd  eye 
Dared  she  to  l(K»k  fur  sympathy. 
Her  lover,  'gainst  her  father's  chin, 

With  Carr  in  arms  had  stood,' 
M'licn  Mathouse-burn  to  Melrose  ran 

All  purple  with  their  blood  ; 
And  well  she  knew,  her  mother  dread. 
Before  Lpri.l  C'ranstoun  she  should  wed,* 
Would  see  her  on  her  Hying  bed. 

XI. 
Of  noble  race  the  Ladye  came; 
Her  father  was  a  clerk  of  fame, 

Of  Bethune's  line  of  Picardie ;' 
He  Icarn'd  the  art  that  none  may  name. 

In  I'adua,  far  beyond  tlie  sea.* 
Men  said,  he  changed  his  mortal  frame 

By  feat  of  magic  mystery  ; 
For  when,  in  studious  m(M)d,  he  paced 

St.  Andrew's  cloister'd  hall,' 
His  form  no  darkening  sliadow  traced 

Upon  the  sunny  wall !' 

XII. 
And  of  his  skill,  as  bards  avow, 

He  tauglit  that  Ladye  fair. 
Till  to  lier  bidding  slie  could  bow 

The  viewless  forms  of  air.' 
And  now  she  sits  in  secret  bower. 
In  f)ld  Lord  David's  western  tower. 
And  listens  to  a  heavy  sound, 
Tliat  moans  the  mossy  turrets  round. 


Is  it  the  roar  of  Teviot's  tide, 

lliat  eliafcs  against  the  scaur's"  red  side  ? 

Is  it  the  wind  that  swings  thu  oaks/ 

Is  it  the  echo  fnini  the  rocks  i 

What  may  it  be,  the  lieavy  sound, 

That  momw  old  Branksonie's  turrets  rouud  I 

XIII. 

At  the  sullen,  moiuiing  sound. 

The  ban-dogs  bay  luid  howl; 
And,  from  the  turrets  rouml. 

Loud  whoops  the  startled  owl. 
Li  the  hall,  both  squire  and  knight 

Swore  that  a  storm  wius  near. 
And  looked  forth  tt)  view  the  niglit ; 

But  the  night  was  still  and  clear! 

XIV. 
From  the  sound  of  Teviot's  tide, 
eluding  wilh  the  mountain's  side. 
From  the  groan  ol  the  wind-swung  oalc, 
From  the  sullen  eclui  of  ihe  rock. 
From  the  voice  of  tlu;  coming  storm, 

The  Ladye  knew  it  well ! 
It  was  the  Sjjiirit  ofthe  Flood  tliat  spfike, 

Axid  he  called  on~tIie"Sljirit  of  the 


XV. 

UIVEU  SriRIT. 

"  Sleep'st  thou,  brother  ? " — 

MOUNTAIN  SriUIT.         ■- 

— "  Brother,  nay — 
On  my  hills  the  moonbeams  play. 
From  Cnuk-cro.ss  to  Skelfhill-pen, 
By  every  rill,  in  every  glen, 

Merry  elves  tlieir  morris  pacing. 

To  aerial  minstrelsy, 
Emeralil  rings  on  brown  heath  tracing. 

Trip  it  deft  and  merrily. 
Up,  and  mark  their  nimble  feet  1 
Up,  and  list  their  music  sweet  1" — 

XVL 

RIVKU  SIMHIT. 

"Tears  of  an  imprison'd  maiden 
Mix  with  my  polluted  stream ; 

Maigaret  of  Branksoine,  sorrow-laden, 
Moiuns  beneath  the  mo<jn's  pale  beam. 

Tell  me,  thou,  who  view'st  the  stars. 

When  shall  cease  tliese  feudal  Jara? 

What  sliall  be  the  maiden's  fate? 

Who  shall  be  the  maiden's  mate  ?" — 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  G.     (The  name  is  .«pcU  dilTcTently  by  *  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

Ihe  various  familiefl  wJio  bear  it.     Carr  is  sclecled,  not  as  tiio  I       ''  First  Edition — "  SI.  Krntipcrne's  ball." — St.  Mungo,  a 

Kentigeme,  is  tbe  patron  saint  of  Qlasgoia. 
•  .-'ee  Appendix.  Note  L. 


■nool  correct,  bul  as  the  most  poetical  reading.) 
>  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 
See  Appendix,  Note  1. 


'  Sw  Appemhx,  Note  .\I. 

B  Scaur,  a  |ire;:ipitous  bank  of  earth. 


UANTO  I. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


21 


XVII. 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

"  Artliur's  slow  waiii  his  course  doth  roll, 

In  utter  darkness  round  the  pole ; 

The  Nothern  Bear  lowers  black  and  grim ; 

Orion's  studded  belt  is  dim; 

Twinkling  faint,  and  distant  far, 

Shimmers  tlu-ough  mist  each  planet  star ; 

111  may  I  read  their  liigh  decree ! 
But  no  kind  influence  deign  they  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide,  and  Branksome's  tower, 

Till  pride  be  quell'd,,  fmUflY,"  ife.ifefigr 

XVIII. 

The  unearthly  voices  ceast, 

And  the  heavy  sound  was  still ; 
It  died  on  the  river's  breast, 

It  died  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 
But  round  Lord  David's  tower 

The  sound  still  floated  near ; 
For  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  bower, 

And  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  ear. 
She  raised  her  stately  head, 

And  her  heart  throbb'd  high  with  pride : — 
"  Your  mountains  shall  bend, 
And  your  streams  ascend. 

Ere  Margaret  be  our  foeman's  bride  !"1 

XIX. 

The  Ladye  sought  the  lofty  haU, 

Where  many  a  bold  retainer  lay, 
And,  with  jocund  din,  among  them  all. 

Her  son  pursued  his  infant  play. 
A  fancied  moss-trooper,'  the  boy 

The  truncheon  of  a  spear  bestrode, 
And  round  the  hall,  right  merrily. 

In  mimic  foray^  rode. 
Even  bearded  knights,  in  anns  grown  old. 

Share  in  liis  froUc  gambols  bore. 
Albeit  their  hearts,  of  rugged  mould. 

Were  stubborn  as  the  steel  they  wore. 
For  the  gray  warriors  prophesied, 

How  the  brave  boy,  in  futm'e  war, 
Should  tame  the  Unicorn's  pride,' 

Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star.* 

XX. 

The  Ladye  forgot  her  purpose  high. 

One  moment,  and  no  more ; 
One  moment  gazed  with  a  mother's  eye, 

As  she  paused  at  the  arched  door : 
Then,  from  amid  the  armed  train. 
She  call'd  to  her  William  of  Deloraine.* 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

*  Foray,  a  predatory  inroad. 

3  Tills  line,  of  which  the  metre  appeai-s  defective,  would 
nave  its  full  complement  of  feet  according  to  the  pronnnciation 
of  the  poet  himself — as  all  who  were  familiar  with  his  ntter- 
?n»  of  the  letter  r  will  bear  testimony. — Bd. 


XXL 

A  stark  moss-trooping  Scott  was  he, 
As  e'er  couch'd  Border  lance  by  knee : 
Through   Solway   sands,   thi'ough  TaiTaa 

moss. 
Blindfold,  he  knew  the  paths  to  cross; 
By  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds, 
Had  bafiled  Percy^best  blood-hoimds  ;* 
In  Eske  or  Liddel,  fords  were^none, 
But  he  would  ride  them,  one  by  one  • 
Alike  to  him  was  time  or  tide, 
December's  snow,  or  July's  piide : 
Alike  to  liim  was  tide  or  time, 
Moonless  midnight,  or  matin  prime : 
Steady  of  heart,  and  stout  of  hand, 
As  ever  drove  prey  from  Cumberland ; 
Five  times  outlawed  had  he  been. 
By  England's  King  and  Scotland's  Queen. 

XXIL 
"  Sir  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need. 
Mount  thee  on  the  wightest  steed ; 
Spare  not  to  spur,  nor  stint  to  ride. 
Until  thou  come  to  fair  Tweedside ; 
And  in  Melrose's  holy  pile 
Seek  thou  the.Monk  of  St.  Min-y'g  gi«1p. 

Greet  the  Father  well  from  me  ; 
Say  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 

And  to-night  he  shall  watch  with  thee, 
To  win  the  treasiu-e  of  the  tomb : 
For  this  will  be  St.  Michael's  night,  f 

And,  thougfiTstars  be  (Urn,  the  moon  is  bright ;  ' 
And  the  Cross,  of  bloody  red. 
Will  point  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead. 

XXIIL 

"  Wliat  he  gives  thee,  see  thou  keep ; 
Stay  not  thou  for  food  or  sleep  : 
Be  it  scroll,  or  be  it  book. 
Into  it.  Knight,  thou  must  not  look  ; 
If  thou  readest,  thou  art  lorn ! 
Better  hadst  thou  ne'er  been  bom." — 

XXIV. 

"  0  swiftly  can  speed  my  dapple-gray  steed. 

Which  driuks  of  the  Teviot  clear ; 
Ere  break  of  day,"  the  Warrior  'gan  say, 

"  Again  will  I  be  here  : 
And  safer  by  none  may  thy  en-and  be  done, 

Tlian,  noble  dame,  by  me ; 
Letter  nor  line  know  I  never  a  one, 

Wer't  my  neck-verse  at  Hairibee."" 

<  See  Appendix,  Note  O.  ^  Ibid.  Note  P. 

6  Ibid.  Note  a. 

'  Hairibee,  the  place  of  executing  the  Border  marauders  at 
Carlisle.  The  neck-verse,  is  the  beginning  of  the  51st  Psalm, 
Miserere  mci,  &c.,  anciently  read  by  criminals  claiming  the 
benefit  of  clergy.     ["In  the  rongh  but  spirited  sketch  of  the 


22 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


XXV. 

Soon  in  liLs  saddle  siite  he  fiiat, 
And  soon  the  .steep  descent  he  pa.'*t, 
Soon  cross'd  the  sounding  barbiain,' 
Anil  soon  the  Teviot  nide  he  woiu 
KiLstwurd  the  wooded  path  he  rodo, 
CJreiii  liazels  o'er  his  basnet  no<l; 
He  pasis'd  the  Peel'  of  GoKliluiid, 
And  cros.s'd  old  PorthwickV  roarini^  str:mJ  ; 
Dimly  he  view'd  the  Mont-hill's  nuuind, 
Whi-re  Druid  shades  still  flitted  round ;' 
In  Hawick  twinkled  many  a  light; 
Ikliind  him  soon  they  set  in  niyht ; 
And  soon  ho  spurr'd  I'U  courser  keen 
Beneath  the  tower  of  Hazcldean.* 

XXVI. 
The  clattering  hoofs  tlie  watchnuii  mark  ; — 
"  Stand,  ho  !  thou  courier  of  the  dark." — 
"  For  Branksome,  ho !"  the  knight  rejoin'd, 
And  left  the  frien<lly  tower  bchiml. 
He  turn'd  hiin  now  from  Xeviotside, 

And,  guided  by  the  tinkling  rill. 
Northward  the  dark  ascent  did  ride. 
And  gain'd  the  moor  at  Horslielull ; 
Broad  on  the  left  before  him  lay, 
For  many  a  mile,  the  Roman  way.* 

XXVIL 

A  moment  now  he  .=lack'd  his  speed, 
\  moment  breathed  his  panting  steed  ; 
Drew  saddle-girth  and  corslet-band, 
And  loosen'd  in  the  slieath  liis  brand. 
On  Minto-crags  the  moonbeams  glint," 
^\niere  Barnliill  hew'd  his  bed  of  flint ; 
Who  flung  his  outlaw'd  limbs  to  rest. 
Where  falcons  hang  their  giddy  nest, 
Mid  cliffs,  from  whence  his  eagle  eye 
For  many  a  league  liis  prey  could  spy ; 
Cliffs,  doubling,  on  their  echoes  borne, 
'Flic  terrors  of  the  robber's  horn  ? 
Chffs,  which,  for  many  a  later  year, 
The  warbhng  Doric  reed  shall  hear, 
Wlien  some  sad  swain  shall  teach  the  grove, 
Ambition  is  no  cure  for  love  ! 

XXVHL 
Unchallenged,  tbence  pass'd  Delorainc, 
To  ancient  Riddel's  fair  domain,' 
Where  Aill,  from  mountains  freed, 

maranilinj  Borderer,  and  in  the  naivete  of  hia  last  declaration, 
the  reailer  will  recognize  some  of  the  most  striking  features  of 
the  ancient  ballad." — CritUai  Jicniew.'] 

■  Barbican,  the  defence  of  the  outer  gate  of  a  feudal  castle. 

'  Peel,  a  Borler-tower. 

'   Sec  Appendix,  Note  R. 

*  See  Appenilix,  Note  S. 
,  5  An  ancient  Roman  road,  crossing  through   part  of  Iloi- 
•Dr^hshire. 


Down  from  the  lakes  did  raving  come; 
Each  wave  was  crested  with  tawny  foym, 

Like  the  niimo  of  a  chestnut  steeil. 
In  vain  !  no  torrent,  deep  or  broad, 
Might  bar  the  bold  moss-trooper's  road. 

XXIX. 

At  the  first  plunge  the  horse  sunk  low, 

And  the  water  broke  o'er  the  saddlelww: 

Above  the  foiuning  tide,  I  ween. 

Scarce  half  the  charger's  neck  was  seen ; 

For  ho  was  barded"  from  counter  to  tail, 

And  the  rider  was  armed  complete  in  mail ; 

Never  heavier  man  and  horse 

Stemm'd  a  n)iili>ii,'ht  torrent's  force. 

lite  warrior's  very  plinne,  I  say 

Was  daggled  by  the  da.sliing  spray ; 

Yet  through  "good  heart,  and  Our  Ladye's  grace, 

At  length  he  gain'd  the  lauding  place. 

XXX. 

Now  Bowden  Moor  the  march-man  won, 

And  sternly  shook  his  plumed  head, 
As  glanced  his  eye  o'er  Halidon  ;' 

For  on  liis  soul  the  slaaghtcr  red 
Of  that  unhallow'd  mom  arose, 
When  first  the  Scott  and  Carr  were  foes ; 
WHien  royaTJames  beheld  the  fray. 
Prize  to  the  victor  of  the  day ; 
When  Home  and  Douglas,  in  the  van. 
Bore  down  Buccleuch's  retiring  clan, 
Till  gallant  Ces.«ford's  heart-blood  dear 
Rcek'd  on  dark  Elliot's  Border  spear. 

XXXL 

In  bitter  mood  he  spurred  fast, 

And  soon  the  hated  heath  was  past ; 

And  far  beneath,  in  lustre  wan. 

Old  Melros'  rose,  and  fair  Tweed  ran : 

Like  some  tall  rock  with  licliens  gray, 

Seem'd  dimly  huge,  the  dark  Abbaye. 

When  Ha-wick  he  pass'd,  had  curfew  rung, 

Now  midnight  lauds'"  were  in  Melrose  sung 

Tlie  sound,  upon  the  fitfid  gale. 

In  solemn  wise  did  rise  and  fail, 

Like  that  wild  harp,  whose  magic  tone 

Is  waken'd  by  the  winds  alone. 

But  when  Melrose  he  reach' d,  'twas  silence  all ; 

He  meetly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall, 

And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  wall." 

'■  See  Appendix,  Note  T.  '  Ibid.  Noic  U. 

8  Barded,  or  barbed, — applied  to  a  horse  accoutred  with  dfr 
fen*ivc  armor. 

»  Halidon  waa  an  ancient  seat  of  the  Kerrs  of  Cessford,  now 
demolished.  About  a  (juarter  of  a  mile  to  the  northward  lay 
the  field  of  battle  betwixt  Buccleuch  and  Angus,  which  In 
called  to  this  day  the  Skirmish  Field. — See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

'"  Ijavds,  the  midnight  service  of  the  Catliolic  church. 

"  See  Ap|iendix.  Note  V. 


CANTO  II. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


23 


Here  paused  tlie  harp ;  and  with  its  swell 

The  Master's  fire  and  courage  feU ; 

Dejectedly,  and  low,  he  bow'd, 

And,  gazing  timid  on  the  crowd, 

He  seem'd  to  seek,  in  every  eye, 

If  they  approved  liis  minstrelsy ; 

And,  diffident  of  present  praise, 

Somewhat  he  spoke  of  former  days,         1 

And  how"oI3^^jjvnd  wandVm^  I 

Ha3~3one  Ks  hand  and  harp  some  wrong.! 

Tlie  Duchess,  and  her  daughters  fair,         ' 

And  every  gentle  lady  there. 

Each  after  each,  in  due  degree. 

Gave  praises  to  his  melody  ; 

His  hand  was  true,  his  voice  was  clear, 

And  much  they  long'd  the  rest  to  hear. 

Encom-aged  thus,  the  Aged  Man, 

After  meet  rest,  again  began. 


(l\]t  £a«  of  tl]c  Cast  iHinstrcl. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


I. 

If  thou  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright,* 

Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight;         ^ 

For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 

Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  gray. 

"When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 

And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white ; 

"When  the  cold  Ught's  uncertain  shower 

Streams  on  the  ruin'd  central  tower ; 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory  ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery. 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  hve  and  die  •,' 

When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave. 

And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave. 

Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while — 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruin'd  pile  ;' 

And,  home  retm-ning,  soothly  swear, 

Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair ! 


IL 

Short  halt  did  Deloraine  make  there ; 
Little  reck'd  he  of  the  scene  so  fan* : 
With  dagger's  liilt,  on  the  wicket  strong. 
He  struck  full  loud,  and  struck  full  long. 

1  "  In  the  description  of  Melrose,  which  introdaces  the  Sec- 
ond Canto,  the  reader  will  observe  how  skilfully  the  Author 
calls  in  the  aid  of  sentimental  associations  to  heighten  the  effect 
of  the  picture  which  he  presents  to  the  eye." — Jeffrey. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

f  David  I.  of  Scotland,  purchased  the  reputation  of  sanctity, 
Oy  lounding,  and  liberally  endowing,  not  only  the  monastery 
of  Melrose,  but  tIios»  of  Kelso,  Jedburgh,  and  many  others  ; 


The  porter  hurried  to  the  gate — 
"  "Wlio  knocks  so  loud,  and  knocks  so  late  ?" 
"  From  Branksome,  I,"  the  warrior  cried ; 
And  straight  the  wicket  open'd  wide : 
For  Branksome's  Cliiefs  had  in  battle  stood. 

To  fence  the  rights  of  fair  Melrose ; 
And  lands  and  hvings,  mruiy  a  rood. 

Had  gifted  the  shrine  for  their  souls'  repose.* 

in. 

Bold  Deloraine  his  errand  said ; 
The  porter  bent  his  humble  head ; 
With  torch  in  hand,  and  feet  unshod, 
And  noiseless  step,  the  path  he  trod :  | 
The  arched  cloister,  far  and  wide. 
Rang  to  the  warrior's  clanking  stride, 
Till,  stooping  low  his  lofty  crest. 
He  enter'd  the  ceU  of  the  ancient  priest, 
And  lifted  his  barred  aventayle,* 
To  hail  the  Monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle. 

IV. 

"  The  Ladye  of  Branksome  greets  thee  by  me ; 

Says,  that  the  foted  hour  is  come. 
And  that  to-night  I  shall  watch  with  thee, 

To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb." 
From  sackcloth  couch  the  monk  arose, 

With  toil  his  stiffen'd  limbs  he  rear'd ; 
A  hundred  years  had  flung  their  snows 

On  his  thin  locks  and  floating  beard. 

V 
And  strangely  on  the  Knight  look'd  he. 

And  his  blue  eyes  gleam'd  wild  and  wide  ; 
"  And,  darest  thou.  Warrior !  seek  to  see 

Wliat  heaven  and  hell  ahke  would  liide  ? 
My  breast,  in  belt  of  uon  pent. 

With  shirt  of  hair  and  scourge  of  thorn ; 
For  tln-eescore  years,  in  penance  spent. 

My  knees  those  flinty  stones  have  worn ; 
Yet  all  too  Uttle  to  atone 
For  knowing  what  should  ne'er  be  known. 

Wouldst  thou  thy  every  future  year 
In  ceaseless  prayer  and  penance  drie, 

Yet  wait  thy  latter  end  with  fear — ■ 
Then,  daring  Warrior,  follow  me  I" — 

VI. 
"  Penance,  father,  will  I  none ; 
Prayer  know  I  hardly  one ; 

which  led  to  the  well-known  observation  of  his  gnccessor,  that 
he  was  a  sore  saint  for  the  crown. 

*  The  Bucclench  family  were  great  benefactors  to  the  Abbey 
of  Melrose.  As  early  as  the  reign  of  Robert  II.,  Robert  Scott, 
Baron  of  Murdieston  and  Raiikleburn  (now  Buccleuch),  gare 
to  the  monks  the  lands  of  Hinkcry,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  pro  sa- 
lute onirrKB  sua:. — Chariularij  of  Jilclrose,  28th  May,  1415. 

'  Aventayle,  visor  of  the  helmet. 


24 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II. 


For  njius.s  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tiirry, 

Save  to  patter  lut  Ave  Mary, 

AVlieii  I  riile  oil  a  Bunlor  foray.* 

Other  prayer  can  I  none  ; 

So  8])ov(J  nie  my  erriuul,  and  let  mo  bo  gone." — 

\  IL 
Afjain  on  tlie  lvni;,'ht  lookVl  the  Churchman  old, 

And  attain  lie  >ii,'lu'd  h-s-ivily ; 
?'or  lie  had  iiiniself  l)een  a  warrior  bold, 

And  fought  in  Spain  and  Italy. 
And  lie  thought  on  tho  day.-*  tliat  were  long 

since  by 
"When  lu3  limbs  wore  strong,  and  his  courage  was 

hi-li  :— 
Now,  slow  and  famt,  he  led  the  way, 
Wliorc,  cloister'd  round,  tho  garden  lay  ; 
'Hie  [(illar'd  arches  were  over  their  head, 
And  benoafh  their  feet  were  the  bones  of  tho 
dead.^ 

VIII. 
Spreading  herbs,  and  flowerets  bright, 
GlistenVl  with  the  dew  of  night ; 
Nor  herb,  nor  floweret,  glisten'd  there, 
But  wan  carved  in  the  cloister-arches  as  fair. 
Tlie  Monk  gazed  long  on  the  lovely  moon. 

Then  uito  the  night  he  looked  forth ; 
And  red  and  bright  the  streamers  light 

Were  dimcing  in  the  glowing  north. 
So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

Tlie  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start  ;* 
Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. 
He  1-niew,  by  flie  streamers  that  shot  so  bright, 
That  spirits  were  riding  the  northern  light. 

IX. 
By  a  steel-clenched  postern  door, 

Tliey  cnter'd  now  the  cliancel  t:dl ; 
Tlie  darken'd  roof  rose  liigh  aloof 

On  pillars  lofty  and  light  and  small : 
The  key-stone,  that  lock'd  each  ribbed  aisle. 
Was  a  fleur-de-lys,  or  a  quatrc-feuille  ; 
TTie  corbells*  were  carved  grotesque  and  grim ; 
And  the  pillars,  with  cluster'd  shafts  so  trim, 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

'  The  cloUtciB  were  frequently  used  as  places  of  scpnlture. 
An  iniiance  occnrs  in  Drj-burgli  Abbey,  where  the  cloister  has 
I  I  iiiscription,  bearing,  ffic  jacet /rater  Archibaldua. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

•  CorbeJU,  the  projections  from  which  the  arches  spring, 
Bsnally  cnl  in  a  fanta.siic  face,  or  mask. 

•  "  W\Oi  plinUi  and  with  capital  flourishM  around." 

First  Edition. 

•  Sec  Appendix,  Note  Z.  '  Ibid.  NofC!  A.  "  Ibid.  Note  2  B. 

•  "  liombay,  SrptrmberHo,  1805. — 1  began  last  niglit  torcail 
IValter  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  as  part  of  my  even- 
ing leadings  to  my  children.  I  was  extremely  delighted  by  tho 
•>oetical  beauty  of  some  passages,  the  Abbey  of  Melrose  for 


"With  biwe  luul  witli  capital  flourish'd  around,' 
Seeni'd  bundles  of  huices  wliich  garlands   had 
bound. 

X. 
Full  many  a  scutcheon  and  kiiiiier  riven, 
SlifMik  to  tlie  cold  night-wind  of  heaven, 

Around  tlie  screened  altar's  pale ; 
And  there  the  dying  lainj>-i  did  burn. 
Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn, 
0  gallmit  Chief  of  Otterbunie  !* 

And  thine,  dark  Kniglit  of  Liddcsdalc  !' 
O  fadhig  honors  of  the  dead ! 
0  high  ambition,  lowly  laid  1 

XI. 
Tlie  moon  on  the  cast  oriel  shone* 
Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone, 

By  foliaged  tracery  combined  ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  fiury's  liand 
'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  ozier  wand. 

In  many  a  freakish  knot,  had  twined ; 
Tlicn  framed  a  spell,  when  tiie  work  was  done, 
And  cliimged  the  willow-wreaths  to  stone. 
The  sUver  light,  so  pale  and  faint, 
Siiow'd  many  a  prophet,  and  many  a  saint, 

Wliose  image  on  the  glass  was  dyed ; 
Full  in  the  midst,  his  Cross  of  Red 
Triumphant  Michael  brandished. 

And  trampled  the  Apostate's  pride. 
Tlie  moonboaiTi  ki^Ji^'d  tliU  liulv  pIliiL', 
And  tlirew  on  the  paveniciit  a  bloody  stil.'" ' 

XIL 

They  sate  them  down  on  a  marble  stone," — 

(A  Scottisli  monarch  slept  below) ; 
llius  spoke  the  Monk,  in  solemn  tone  : — 

"  I  was  not  always  a  man  of  woe  ; 
For  Paynim  countries  I  have  trod. 
And  fought  beneath  the  Cross  of  God : 
Now,  strange  to  my  eyes  thine  arms  appear, 
And  their  iron  clang  soimds  strange  to  my  ear. 

XIII. 
"  In  these  far  climes  it  was  my  lot 
To  meet  the  wondrous  Micliael  Scott ;" 

exami>le,  and  most  of  the  prologues  to  the  cantos.  The  co» 
tumc,  too,  is  atlmirable.  The  tone  is  antique ;  and  it  migiil 
be  read  for  instruction  as  a  picture  of  the  manncrK  of  the  mid 
die  ages."  "A'oBrmicr2,  1805. — We  are  perfectly  enchanted 
with  Walter  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  He  is  sunly 
the  man  born  at  last  to  translate  the  Iliad.  Are  not  the  pood 
parti  of  his  poem  the  most  lIoniLric  of  any  thing  in  our  lan- 
guage? There  are  tedious  passages,  and  bo  are  llaro  in  Ho- 
mer."— Sir  James  Mackintosh,  Life.  vol.  i.  pp.  254,  2fr.!. 

'<>  A  large  marble  stone,  in  the  ch<incel  of  Mtflrose,  is  pointed 
out  as  the  monument  of  Alexander  II.,  one  of  the  greatest  of 
our  early  kings  ;  otiicn*  say,  it  is  the  resting-place  of  Waldcve^ 
one  of  the  cariy  abbot<i,  who  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity. 

n  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 


OAN'JO  11. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


A  wizart.!.  of  such  dreaded  fame, 
That  when,  iii  Sahimanca's  cave,' 
Elim  listed  liis  magic  wand  to  wave, 

The  bell.s  woidd  riii;^  in  Notre  Dame !' 
Some  of  liis  skill  he  tauglit  to  me ; 
And,  Warrior,  I  could  say  to  thee 
The  words  tliat  cleft  Eildon  liills  in  tlii'ee," 

And    bridled    the    Tweed    with    a   cm'b    of 
stone : 
But  to  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin ; 
And  for  havinw  but   thoughr   them  mv  heart 
witliiii, 

A  treble  penance  must  bb  done. 

XIV. 
"  Wlien  Michael  lay  on  his  dying  bed, 
His  conscience  was  awakened  : 
He  bethought  liim  of  Ms  sinful  deed,-*- 
And  he  gave  me  a  sign  to  come  with  speed : 
I  was  in  Spain  when  the  morning  rose, 
But  I  stood  by  his  bed  ere  evening  close. 
The  word^ii  may  not  again  be  said, 
That  he  spoke  to  me,  on  death-bed  laid ; 
They  would  rend  tliis  xVbbaye's  massy  nave,. 
And  pile  it  in  heajos  above  Eii^ave. 

"  I  swore  to  bury  his  Mighty  Book,     I 
That  never  mortal  might  therein  look  ; 
And  never  to  tell  where  it  was  liid, 
:  Save  at  his  Chief  of  Branksome's  need  : 
And  when  that  need  was  past  and  o'er, 
Again  the  volume  to  restore. 
I  buried  him  on  St.  Michael's  night, 
When  the  bell  toll'd  one,  and  the  moou  was 

bright. 
And  I  dug  his  chamber  among  the  dead, 
"Wlien  the  iloor  of  the  chancel  was  stained  red, 
That  liis  patron's  crcjss  might  over  liim  wave. 
And  scare  the  fiends  from  the  Wizard's  grave. 

XVI. 

"  It  was  a  night  of  wo  and  dread, 

Wlien  Michael  m  the  tomb  I  laid  ! 

Strange  sounds  along  the  chancel  pass'd, 

The  banners  waved  without  a  blast" — 

— Still  spoke  the  Monk,  when  the  bell  toll'd 

one  ! — 
I  tell  you,  that  a  braver  man 
Than  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need. 
Against  a  foe  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed  ; 
Yet  somewhat  was  he  cliUl'd  with  dread, 
And  liis  hair  did  bristle  upon  his  head.       [ 

J  See  Appendix,  Note  2D.  2  Ibid.  Note  2  E. 

»  See  Append!.^,  Note  2  F.  •»  Ibid.  Note  2  G. 

»  Orig-. — A  bar  from  thence  the  warrior  took. 
•  "  The  agitation  of  the  monk  at  the  siglit  of  the  man  whom 


XVII. 

"  Lo,  Warrior !  now,  tlie  Cross  of  Red 

Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead ; 

Witlmi  it  bums  a  wondrous  light, 

To  ciiase  the  spirits  that  love  tlie  night : 

ITiat  lamp  shall  burn  unquenchablj', 

Until  the  eternal  doom  shall  be."^ — 

Slow  moved  the  Monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 

Wliich  the  bloody  Cross  was  traced  upon : 

He  pointed  to  a  secret  nook  ; 

An  iron  bar  the  Wanior  took  f 

And  the  Monk  made  a  sign  with  his  wither'd  hand 

The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

XVIII. 
With  beating  heart  to  the  task  he  went ; 
His  sinewy  fram.e  o'er  the  grave-stone  bent ; 
With  bar  of  iron  heaved  amam, 
Tin  the  toil-drops  fell  from  his  brows,  like  raia 
It  was  by  dmt  of  passing  strength, 
That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 
I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 
How  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 
Stream'd  upward  to  the  chancel  roof. 
And  througli  the  galleries  far  aloof ! 
No  earthly  flame  blazed  e'er  so  bright : 
It  shone  like  heaven's  own  blessed  light. 

And,  issuing  from  the  tomb, 
Show'd  the  Monk's  cowl,  and  visage  pale. 
Danced  on  the  dark-brow'd  Warrior's  mail. 

And  kiss'd  his  waving  plume. 

XIX. 

Before  their  eyes  the  Wizard  lay, 
As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 
His  hoary  Beard  in  silver  roll'd, 
He  seem'd  some  seventy  winters  old  ; 

A  palmer's  amice  wrapp'd  lum  round, 

With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound. 
Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  tlie  sea : 

His  left  hand  held  hisJBcjQkof  Mght";^ 

A  silver  cross  was  in  liis  right ; 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee , 
High  and  majestic  was  his  look. 
At  wliich  the  fellest  fiends  had  shook. 
And  all  unruftied  was  liis  face  : 
They  trusted  his  soul  had  gotten  grace.' 

XX. 

Often  had  William  of  Deloraine 
Rode  tlirough  tlie  battle's  bloody  plain, 
And  trampled  down  the  warriors  slain. 
And  neither  known  remorse  nor  awe ; 

lie  had  loved  with  brotherly  affection — the  horror  of  Deloraine, 
and  his  belief  that  the  corpse  frowned,  as  he  withdrew  tlie 
magic  volume  from  its  grasp,  are,  in  a  succeeding  part  of  th« 
narrative,  circumstances  not  more  happily  conceived  than  ea- 
quisitely  wrought." — Critical  Review 


2C 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANIO   II. 


Yet  now  remorse  :iiul  awe  lie  own'J  ; 
IIU  breath  c;iiiie  lliick,  liw  he;iil  swam  rouiul, 
When  this  strange  scene  of  death  lie  saw. 
Bcwildor'tl  anil  umiorved  he  stood, 
And  tlie  priest  Jtray'd  fervently  and  loud : 
With  (^yes  averted  prayed  he  ; 
He  mit;ht  not  endnre  the  siyht  to  see, 
Of  the  man  he  luid  loved  so  brotherly. 

XXI. 

And  when  the  priest  his  death-prayer  had  pray'd, 

Tlui3  unto  Deloraine  he  siiid : — 

"  Xow,  .speed  thee  what  thou  hast  to  do, 

Or,  Warrior,  we  may  dearly  rue  ; 

For  those,  thou  mayst  not  look  upon, 

Are  gathering  fast  round  the  yawning  stone !" 

Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 

From  the  cold  hand  the  Mighty  Book, 

With  iron  chvsp'd,  and  witTi  iroTTbound  : 

He  thouy:lit,  as  he  tixik  it,  the  dead  man  frawn'J  ;' 

But  the  gliire  of  the  sepulchral  light, 

Perchance,  had  dazzled  the  warrior's  sight. 

XXII. 
When  the  huge  stone  smik  o'er  the  tomb, 
The  night  return'd  in  double  gloom ; 
For  the  moon  had  gone  down,  and  the  stars  -were 

few; 
And,  as  the  Knight  and  Priest  witlidrew, 
With  wavering  steps  and  dizzy  brain, 
Tliey  hardly  might  the  postern  gain. 
'Tis  said,  as  througli  the  aisles  they  pass'd. 
They  heard  strange  noises  on  the  blast ; 
And  through  the  cloister-galleries  small. 
Which  at  mid-height  thread  the  chancel  Wjill, 
Loud  sfjbs.  and  laughter  louder,  ran. 
And  voices  unlike  the  voice  of  man ; 
As  if  the  fiends  kept  holiday. 
Because  these  spells  were  brought  to  day. 
^J  cannot  tell  how  the  truth  may  be  ; 
I  say  the  tale  as  'twas  said  to  me. 

XXIII. 
I "  Now,  hie  thee  hence,"  the  Father  said, 
"  And  when  we  are  on  death-bed  laid, 
lO  may  our  dear  Ladye,  and  sweet  St.  John, 
jForgive  our  souls  for  the  deed  we  have  done !" 
The  Monk  return'd  him  to  his  cell, 

And  many  a  prayer  and  penance  sped ; 
"When  the  convent  met  at  the  noontide  bell— ^ 
The  Monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle  was  dead  I    "j^ 
Before  the  cross  was  the  body  laid. 
With  liands  clasp'd  fast,  as  if  stiU  he  pray'd. 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 

'  A  moum.iin  on  the  Bonier  of  England,  above  Jedbnrgh. 

'  •■  How  lovely  and  exl.:!»rating  is  the  fresli,  cool  morning 
■anilecap^  wliich  relisves  iht:  n^ind  after  the  liorrurs  of  the  sjjell- 
rua  ued  toiiiii!" — An.Sik  Sewabd. 


XXIV. 

The  Knight   breathed   free    in   the   morning 

wind, 
And  strove  liis  liardih(X)d  to  find  : 
Hi'   wxs  glad   when  ho  pas.s'd  the  tombstones 

;^Tay, 
Whicli  girdle  round  the  fair  Abb.iye ; 
For  thejny-  ■  •  l^    1;.  to  his  bosom  prest, 
PYdt  like  a  i  his  breast; 

And  his  joiuU*,  witli  nerves  of  iron  twined. 
Shook,  like  the  aspen  leaves  in  wind. 
Full  fain  was  he  when  the  dawn  of  day 
Begim  to  brighten  Cheviot  gray ; 
He  joy'd  to  see  the  cheerful  light. 
And  he  Siiid  Ave  Mary,  as  well  he  might. 

XXV. 

The  sun  had  brightcn'd  Cheviot  gray, 

The  sun  had  brighten'd  the  Carter's"  side  ; 
And  soon  beneath  the  rising  day 

Smiled  Brankscjnie  Towers  and  Teviot's  tide. 
The  wild  birds  told  their  warbling  tale, 

And  waken'd  every  flower  that  blows; 
And  peeped  forth  the  violet  pale. 

And  spread  her  breast  the  mountain  rose. 
And  lovelier  than  the  rose  so  red, 

Yet  paler  than  the  violet  pale, 
She  early  left  her  sleepless  bed. 

The  fairest  maid  of  Teviotdale. 

XXVI. 
Why  does  fair  Margaret  so  early  awake,* 

And  don  her  kirtle  so  liastiUe ; 
And  the  silken  knots,  wliich  in  hurry  .«he  would 
make, 

Wl\y  tremble  her  slender  fingers  to  tie  ; 
TMiy  does  she  st(jp,  and  look  often  around, 

As  she  glides  down  the  secret  stair ; 
And  why  does  she  pat  the  shaggy  blood-hound. 

As  he  rouses  him  up  from  liis  lair ; 
And,  though  she  passes  the  postern  alone, 
WTiy  is  not  the  watchman's  bugle  blown  ? 

XXVII. 
The  ladye  steps  in  doubt  and  dread. 
Lest  her  watchful  mother  hear  her  tread , 
The  lady  caresses  the  rough  blood-hound. 
Lest  his  voice  should  waken  the  castle  roimd ; 
The  watchman's  bugle  is  nt)t  bloTsii, 
For  he  was  her  foster-father's  son ; 
And  she  ghdes  through  greenwood  at  dawn  of 

light 
To  meet  Baron  Henry,  her  own  true  knight. 

<  "  I  low  true,  sweet,  and  original  is  this  depcriiition  of 
Margaret  —  the  trembling  baste  with  which  she  attires  her- 
m>lf,    descends,    and   speeds    to    the    bower!"  —  Anna    Bjt- 

WARD. 


CANTO  II. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


27 


XXVIIL 

Tlie  Kniglit  and  ladye  fair  are  met, 

Aud  under  the  hawthorn's  boughs  are  set. 

A  fairer  pan-  were  never  seen 

To  meet  beneath  the  liawthorn  green. 

He  was  stately,  and  young,  and  tall ; 

Dreaded  in  battle,  and  loved  in  hall : 

And  she,  when  love,  scarce  told,  scai'ce  hid, 

Lent  to  her  cheek  a  livehcr  red ; 

When  the  half  sigh  her  swelling  bicast 

Agauist  the  silken  ribbon  prest ; 

When  her  blue  eyes  their  secret  told, 

Though  shaded  by  her  locks  of  gold — 

Where  would  you  find  the  peerless  fair, 

With  Margaret  of  Brauksome  might  compare  !  1 

XXIX. 
And  now,  fair  dames,  methinks  I  see 
You  Usten  to  my  minstrelsy ; 
Yom-  waving  locks  ye~Backward  throw, 
And  sidelong  bend  your  necks  of  snow ; 
Ye  ween  to  hear  a  melting  tale, 
Of  two  true  lovers  in  a  dale ; 

And  how  the  Knight,  with  tender  fire, 
To  paint  his  faithful  passion  strove ; 

Swore  he  might  at  her  feet  expire. 
But  never,  never  cease  to  love  ; 
And  how  she  blush'd,  and  how  she  sigh'd. 
And,  half  consenting,  half  denied. 
And  said  that  she  would  die  a  maid ; — 
Yet,  might  the  bloody  feud  be  stay'd, 
Henry  .of  Cranstoun,  and  only  he, 
Margaret  of  Branksome's  choice  should  be 


XXX. 

Alas !  fair  dames,  your  hopes  are  vain ! 
My  harp  has  lost  the  enchanting  strain ; 

Its  Ughtness  would  my  age  reprove : 
My  haii-s  are  gray,  my  limbs  are  old, 
■  My  heart  is  dead,  my  veins  are  cold : 

I  may  not,  must  not,  sing  of  love.     I 

XXXI. 

Beneath  an  oak,  moss'd  o'er  by  eld, 
The  Baron's  Dwarf  his  courser  held,' 
Aji3~hBW-lMsTT6sted  helm  and  spear : 

1  See  Appendix,  Notfi  2  1. 

■J  The  idea  of  the  imp  domesticating  himself  with  the  first 
person  he  met,  and  subjecting  liimself  to  that  one's  authority. 
Is  perfectly  consonant  to  old  opinions.  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  play 
of  "  The  Devil  is  an  Jiss,"  has  founded  the  leading  incident 
of  that  comedy  upon  this  article  of  the  popular  creed.  A 
fiend,  styled  Pug,  is  ambitions  for  figuring  in  (he  world,  and 
petitions  his  superior  for  permission  to  exhibit  himself  upon 
earth.  The  devil  grants  him  a  day-role,  but  clogs  it  with  this 
condition, — 

"  Sataii — Only  thus  more,  I  bind  you 
To  serve  the  first  man  that  vou  meet :  and  !iim 


Tliat  Dwarf  was  scarce  an  eartlily  man, 
If  the  tales  were  true  that  of  him  ran 

Through  all  the  Border,  far  and  near. 
'Twas  said,  when  the  Baron  a-hunting  rode 
Through  Reedsdale's  glens,  but  rarely  trod, 
He  heard  a  voice  cry,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 
And,  like  tennis-ball  by  racket  toss'd, 

A  leap,  of  thirty  feet  and  three. 
Made  from  the  gorse  tliis  elfin  sliape. 
Distorted  hke  some  dwarfish  ape. 

And  lighted  at  Lord  Cranstoun's  knee.  ) 
Lord  Cranstoim  was  some  wliit  dismay'd ;  \ 
'Tis  said  that  five  good  miles  he  rade, 
To  rid  hun  of  his  company ; 
But  where  he  rode  one  mile,  the  Dwarf  ran  four, 
And  the  Dwarf  was  first  at  the  castle  door. 

XXXIL 

Use  lessens  marvel,  it  is  said : 
Tliis  elvish  Dwarf  with  tlie  Baron  staid ; 
Little  he  ate,  and  less  he  spoke, 
Nor  mingled  with  the  menial  flock : 
And  oft  apart  his  arms  he  toss'd, 
And  often  mutter'd  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 
He  was  waspish,  arch,  and  htherhe,' 
But  well  Lord  Cranstoim  served  he : 
And  he  of  his  service  was  full  fain ; 
For  once  he  had  been  ta'en  or  slain, 

An  it  had  not  been  for  his  ministry. 
All  between  Home  and  Hermitage, 
Talk'd  of  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin-Page. 

XXXIIL 
For  the  Baron  went  on  pilgrimage, 
And  took  with  him  this  elvish  Page, 

To  Mary's  Chapel  of  the  Lowes ; 
For  there,  beside  our  Ladye's  lake, 
An  offering  he  had  sworn  to  make. 

And  he  would  pay  his  vows. 
But  the  Ladye  of  Branksome  gather'd  a  band 
Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command  :* 

The  trysting  place  was  Newark  lee. 
Wat  of  Harden  came  thither  amain. 
And  tliither  came  John  of  Thirlestane, 
And  thither  came  WUham  of  Deloraine ; 

They  were  three  himdred  spears  and  three. 

I'll  show  you  now  ;  observe  him,  follow  him  ; 
But,  once  engaged,  there  you  must  stay  and  fix." 

It  is  observable  that  in  the  same  play,  Pug  alludes  to  tho 
spareness  of  his  diet.  Mr.  Scott's  goblin,  though  "  waspish, 
arch,  and  litherlie,"  proves  a  faithful  and  honest  retainer  tc 
the  lord,  into  whose  service  he  had  introduced  himself.  This 
sort  of  inconsistency  seems  also  to  form  a  prominent  part  of  the 
diabolic  cnaracter.  Thus,  in  the  romances  of  the  Round 
Table,  we  find  Merlin,  the  son  of  a  devil,  exerting  himself 
most  zealously  in  the  canse  of  virtue  and  religion,  the  friend 
and  counsellor  of  King  Arthur,  the  chastiser  of  wrongs,  and 
the  scourge  of  the  infidels. 

3  See  Appendi.t,  Note  2  K. 


28                                       SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                            canto  hi. 

Through  Doughw-burn,  n|)  Yarmw  fitruaiik,' 

And  that  I  miglit  not  sing  of  love? — 

Tlieir  liursos  prmioe,  thuir  la               1^1. 

How  could  I  to  the  dearest  theme, 

Tlu'V  ranu!  t(i  St.  Mary'x  hike  tio  iliiv  ; 

Tiiat  ever  warm'il  a  min-^trt !'»  dream. 

but  the  chiij)fl  wu.-(  voiil,  aiul  tin-  ISiiroii  uwiiy. 

80  fdul,  HO  false  a  reiTeant  prove  1 

They  burnM  tlie  chiiiH-l  for  very  rnjjc, 

How  could  1  nmne  h)ve'8  very  name. 

And  ciirseil  Lonl  t'riuistnun's  Goliliii-l'iiyc. 

Nor  wake  my  heart  to  notes  of  flame  1 

XXXIV. 

II. 

Ami  now,  in  Bninksome's  gtKwi  green  wood, 

In  peace,  T>ove  tunes  the  sliepherd's  reed, 

Af  under  the  ugod  oiik  lie  ut<K)d, 

In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed ; 

Tlu'  liiirtm's  courier  pricks  liis  ears, 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  i»  seen ; 

As  if  a  distiint  noise  he  hears. 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

Tiic  Dwiirf  waves  liis  hmg  h;iin  arm  on  lii^di, 

L<ive  rnlo-s  the  court,  the  ainip,  the  grove, 

Anil  signs  to  the  lovers  to  part  and  fly  ; 

Ami  men  below,  and  saints  above ;          J 

For  love  is  heaveiij  iuid  heavey  is  love.    H^l/-'' 

III.                              1 

No  time  was  then  to  vow  or  sigh. 

P'air  Margaret  tlirough  the  liazel  grove, 

Flew  like  the  startled  cu^hat-dove  ? 

The  Dwarf  the  stirrup  held  and  rein; 

So  thought  Lord  Cranstouri,  as  I  ween. 

\'aulted  the  Knight  on  his  steed  amain, 

Whilt!,  pondering  deep  the  tender  scene. 

And,  pondering  deep  that  morning's  scene. 

He  riHle  through  Ikiinksome's  hawthorn  grcea 

Kode  eastward  tlirough  the  hawthorns  green. 

But  the  page  shouted  wild  and  isliriil, 

And  ^e:iree  his  helmet  could  he  don. 

Wiiif.E  thus  he  pourVl  the  lengthcn'd  tale, 

"When  downward  from  the  shady  hill 

llie  ilinstrcl's  voice  began  to  fail : 

A  stately  knu'lrd^ime  pridiin^  on.     P^ 
Tliat  warrior's  Sfeed,  so  dapple  gnty. 

Full  slyly  smiled  the  observant  page, 

And  gave  the  witlier'd  hand  of  age 

"Wiis  dark  with  sweat,  and  spla-«)ied  with  clay , 

A  goblet,  crown  d  with  mighty  wine,  I 

His  armor  red  with  many  a  stain: 

The  blcK)d  of  Veloz'  scorched  vuie. 

He  .seem'd  in  such  a  weary  Jilight, 

lie  raised  the  silver  cup  on  high, 

As  if  he  had  ridden  the  Uve-long  night  j 

And,  wliile  the  big  drop  fill'd  his  eye. 

For  it  was  William  of  Deloridne. 

y 

Pray'd  God  to  bless  the  Duchess  long. 

And  all  who  cheer'd  a  son  of  song. 

IV. 

Tlie  attending  maidens  smil'd  to  see 

But  no  whit  weary  did  he  seem. 

How  long,  how  deep,  how  zealously. 

When,  duncing  in  the  sunny  beam. 

The  precious  juice  the  Jtlinstrel  quatf'd; 

He  niark'd  the  crane  on  the  Baron's  crest;' 

And  he,  embolden'd  by  the  draught, 

For  liis  ready  spear  was  in  his  rest. 

Look'd  gayly  back  to  them,  and  laugh'd. 

Few  were  the  words,  and  stern  imd  liigh. 

Tlie  cordial  nectar  of  the  bowl 

'Iliat  niark'd  the  foemen's  feudal  hate ; 

Swell'd  his  old  veins,  and  cheer'd  his  soul ; 

For  question  fierce,  and  proud  reply. 

A  livelier,  lighter  prelude  ran,      ( 

Gave  signal  s(x)n  of  due  debate. 

Ere  thus  liLs  tale  again  began. 

Their  very  coursers  seein'd  to  know 

That  each  was  other's  mortal  foe,                      ( 

And  snorted  fire,  when  wheel'd  around, 
To  give  each  knight  his  vantage-groimd. 

(Tljc  £ar)  of  tl)c  £a5t  flTuistrcl. 

V. 

In  ra])id  round  the  Baron  bent; 

CANTO  TMIRD. 

He  sigh'd  a  sigh,  ami  pray'd  a  prayer; 
llie  prayer  was  to  liis  patron  saint,     / 
Tlie  sigh  was  to  his  ladye  fair.         ' 

I. 

Akd  said  I  that  my  limbs  were  old. 

Stout  Deloraine  nor  sigh'd  nor  pray'd. 

And  said  I  tluit  my  bkK>d  was  cold. 

Nor  saint,  nor  ladye,  call'd  to  aid  ; 

And  tliat  my  kindly  fire  was  fled. 

But  h(!  stoop'd  his  Imad,  and  cuuch'd  his  spoar. 

And  ray  poor  witlier'd  he:irt  was  dead. 

And  spurr'd  liLs  steed  to  full  career. 

'  See  notM  on  The  Douglas  Tragedy  m   the   Minstrelsy, 

>  The  crest  of  the  Cranftouns,  in  allusion  to  their  name,  is  t 

vol.  iii.  p.  3.— Ed. 

crane  dormant,  holding  a  «tone  in  his  foot,  witJi  an  emuhalir 

1  W'go<l..j)igeon. 

bolder  motto,   Thou  nhalt  want  ere  J  teant. 

CANTO  III                    THE  LAY  OF  THE 

LAST  MINSTREL.                                 29 

The  meeting  of  these  champions  proud  1 

"Would  not  yield  to  unchristen'd  hand. 

Seem'd  Uke  the  burstiiy  thunder-cloud.  1 

Till  he  smear'd  the  cover  o'er 
With  tlie  Borderer's  curdled  gore  ; 

VI. 

A  moment  then  the  volume  spread. 

Stern  was  the  dint  the  Borderer  lent ! 

And  one  short  spell  therein  he  read : 

Tlie  stately  Baron  backwards  bent ; 

It  had  much  of  glamour^  might, 

Bent  backwards  to  his  horse's  tail, 

Could  make  a  ladye  seem  a  kuight ; 

And  his  plumes  went  scatterhig  on  the  gale ; 

The  cobwebs  on  a  dungeon  wall 

The  tough  ash  spear,  so  stout  and  true. 

Seem  tapestry  in  lordly  hall ; 

Into  a  tliousand  flmders  flew. 

A  nutshell  seem  a  gilded  barge. 

But  Craustouns  lance,  of  more  avail, 

A  sheeling'  seem  a  palace  large, 

Pierced  through,  like  silk,  the  Borderer's  mail ; 

And  youth  seem  age,  and  age  seem  youth — 

Through  shield,  and  jack,  and  acton,  past. 

AH  was  delusion,  nought  was  truth.* 

Deep  in  liis  bosom  broke  at  last. — 

Still  sate  the  warrior  saddle-fast. 

X. 

Till,  stumbling  in  the  mortal  shock, 

He  had  not  read  another  spell. 

Down  went  the  steed,  the  girtliing  broke, 

"When  on  liis  cheek  a  "buffet  fell. 

Hurl'd  on  a  heap  lay  man  and  horse. 

So  fierce,  it  stretch'd  liim  on  the  plain, 

The  Baron  onward  pass'd  his  course ; 

Beside  the  wounded  Deloraiue. 

Nor  knew — so  giddy  roll'd  his  brain — • 

From  the  ground  he  rose  dismay'd, 

His  foe  lay  stretch'd  upon  the  pLuii. 

And  shook  liis  huge  and  matted  head ; 

One  word  he  mutter'd,  and  no  more, 

VII. 

"  Man  of  age,  thou  smitest  sore  !" — 

But  wlien  he  rein'd  liis  courser  round, 

No  more  the  Elfin  Page  durst  try 

And  saw  his  foeman  on  the  ground 

Lito  the  wondrous  Book  to  pry ; 

Lie  senseless  as  the  bloody  clay, 

The  clasps,  though  smeared  with  Cliristian  gore 

He  bade  his  page  to  stanch  the  wound 

Shut  faster  than  they  were  before. 

And  there  beside  the  warrior  stay, 

He  liid  it  underneath  his  cloak. — 

And  tend  liim  in  liis  doubtful  state, 

Now,  if  you  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

And  lead  him  to  Branksome  castle-gate  : 

I  cannot  tell,  so  mot  I  thrive  ; 

His  noble  mind  was  inly  moved 

It  was  not  given  by  man  aUve.' 

For  the  kinsman  of  the  maid  he  loved. 

"  This  shalt  thou  do  without  delay : 

XL 

No  longer  here  myself  may  stay ; 

Unwillingly  himself  he  address'd. 

Unless  the  swifter  I  speed  away. 

To  do  his  master's  high  behest : 

Short  slu-ift  will  be  at  my  dying  day." 

He  lifted  up  the  living  corse. 

And  laid  it  on  the  weary  horse ; 

YIII. 

He  led  him  mto  Branksome  Hall, 

Away  in  speed  Lord  Cranstoun  rode ; 

Before  the  beards  of  the  warders  all; 

The  Goblin  Page  behind  abode ;             \ 
His  lord's  command  he  ne'er  withstood, 

And  each  did  after  swear  and  say, 

There  only  pass'd  a  wain  of  hay. 

Though  small  liis  pleasure  to  do  good. 

He  took  liim  to  Lord  David's  tower. 

As  the  corslet  off  he  took. 

Even  to  the  Ladye's  secret  bower ; 

The  dwarf  espied  the  Mighty  Book  1 

And,  but  that  stronger  spells  were  spread. 

Much  he  marveU'd  a  loiight  of  pride, 

And  the  door  might  not  be  opened. 

Like  a  book-bosom'd  priest  should  ride:* 

He  had  laid  him  on  her  very  bed. 

He  thought  not  to  search  or  stanch  the  wound, 

Whate'er  he  did  of  gramai  ye,* 

Until  the  secret  he  had  found. 

Was  always  done  maliciously ; 

He  flung  the  warrior  on  the  ground. 

IX. 

And  the  blood  well'd  freshly  from  the  wound, 

Tlie  iron  band,  the  iron  clasp. 

Resisted  long  the  elfin  grasp : 

XIL 

For  when  the  first  he  had  undone, 

As  he  repass'd  the  outer  court, 

It  closed  as  he  the  next  begun. 

He  spied  the  fair  young  cliild  at  sport : 

Those  iron  clasps,  that  iron  band, 

He  thought  to  train  liim  to  the  wood ; 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

3  A  sliepherd'g  hut.               <  See  Appendix,  Note  ii  M. 

'  Magical  delusion 

s  Ibid.  Note  2  N.                  6  Magio 

80                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                           canto  hi. 

For,  at  a  ■word,  bo  it  unJerstootl, 

At  cautious  distimce  lioarsely  bay'd, 

He  was  iilv                                                j'Kjd. 

But  still  in  act  to  s|)ring  ; 

SeeuiM  to  i-           ,      -..      ^..j 

AVhi  11  ilash'd  lui  archer  through  the  glade. 

Led  him  fortli  to  tlie  woods  to  j)lay ; 

And  when  he  saw  the  liound  was  stay'd, 

On  the  ib-awbridge  the  wiirilcrs  stout 

He  drew  his  tough  Ixiw-string  ; 

Saw  a  terrier  aud  lurcliur  passing  out. 

But  a  rough  voice  cried,  "  Shoot  not,  hoy  1 

Ho !  shoot  not,  Edward — Tia  a  boy  !" 

XIII. 

Ill-  led  the  boy  o'er  bank  and  fell, 

XVI. 

Untd  they  came  to  a  woodhuid  brook ; 

Tlie  speaker  Issued  from  the  wood. 

The  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell,' 

And  check'd  hw  fellow's  surly  mood, 

And  his  own  elvish  shape  he  took. 

And  quelld  the  ban-dog's  ire  : 

Could  he  have  had  his  pleasure  vildc. 

He  was  an  English  yeoman  good,             i 

He  had  crippled  the  joints  of  the  noble  child ; 

And  bom  in  Lanciushire.                       / 

Or,  with  liis  finajers  long  and  lean. 

Well  could  he  hit  a  fallow-deer               f 

Had  strangled  liim  in  tiendL<l»  spleen : 

Five  hundred  feet  him  fro; 

But  his  awful  mother  he  had  in  dread, 

With  hand  more  true,  and  eye  more  clear. 

And  also  his  power  was  limited ; 

JN'o  archer  bended  bow. 

So  he  but  scowl'd  on  the  startled  child, 

His  coal-black  hair,  shorn  round  and  close. 

And  darted  through  the  forest  wild ; 

Set  off  his  sun-burn'd  face : 

The  woodland  brook  he  bounding  crose'd, 

Old  England's  sign,  St.  George's  cross. 

And  laugh' d,  aud  shouted,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 

His  barret-cap  did  grace ; 

His  bugle-hom  hung  by  liis  side. 

XIV. 

All  in  a  wolf-skin  baldric  tied ; 

Full  sore  amazed  at  the  wondrous  change, 

And  his  short  falchion,  sharp  and  clear, 

And  frighten'd  as  a  cliild  might  be, 
At  the  wild  yell  and  visage  strange. 

Had  pierced  the  throat  of  many  a  deer. 

And  the  dark  words  of  gramarye. 

XVII. 

The  child,  amidst  the  forest  bower. 

His  kirtle,  inade  of  forest  green, 

Stood  rooted  like  a  hly  flower ; 

Reach'd  scantly  to  Ids  knee ; 

And  when  at  length,  with  trembling  pace. 

And,  at  his  belt,  of  arrows  keen 

He  sought  to  find  where  Branksome  lay, 

A  furbish'd  sheaf  bore  he  ; 

He  fear'd  to  see  that  grisly  face. 

His  buckler,  scarce  in  breadth  a  span. 

Glare  from  some  thicket  on  liia  way. 

No  larger  fence  had  he  ; 

Tims,  starting  oft,  he  journey'd  on. 

He  never  counted  him  a  man. 

And  deeper  in  the  wood  is  gone, — 

Would  strike  below  the  knee  :' 

For  aye  the  more  he  sought  liis  way, 

His  slacken'd  bow  was  in  his  h:md. 

The  farther  still  he  went  astray, — 

And  the  leasli,  that  was  his  blood-hound's  band 

Until  he  heard  the  mountains  round 

King  to  the  baying  of  a  hound. 

XVIII. 

He  would  not  do  the  fair  child  hjsm, 

XV. 

But  held  him  with  liis  powerful  arm, 

And  hark !  and  hark  !  the  deep-mouthed  bark 

That  he  might  neither  fight  nor  flee , 

Comes  nigher  still,  and  nighcr : 

For  the  Red-Cross  spied  he. 

Biu-sts  on  the  path  a  dark  blood-hound. 

The  boy  strove  long  and  violently. 

His  tawny  muzzle  track'd  the  ground. 

"  Now,  by  St.  George,"  the  archer  cries, 

And  his  red  eye  shot  fire. 

"  Edward,  metliinks  we  have  a  prize  ! 

Soon  as  the  wilderd  child  saw  he, 

This  boy's  fixir  face,  and  courage  free. 

He  flew  at  liim  right  furiouslie. 

Show  he  is  come  of  high  degree." 

T  ween  you  would  have  seen  with  joy 

The  bearing  of  the  gallant  boy. 

XIX. 

When,  worthy  of  his  noble  sire. 

"  Yes !  I  am  come  of  high  degree. 

His  wet  cheek  glow'd  'twixt  fear  and  ire  1 

For  I  am  the  lieu-  of  bold  Buccleuch", 

He  faced  the  blood-homid  manfully, 

And  if  thou  dost  not  set  me  free. 

And  held  hLs  little  bat  on  liigh ; 

False  Southron,  thou  slialt  dearly  rue ! 

So  fierce  he  struck,  the  dog,  afraid, 

For  Walter  of  Harden  sliall  come  with  speed, 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  2  O. 

a  Sea  Appendix,  Nolo  3  P 

CANTO  III. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MmSTREL. 


31 


And  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 
And  every  Scott  from  Esk  to  Tweed  ; 
And  if  tliou  dost  not  let  me  go, 
Despite  thy  arrows,  and  thy  bow, 
■*'ll  have  thee  hang'd  to  feed  the  crow !" — 

XX. 

"  Gramercy,  for  thy  good-will,  fair  boy  ! 
My  mind  was  never  set  so  high ; 
But  if  thou  art  chief  of  such  a  clan, 
And  art  the  son  of  such  a  man. 
And  ever  comest  to  thy  command. 

Our  wardens  had  need  to  keep  good  or- 
der ; 
My  bow  of  yew  to  a  hazel  wand, 

Thou"lt  make  them  work  upon  the  Border. 
Meantime  be  pleased  to  come  with  me. 
For  good  Lord  Dacre  shalt  thou  see  ; 
I  tliink  our  work  is  well  begun, 
When  we  have  taken  thy  father's  son." 

XXL 

Although  the  child  was  led  away, 
In  Branksome  stiU  he  seem'd  to  stay, 
For  so  thej)wai'f  liis  part  did  play ; 
And,  in  the  shape^ofthat  young  Boy, 
He  wrought  the  castle  much  annoy. 
The  comrades  of  the  young  Buccleuch 
He  pinch'd,  and  beat,  and  overthrew  ; 
Nay,  some  of  them  he  wellnigh  slew. 
He  tore  Dame  ISIaudliii's  silken  tii-e. 
And,  as  Sym  Hall  stood  by  the  fire. 
He  Uglited  the  match  of  his  bandelier,' 
And  wofuUy  scorcli'd  the  hackbuteer.' 
It  may  be  hardly  thought  or  said. 
The  miscliief  that  the  urchin  made. 
Tin  many  of  the  castle  guess'd, 
That  the  young  Baron  was  possess'd ! 

XXII. 

Well  I  ween  the  charm  he  held 
The  noble  Ladye  had  soon  dispeU'd  ; 
But  she  was  deeply  busied  then 
To  tend  the  wounded  Deloraine. 

iluch  she  wonder'd  to  find  liim  lie. 

On  the  stone  threshold  stretch'd  along ; 

She  thought  some  spirit  of  the  sky 

Had  done  the  bold  moss-trooper  wrong ; 
Because,  despite  her  precept  dread. 
Perchance  he  in  the  Book  liad  read ; 
But  the  broken  lance  in  liis  bosom  stood, 
And  it  was  earthly  steel  and  wood. 

'  Bandelier,  belt  for  carrying  ammQnition. 
s  Hackbutecr,  musketeer. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q,. 
♦  Ibid.  Note  2  R. 


XXIII. 

She  drew  the  splmter  from  the  woimd. 
And  with  a  cliarm  she  stanch  d  the  blocd;* 

She  bade  the  gash  be  cleansed  and  bound : 
No  longer  by  liis  couch  she  stood  ; 

But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance. 
And  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 
And  salved  tlie  splinter  o'er  and  o'-er.* 

William  of  Deloraine,  in  trance, 

Whene'er  she  tm-n'd  it  roimd  and  round. 
Twisted  as  if  she  gall'd  his  wound. 
Tlien  to  her  maidens  she  did  say. 
That  he  should  be  whole  man  and  sound, 
Witliin  the  com-se  of  a  night  and  day. 

Full  long  she  toil'd  ;  for  she  did  rue 

ilishap  to  friend  so  stout  and  true. 

XXIV.* 
So  pass'd  the  day — the  evening  fell, 
'Twas  near  the  time  of  curfew  beU ; 
The  air  was  mild,  the  wind  Was  calm, 
The  stream  was  smooth,  tlie  dew  was  balm ; 
E'en  the  rude  watchman,  on  the  tower, 
Enjoy'd  and  bless'd  the  lovely  hour. 
Far  more  fair  Margaret  loved  and  bless'd 
The  hour  of  silence  and  of  rest. 
On  the  liigh  turret  .sittmg  lone. 
She  waked  at  times  the  lute's  soft  tone ; 
Touch'd  a  wild  note,  and  all  between 
Thought  of  the  bower  of  hawthorns  greea 
Her  golden  liair  stream'd  free  fi-om  band, 
Her  fair  cheek  rested  on  her  hand. 
Her  blue  eyes  sought  the  west  afar, 
For  lovers  l6ve  the  western  star. 

XXV. 

Is  3'on  the  star,  o'er  Penchryst  Pen, 

Tiiat  rises  slowly  to  her  ken. 

And,  spreading  broad  its  wavering  fight, 

Sliakes  its  loose  tresses  on  the  night  ? 

Is  yon  red  glare  the  western  star  ? — 

0,  'tis  the  beacon-blaze  of  war  ! 

Scarce  could  she  draw  her  tighten'd  breath. 

For  well  she  knew  the  fii-e  of  death ! 

XXVI. 
Tlie  Warder  view'd  it  blazing  strong. 
And  blew  his  waj"-note  loud  and  long, 
Till,  at  the  liigli  and  haughty  sound. 
Rock,  wood,  and  river  rung  around. 
The  blast  alarm'd  the  festal  hall, 
And  startled  forth  the  warriors  all ; 


'  "  As  another  illustration  of  the  prodigious  improvement 
which  the  style  nf  the  old  romance  is  capable  of  receiving  from 
a  more  liberal  admixture  of  pathetic  sentiments  and  gentle 
affections,  we  insert  the  followmg  passage  [Stanzas  x.\iv.  to 
xxvii.],  where  the  effect  of  the  picture  is  finely  assisted  byths 
contrast  of  its  two  coniuaruoents."  — Jkffret. 


32                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi 

• 

Fur  ilDWiiwanl,  in  tlic  castlc-yanl, 

Eacli  from  each  the  signal  caught ; 

Full  iiuuiy  ti  torch  luul  cresset  glared; 

Each  after  each  they  glanced  to  sight., 

All  1  liL'llils  aiiil  j)liinies,  colifiisfiUy  toss'd. 

As  stars  ari-e!  upon  the  night. 

Were  ill  the  bla/.e  half-.-eeii,  lialf  lust ; 

n»ey  glcam'd  on  miuiy  a  dusky  tarn,* 

A II J  spears  in  will  ilisorder  shiMik, 

Haunted  by  tlu'  lonely  earn  ;' 

Like  reeds  beside  a  frozen  briK)k- 

On  many  a  cairn's'  gray  pyramid. 

Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid  ; 

XXVII. 

Till  high  Diinedin  the  blazes  .saw, 

llic  Seneschal,  whose  silver  hair 

I'rom  Soltra  and  Dumpender  Law; 

Wiis  reddond  by  the  torches'  glare, 

And  Lithian  heard  the  Hegeiifs  order, 

St<M>d  ill  the  midst,  witli  gesture  proud, 

That  all  should  bowne'  them  for  the  Border. 

And  is>iied  forth  iiis  mandates  loud  : — 

"On  Peiichryst  glows  a  bah;'  of  tire, 

XXX. 

And  three  are  kindling  cu  Priesthuughswire ; 

Tlic  livelong  night  in  Branksomc  rang 

Kidc  out,  ride  out, 

The  ceaseless  sound  of  steel ; 

The  foe  to  scout ! 

The  castlc-bcll,  with  backward  clang. 

Mount,  mount  for  Branksomc,'  every  man  I 

Sent  forth  the  larum  peal ; 

Thou,  Todrig,  warn  the  Johnstone  clan, 

Wa3  frequent  heanl  the  heavy  jar. 

That  ever  arc  true  ami  stout — 

Where  massy  stone  atid  iron  bar 

Ye  need  not  semi  to  Liddesdale  ; 

Were  piled  on  echoing  keep  and  tower. 

For  when  they  see  tiie  blazing  bale,         | 

To  whelm  the  foe  with  deadly  sliowcr ; 

Elliots  and  Armstrongs  never  fail. — 

Was  frequent  heard  the  changing  guard. 

Hide,  Alton,  ri  le,  for  death  and  life  ! 

Ami  watchword  from  the  sleepless  ward ; 

And  warn  the  Warder  of  the  strife. 

While,  wearied  by  the  endless  din. 

Young  Gilbert,  let  our  beacon  blaze, 

Blood-hound  imd  ban-dog  yell'd  within. 

Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends  to  r:usc."* 

XXXI. 

XXVIII. 

Tlie  noble  Dame,  amid  the  broil, 

F:ur^  Margaret,  from  the  turret  head,    | 

Shiired  the  gray  Seneschal's  liigh  toil, 

Heard,  far^brfow,  the  coursers'  tread,  1 

And  spoke  of  danger  with  a  smile ; 

While  loud  the  harness  rung,            ( 

Chcer'd  the  young  knights,  and  council  sage 

A^j  to  their  seats,  with  clamor  di'oad. 

Held  witji  tlic  cliiefs  of  riper  age. 

The  rtiady  horsemen  sprung : 

No  tidings  of  the  foe  were  brought. 

And  trampUng  hoofs,  an<J  iron  coats, 

Nor  of  his  numbers  knew  they  aught. 

And  leadejj^'  voices,  mingled  notes, 

Nor  what  in  time  of  truce  he  sought. 

An  1  out !  and  out ! 

Some  said,  that  there  were  thousands  ten ; 

In  hasty  route, 

And  others  weon'd  that  it  was  naught 

Tlie  horsemen  gallop'd  forth ;  •• 

But  Leven  clans,  or  Tynedale  men. 

Dispersing  to  the  south  to  scout. 

■Who  came  to  gather  in  black-mail ;'" 

And  east,  and  west,  and  north. 

And  Liddesdale,  with  small  avail, 

To  view  their  corauig  enemies, 

Might  drive  them  lightly  ^ack  agen. 

And  warn  their  vassals  and  allies. 

So  pass'd  the  anxious  night  away. 

And  welcome  was  the  peep  of  day. 

XXIX. 

The  ready  page,  with  hurried  hand,* 
Awaked  the  need-lire's*  slumbering  brand. 

And  ruddy  blush'd  the  heaven : 

For  a  slieet  of  flariio,  from  tlu?  tuiTct  high. 

Ceased  the  high  sound — the  listening  tlirong 

Waved  like  a  blood-fliig  on  the  sky. 

Applaud  the  Master  of  the  Song ; 

All  flaring  and  uneven ; 

And  marvel  much,  in  helpless  Age, 

And  sorin  a  score  of  fires,  I  ween. 

So  hard  should  be  his  pilgrimage. 

From  height,  and  hill,  and  cli;F  were  seen; 

Had  he  no  friend — no  daughter  dear. 

Each  with  warlike  tidings  fraught ; 

His  wandering  toil  to  share  and  cheer ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  S. 

£■  J^erd-firc,  beacon. 

'  Muuvt  for  firank.iumr  was  the  gatlioring  word  of  Uic  Scott". 

'Tarn,  a  mountain  lake. 

•  See  .Appeiidi)!.  Note  2  T. 

'  Earn,  a  Scottish  eagle.        «  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

4  ..  YYe  aliMjliitely  see  the  fires  kinrlling,  one  after  another,  in 

•  Bownc,  make  ready. 

Uie  foUowiag  amuiaied  description." — Jlnnual  Jicoiew,  1804. 

'0  Protection  money  exacted  by  freebooten. 

CANTO  IV. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


3a 


No  son  to  be  his  father's  stay, 
And  guide  liim  on  the  rugged  way  ? 
"  Ay,  once  lie  had — but  he  was  dead !" — ■ 
Upon  the  liarp  he  stoop'd  his  head, 
And  busied  liimself  tlie  strings  withal. 
To  hide  the  tear  that  fain  would  falL 
In  solemn  measure,  soft  and  slow, 
Arose  a  father's  notes  of  woe." 


^\]c  £a^  of  tljc  Cast  iHlnstrcl. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


I. 

Sweet  Teviot !  on  thy  silver  tide 

The  glarmg  bale-lires  blaze  no  more , 
No  htnger  steel-clad  warriors  ride 

Along  thy  wild  and  willow'd  shore ;' 
"Where'er  thou  wind'st,  by  dale  or  hill. 
All,  all  is  peaceful,  all  is  still, 

As  if  thy  waves,  since  Time  was  born, 
Since  first  they  roll'd  upon  the  Tweed," 
Had  only  heard  the  shepherd's  reed, 

Nor  started  at  the  bugle-horn. 

II. 

Unlike  the  tide  of  human  time. 

Which,  though  it  change  in  ceaseless  flow, 
Retains  each  grief  retains  each  crime 

Its  earliest  course  was  doom'd  to  know; 
And,  darker  as  it  downward  bears, 
Is  stiun'd  with  past  and  present  tears. 

Low  as  that  tide  has  ebb'd  with  me, 
It  still  reflects  to  Memory's  eye 
The  hour  my  brave,  my  only  boy, 

Fell  by  the  side  of  great  Dundee.* 

•  "  Nothing  can  excel  the  simple  concise  pathos  of  the 
Close  of  this  Canto — nor  the  toucliing  picture  of  the  Baril  when, 
uiih  a-isnmeil  business,  he  tries  to  concoa!  real  sorrow.  How 
well  tiie  poet  unilorstanils  the  art  of  contrast — anil  liow  juili- 
cicins'y  it  is  exerteil  in  the  exonlium  of  tlie  noxt  Canto,  where 
01  r  monrriing  sympathy  is  exolianged  for  the  thrill  of  pleas- 
ute!" — Anna  Seuard. 

'  "  What  luxury  of  sound  in  this  line  !" — Anna  Seward. 
3  Oriir. — "  Since  fir^^t  they  rolled  tlicir  way  to  Tweed." 

*  The  Viscount  of  Dundee,  slain  in  the  battle  of  Killicrankie. 
6  "  Some  of  the  most  interesting  passages  of  the  poem  are 

those  ill  which  the  anllior  drops  the  business  of  his  story  to 
moralize,  and  apply  to  lii-  own  situation  the  images  and  reflec- 
tions it  has  suggested.  Alter  concluding  one  Canto  with  an 
account  of  the  warlike  array  whieli  was  prepared  for  the  re- 
ception of  the  English  invaders,  he  opens  the  succeeding  one 
with  tlie  following  beaulifnl  verses,  (Stanzas  i.  and  ii.) 

"  There  are  several  other  detached  passages  of  equal  beauty  ,8 

C  No  one  will  (Jisseut  from  rhis,  who  read-*,  in  parlifulnr,  the  firit  two 
■til)  i'«.r>-srhtwiiij  s(;itir:isof  Can'o  VI.— now,  by  aKsocia'.iou  of  ihepafe:, 
.•*»-tereU  the  more  iflecliii^    -Eu 


Wliy,  when  the  volleying  musket  play'd 
Against  the  bloody  Highland  blade, 
"Why  was  not  I  beside  liim  laid ! — 
Enough — he  died  the  death  of  fame; 
Enough — he  died  with  conquering  Gra)me.* 

III. 
Now  over  Border,  dale  and  fell, 

Full  wide  and  tar  was  terror  spread ; 
For  patliless  marsh,  and  mountain  cell. 

The  peasant  left  liis  lowly  shed.' 
The  frighten'd  flocks  and  herds  were  pent 
Beneatli  tlie  peel's  rude  battlement ; 
And  maids  and  matrons  dropp'd  the  tear, 
"While  ready  warriors  seized  the  spear. 
From  Branksome's  towers,  the  watcliman's  eyo 
Dun  wreaths  of  distant  smoke  can  spy, 
"Wluch,  curling  in  the  risuig  sun, 
Show'd  southern  ravage  was  begun.* 

IV. 

Now  loud  the  heedful  gate-ward  cried — 
"  Prepare  ye  all  for  blows  and  blood : 
"Watt  Tmlinn,^  from  the  Liddel-side, 
Comes  wading  through  the  flood."' 
Full  oft  the  Tyuedale  snatchers  knock 
At  his  lone  gate,  and  prove  tlie  lock ; 
It  was  but  last  St.  Barnabright 
They  sieged  liim  a  whole  summer  night,        ^ 
But  fled  at  moriung :  well  they  knew. 
In  vain  he  never  twang'd  the  yew. 
Right  sharp  has  been  the  evening  shower, 
That  drove  liim  from  Iiis  Liddel  tower ; 
And,  by  my  faith,"  the  gate-ward  said, 
"  I  think  'twill  prove  a  Warden-Raid."" 

V. 

"Wliile  thus  he  spoke,  the  bold  yeoman" 
Enter'd  the  echoing  barbican. 

which  might  be  quoted  in  proof  of  the  effect  which  is  produced 
by  this  dramatic  interference  of  the  narrator." — Jeffrky. 

■"  See  Apjiendix,  Note  i!  V. 

8  Ibid.  Note  2  VV.  »  Ibid.  Note  2  X. 

10  "  And  when  they  cam  to  Branksonie  ha', 
They  shouted  a'  baith  loud  and  hie, 
Till  up  and  spak  him  auld  Bnccleuch, 

Said^'  Whae's  this  brings  the  fraye  to  me?' — 
'It's  I,  Jamie  Teller,  o'  the  fair  Dodliead, 
And  a  harried  man  I  think  I  be,'  "  &c. 

Border  Jilinstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  8. 

11  An  inroad  commanded  by  the  Warden  in  person. 

12  "  Tlie  dawn  displays  the  smoke  of  ravaged  field*,  and  shep- 
herds, with  their  (locks,  flying  before  the  slorni.  Tiding* 
brought  by  a  tenant  of  the  family,  not  used  to  seek  a  sfieller 
on  light  occasions  of  alarm,  disclose  the  strength  and  object 
of  the  invaders.  This  man  is  a  character  of  a  lower  and  of  a 
rougher  cast  than  Delaraine.  The  [lortrait  of  the  rnde  re- 
tainer is  sketched  with  the  same  ma-sterly  hand.  Here,  again, 
Mr.  Scott  has  trod  in  the  fjctstejis  of  ti"i  old  romancers,  who 


84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


Ho  led  a  snizJl  anil  slwiggy  niig, 

That  tliroui^li  a  b»>;;,  from  hiv^  to  )m\'^,' 

Coulil  lxmtii.1  like  UMV  Hilllio|ie  Htiij;.'' 

It  bore  liw  wife  ami  diildreii  twain; 

A  half  clothed  serf  was  all  their  tniiii; 

Hi"  wife,  ^to^t,  ni  lily,  luid  ihirk-brow'd, 

Of  Bilvcr  brooch  aiul  brncelet  proud,* 

Ijur^liM  to  her  friends  anioni;  tlie  crowd. 

He  wiw  of  etatiire  paivsin^  tall, 

lint  sjMirely  forniM,  and  loan  withal; 

A  batter'd  morion  on  hi.-*  brow  ; 

A  leather  jack,  as  fence  enow, 

On  Ilia  broad  slumldcra  loosely  hung ; 

A  border  axe  behind  was  slung ; 

His  spear,  nix  Scottish  ells  in  length, 
Secm'd  newly  dyed  with  gore ; 

ITis  shafts  and  bow,  of  wondrous  strength, 
llis  hardy  partner  bore. 

VI. 

Thus  to  the  Ladye  did  Tinlinn  show 

Tlie  tidinjjs  of  the  EngllSITfoe : — 

"  llelted  Will  Howard '  is  marching  here, 

And  hot  Lord  Dacrc,'  with  many  a  spcur. 

And  all  the  German  hackbut-men,' 

Wio  have  long  lain  at  Askerten: 

Tlicy  crosa'd  the  Liddel  at  curfew  hour. 

And  burn'd  my  little  lonely  tower : 

Tlie  fiend  receive  their  souls  therefor ! 

It  had  not  been  burnt  this  year  and  more. 

Barn-yard  and  dwelling,  bLizing  bright. 

Served  to  guide  me  on  my  flight ; 

But  I  was  chased  the  livelong  night. 

Black  Jolin  of  Akeshaw,  and  Fergus  Qrajme, 

Fast  upon  my  traces  came, 

Until  I  tumd  at  Priesthaugh  Scrogg, 

And  ehot  tlieir  horses  in  the  bog. 

Slew  Fergus  with  my  lance  outright — 

I  had  hira  long  at  high  despite : 

He  drove  my  cows  last  Fastern's  night." 

VIL 
Now  weary  scents  from  Liddesdale, 
Fast  hurrying  in,  confirm'd  the  tale ; 

confine  not  themselves  to  the  dwpfay  of  a  few  personages  who 
italk  over  the  stage  on  Btately  stilui,  bat  aaaally  reflect  all 
the  varieties  of  character  that  marked  the  era  to  which  they 
belong.  The  interesting  example  of  manners  thus  preserved 
to  DS  is  rot  the  only  advantage  which  results  from  this  pecu- 
liar strnctnre  of  their  plan.  It  ia  this,  amongst  other  circum- 
irtances.  wh  zU  enables  them  to  carry  us  along  with  them, 
nnd'T  I  know  not  what  apecies  of  fascination,  and  to  make 
OS,  as  it  were,  crcdaloos  spectators  of  their  most  extravagant 
scenes.  In  this  tiiey  seem  to  resemble  the  painter,  who,  in 
t)>e  delineation  of  a  battle,  while  he  places  the  adverse  heroes 
of  the  day  combating  in  the  front,  takes  care  to  till  his  back- 
groand  with  subordinate  figures,  whose  ajipearance  adds  at 
once  both  spirit  and  an  air  of  probability  to  the  scene." — 
Critical  Review,  1805. 
*  The  broken  ground  in  a  bog. 


As  far  Its  they  c*>uld  judge  by  kon. 

Three  hours  would  bring  to  Tevjot'a  strand 
Three  thousjind  armed  Lngli>hmtai — 

Aleiutwhilo,  full  many  a  warlike  biuid. 
From  Teviot,  Aill,  and  Kt  trick  .shade, 
Ciuiie  in,  their  Chief's  defence  to  aid. 

Tiiere  waa  saddling  and  mounting  in  Itastc, 

lliere  was  pricking  o'er  moor  and  loa; 
He  that  was  last  at  the  try.sting-placc 

Was  but  lightly  held  tif  his  gaye  ladye.* 

VIIL 
From  fair  St.  Mary's  silver  wave. 

From  dreary  Gamcscleugh's  dusky  height, 
His  ready  lances  Tliirlcstime  brave 

Array'd  beneath  a  banner  bright. 
Tlie  trcssured  fleur-de-luce  he  claim''. 
To  wreath  his  shield,  since  royal  James, 
Encamp'd  by  Fala's  mossy  wave, 
The  proud  distinction  grateful  gave, 

For  faith  'mid  feudal  jars; 
Wliat  time,  save  Tliirleslane  alone. 
Of  Scotland's  stubborn  barons  none 

Would  march  to  southern  wars ; 
And  hence,  in  fair  remembrimce  worn. 
Yon  .sheaf  of  spears  his  crest  has  borne ; 
Hence  his  high  motto  sltines  reveal'd — 
"  Ready,  aye  ready,"  for  the  field.* 

IX. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  stecl'd, 

With  many  a  moss-trooper,  came  on ; 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field, 
The  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield, 

Without  the  bend  of  Murdieston.'" 
Wide  lay  liis  lands  round  Oakwood  tower, 
And  wide  rountl  haunted  Civstle-Ower : 
High  over  Borthwick's  mountain  flood. 
His  wood-embosom'd  mansion  stood ; 
In  the  dark  glen,  .=o  deep  below, 
Tlie  herds  of  plimder'd  England  low ; 
His  bold  retainers'  daily  food, 
And  bought  with  danger,  blows,  and  blood. 
Marauding  chief !  his  sole  delight 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

i  Bondsman. 

*  As  the  Bonlerers  were  indifferent  about  tho  rnmitaie  of 
their  habitations,  so  much  exposed  lo  be  burned  and  plun- 
dered, they  were  proportioMally  an.xious  to  display  spletidor  in 
decorating  and  ornamenting  their  I'umales. — See  Licdi.KY  d» 
JUoribus  Limitaneorum. 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

•Ibid.  Note  3  A. 

'  Musketeers.    See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

6  The  four  la.st  lines  of  stanza  vii.  are  not  in  tbe  1st  Gditioo 
—Ed. 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

w  Ibid.  Note  3  D. 


CANTO  IV, 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LA6T  MINSTREL. 


bit 


Tlie  moonlight  raid,  th'-  morning  fight ; 
Not  even  the  Flower  of  Yarrow's  charms, 
111  youth,  might  taiiieiiis  rarge  for  arms; 
And  still,  ill  age,  he  spurii'd  at  rest, 
And  still  his  brows  the  helmet  press'd, 
Albeit  the  blanched  locks  below 
Were  wliite  as  Dinlay's  spotless  snow ; 
rive  stately  warriors  drew  the  sword 

Before  their  father's  band ; 
A  braver  knight  than  IJarden's  lord 

Ne'er  belted  on  a  brand.' 

X." 

Scotts  of  Eskdale,  a  stalwart  band,' 
'^ame  tToojjing  down  the  Todshawhill 
By  the  sword  they  won  their  land. 

And  by  the  sword  they  hold  it  still. 
Hearken,  Ladye,  to  the  tale, 
How  thy  sh-es  won  fair  Eskdale. — 
Earl  Morton  was  lord  of  that  valley  fair. 
The  Beattisons  were  liis  vassals  there. 
The  Earl  was  gentle,  and  mUd  of  mood, 
The  vassals  were  warlike,  and  fierce,  and  rude  ; 
High  of  heart,  and  haughty  of  word. 
Little  tliey  reck'd  of  a  tame  liege  lord. 
The  Earl  into  fair  Eskdale  came, 
Homage  and  seignory  to  clrim : 
Of  Gilbert  the  GalUard  a  heriot'  he  sought, 
Sayuig,  "Give  thy  best  steed,  as  a  vassal  ought." 
— "  Dear  to  me  is  my  bonny  white  steed, 
Oft  has  he  help'd  me  at  pinch  of  need ; 
Lord  and  Earl  though  thou  be,  I  trow, 
I  can  rein  Bucksfoot  better  thau  thou." — 
Word  on  word  gave  fuel  to  fire, 
I'iU  so  higlily  blazed  the  Beattison's  ire, 
But  that  the  Earl  the  flight  had  ta'en, 
The  vassals  there  their  lord  had  slain. 
Sore  he  plied  both  whip  and  spur, 
As  he  urged  his  steed  through  Eskdale  miur; 
And  it  fell  down  a  weary  wight. 
Just  on  the  threshold  of  Branksome  gate. 

XL 

The  Earl  was  a  wrathful  man  to  see. 
Full  fain  avenged  would  he  be. 
In  haste  to  Branksome's  Lord  he  spoke, 
Saying — "  Take  these  traitors  to  thy  yoke ; 
For  a  cast  of  hawks,  and  a  purse  of  gold, 
All  Eskdale  I'll  sell  thee,  to  have  «iid  hold : 
Beshrew  thy  heart,  of  the  Beattisons'  clan 
If  thou  leavest  on  Eske  a  landed  man ; 

I  See,  besides  the  note  on  this  stanza,  one  in  the  Border 
Minstreisy,  vol.  ii.  p.  10,  respecting  Wat  of  Harden,  the  Au- 
thor's ancestor. 

A  »atirieal  piece,  entitled  "The  Town  Eclogne,"  which 
made  much  noise  in  Edinburgh  shortly  after  the  appearance  of 
the  J\Unstrdsy,  has  these  lines  : — 

"  A  modern  author  spends  a  hundred  leaves, 
To  prove  his  ancestors  notorious  thieves  '  '—Ed, 


But  spare  Woodkerrick's  lands  alone. 

For  he  lent  me  his  horse  to  escape  upon." 

A  glad  man  then  was  Branksome  bold, 

Down  he  flung  him  the  piu'se  of  gold ; 

To  Eskdale  soon  he  spurr'd  amain. 

And  with  him  five  hundred  riders  has  ta'en. 

He  left  his  merrymen  m  the  midst  of  the  liill. 

And  bade  them  hold  them  close  and  still ; 

And  alone  he  wended  to  the  plain, 

To  meet  with  the  GaUiard  and  all  his  train. 

To  Gilbert  the  GaUiard  thus  he  said : — 

"  Know  tliou  me  for  thy  hege-lord  and  head  • 

Deal  not  with  me  as  with  Morton  tame. 

For  Scotts  play  best  at  the  roughest  game. 

Give  me  in  peace  my  heriot  due, 

Thy  bonny  Avliite  steed,  or  thou  shalt  rue. 

If  my  horn  I  tliree  times  wind, 

Eskdale  shall  long  have  the  soimd  in  mind." 

XIL 

Loudly  the  Beattison  laughed  in  scorn ; 

"  Little  care  we  for  thy  winded  horn. 

Ne'er  shall  it  be  the  Galliard's  lot, 

To  yield  liis  steed  to  a  haughty  Scott. 

Wend  thou  to  Branksome  back  on  foot, 

With  rusty  spur  and  miry  boot." — 

He  blew  his  bugle  so  loud  and  hoarse, 

That  the  dun  deer  started  at  fair  Craikcross ; 

He  blew  agaui  so  loud  and  clear, 

Through  the  gray  mountain-mist  there  did  lances 

appear ; 
And  the  tliird  blast  rang  with  such  a  din. 
That  the  echoes  answer'd  from  Pentoim-lirm, 
And  all  his  riders  came  hghtly  in. 
Then  had  you  seen  a  galhmt  shock, 
When  saddles  were  emptied,  and  lances  broke ! 
For  each  scornful  word  the  GalUard  had  said, 
A  Beattison  on  the  field  was  laid. 
His  own  good  sword  the  cliieftain  drew. 
And  he  bore  the  GaUiard  through  and  through , 
"Wliere  the  Beattisons'  blood  mix'd  with  the  rUl, 
The  Galh^rd's-Haugh  men  caU  it  stilL 
The  Scotts  have  scatter'd  the  Beattison  clan, 
In  Eskdale  they  left  but  one  landed  man. 
I  Tlie  vallejMof  Eslffi,  frnil',  tlip  tmuiiJj-t*»  the  soure^, 
I  Was  lost  and  won  for  that  bonny  white  horse.  | 

XIIL 
Wliitslade  the  Hawk,  and  Headshaw  came, 
And  warriors  more  than  I  may  name  ; 
From  Yarrow-cleugh  to  Hindhaugh-swair,* 

s  Stanzas  x.  xi.  xii.  were  not  in  the  first  Edition. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

■•  The  feudal  superior,  in  certain  cases,  was  entitled  to  th« 
best  horse  of  the  vassal,  in  name  of  Heriot,  or  Herezeld. 

'  This  and  the  three  following  lines  are  not  in  die  first  edi 
tion. — Ed. 


3U 


SUOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  !▼. 


Kruiu  Wtkxlhousclio  to  Chester-glen. 
Trix>p'd  umii  unJ  horse,  and  bow  uml  spciir ; 

Tlicir  giitherin;^  word  was  Bclleiidciu' 
And  bctti-r  lu-iirt.*  o'er  Border  sod 
To  siege  or  reseue  never  rode. 

Tlie  I>iidye  nuirk'd  the  aids  come  in, 
Autl  liigli  liur  heart  of  j)ride  arose: 
Slie  bade  her  youthful  smi  attend. 
That  he  mij^hi  know  his  father's  friend, 

And  learn  to  face  his  foes. 
"  The  boy  is  ripe  to  look  on  war ;        | 

I  saw  him  draw  a  cross  1m)w  stifli 
And  liis  true  arrow  struck  afar 
T\\e  raven's  nest  upon  the  cliff; 
Tlie  red-cross,  on  a  southern  bre;ist, 
Is  broader  than  the  raven's  nest : 
Thou,  WliitsLide,  sluilt  teach  him  liia  weapon  to 

wield, 
And  o'er  liim  hold  las  father's  sliicld." 


XIV. 
Well  may  you  think,  the  wily  page 
Cared  not  to  face  the  Ladye  sjige. 
lie  counterfeiteil  diildish  fear. 
And  shriek'd,  and  shed  full  many  a  tear, 

And  moan'd  and  plaind  in  manner  wild. 
Tlie  attendiuits  to  the  Ladye  told. 

Some  fairy,  sure,  had  changed  the  cliild, 
Tliat  wont  to  be  so  free  and  bold. 
Then  wrathful  was  the  noble  dame ;         . 
She  blush'd  blood-red  (or  very  shame : — 
"Hence  !  ere  the  elan  iils  fauitness  view;' 
Hence  with  the  weakling  to  Buccleuch! — 
Watt  Tinliiui,  thou  shalt  be  his  guide 
To  Ilangleburn's  lonely  .-ide. — 
Sure  some  fell  fiend  has  cursed  our  line, 
That  coward  should  e'er  be  sou  of  mine  l" 

XV. 
A  heavy  task  Watt  Tinlinn  had, 
To  guide  the  counterfeited  lad. 
Soon  as  the  palfrey  felt  the  weight 
Of  that  ill-omen'd  elti.-<h  freight. 
He  bolted,  sprung,  and  rear'd  amain, 
Kor  heeded  bit,  nor  curb,  nor  rein. 
It  cost  Watt  Tinlinn  inickle  toil 
To  drive  liiin  but  a  Scottish  mile; 

But  lus  a  shallow  brook  they  cross'd. 
The  elC  amid  the  running  stream. 
His  figure  changed,  like  form  in  dream. 
And  fled,  and  shouted,  "  Lost !  lost  1  lost !" 
Full  fiist  the  urchin  ran  and  laugh'd. 
But  fiLster  still  a  cloth-yard  shaft 
Whistled  from  startle  1  Tinlinn's  yew. 
And  pierced  liis  shoulder  through  and  through 
Although  the  imp  might  not  be  slain, 

'  Sec  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 


And  though  the  wound  soon  heal'd  again, 
Vet,  as  he  ran,  he  yell'd  for  pain; 
And  Watt  of  Tinliiui,  niucK  agliiLst, 
lU)de  back  to  Branksome  Jiery  fast. 

XVL 

Soon  on  the  hill's  steep  verge  he  stood, 
That  looks  o'er  Branksomc's  towers  and  wood; 
And  martial  nnirnnirs,  from  below, 
Troelaini'd  the  approaching  southern  foe. 
Through  the  dark  wood,  in  mingled  tone, 
Were  Border  pipes  and  bugles  blown ; 
The  coursers'  neighing  he  could  ken, 
A  mea-sured  tread  of  marching  men ; 
While  broke  at  times  the  solenm  hum. 
The  Almayn's  sullen  kettle-drum  ; 
And  banners  tall,  of  crimson  sheen, 

Above  the  copse  appear ; 
And,   glistening   through   the   hawthorns 
green, 

Shine  hchn,  and  sliield,  and  spear. 

XVIL 

Light  foraycr.s,  first,  to  view  the  ground, 
Spurr'd  their  fleet  coursers  loosely  round  ; 

Behind,  in  close  array,  and  fast, 
nie  Kendal  archers,  all  in  green. 

Obedient  to  the  bugle  blast, 

Advancing  from  the  wood  were  seen. 
To  back  and  guard  the  archer  band, 
Lord  Dacre's  bill-men  were  at  hand : 
A  liardy  race,  on  Irthing  bred, 
With  kirtles  white  and  crosses  red, 
Array'd  beneath  the  banner  tall 
I'hat  stream'd  o'er  Acre's  conquer'd  wall ; 
And  minstrels,  as  they  marchd  in  order, 
Play'd,  "  Noble  Lord  Dacre,  he  dweUs  on  the 
Border." 

XVIIL 
Behind  the  English  bill  and  bow, 
The  mercenaries,  firm  and  slow, 

Moved  on  to  fight,  in  dark  array. 
By  Conrad  led  of  Wolfenstein, 
Who  brought  the  biuid  from  distant  Rhine, 

And  sold  their  blood  for  foreign  pay. 
Tlie  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 
They  knew  no  country,  own'd  no  lord :' 
Tliey  were  not  arm'd  Uke  England's  sons. 
But  bore  the  levin-di\rting  guns ; 
Buff  coats,  all  frounced  and  "broider'd  o'ci; 
And  morsing-horns'  and  scarfs  they  wore ; 
Each  better  knee  was  bared,  to  aid 
The  warriors  in  the  escalade ; 
All,  as  they  march'd,  m  rugged  tongue, 
Songs  of  Teutonic  feuds  they  sung. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G. 


*  Powder-flaskf. 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LAY  Oi^   TtlE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


3/ 


XIX. 
But  louder  still  the  clamor  grew, 
And  louder  still  tlie  miustrels  blew, 
"When,  froiu  beneatli  the  greenwood  tree, 
Ptode  forth  Lordjloward's  cliivah-y  ; 
His  men-at-arms,  with  glaive  ana  spea^, 
Brought  up  the  battle's  ghttering  rear : 
There  many  a  youtliful  loiight,  full  keea 
To  gam  liis  spurs,  in  arms  was  seen ; 
"With  favor  in  liis  crest,  or  glove, 
Memorial  of  his  ladye-love. 
So  rode  they  forth  in  fair  array, 
Till  full  their  lengthen'd  lines  display ; 
Then  call'd  a  lialt,  and  made  a  stand, 
And  cried,  "  St.  George,  for  merry  England !'" 

XX. 
Now  every  English  eye,  intent 
On  Branksome's  armed  towers  was  bent ; 
So  near  they  were,  that  they  might  know 
The  strainuig  harsh  of  eacli  cross-bow ; 
On  battlement  and  bartizan 
Gleam'd  axe,  and  spuar,  and  partisan ; 
Falcon  and  culver,''  on  each  tower, 
Stood  prompt  their  deadly  hail  to  shower ; 
And  flasliing  armor  frequent  broke 
From  eddyuig  whirls  of  sable  smoke, 
Where  upon  tower  and  turret  head. 
The  seething  pitch  and  molten  lead 
Reek'd  like  a  witch's  caldron  red. 
"While  yet  they  gaze,  the  bridges  fall, 
The  wicket  opes,  and  from  the  wall 
Hides  forth  the  hoarv  Seneschal. 


XXI. 
Armed  he  rode,  all  save  the  head. 
His  white  beard  o'er  his  breast-plate  spread ; 
Unbroke  by  age,  erect  his  seat, 
He  ruled  his  eager  courser's  gait ; 
Forced  him,  with  chasten'd  fire,  to  prance, 
And,  high  curvetting,  slow  advance : 
In  sign  of  truce,  his  better  hand 
Display'd  a  peeled  willow  wand ; 
His  squire,  attending  in  the  rear. 
Bore  high  a  gauntlet  on  a  spear.' 
"WTien  they  espied  liim  riding  out. 
Lord  Howard  and  Lord  Dacre  stout 
Sped  to  the  front  of  their  array. 
To  hear  what  this  old  knight  should  say. 

XXII. 
"  Ye  EngUsh  warden  lords,  of  you 
Demands  the  Ladye  of  Buccleuch, 

1  "  The  stanzas,  describing  the  march  of  the  English  forces, 
and  the  investiture  of  the  castle  of  Branxholm,  rtiiplay  a  great 
knowledge  of  ancient  costume,  as  well  as  a  most  picturesque 
and  lively  picture  of  feudal  warfare." — Critical  Review. 

J  Ancient  pieces  of  artillery. 

»  A  glove  upon  a  lance  was  the  emblem  of  faith  among  the 


"Wliy,  'gainst  the  truce  of  Border  tide, 

In  hostile  guise  ye  dare  to  ride, 

With  Kendal  bow,  and  Gilsland  brand. 

And  all  yon  mercenary  band, 

Upon  the  bounds  of  fan-  Scotland  ? 

My  Ladye  reads  you  swith  return ; 

And,  if  but  oue  poor  straw  you  bm-n, 

Or  do  our  towers  so  much  molest, 

As  scare  one  swallow  from  her  nest, 

St.  Mary  I  but  we'll  light  a  brand 

Shall  warm  yoiu:  heartlis  m  Cumberland."— 

XX  in. 

A  wrathful  man  was  Dacre's  lord. 
But  cahner  Howard  took  the  word : 
"  May't  please  thy  Dame,  Sir  Seneschal, 
To  seek  the  castle's  outward  wall. 
Our  pursuivant-at-arms  shall  show 
Both  why  we  came,  and  when  we  go." — 
The  message  sped,  the  noble  Dame 
To  the  wall's  outward  circle  came ; 
Each  chief  around  lean'd  on  his  spear, 
To  see  the  pursuivant  appear. 
All  in  Lord  Howard's  livery  dress'd. 
The  Hon  argent  deck'd  his  breast ; 
He  led  a  boy  of  bloommg  hue — 
O  sight  to  meet  a  mother's  view ! 
It  was  the  heir  of  great  Buccleuch. 
Obeisance  meet  the  herald  made. 
And  thus  his  master's  will  he  said : — 

XXIV. 
"  It  irks,  high  Dame,  my  noble  Lords, 
'Gainst  ladye  fair  to  draw  their  swords ; 
But  yet  they  may  not  tamely  see, 
All  through  the  Western  Wai-denry, 
Your  law-contemning  kinsmen  ride. 
And  burn  and  sjDoil  the  Border  side ; 
And  ill  beseems  your  rank  and  birth 
To  make  your  towers  a  flemens-firth.* 
We  claim  from  thee  Wilfaffl  of  Delnminp^ 
That  he  may  suffer  march-treason'  pain. 
It  was  but  last  St.  Cuthbert's  even 
He  prick'd  to  Stapleton  on  Leven, 
Harried*  the  lands  of  Richard  Musgrave, 
And  slew  his  brother  by  dint  of  glaive. 
Then,  since  a  lone  and  widow'd  Dame 
These  restless  riders  may  not  feme, 
Either  receive  within  thy  towers 
Two  hundred  of  my  master's  powers, 
Or  straight  they  soimd  their  warrison,* 
And  storm  and  spoil  thy  garrison : 

ancient  Borderers,  who  were  wont,  when  any  one  broke  hii 
word,  to  expose  this  emblem,  and  proclaim  him  a  faithlesi 
villain  at  the  first  Border  meeting.  This  ceremony  was  much 
dreaded.     See  Lesley. 

*  An  asylum  for  outlaws.  ^  gee  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

«  Plundered.  '  Note  of  assault. 


i    i  P  A  i  O 


38                                         SCOrrS  poetical  works.                              canto  r> 

And  this  f:iir  boy,  to  London  led, 

XXVIII. 

Slmll  good  King  Edward's  jKigo  be  bred." 

"  Ah  I  riuhlc  I.,ordsI"  he  breathless  said. 

1 

'  What  treason  lias  your  march  bctray'df 

XXV. 

What  make  you  here,  from  aid  so  far, 

He  ceased — ;uid  loud  the  Iwiy  did  ery. 

Bcfiirc  you  walls,  aniiitii  you  war  f 

And  strctch'd  In*  little  anus  on  liigh; 

Your  foemen  tiiinnph  in  the  tiiought, 

implored  for  aid  each  well-known  face. 

Tliat  in  the  toils  the  lion'-s  C4iught. 

And  strove  to  seek  the  Dame's  embrace. 

Already  on  dark  UiibiTHlaw 

A  moment  diangeil  that  Ladye's  cheer, 

The  Duughis  holds  his  weapon-.schaw  ;* 

(lush'd  to  her  eye  the  unbidden  tear* 

Tlie  lances,  waving  in  his  train. 

She  gazed  upon  tlie  leaders  round, 

Clothe  the  dun  lieath  Like  autunnj  graiii; 

And  dark  and  sad  each  warrior  frown'd; 

And  on  the  Liddel's  northern  strand. 

Then,  deep  within  her  sobbing  breast 

To  bar  retreat  to  Cumberland, 

Slie  lock'd  the  struggling  sigh  to  rest ; 

Lord  Maxwell  ranks  his  merry-men  good. 

Unalter'd  and  collected  stood, 

Beneath  tlie  eagle  and  the  rood ; 

And  thus  replied,  m  dauntless  mood : — 

And  Jedwood,  E>*ke,  and  Teviotdale, 

Have  to  proud  Angus  come ; 

XXYI. 

And  all  tlie  Merse  and  Lauderdale 

"  Say  to  your  Lords  of  high  emprizc,' 

Have  risen  with  haughty  Home. 

"\Mio  war  on  women  and  on  boys, 

An  exile  from  Northumberlaml, 

That  either  Wiliiam  of  Deloraine 

In  Liddesdale  I've  wander'd  long; 

Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  stain,' 

But  still  my  heart  was  with  merry  Eng- 

Or else  he  will  the  combat  take 

land, 

'Gainst  Mu^grave,  for  his  honor's  sake. 

And  cannot  brook  my  country's  wrong; 

No  knight  in  Cumberland  so  good. 

And  hard  I've  spurr'd  all  night,  to  show 

But  William  may  count  with  liim  kin  and  blood. 

The  mustering  of  the  coming  foe." 

Knightl»<x>d  he  took  of  Douglas'  sword,' 

■When  English  blood  swell'd  Ancram's  ford  ;* 

XXIX. 

And  but  Lord  Dacre's  steed  was  "wight. 

"  And  let  them  come !"  fierce  Dacre  cried ; 

And  bare  liim  ably  in  the  flight. 

"  For  soon  yon  crest,  my  father's  pride, 

Himself  had  seen  him  dubb'd  a  knight. 

Tliat  swept  the  shores  of  Judah's  sea, 

For  the  young  heir  of  Branksome's  line, 

And  waved  in  gales  of  Galilee,                / 

God  be  his  aid,  and  God  be  mine ; 

From  Branksome's  higliest  lowers  di*plny  d. 

Tlu-ough  me  no  friend  shall  meet  his  doom ; 

Shall  mock  the  rescue's  lingering  aid  ! — 

Here,  -wliile  I  live,  no  foe  finds  room. 

Level  each  liarquebuss  on  rt>w ; 

Then,  if  thy  Lords  their  purpose  urge, 

Draw,  merry  archers,  draw  the  bow ; 

Take  our  defiance  loud  and  high ; 

Up,  bill-men,  to  the  w\ills,  and  cry. 

Our  slogan  is  their  lyko-wake'  dirge, 

Dacre  for  England,  win  or  ilie  !" — 

Om-  moat,  the  grave  where  they  shall  lie." 

XXX. 

XXVIL 

"  Yet  hear,"  quoth  Howard,  "  calmly  hear. 

Proud  she  look'd  round,  applause  to  claim — 

Nor  deem  my  words  the  words  of  fear : 

Then  lighten'd  Tliirlestane's  eye  of  flame  ; 

For  who,  in  field  or  foray  .slack, 

His  bugle  Wat  of  Harden  blew ; 

Saw  the  blanche  lion  e'er  fall  back !' 

Pensils  and  pennons  wide  were  flung, 

But  thus  to  risk  our  Border  flower 

To  heaven  the  Border  slogan  rung 

In  strife  against  a  kingdom's  power, 

"St.  Mary  for^he  young  Buccleuch !" 

Ten  thousand  Scots  'gainst  thousands  three, 

The  English  -^ir-cry  answer'd  wide. 

Certes,  were  desperate  policy. 

And  forward  bent  each  southern  spear ; 

Nay,  take  the  terms  the  Ladye  madt. 

Each  Kendal  archer  made  a  stride, 

Ere  conscious  of  the  advancing  aid  : 

And  drew  the  bowstring  to  his  ear ; 

Let  Musgrave  meet  fierce  Deloraine" 

Each  minstrel's  war-note  loud  was  blown ; — 

In  single  fight,  and,  if  he  gain. 

But,  ere  a  gray-goose  shaft  had  flown. 

He  gains  for  us ;  but  if  he's  cross'd. 

A  horseman  gallop'd  from  the  rear. 

'Tis  but  a  single  warrior  lost : 

'  Orig. — ''  Say  to  thy  Lords  of  high  cmprize." 

i  T^yke-wahe,  the  watcliing  a  corpse  pruvions  to  intenn»ni 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I.                    '  Ibid.  Note  3  K. 

•  fVeapon-schaio,  the  military  array  of  a  county. 

«  (bill    Not*;  3  L. 

■  See  Apjendix.  Note  3  M.         "  Ibid.  Note  3  N. 

CANTO  IV, 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


39 


The  rest,  retreating  as  they  came, 
Avoid  defeat,  and  death,  and  shame." 

XXXI. 

Ill  could  tht  haughty  Dacre  brook 

His  brother  Warden's  sage  rebuke ; 

And  yet  liis  forward  step  he  staid, 

And  slow  and  sullenly  obey'd. 

But  ne'er  again  the  Border  side 
I  Did  these  two  lords  in  friendsliip  ride ; 
I  And  this  slight  discontent,  men  say, 
/  Cost  blood  upon  another  day. 

XXXII. 
The  pursuivant-at-arms  again 

Before  the  castle  took  his  stand; 
His  trumpet  caU'd,  with  parleying  strain, 

The  leaders  of  the  Scottish  band ; 
And  he  defied,  in  Musgrave's  right, 
Stout  Deloraine  to  single  fight ; 
A  gauntlet  at  their  feet  he  laid. 
And  thus  the  terms  of  fight  he  said  : — 
"  If  in  the  lists  good  Musgrave's  sword 

Vanquish  the  kuight  of  Deloraine, 
Your   youthful   chieftaui,   Branksome's 
Lord, 
Shall  hostage  for  his  clan  remain : 
I  If  Deloraine  foil  good  Musgrave, 
I  TheTJU)  \m  hberty  shall  have. 
/      Howe'er  it  falls,  the  Enghsh  band, 
I  Unharming  Scots,  by  Scots  unharm'd, 
I  In  peaceful  march,  like  men  unarm'd, 
*        Shall  straight  retreat  to  Cumberland." 

XXXIII. 

tJnconscious  of  the  near  relief. 

The  proffer  pleased  each  Scottish  chief, 

Though  much  the  Ladye  sage  gainsay'd ; 
For   though  then-   hearts   were   brave   and 

true. 
From  Jedwood's  recent  sack  they  kne"W 

How  tardy  was  the  Regent's  aid : 
And  you  may  guess  the  noble  Dame 

Durst  not  the  secret  prescience  own. 
Sprung  from  the  art  she  might  not  name, 

By  which  the  coming  help  was  known. 
Closed  was  the  compact,  and  agreed 

That  lists  shvould  be  enclosed  with  speed, 
Beneath  the  castle,  on  a  lawn : 
They  fix'd  the  morrow  for  the  strife, 
On  foot,  with  Scottish  axe  and  knife. 

At  the  fourth  hour  from  pee,p  of  d4wn ; 
When  Deloraine,  from  sickness  freed,  I 
Or  else  a  champion  in  his  stead. 
Should  for  himself  and  chieftain  standj 
Agaiist  stout  Musgrave,  hand  to  hand 

1  See  Aj'penduc,  Note  3  O. 


XXXIV. 
I  know  right  well,  that,  in  their  lay,     [ 
Full  many  minstrels  suig  and  say,         1 

Such  combat  should  be  made  on  horse, 
On  foamkig  steed,  in  full  career, 
With  brand  to  aid,  when  as  the  spear 

Should  sliiver  in  the  course : 
But  he,  the  jovial  Harper,'  taught 
Me,  yet  a  youth,  how  it  was  fought, 

In  guise  which  now  I  say ; 
He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 
Of  Black  Lord  Arcliibald's  battle-laws,* 

In  the  old  Douglas'  day. 
He  brook'd  not,  he,  that  scoffing  tongue 
Should  tax  his  minstrelsy  with  wrong, 

Or  call  his  song  untrue : 
For  this,  when  they  the  goblet  plied, 
And  such  rude  taimt  liad  chafed  his  pride. 

The  Bard  of  Reull  he  slew. 
On  Teviot's  side,  in  fight  they  stood. 
And  tuneful  hands  were  stain'd  with  blood ; 
Where  still  the  thorn's  white  branches  wave. 
Memorial  o'er  his  rival's  gi-ave. 

XXXV. 
Wliy  should  I  tell  the  rigid  doom, 
That  dr-igg'd  my  master  to  his  tomb ; 

How  Ousenam's  maidens  tore  their  hair. 
Wept  till  their  eyes  were  dead  and  dnu. 
And  wrung  tlieir  hands  fur  h)ve  of  him. 

Who  died  at  Jedwood  Air  ? 
He  died ! — liis  scholars,  one  by  one. 
To  the  cold  silent  grave  are  gone  ; 
And  I,  alas !  survive  alone, 
To  muse  o'er  rivalries  of  yore. 
And  grieve  tliat  I  shall  licai-  no  more 
The  strahis,  with  envy  heard  before ; 
For,  with  my  minstrel  brethi-ea  fled. 
My  jealousy  of  song  is  dead. 


He  paused :  the  hstening  dames  again 
Applaud  the  hoary  ilinstrel's  strain. 
With  many  a  word  of  kmdly  cheer, — 
In  pity  half,  and  half  sincere, — 
Marvell'd  the  Duchess  how  so  well 
His  legendary  song  could  tell — 

/Of  ancient  deeds,  so  long  forgot; 

:•  Of  feuds,  whose  memory  was  not ; 

(  Of  forests,  now  laid  waste  and  bare ; 

'  Of  towers,  which  harbor  now  the  luirc; 

.   Of  manners,  long  suice  clianged  and  gone, 

•  Of  chiefs,  who  under  their  gray  stone 
So  long  have  slept,  that  fickle  Fame 
Had  blotted  from  lier  roUs  their  name, 
And  twined  round  some  new  muiion's  head 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 


40 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  y 


Tlic  fading  wreath  for  wlucli  thoy  Lied; 
Til  s(Mith,  'tw:i3  stningf,  tliis  olJ  man's  verso 
Could  cidl  theiu  from  their  marble  hearse. 

Tlic  Ilarpcr  emiled,  well-please  J ;  for  ne'er 
\   "Wiis  flattery  lost  on  p«)et's  esir: 
A  siiiiiilc  race !  they  waste  their  toQ 
For  the  vain  triljute  of  a  smile  ; 
E'en  when  in  age  their  flame  expires, 
Ih'i  dtileet  breath  ean  fan  its  fires: 
Their  drooping  iV.ncy  wakes  at  prixise, 
And  strives  to  trim  the  sliort-lived  blazo. 

Smiled  then,  well-pleased,  the  Aged  Man, 
And  thus  his  talc  continued  raa 


(tijc  £an  of  tljc  Cast  iUinstnl. 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


I. 

Call  it  not  vain : — they  do  not  err,      f 
Who  say,  that  when  tl>e^JPsiCi_difiS,  I 

Mute  Nature  inouni!^  her  worsliijjper,  ( 
Ami"  cdetirates  'Ks'oTisequiesT'       |l 

"Who  say,  tidl  cUfT,  and  cavern  lone, 

For  the  departed  Bard  make  moan; 

Tliat  mountains  weep  in  crystal  rill ; 

That  flowers  in  tears  of  balm  distil ; 

Through  liis  loved  groves  that  breezes  sigh, 

And  oaks,  in  deeper  groan,  reply ; 

And  rivers  teach  their  rushing  wave 

To  munnur  dirges  round  his  grave. 

II. 
Not  tluxt,  in  sooth,  o'er  mortal  um 
Those  tilings  hianimate  car  mourn ; 
But  that  the  stream,  the  wood,  the  gale, 
Is  vocixl  with  the  plaintive  wail 
Of  tho.se,  who,  else  forgotten  long, 
Lived  in  the  ptiet's  f:uthful  song. 
And,  with  tlie  poet's  parting  breath, 
"WTiose  memory  feels  a  second  death. 
Tlie  Maid's  pale  shade,  who  wails  her  lot, 
That  love,  true  love,  should  be  forgot. 
From  rose  and  hawthorn  shakes  the  tear 
Upon  the  gentle  Minstrel's  bier:         [ 
The  pliantom  Knight,  liis  glory  fled,  I 

>  '  riV. — "  Spear-head.1  above  the  colamns  don." — Ed. 
'  See  A|>|>endix,  Note  3  Q. 
•  In  the  first  eiition  we  read — 

"  V.Tils  not  to  lell  what  hundreds  more 

From  the  rit-h  Mirse  and  Lammermore,"  &c. 
The  lines  on  \V'ed(lerbume   and  Swinton  were  inserted  in 
lie  second  e<lilion. — Ed. 


Mourns  «'er  the  field  he  heap'd  with  dead ; 

Mounts  the  wild  blast  that  sweeps  smiaia, 

And  shrieks  along  the  battle-i>l:iin. 

The  Chief,  whose  antique  crownlet  long 

Still  sj)arkled  in  the  feud.d  song, 

Now,  from  the  mountaui's  misty  tl.rone, 

Sees,  in  the  thanedom  once  las  own. 

His  ashes  undistingui.-hd  lie. 

His  place,  his  power,  his  memory  die : 

His  groims  the  lonely  caverns  fill, 

His  tears  of  rage  ini|)el  the  rill : 

All  mourn  the  Minstrel's  harp  unstrung, 

I'heir  name  unknown,  their  praise  unsung. 

III. 

Scarcely  the  hot  assault  was  staid, 

Tlie  terms  of  truce  were  scarcely  made, 

"When  they  could  spy,  from  Br.anksome's  towers, 

Tlic  advancing  march  of  martial  powers. 

Tliick  clouds  of  dust  afar  appear'd. 

And  trampling  steeds  were  faintly  heard ; 

Bright  spears,'  above  the  columns  dun. 

Glanced  momentary  to  the  sun ; 

And  feudal  banners  fair  display 'd 

The  bands  that  moved  to  Brauksome's  aid. 

IV. 

Vails  not  to  tell  each  hardy  clan. 

From  the  fair  Middle  Marches  came ; 
Tlie  Bloody  Heart  blazed  in  the  van, 

Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name  !' 
Vails  not  to  tell  what  steeds  did  spuni,' 
"Wlierc  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderburne* 

Their  men  in  battle-order  set ; 
And  Swuiton  laid  the  lance  in  rest, 
Tliat  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 

Of  Clarence's  Plantagenet.* 
Nor  list  I  say  what  hundreds  more, 
From  the  rich  Merse  and  Lammermore, 
And  Tweed's  fau-  borders,  to  the  war. 
Beneath  the  crest  of  Old  Dunbar, 

And  Hepburn's  mingled  banners  come, 
Down  the  steep  mountain  glittering  far, 

And  shouting  still,  "  A  Home  1  a  Home  !"• 


Now  squire  and  loiight,  from  Branksome  sent, 

On  many  a  courteous  message  went ; 

To  every  cliicf  and  lord  they  paid 

Meet  thanks  for  prompt  and  powerful  aid ; 

And  told  them, — how  a  truce  was  made, 

*  Sir  David  Home  of  Wedderburne,  who  was  slain  in  the 
fatal  battle  of  Flodden,  left  seven  sons  by  his  wife,  [sabel, 
daughter  of  Iloppringle  of  Galashiels  (now  Pringle  of  While- 
bank).  They  were  called  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedde^ 
bums. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

«  Ibid.  Note  3  .«« 


CANTO  V.                       THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                 41 

And  lioTV  a  day  of  fight  was  ta'en 

Had  found  a  bloody  sheath. 

'Twixt  Musgrave  and  stout  Deloraine  ; 

'Twixt  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 

And  how  the  Ladyc  pray'd  them  dear, 

Was  not  iiiiVequent,  nor  held  strange, 

That  all  would  stay  the  tight  to  see, 

In  the  old  Border-day  ■? 

And  deign,  m  love  and  courtesy, 

But  yet  on  Branksome  s  towers  and  towu, 

To  taste  of  Branksome  cheer. 

In  peaceful  merrunent  sunk  down 

Nor,  wliile  they  bade  to  feast  each  Scot, 

The  sun's  dechiung  ray. 

Were  England's  noble  Lords  forgot. 

Himself,  the  hoary^Seneschal 

VIII. 

Rode  forth,  in  seendy  terms  to  call 

Tlie  bhthsome  signs  of  wassel  gay 

Those  gallant  foes  to  Branksome  Hall. 

Decay'd  not  with  the  dying  day  ; 

Accepted  Howard,  than  whom  knight 

Soon  tlu'ough  the  latticed  windows  tall 

Was  never  dubbd, more  bold  in  fight ; 

Of  lofty  Branksome's  lordly  hall. 

Nor,  when  frcjm  war  and  armor  free. 

Divided  square  by  shafts  of  stone, 

More  famed  for  stately  coiu-tesy : 

Huge  flakes  of  ruddy  lustre  shone ; 

But  angry  Dacre  rather  chose 

Nor  less  the  gilded  rafters  rang 

In  Ms  pavilion  to  repose. 

With  merry  harp  and  beakers'  clang : 

A  nd  frequent,  on  the  darkening  plain, 

VI. 

Loud  hoUo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran. 

Kow,  noble  Dame,  perchance  you  ask. 

As  bands,  their  stragglers  to  regain, 

How  these  two  hostile  armies  met  ? 

Give  the  slii-ill  watchword  of  then-  clan ; 

Deeming  it  were  no  easy  task 

And  revellers,  o'er  their  bowls,  proclaim 

To  keep  the  truce  wliich  here  was  set ; 

Douglas  or  Dacre's  conquering  name. 

Where  martial  spirits,  all  on  fire. 

Breathed  only  blood  and  mortal  he. — 

IX. 

By  mutual  inroads,  mutual  blows, 

Less  frequent  heard,  and  fainter  still, 

By  habit,  and  by  nation,  foes, 

At  length  the  various  clamors  died : 

They  met  on  Teviot's  strand ; 

And  you  might  hear,  iiom  Branksome  hill. 

They  met  and  sate  them  mingled  down. 

No  soxmd  but  Teviot's  rushing  tide ; 

Without  a  thi'eat,  witliout  a  frown. 

Save  when  the  changing  sentinel 

As  brothers  meet  in  foreign  land :    ,- 

The  challenge  of  his  watch  could  tell ; 

The  hands,  the  speai-  that  lately  grasj  'd. 

And  save,  where,  through  the  dark  profound. 

Still  in  the  mailed  gauntlet  clasp'd,         //T^aaI 

f    The  clanging  axe  and  hammer's  sound 

Were  interchanged  in  greeting  deai  y    fMl 
Visors  were  raised,  and  faces  shown,    ^*^    If 

Rung  fiom  the  nether  lawn ; 

For  many  a  busy  hand  toil'd  there, 

Strong  pales  to  shape,  and  beams  to  square .• 

And  many  a  friend,  to  friend  made  kcfown, 

Pai-took  of  sociid  cheer. 

The  lists'  dread  barriers  to  prepare 

Some  drove  the  jolly  bowl  about ; 

Against  the  morrow's  dawa 

With   dice   and   di-aughts  some   chased  the 

day; 

X. 

And  some,  with  many  a  merry  shout. 

Margaret  from  hall  did  soon  retreat.    1 

In  riot,  revelry,  and  rout. 

Despite  the  Dame's  reproving  eye ;  j 

Pursued  the  foot-ball  play.' 

Nor  mark'd  she,  as  she  left  her  seat,     " 

Full  many  a  stifled  sigh ; 

VII. 

For  many  a  noble  warrior  strove           \ 

Yet,  be  it  known,  had  bugles  blown. 

To  win  the  Flower  of  Teviot's  love,      '-. 

Or  sign  of  war  been  seen, 

And  many  a  bold  ally. —                     ^ 

Those  bands,  so  fair  together  ranged. 

With  thi-obbing  head  and  anxious  b«art, 

Those  hands,  so  frankly  interchanged, 

All  in  her  lonely  bower  apart. 

Had  dyed  with  gore  the  green : 

In  broken  sleep  she  lay : 

Tlie  merry  shout  by  T^yioi-side 

By  times,  from  silken  couch  she  rose ; 

Had  sunk  in  war-cries  wild  and  wide. 

While  yet  the  banner'd  hosts  repose, , 

And  in  the  groan  of  death ; 

She  view'd  the  dawning  day :          ■ 

And  wliingers,"  now  in  friendship  bare, 

Of  all  the  hundi-eds  sunk  to  rest,         i 

Tlie  social  meal  to  part  and  share, 

First  woke  the  loveliest  and  the  beat.1 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U.                       *  Ibid.  Note  3  V. 

*  A  sort  of  knife  or  iioniard. 
6 

6  TJiis  line  is  not  in  llie  first  edition. 

42                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  v 

XI. 

The  heart  of  them  tliat  loved  so  well 

Shft  gazcil  upon  the  inner  court, 

JflVue  love's  the  gift  which  God  has  given 

Which  in  the  tower's  tiril  sliiniiiw  lay; 

|To  man  ahme  beiwalh  tin;  heaven: 

Where  courser's  chmjf,  and  stiiuij),  and  sunrt, 

It  is  nut  fantasy's  hut  lire. 

Had  rung  the  livehmg  yeaterdny ; 

Whose  wisliea,  soon  aa  granted,  fly ; 

Now  still  as  death;  till  stalking  slow, — 

It  livcth  nut  in  fierce  desire. 

The  jin^'liny  spurs  announced  liid  tread, — 

With  dead  desire  it  doth  nut  die; 

A  stately  warrior  puss'd  below; 

But  wilt  II  he  raised  his  j)lunied  head — 

It  is  the  secret  sympathy, 

X['e  silver  link,'  tlie  silki-n  tie, 

Blessed  Mary  !  can  it  be  < —                / 
Secure,  as  if  in  Ouscnain  boweraij              / 

WhichTTeaH  to  lieart,  and  miiul  to  mind, 

In  body  and  in  soul  can  bind. — 

lie  walks  through  Branksoinc's  hostile  towers, 

Now  leave  we  Margaret  and  her  Knight, 

Witli  fearless  step  and  free. 

To  tell  you  of  the  approaching  light. 

She  dared  not  sign,  she  dared  not  speak — 

Oh  !  if  one  page's  slumbers  break. 

XIV. 

IBs  blood  the  price  must  pay  ! 

Tlieir  warning  blasts  the  bugles  blew, 

Not  all  the  pearls  Queen  Mary  wears. 

The  pijje's  shrill  port^  aroused  each  clan ; 

Not  Margaret's  yet  more  precious  tears, 

In  haste,  the  deadly  strife  to  view, 

Shall  buy  his  life  a  day. 

The  trooping  warriors  eager  ran : 

lliick  round  the  hsts  their  lances  stood, 

XII. 

Like  blasted  pines  in  Ettrick  wood ; 

Yet  was  his  hazard  small ;  for  well 

To  Branksome  many  a  look  they  threw, 

You  may  betliiuk  you  of  the  spell 

The  combatants  approacli  to  view, 

Of  tliat  sly  urchin  p;ige  ; 

And  bandied  many  a  word  of  boast, 

This  to  his  lord  he  did  impart, 

About  the  knight  each  favor'd  most. 

Anil  made  him  seem,  by  glamoui-  art. 

A  knight  from  Hermitage. 

XV. 

Unchallenged  thus,  the  warder's  post, 

Meantime  full  anxious  was  the  Dame; 

The  court,  unchallenged,  thus  he  eross'd, 

For  now  arose  disputed  chuin, 

For  all  the  vassalage : 

Of  who  should  fight  for  Deloraine, 

But  0 !  what  magic's  quaint  disguise 

'Twixt  Harden  and  'twixt  Thirlestainc  :* 

Could  blind  fair  Margaret's  azure  eyes  1 

Tliey  'gan  to  reckon  kin  and  rent, 

She  started  from  her  seat ; 

And  frowning  brow  on  brow  was  bent ; 

WHiile  with  surprise  and  fear  she  strove. 

But  yet  not  long  the  strife — for,  lo ! 

And  both  could  scarcely  master  love — 

Himself,  the  Knight  of  Deloraine, 

Lord  Heiu-y's  at  her  feet. 

Strong,  as  it  seem'd,  and  free  from  pain, 

In  armor  sheath'd  from  top  to  toe. 

XIII. 

Appear'd,  and  craved  the  combat  due. 

Oft  have  I  mused,  what  purpose  bad 

The  Dame  her  charm  successfid  knew,* 

That  foul  malicious  urcliin  had 

And  the  fierce  chiefs  their  claims  withdrew. 

To  bring  this  meeting  round ; 

For  happy  love's  a  heavenly  sight. 

XVL 

And  by  a  vile  malignant  sprite 

When  for  the  lists  they  sought  the  plain, 

In  such  no  joy  is  found  ; 

The  stately  Ladye's  silken  rein 

And  oft  I've  deem'd,  perchance  he  thought 

Did  noble  Howard  hold ; 

Their  erring  passion  might  have  wrought 

Unarmed  by  her  side  be  walk'd. 

Sorrow,  and  sin,  and  .shame  ; 

And  much,  in  courteous  phrase,  they  talk'd 

And  death  to  Cranstoun's  galhmt  Knight, 

Of  feats  of  arms  of  old. 

And  to  the  gentle  ladye  bright. 

Costly  liis  garb — liis  Flemi.sh  ruff 

Disgrace,  and  hjss  of  fame. 

Fell  o'er  liis  doublet,  shaped  of  buff. 

But  e;uthly  spirit  could  not  tell 

With  satm  slash'd  and  lijied  ; 

'  In  the  first  edition,  "  the  silver  cord ;" — 

'  It  may  be  noticed  that  the  late  Lord  Napier,  the  represen- 

" Ve-i,  love,  iiidced,  is  li-^ht  from  heaven ; 

tative  of  the  Scotts  of  Thirlestane,  was  Lord  Lieuti-nnnt  ol 

A  !i|iark  of  th.-it  iminort.il  lire 

SclkirkRhirc  (of  which  the  aiitlior  was  sliPrifT-ileiiuie;  at  tlie 

Witli  :inge!!i  sili.-ireit,  by  All:i  jiven. 

time  when  the  poem  was  written  ;  the  competitor  for  tlie  hon- 

To lift  from  earth  oor  low  desire,"  &c. 

or  of  supplying  Dcloraine's  place  was  the  poet's  own  auuee- 

7'Ae  Qiaour. 

tor.— Ed. 

»  A  mani.li  piece  of  musiu,  adapted  to  the  bagpipes. 

*  See  Canto  III.  Stanza  xxiii. 

C'ANTO  V, 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


43 


Tawny  his  boot,  and  gold  his  spur, 
His  cloak  was  all  of  Poland  fur, 
His  hose  with  silver  twined ; 
His  Bilboa  blade,  by  Marclimen  felt. 
Hung  in  a  broad  and  studded  belt ; 
Hence,  m  rude  phrase,  the  Borderers  still 
CaU'd  noble  Howard,  Belted  Will. 

XVII. 
Behind  Lord  Howard  and  tlie  Dame, 
Fair  Margaret  on  her  palfrey  came, 

Whose  foot-cloth  swept  the  ground: 
Wliite  was  her  wimple,  and  her  veil, 
And  her  loose  locks  a  chaplet  pale 

Of  whitest  roses  bound  ; 
The  lordly  Angus,  by  her  side, 
In  courtesy  to  cheer  her  tried ; 
Without  his  aid,  her  hand  in  vain 
Had  strove  to  guide  her  broider'd  rein- 
He  deem'd,  she  shudder'd  at  the  sight 
Of  warriors  met  for  mortal  fight ; 
But  cause  of  terror  all  unguess'd, 
Was  fluttering  in  her  gentle  breast, 
When,  in  theh*  chairs  of  crimson  placed. 
The  Dame  and  she  the  barriers  graced, 

XVIII. 
Prize  of  the  field,  the  young  Buccleuch,! 
An  English  knight  led  forth  to  view ;     1 
Scarce  rued  the  boy  his  present  phght, 
So  much  he  long'd  to  see  the  fight. 
Withm  the  lists,  in  knightly  pride, 
High  Home  and  haughty  Dacre  ride  ; 
Their  leading  staffs  of  steel  they  wield. 
As  marshals  of  the  mortal  field  ; 
Wliile  to  each  kniglit  their  care  assign'd 
Like  vantage  of  the  sun  and  wind.' 
Then  heralds  hoarse  did  loud  proclaim, 
In  King  and  Queen,  and  Warden's  name. 

That  none,  wliile  lasts  the  strife, 
Should  dare,  by  look,  or  sign,  or  word. 
Aid  to  a  champion  to  afford. 

On  peril  of  liis  Kfe  ; 
And  not  a  breath  the  silence  broke, 
Tin  thus  the  alternate  Heralds  spoke : — 

XIX. 

ENGLISH  HERALD. 

'  Here  standeth  Richard  of  Musgrave, 
Good  kniglit  and  true,  and  freely  born. 

Amends  from  Deloraine  to  crave. 
For  foul  dcspiteous  scathe  and  scorn. 

This  couplet  waa  added  in  the  second  edition. 
After  tliis,  in  the  first  edition,  we  read  only, 

"  At  the  last  wordR,  with  deadly  blows. 
The  ready  warriors  fiercely  close." — Ed. 

•  "  The  whole  scene  of  the  duel,  or  judicial  combat,  is  con- 


He  sayeth,  that  William  of  Deloraine 

Is  traitor  false  by  Border  laws ; 
This  with  liis  sword  he  will  maintain, 

So  help  him  God,  and  liis  good  cause !" 

XX. 

SCOTTISH  HERALD. 

"  Here  standeth  Wilham  of  Deloraine, 
Good  knight  and  true,  of  noble  strain. 
Who  sayeth,  that  foul  treason's  stain, 
Smce  he  bore  arms,  ne'er  soil'd  his  coat ; 
And  that,  so  help  him  God  above ! 
He  wUl  on  Musgrave's  body  prove, 
He  lies  most  foully  m  his  tliroat." 

LORD  DACRE. 

"  Forward,  brave  champions,  to  the  fight ! 
Soimd  trumpets !" 

LORD  HOME. 

— "  God  defend  the  right  !'"- 
Then,  Teviot !  how  tliine  echoes  rang, 
When  bugle-sound  and  trumpet-clang 

Let  loose  the  martial  foes. 
And  in  mid  list,  with  shield  poised  high. 
And  measured  step  and  wary  eye, 

The  combatants  did  close. 

XXL 

HI  would  it  suit  your  gentle  ear, 

Ye  lovely  listeners,  to  hear 

How  to  the  axe  the  helms  did  sound, 

And  blood  pour'd  down  from  many  a  wound , 

For  desperate  was  the  strife  and  long. 

And  either  warrior  fierce  and  strong. 

But,  were  each  dame  a  listenmg  knight, 

I  wcU  could  tell  how  wai-riors  fight ! 

For  I  have  seen  war's  lightning  flashing, 

Seen  the  claymore  with  bayonet  clashing, 

Seen  through  red  blood  the  war-horse  dashing, 

And  scorn'd  amid  the  reeling  strife. 

To  yield  a  step  for  death  or  life. — 

\ 

XXIL 
'Tis  done,  'tis  done  !  that  fotal  blow' 

Has  stretch'd  liim  on  the  bloody  plain ; 
He  strives  to  rise — Brave  Musgra,ve,  no ! 

Thence  never  shalt  thou  rise  again  I 
He  chokes  in  blood — some  friendly  hand 
Undo  the  visor's  barred  band. 
Unfix  the  gorget's  noa  clasp. 
And  give  liim  room  for  life  to  gasp ! — 
0,  bootless  aid ! — haste,  holy  Friar,* 
Haste,  ere  the  sinner  shall  expire  ! 

ducted  according  to  the  strictest  ordinances  of  chivalry,  and 
delineated  with  all  tlie  minuteness  of  an  ancient  romancer. 
The  modem  reader  will  probably  find  it  rather  tedious  ;  al) 
out  the  concluding  stanzas,  which  are  in  a  loftier  measure — 
'  'Tis  done  !  'tis  done  !'  "  &c. — Jeffrey. 
*  Furst  Edition,  "  In  vain — In  vain!  haste,  holy  Friar." 


44 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V, 


Of  all  his  guilt  let  liim  be  sliriven, 

And  smooth  his  path  from  earth  to  heaven ! 

XXIII. 
Ill  haste  the  holy  Friar  sped  ; — 
His  naked  foot  was  dyed  witli  red, 

As  tiirougli  tlie  lists  lie  ran; 
Umnindful  of  the  shouts  on  high, 
Tliat  liaiPd  the  conqueror's  victory. 

lie  raised  tlie  dying  man  ; 
Loose  waved  his  silver  beard  and  hair. 
As  o'er  him  he  kncol'd  down  in  prayer ; 
And  still  the  crucifix  on  high 
He  holds  before  liis  darkening  eye; 
And  still  he  bonds  an  anxious  ear, 
His  foltering  penitence  to  hear ; 

Still  props  him  from  the  bloody  sod, 
Still,  even  when  soul  and  body  part. 
Pours  ghostly  comfort  on  his  heart, 

And  bids  liim  trust  in  God! 
Unlieard  he  prays ; — the  death-Jjang's  o'er !' 
Rigbard  of  ik^rave  breathes  no  more,      l 

xxiy. 

As  if  exliaustcd  in  the  fight, 
Or  musing  o'er  the  piteous  sight, 

The  silent  victor  stands ; 
Ilis  beaver  did  he  not  unclasp, 
Jlark'd  not  the  shouts,  felt  not  the  grasp 

Of  gi-atulating  hands. 
"When  lo !  strange  cries  of  wild  surprise, 
Mingled  with  seeming  terror,  rise 

Among  the  Scottish  bands  ; 
And  all,  amid  the  throng'd  array, 
In  panic  haste  gave  open  way 
To  a  half-naked  ghastly  man, 
Who  downward  from  the  castle  ran : 
He  cross'd  the  barriers  at  a  bound. 
And  wild  and  haggard  look'd  around. 

As  dizzy,  and  in  pain ; 
And  all,  upon  the  armed  ground. 

Knew  William  of  Deloraiiie  ! 
Each  ladye  sprung  from  seat  with  speed ; 
Vaulted  each  marshal  from  liis  steed  ; 

"  And  who  art  thou,"  they  cried, 
"  Who  hast  thij  battle  fought  and  won  ?" 
Ilis  jilumcd  helm  was  soon  undone — 
1        "  Cr:instoun  of  Tcviot-sidc  ! 
>    Fur  Tills  iaii-  prize  I've  fought  and  won,"— 
And  to  the  Ladye  led  her  son. 

XXV 
Full  oft  the  rescued  boy  she  kiss  d, 
And  often  prcss'd  him  to  her  breast ; 
For,  under  all  her  dauntless  show. 
Her  heart  had  tlu"obb'd  at  every  blow ; 

/  Orig. — "  Unheard  he  prays  ; — 'tis  o'er !  'tis  a'crl  " 


I 


Yet  not  Lord  Cranstoun  deign'd  she  greet, 
Though  low  he  kneeled  at  lier  feet. 
Me  lists  not  ttdl  wiiat  wor.ls  were  made, 
Wliat  DougliLs,  lloiiif,  and  Howard  s;ud— 

— For  Ht)ward  was  a  generous  foe — 
And  how  tlie  clan  unitiMl  pray'd 

The  Ladye  would  the  feud  forego. 
And  deign  to  bless  the  nuptial  hour 
Of  Cranstoun's  Lord  and  Teviol's  Flower, 

XXVL 

She  look'd  to  river,  look'd  to  hill, 

niought  on  the  Spirit's  prophecy, 
Tlien  broke  her  silence  stern  and  still, — 

"  Not  you,  but  Fate,  has  vanquish'jjjua,; 
nieirmtlucnce  landly^ars  may  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide  and  Branksome's  tower. 

For  pride  is  quell'd,  and  love  is  fr^tji^rr- 
She  fooU-  ?:m-  AI;ii^>wt.  l>y-»li«  hand, 
Who,  breathless,  trembling,  scarce  might  stanci 

That  hand  to  Cranstoun's  lord  gave  she : — 
"  As  I  am  true  to  thee  and  thine^^. 
Do  thon  be  true  to  me  and  mine ! 

This  clasp  of  love  our  bond  shall  be  ; 
For  this  is  your  betrotiiing  day. 
And  all  these  noble  lords  shall  stay, 

To  grace  it  with  tneu*  company." 

XXVIL 
All  as  they  left  the  listed  plain. 
Much  of  the  story  she  did  gmn ; 
How  Cranstoun  fought  witli  Deloraine, 
And  of  his  page,  and  of  the  Book 
Wiiicii  from  the  wounded  knight  he  took; 
And  how  he  sought  her  castle  liigli. 
That  morn,  by  help  of  graniarye  ; 
How,  in  Sir  William's  armor  dight, 
Stolen  by  his  page,  Avhilo  slept  the  knight, 
He  took  on  liim  the  single  fight. 
But  half  his  tale  he  left  unsaid. 
And  linger'd  till  he  join'd  the  maid. — 
Cared  not  the  Ladye  to  betray 
Her  mj'stic  arts  iu  view  of  day ; 
But  well  she  thought,  ere  midnight  came, 
Of  that  strange  page  the  pride  to  tame. 
From  liis  foul  hands  the  Book  to  save. 
And  send  it  back  to  Michael's  grave. — 
Needs  not  to  tell  each  tender  word 
'Twi.vt  Margaret  and  'twLxt  Cranstoun's  lord , 
Nor  liow  she  told  of  former  woes. 
And  how  her  bosom  fell  and  rose. 
While  he  and  Musgrave  bandied  blows. — 
Needs  not  these  lovers'  joys  to  tell : 
One  day,  fair  maids,  you'll  know  them  well 

XXVIIL 
William  of  Deloraine,  some  chance 
Had  waken'd  from  his  deatlihke  trance  ; 


.  '  CANTO  V.                      THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                45 

And  taught,  that,  in  the  hsted  plain, 

rd  give  the  lands  of  Deloraine, 

AnDther,  in  liis  arms  and  sliield, 

Dark  Musgrave  were  ali\-c  again."* — 

Against  fiurce  Musgrave  axe  did  wield, 

Under  tlie  name  of  Deloraine. 

XXX. 

Hence,  to  the  field,  unarm'd,  he  ran. 

So  mourn'd  he,  till  Lord  Dacre's  band 

And  hence  iiis  presence  scared  the  clan, 

Were  bowning  back  to  Cumberland. 

Wlio  held  him  for  some  fleeting  -wraith,* 

They  raised  brave  Musgrave  from  the  field, 

And  not  a  man  of  blood  and  breath. 

And  laid  him  on  liis  bloody  shield ; 

Not  nuich  tiiis  new  ally  lie  loved, 

On  levell'd  lances,  four  and  four. 

Yet,  when  lie  saw  wliat  hap  had  proved, 

By  turns,  the  noble  burden  bore. 

He  greeted  him  right  lieartiUe : 

Before,  at  times,  upon  the  gale. 

He  would  not  waken  old  debate. 

Was  heard  the  Muistrel's  plaintive  wail ; 

For  lie  was  void  of  rancorous  liate, 

Behind,  four  priests,  in  sable  stole. 

Though  rude,  and  scant  of  courtesy ; 

Sung  requiem  for  the  warrior's  soul : 

In  raids  lie  spilt  but  seldom  blood. 

Around,  tlie  horsemen  slowly  rode ; 

Unless  when  men-at-arms  withstood, 

With  trailing  pikes  the  spearmen  trode ; 

Or,  as  was  meet,  for  deadly  feud. 

And  thus  the  gallant  knight  they  bore. 

Ho  ne'er  bore  grudge  for  stalwart  blow. 

Tlirough  Liddesdale  to  Leven's  shore ; 

Ta'en  in  f.iir  tight  from  gallant  foe  : 

Thence  to  Holme  Coltranie's  lofty  nave, 

And  so  'twas  seen  of  him,  e'en  now, 

And  laid  liim  in  his  father's  grave. 

^Vlien  on  dead  Musgrave  lie  look'd  down , 
Grief  darken'd  on  liis  rugged  brow. 

Thougli  half  disguised  with  a  frown ; 

The  harp's  wild  notes,  though  hush'd  the  song, 

And  thus,  while  sorrow  bent  his  head, 

The  mimic  march  of  death  prolong ; 

His  foeman's  epitaph  he  made. 

Now  seems  it  far,  and  now  a-near, 

Now  meets,  and  now  eludes  the  ear ; 

XXIX. 

Now  seems  some  mountain  side  to  sweep, 

"  Now,  Richard  Musgrave,  liest  thou  here ! 

Now  fiiintly  dies  in  valley  deep ; 

I  ween,  my  deadly  enemy ; 

Seems  now  as  if  the  Minstrel's  wail, 

For,  if  I  slew  thy  brother  dear, 

Now  the  sad  requiem,  loads  the  gale ; 

Thou  slew'st  a  sister's  son  to  me 

Last,  o'er  the  warrior's  closiug  grave, 

And  when  I  lay  in  dungeon  dark. 

Rung  the  fuU  choir  in  choral  stave. 

Of  Naworth  Castle,  long  months  three, 

Till  ransom'd  for  a  tliousand  mark. 

After  due  pause,  they  bade  him  tell. 

Dark  Musgrave,  it  was  long  of  thee. 

Why  he,  who  touch'd  the  harp  so  well, 

And,  Musgrave,  could  our  fight  be  tried. 

Should  thus,  with  ill-rewarded  toil. 

AulI  thou  were  now  alive,  as  I, 

Wander  a  poor  and  thankless  soil, 

No  mortal  man  should  us  divide. 

When  the  more  generous  Southern  Land 

Till  one,  or  both  of  us  did  die : 

Would  well  requite  his  skilful  hand. 

Yet  rest  thee  God  !  for  well  I  know 

I 

I  ne'er  shall  find  a  nobler  foe. 

Tlie  Aged  Harper,  howsoe'er 

In  all  the  northern  counties  here, 

His  only  friend,  his  harp,  was  dear. 

Whose  word  is  Snaffle,  spur,  and  spear,' 

Liked  not  to  hear  it  rank'd  so  high 

Thou  wcrt  the  best  to  follow  gear ! 

Above  his  flowing  poesy  : 

'Twas  pleasure,  as  we  look'd  behind, 

Less  lilted  he  still,  that  scornful  jeer 

To  see  how  thou  the  chase  couldst  wind. 

Misprised  the  land  he  loved  so  dear ; 

Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound  on  liis  way. 

High  was  the  sound,  as  thus  again 

And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray  !* 

The  Bard  resumed  liis  minstrel  strain. 

1  The  spectral  apparition  of  a  living  person. 

fully  imitated  in  the  whole  of  thi<  scene ;  and  the  speech  of 

*  "  Tlie  lands  that  over  Ouse  to  Derwick  forth  do  bear. 

Deloraine,  who,   roused    from   his  bed  of  sickness   rushes  into 

Have  for  their  blazon  had,  the  snaffle,  spur,  and  spear." 

the  lists,  apd  apostrophizes  liis  fallen  enemy,  brought  to  our 

Poly-Jilbion,  Song  13. 

recollection,  as  well   from  the  peculiar  turn  6\'  expression  in 

A    r^                A                         t  *            ^^                tfv    wwr 

its  commencement,  as  in  the  tone  of  sentiments  which  it  con- 

* See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

veys,  some  o\'  \.he  funebrcs  oratiuncs  of  the, Mart  Arthur,"— 

*  "  Tlie  style  of  the  o'd  romancers  has  been  very  success- 

Critical  Review 

40                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOliKS.                              canto  vi. 

Of  late,  before  each  martiiU  clan. 

<l\]c  €.a]}  of  tl)c  Cast  iUinstrel. 

They  blew  their  deatlinote  in  the  vjui. 

But  now,  for  every  merry  nuite. 

Rose  tlie  iMJrtcuUis'  iron  grate  ; 

CANTO  SIXTH. 

They  sound  the  pipe,  they  strike  the  string, 
They  dance,  they  revel,  and  they  sing. 

I. 

Till  the  rude  turrets  shjUie  and  ring. 

r>uKATiiM  there  tlie  man  with  soul  so  dead, 

^Vh^t  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

IV. 

'lljis  is  my  own,  my  iiiitivc  huul ! 

Me  lists  not  at  tliis  tide  declare 

Wlioso  Ticart  Imth  iieV-r  witliiii  liim  bura'd, 

The  splendor  of  the  spousal  rite. 

As  huine  his  foostopa  lie  hath  turn\l, 

How  inuster'd  in  the  chapel  fair 

From  wanderuig  on  a  foreign  strantl ! 

Both  maid  and  matron,  squue  and  knight ; 

If  sueli  there  breathe,  go,  mark  iiiin  well ; 

Me  lists  not  tell  of  owches  rare, 

For  liim  no  Minstrel  raptures  swell ; 

Of  mantles  green,  and  braided  Jiair, 

High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 

And  kirtles  furr'd  with  mhiiver ; 

Boundless  liis  wealth  as  wish  can  claim ; 

What  plumage  waved  the  altar  round. 

Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 

How  spuj's  and  ringing  chainlets  sound ; 

Tlie  WTetcli,  concentred  all  in  self. 

And  hard  it  were  for  bard  to  speak 

Living:,  sliall  forfeit  fair  renown. 

The  cliangcful  hue  of  Margaret's  cheek 

1 

And,  doubly  dying,  siuUI  go  down 

That  lovely  hue  wliich  conies  and  flies, 

To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung, 

As  awe  and  shame  alternate  rise  1 

xJuwept,  unlionord,  and  unsung. 

V. 

IL 

Some  bards  have  sung,  the  Ladye  high 

0  Caledonia !  stem  and  wild,' 

Chapel  or  altar  came  not  nigh ; 

ileet  nurse  fur  a  poetic  chiltl ! 

Nor  durst  the  rites  of  spousal  grace. 

_iiU)il\of  brown  heath  aiul  shaggy  wood, 

So  mucli  she  fear'd  each  lioly  place. 

Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood. 

False  slanders  these : — I  trust  right  well 

Land  of  my  sires  !  what  mortal  liand 

She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell  * 

Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band, 

For  mighty  words  and  signs  have  power 

That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand  1 

O'er  sprites  in  planetary  hour : 

Still,  as  I  view  each  well-known  scene, 

Yet  scarce  I  praise  their  venturous  part, 

Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been. 

Who  tiunper  Avith  such  dangerous  art. 

Seems  as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft, 

But  this  for  faitliful  truth  I  say, 

Sole  friends  thy  woods  and  streams  were  left; 

The  Ladye  by  the  altar  stood, 

And  thus  I  love  them  better  still, 

Of  sable  velvet  her  aiTay, 

Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 

And  on  her  head  a  crhnson  hood, 

By  Yarrow's  streams  still  let  me  stray. 

With  pearls  embroider'd  and  entwined, 

Though  none  should  guide  my  feeble  way ; 

Guarded  with  gold,  with  ermine  lined; 

Still  feel  the  breeze  down  Ettrick  break. 

A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist* 

Although  it  cliill  my  wither'd  clieek;' 

Held  by  a  leash  of  silken  twist. 

Still  lay  my  head  by  Teviot  Stone,' 

Though  there,  forgotten  and  alone, 

VL 

The  Bard  may  draw  his  parting  groaa 

Tlie  spousal  rites  were  ended  soon  : 

'Twas  now  tlie  meiTy  hour  of  noon. 

111. 

And  in  the  lofty  arched  hall 

Not  scorn'd  like  me !  to  Branksome  Hall 

Was  spread  the  gorgeous  festival. 

The  Minstrels  came,  at  festive  call ; 

Steward  and  .'^quire,  with  heedful  haste 

Trooping  they  came,  from  near  and  far. 

Marshall'd  the  rank  of  every  guest ; 

The  jovial  priests  of  mirth  and  war; 

Pages,  with  ready  blade,  were  there, 

Alike  for  feast  and  fight  prepared. 

Tlic  miglity  meal  to  carve  and  sliare: 

Battle  and  banquet  both  they  f^harcd. 

O'er  capon,  heron-shew,  and  crane. 

I  •'  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  has  nothing  so  good  a.'i  llie  ad- 

3 The  line  "  Stitl  lay  my  head,"  Sic,  was  not  in  Ihe  firal 

dress  to  Suot'and." — McIntosh. 

edition.— Ed. 

>  Tlie  preec(!ing  four  lines  now  form  the  inscription  on  the 
monument  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  in   the  market-j)lace  of  Sel- 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

kiik.— See  Life,  vol  x   i.  257. 

6  Ibid.  Note  3  Y. 

i 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


47 


Aud  princely  peacock's  gilded  train,' 

And  o'er  the  boar-head,  garnish'd  brave, 

And  cygnet  from  St.  Mary's  wave ;' 

O'er  ptarmigan  and  venison, 

Tlie  priest  had  spoke  Iiis  benison. 

Then  rose  the  riot  and  the  din. 

Above,  beneath,  Avithout,  ■within ! 

For,  fi'om  the  lofty  balcony, 

Rung  trumpet,  shalm,  and  psaltery : 

Their  clanguig  bowls  old  warriors  quaff 'd, 

LouiUy  they  spoke,  and  loudly  laugh'd ; 

Whisper'd  young  laiights,  in  tone  more  mild, 

To  ladies  fan-,  and  ladies  smiled. 

Tlie  hooded  hawks,  high  perch'd  on  beam, 

Tlie  clamor  join'd  with  whistling  scream, 

And  flapp'd  then-  wings,  and  shook  1  heir  beUs, 

In  concert  with  the  stag-hounds'  yells. 

Round  go  the  .flasks  of  ruddy  wine, 

From  Bordeaux,  Orleans,  or  the  Rhine ; 

Tlieir  tasks  the  busy  sewers  ply, 

And  all  is  mirth  and  revelry. 

VII. 
[The  Goblin  Page,  omitting  stdl 
No  opportunity  of  Ul, 
Strove  now,  while  blood  ran  hot  and  high, 
To  rouse  debate  and  jealousy ; 
Till  Conrad,  Lord  of  Wolfenstein, 
By  nature  fierce,  and  warm  with  wine, 
And  now  in  humor  highly  cross'd. 
About  some  steeds  his  band  had  lost. 
High  words  to  words  succeed'uig  still, 
Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Huutliill  ;* 
A  hot  and  hardy  Rutherford, 
Wliom  men  call  Dickon  Draw-the-sword. 
He  took  it  on  the  page's  saye, 
Hunthill  had  driven  these  steeds  away. 
Then  Howard,  Home,  and  Douglas  rose, 
The  kindling  discord  to  compose : 
Stern  Rutlierford  right  httle  said, 
But  bit  his  glove,*  and  shook  his  head. — 
A  fortnight  thence,  in  Inglewood, 
Stout  Conrad  e,  cold,  and  drench'd  in  blood. 
His  bosom  gored  with  many  a  wound, 
Was  by  a  woodman's  lyme-dog  found ; 
Unknown  the  manner  of  his  death, 


1  See  Appen-lix,  Note  3  Z. 

-  There  r.re  often  flishts  of  wild  swans  upon  St.  Mary's 
Lake,  at  the  head  of  the  river  Yarrow.  See  Wordsworth's 
Yarrow  Visited. 

"  Tlie  swan  on  still  St.  Mary's  Lake 
Floats  donble,  swan  and  shadow." — Ed. 

3  Sje  Appendix,  Note  4  A. 

4  Ibi  I.  Not-?  4  B. 

*  Tlie  person  h-arin?  this  redontable  nom  de  gxerre  was  an 
Elliot,  and  ie>;ided  at  Thorleshope,  in  Liddesdalo  lie  occurs 
in  the  li^t  of  Bord"r  ri  lers,  in  1597. 

6  See  Appsndix,  Note  4  C. 

'Tie  ajpiiearar.ce  and  dress  of  tlie  coinpan)  assembled  in 


Gone  was  liis  brand,  both  .sword  and  sheath ; 
But  ever  fi'om  that  time,  'twas  said, 
That  Dickon  wore  a  Cologne  blade. 

VIII. 

The  dwarf,  who  fear'd  his  master's  eye  / 
Might  his  foul  treachery  espie,  i 

Now  sought  the  castle  buttery. 
Where  many  a  yeoman,  bold  and  free, 
Revell'd  as  merrily  and  well 
As  those  that  sat  in  lordly  selle. 
Watt  Tinlhin,  there,  did  frankly  raise 
The  pledge  to  Arthur  Fire-the-Braes  f 
And  he,  as  by  his  breedmg  bound. 
To  Howard's  merry -men  sent  it  round. 
To  quit  them,  on  the  English  side. 
Red  Roland  Forster  loudly  cried, 
"  A  deep  carouse  to  yon  fair  bride  !" 
At  every  pledge,  from  vat  and  pail, 
Foam'd  forth  in  floods  the  nut-brown  ale ; 
Wlule  shout  the  riders  every  one : 
Such  day  of  mirth  ne'er  cheer'd  their  clan, 
Since  old  Buccleuch  the  name  did  gain, 
"When  in  the  cleuch  the  buck  was  ta'eo.* 

IX. 

The  wily  page,  with  vengeful  thought. 

Remember'd  liim  of  Tinlinn's  yew, 
And  swore,  it  should  be  dearly  bought 

Tliat  ever  he  the  arrow  di-ew. 
First,  he  the  yeoman  did  molest. 
With  bitter  gibe  aud  taunting  jest ; 
Told,  how  he  fled  at  Solway  strife, 
And  how  Hob  Armstrong  cheer'd  his  wife ; 
Then,  shunning  still  his  powerful  arm. 
At  unawares  he  wrought  him  liarm ; 
From  trencher  stole  his  choicest  cheer, 
Dash'd  fi-om  his  lips  his  can  of  beer ; 
•Then,  to  his  knee  sly  creeping  on. 
With  bodkin  pierced  him  to  the  bone : 
The  venom'd  wound,  and  festering  joint. 
Long  after  rued  that  bodkin's  point. 
The  startled  yeoman  swore  and  spurn'd, 
And  board  and  flagons  overturn  d.' 
Riot  and  clamor  wild  began ; 
Back  to  the  hall  the  Urchin  ran ; 

the  chapel,  and  the  description  of  the  subsequent  feast,  iu 
which  the  hounds  and  hawks  are  not  the  least  important  per- 
sonages of  the  drama,  are  again  happy  imitations  of  those  au- 
thors from  whose  rich  but  unpolished  ore  Mr.  Scott  has  wrought 
much  of  his  most  exquisite  imagery  and  description.  A  so- 
ciety, such  as  that  assembled  in  Branxholm  Castle,  inflamed 
with  national  prejudices,  and  heated  witli  wine,  seems  to  have 
contained  in  itself  sufficient  seeds  of  spontaneous  disorder;  hut 
the  goblin  page  is  well  intro<lnced,  as  applying  a  torch  to  this 
mass  of  combustibles,  duarrels,  highly  characteristic  of  Bor- 
der manners,  both  in  their  cause  and  the  manner  in  which  the? 
are  supported,  ensue,  as  well  among  the  lordly  guests,  as  the 
yeomen  assembled  in  the  butterv." — Critical  Review   1805 


48                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOUKS.                              canto  ^^. 

T(Mik  ill  a  (larkliiiij  nook  hU  post, 

And  died  for  her  sake  in  Palestine, 

And  j^riim'il  luij  iimttL'r'il,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 

Su  Love  Wiui  still  the  lord  of  all. 

X. 

Now  all  ye  hivers,  that  faithful  prove. 

r?y  tliis  the  Diinic.  li-st  f;irtliiT  fray 

(The  still  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

Sliiiiilil  iniir  tlie  ci>no«)rd  of  tlie  day. 

Pray  ftir  their  wmis  who  died  for  love, 

ll;i<l  l.iil  tlie  Minstrels  tiiiie  tlicir  lay. 

For  Love  sludl  Htill  be  lord  of  all  1 

And  lirst  Kti'|ip'd  forth  old  All>  rt  (irtemc. 

XIII. 

1  lie  Minstrel  ot  that  unriciit  li.iiiii-l' 

Was  iionf  wlio  struck  the  harp  m)  well. 

As  ended  Albert's  .simjile  lay, 

Williin  the  Laiul  IKhateuble  ; 

Arose  a  bard  of  loftier  pirt ; 

Well  frieii>le<l,  tiHi,  his  hardy  kin. 

For  .sonnet,  rhyme,  and  roundelay. 

A\  hoover  lost,  were  sure  to  win; 

Ueiiown'd  in  haughty  Uenry's  court : 

They  son-^ht  the  beeves  that  inatie  tlicir  broth, 

llure  riinikf  thy  harp,  unrivall'd  long, 

In  Scothiud  and  in  Kni^Iaiul  botlu 

Fitztraver  of  the  silver  song! 

In  homely  guise,  jis  nature  bade, 

Hie  gentle  Surrey  loved  his  lyre — 

His  simple  song  the  Borderer  said. 

W'ho  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame?* 

Ilis  was  the  hero's  soul  of  fire, 

XI. 

And  his  the  bard's  immortal  name, 

ALBERT  GR.F.MK.'                  -^ 

It  -was  an  English  ladye  bright,         ^^      i 
(The  siui  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,)' 

And  his  w;us  hive,  e.\alted  high 

By  all  the  glow  of  chivalry. 

And  she  would  marry  a  Scottish  kiiight,  j 

XIV. 

For  Love  will  still  be  lord  of  alL 

Tliey  sought,  together,  climes  afar, 

And  oft,  within  some  olive  grove, 

Blithely  they  saw  the  rising  sun, 

When  even  came  with  twinkling  star. 

When  he  shone  fair  on  Carlisle  wall ; 

They  sung  of  Surrey's  absent  love. 

Eut  they  were  sad  ere  day  was  done, 

His  step  the  Italian  petisjint  stay'd. 

Though  Love  w;is  still  the  lortl  of  all. 

And  deem'd,  that  spirits  fnmi  on  high. 

Round  where  some  hermit  saint  was  laid. 

Her  sire  gave  brooch  and  jewel  fine. 

Were  breathing  heavenly  melody  ; 

Wlu-n  the  .«un  shines  fair  on  C.irlisle  wall  J 

So  sweet  did  harp  and  voice  combine,* 

Uer  brother  gave  but  a  flask  of  wine, 

To  praise  the  name  of  Geraldine. 

For  ire  that  Love  was  lord  of  alL 

XV. 

For  she  had  lands,  both  meadow  and  lea. 

Fitztr.-ivcr  I  0  what  tongue  may  say 

Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall, 

The  pjuigs  thy  faithful  bo.som  knew, 

And  he  .«wore  her  death,  ere  he  would  see 

When  Surrey,  of  the  deathless  lay. 

A  Scottish  knight  the  lord  of  all ! 

Ungrateful  Tudor's  sentence  slew? 

Regardless  of  the  tyrant's  frown, 

XIL 

His  harp  call  d  wrath  and  vengeance  down. 

That  wine  she  had  not  ta.sted  well, 

He  left,  for  Naworth's  iron  towers, 

(The  .sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

Windsor's  f^een  glades,  and  courtly  bowers, 

When  dead,  in  her  true  love's  arms,  she  fell, 

And  faithful  to  his  patron's  name. 

For  Love  wa.s  still  the  lord  of  all ! 

With  Howard  still  Fitztraver  came ; 

Lord  Williams  foremost  favorite  he. 

He  pierced  her  brother  to  the  heart. 

And  chief  of  all  liis  minstrelsy. 

Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall: 

So  perish  all  would  true  love  part, 

XVI. 

That  Love  may  still  be  lord  of  all ! 

FITZTRAVEn.' 

'Twaa  All-soul's  eve,  and  Surrey's  heart  beat 

And  then  lie  took  the  cross  divine, 

high ; 

(WHiere  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carli.sle  wall,) 

He  heard  the  midnight  bell  with  an.xious  start, 

'  Hon  Ai)|>pn'!!.x,  Note  4  D. 

direct  and  concise  narrative  of  a  tragical  occurrence." — J«f 

'  ••  li  i»  ilie  .-iiitlior's  olijerl.  in  these  mn^,  to  exemplify  the 

rRKY. 

iliflrrpnt  'lylps  of  liallail  narrative  which   prc^ailtd  in  thin  Lsl- 

2  See  Appendix.  Note  4  E. 

linil  <it  ilifTiTent  perio  Is,  or  in  difTirent  conditions!  of  Miciely. 

*  Ibid.  Note  4  F. 

Tlie  finl  (/Vi.ekrt'.")  is  conducted  upon  the  rude  and  simple 

»  First  Edit. — "  So  sweet  thrir  harp  and  voierg  join." 

modi-i  ol  the  old  DorJer  ditties,  and  produces  iu  effect  by  tlie 

•  "  The  second  song,  that  ol'  Fitztraver,  tlie  ban!  of  the  a» 

I 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


49 


"Wliich  told  the  mystic  hour,  approaching  nigh, 

When  wise  Cornelius  promised,  by  his  art, 
To  show  to  him  the  ladye  of  his  heart. 

Albeit  betwixt  them  roar'd  the  ocean  grun  ; 
Yet  so  the  sage  had  hight  to  play  his  part, 
That  he  should  see  her  form  in  life  and  hmb, 
And  mark,  if  stUl  she  lored,  and  still  she  thought 
of  liim. 

XVII. 
Dark  was  the  vaulted  room  of  gramaryc, 

To  wliich  tlie  wizard  led  the  gallant  Ivnight, 
Save  that  before  a  mu'ror,  huge  and  liigh, 

A  hallow'd  taper  shed  a  gUmmering  light 
On  mystic  unplements  of  magic  might; 
On  cross,  and  character,  and  talisman. 
And  ahnagest,  and  altar,  nothing  bright : 
For  fitful  was  the  lustre,  pale  and  wan. 
As  watchlight   by  the   bed    of   some   departing 
man. 

XVIII. 

But  soon,  within  that  mirror  huge  and  high. 

Was  seen  a  self-emitted  light  to  gleam ; 
And  forms  upon  its  breast  the  Earl  'gan  spy. 

Cloudy  and  indistinct,  as  feverish  dream ; 
Till,  slow  arranging,  and  defined,  they  seem 

To  form  a  lordly  and  a  lofty  room. 
Part  hghted  by  a  lamp  with  silver  beam, 

Placed  by  a  couch  of  Agra's  silken  loom, 
And  part  by  moonsliine  pale,  and  part  was  hid  in 
gloom. 

XIX. 

Fair  aU  the  pageant — but  how  passing  fair 

The  slender  form,  which  lay  on  couch  of  Ind  ! 
O'er  her  wliite  bosom  stray'd  her  liazel  hair. 

Pale  her  dear  cheek,  as  if  for  love  she  pined ; 
All  in  her  night-robe  loose  she  lay  reclined. 

And,  pensive,  read  from  tablet  eburiiine. 
Some  strain  that  seem'd  her  inmost  soul  to  find  ; — 

That  favor'd  strain  was  Surrey's  raptiu'ed  Une, 
That  fair  and  lovely  form,  the  LaiSy  Geraldhie. 

XX. 

Slow  roll'd  the  clouds  upon  the  lovely  form. 
And  swept  the  goodly  vision  all  away — 

So  royal  envy  roU'd  the  murky  storm 
O'er  my  beloved  Master's  glorious  day. 

Thou  jealous,  ruthless  tyrant !  Heaven  repay 
On  thee,  and  on  thy  children's  latest  line, 

The  wild  caprice  of  thy  desjJotic  sway, 


eomplished  Surrey,  has  more  of  the  richness  and  polisli  of  the 
Itahan  poetry,  and  is  very  beautifully  written  in  a  stanza  re- 
•embling  that  of  Sj)enser.'' — Jeffrey. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  G.  2  Ibid.  Note  4  H. 

'  The  chiefs  of  the  Vakingr,  or  Scandinavian  pirates,  as- 
7 


The  gory  bridal  bed,  the  plunder'd  shrine, 
The  mm-der'd  Sm-rey's  blood,  the  tears  of  Geral- 
dine  ! 

XXL 

Both  Scots,  and  Southern  chiefs,  prolong 
Applauses  of  Fitztraver's  song ; 
These  hated  Henry's  name  as  death. 
And  those  stUl  held  the  ancient  faith. — 
Then,  from  his  seat,  with  lofty  air. 
Rose  Harold,  bard  of  brave  St.  Clair ; 
St.  Clair,  who,  feasting  high  at  Home, 
Had  with  that  lord  to  battle  come. 
Harold  was  born  where  restless  seas 
Howl  rovmd  the  storm-swept  Orcades  ;* 
Where  erst  St.  Glairs  held  princely  sway 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay ; — 
Still  nods  their  palace  to  its  fall. 
Thy  pride  and  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall ! — 
Thence  oft  he  mark'd  fierce  Pentland  rave. 
As  if  grim  Odin  rode  her  wave ; 
And  watch'd,  the  whilst,  with  visage  pale. 
And  tlu-obbing  heart,  the  struggling  sail ; 
For  all  of  wonderful  and  wild 
Had  rapture  for  the  lonely  cMld. 

XXII. 

And  much  of  wild  and  wonderful 
In  these  rude  isles  might  fancy  ciiU ; 
For  thither  came,  in  times  afar. 
Stern  Lochliii's  sons  of  roving  war. 
The  Norsemen,  train'd  to  spoil  and  blood,! 
SkUl'd  to  prepare  the  raven's  food ;  > 

Kings  of  the  main  their  leaders  brave, 
Their  barks  thtf  dragons  of  the  wave.' 
And  there,  in  many  a  stormy  vale. 
The  Scald  had  told  his  wondi'ous  tale  ; 
And  many  a  Runic  column  high 
Had  witness'd  grim  idolatry. 
And  thus  had  Harold,  in  his  youth, 
Learn'd  many  a  Saga's  rhyme  uncouth,-  - 
Of  that  Sea-Snake,  tremendous  cmd'd,         j 
Whose  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world  ;*  i 
Of  those  di'ead  Maids,'  whose  hideous  yeU 
Maddens  the  battle's  bloody  swell ; 
Of  Cliiefs,  who,  guided  tlu'ough  the  gloom 
By  the  pale  death-lights  of  the  tomb, 
Ransack'd  the  graves  of  warriors  old. 
Their  falchions  wrench'd  from  corpses'  hold;* 
Waked  the  deaf  tomb  with  war's  alarms, 
And  bade  the  dead  arise  to  arms ! 
With  war  and  wonder  all  on  flame, 


sumed  the  title  of  Sakonttngr  or  Sea-kings.  Ships,  in  the  in- 
flated language  of  the  Scakls,  are  often  termed  the  serpents  of 
the  ocean. 

■>  See  Appendix,  Note  41.  »  Ibid.  Note  4  K. 

e  Ibid.  Note  4  J.. 


50 


SCOTfS  POETICAL  WOKKS. 


CANTO    VI 


To  Roslin's  bowers  young  HaroUl  ciunc, 
W'liero,  by  rtweet  1,'len  ami  i^frcenwood  tree, 
III'  Ifuriril  II  niiUiiT  iiiinstroUy  ; 
Yet  8(>tnotluiig  of  tl>o  Nortliern  spoil 
Mix'd  with  the  softer  luinibers  welL 

XX  III. 

IIAHUI  I).' 

0  listen,  li:*ten,  Indii--  ;,':iy  I 

No  haughty  feat  of  arnia  I  tell ; 
Soft  is  the  iKite,  and  sail  tiie  lay, 
That  nuHiros  the  lovely  llosabelle.' 

— "  Mixir,  moor  the  barge,  yc  gallant  crew  1 
And,  gentle  ladye,  deign  to  stay  ! 

Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravensheueh,' 
Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 

"  Tlie  blackening  wave  is  edged  with  wliite  : 
To  inch*  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly ; 

Tlie  fishers  have  heard  the  Water-Sprite, 
Whose  screams  forbode  that  wreck  is  nigh. 

"  Last  night  the  gifted  Seer  did  view 

A  wet  shroud  swathed'  round  ladye  gay ; 

Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  iu  Ravensheuch : 
Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  ?" — 

"  'Tis  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 

To-night  at  Roslin  leads  the  ball, 
But  that  my  ladye-mothcr  there 

Sits  lonely  in  her  castle-hall. 

"  'Tis  not  because  the  ring  they  ride, 
And  Lindeaay  at  the  ring  rides  well. 

But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide, 
If  'tis  not  fill'd  by  Rosabelle."— 

O'er  Roslin  all  that  dreary  night, 

A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam  ; 

'Twas  broader  than  the  watch-fire's  light, 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moon-beam. 

1  "  The  third  song  u  intended  to  represent  that  wild  style  of 
composition  which  prevailed  among  the  barda  of  the  Northern 
Continent,  somewhat  softened  and  adorned  by  the  Minstrel's 
rt-^idence  in  the  sonth.  We  prefer  it,  upon  the  whole,  to  either 
of  the  two  former,  and  shall  give  it  entire  to  our  readers,  who 
will  probably  be  struck  witli  the  poetical  effect  of  the  dramatic 
fornr.  into  wliich  it  is  thrown,  and  of  the  indirect  description  by 
which  every  thing  is  most  expressively  told,  without  one  word 
of  distinct  narrative." — Jeffrey. 

'  This  wa-s  a  family  name  in  the  honse  of  St.  Clair.  Henry 
St.  Clair,  the  second  of  the  line,  married  Rosabelle,  fourth 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Stratheme. 

'  See  Appendix,  Xote  4  M.  *  Inch,  isle. 

»  Firtt  Edit.  "  A  wet  shroud  rotl'd." 

«  First  Kdit.  "It  reddened,"  kc. 

'  First  Edit.  "  Both  vaulted  crypt,"  &c. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  N. 

»  First  Edit.  "But  the  kelpie  rung  and  the  mermaids  sung." 


It  glared  on  Roshn's  castled  rock. 
It  ruddied'  all  till!  c<>j)se-wiH>d  glen; 

'Twas  seen  fniiii  Drydeii's  groves  of  oak. 
And  seen  from  cavern'd  llawthoniden. 

Socm'd  idl  on  fire  that  chapel  j>roud, 
Where  Roslin's  cliicfs  iincofRn'd  Lie, 

Each  Karon,  for  a  sable  shroud. 
Sheathed  iu  his  iron  piuiojjly. 

Secin'rl  all  on  fire  withiu,  arotuid. 

Deep  sacristy'  and  altar's  j)ale  ; 
Shone  every  pillar  foliage-lxjund. 

And  glimmer'd  all  the  dead  men's  mail* 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  higli. 

Blazed  every  rose-carved  buttress  fair — 

So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  line  of  high  St.  Chur. 

Tliere  arc  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  pnnul  cliapclle  ; 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold — 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle  ! 

And  each  St.  Clair  was  buried  there. 
With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  knell ; 

But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds  fciuig, 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle. 

xxrv. 

So  sweet  was  Harold's  piteous  lay,'" 

Scarce  mark'd  the  guests  the  darken'd  hall, 
Tliough,  long  before  the  sinking  day, 

A  wondrous  shade  involved  them  all : 
It  was  not  eddying  iiu.st  or  fi>g, 
Drain'd  by  the  sim  from  fen  or  bog ; 

Of  no  echpse  had  sages  told ; 
And  yet,  as  it  r^me  on  apace. 
Each  one  could  scarce  his  neighbor's  face. 

Could  scarce  his  own  stretch'd  hand  behold. 
A  secret  horror  cEodk'd  the  feast, 

10  "  I  observe  a  great  poetic  climax,  designed,  doubtless,  in 
the  two  last  of  these  songs  from  the  first." — Anna  Seward. 

"We  (G.  Ellis  and  J.  H.  Frere)  entertain  some  doubti 
about  the  propriety  of  dwelling  po  long  on  the  minslnl  songs 
in  tlie  last  canto.  I  say  we  doubt,  because  we  are  not  aware 
of  your  having  ancient  authority  for  such  a  practice  ;  but 
though  the  attempt  wa.s  a  bold  one,  ina.'<mnch  as  it  is  not  ui>u:il 
to  add  a  whnle  canto  to  a  story- which  is  already  finislied,  we 
are  far  from  wishing  that  you  had  left  it  unattemptcd."-- 
Ellis  to  Scott.  "  The  sixth  canto  is  altogether  rcdni)  ianl  ; 
for  the  poem  should  certainly  have  closed  with  the  nnion 
of  the  lovers,  when  llie  interest,  if  any,  was  at  an  end.  But 
what  could  I  do  ?  I  had  my  book  and  my  page  still  on  my 
hands,  and  must  get  rid  of  tlicm  at  all  events.  Man.nfre  them 
as  I  would,  their  catastrophe  must  have  been  iaiufficifiit  to 
occupy  an  entire  canto  ;  so  I  was  fain  to  eke  it  out  with  the 
songs  of  the  uiinstrels."— Scott  to  Miss  Seward — Z,t/c,  vol. il 
pp.  218,  222 


CANTO  VT. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST   MINSTREL. 


51 


And  chill'd  the  soul  of  every  guast 
Even  the.  high  Dame  stood  half  aghast, 
She  knew  some  evil  on  the  blast ; 
The  elvish  page  fell  to  the  ground, 
And,  shuddering,  mutter'd,  "  Found !    found  ! 
found  1" 

XXV. 

Tlien  sudden,  through  the  darken'd  air 

A  flftiil-.  pf  lightqing^  came  ; 
So  broad,  so  bright,  so  red  the  glare, 

The  castle  seem'd  on  flame. 
Glanced  every  rafter  of  the  hall, 
GlaQced  every  shield  upon  the  wo.ll; 
Each  trophiecT  beam,  each  sciilpfiired  stone, 
Were  instant  seen,  and  instaiit  gone  ; 
Fidl  through  the  guests'  bedazzled  band 
Resistless  flash'd  the  levin-brand, 
And  fiU'd  the  hall  with  smoulderiag  smoke, 
As  on  the  elvish  page  it  broke. 

It  broke, 'wTftl  Tl!iiiider"IoiTg  and  loud, 

Dismay'd  the  brave,  appall'd  the  proud, — 
From  sea  to  sea  the  larum  rung ;      ; 

On  Berwick  wall,  and  at  CarUsle  withal, 
To  arms  the  startled  warders  sprung. 
When  ended  was  the  dreadful  roar, 
The  elvish  dwarf  was  seen  no  more  !' 

XXVI. 

Some  heard  a  voice  in  Branksome  Hall, 
Some  saw  a  sight,  not  seen  by  all ; 
That  di-eadful  voice  was  heard  by  some,    ■, 
Cry,  with  loud  summons,  "  GrLBix,  come  !"  \ 

And  on  the  spot  where  bluest  the  brand, ' 
Just  where  the  page  had  flung  liim  down, 

Some  saw  an  arm,  and  some  a  hand. 
And  some  the  waving  of  a  gown. 
The  guests  in  silence  pray'd  and  shook. 
And  terror  dimm'd  each  lofty  look. 


1  "  The  Goblin  Page  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  capital  deform- 
ity of  the  poem.  We  have  already  said  the  whole  machinery 
is  useless ;  but  the  magic  studies  of  the  lady,  and  the  rifled 
tomb  of  Michael  Scott,  give  occasion  to  so  mnch  admirable 
poetry,  that  we  can,  on  no  account,  consent  to  part  with 
them.  The  page,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  perpetual  burden 
to  the  poet  and  to  the  readers;  it  is  an  undignified  and  im- 
probable fiction,  which  excites  neither  terror,  admiration, 
nor  astonishment,  hut  needlessly  debases  the  strain  of  the 
whole  work,  and  excites  at  once  our  incredulity  and  con- 
tempt. He  is  not  a  '  tricksy  spirit,'  like  Ariel,  with  whom 
the  imagination  is  irresistibly  enamored,  nor  a  tiny  monarch, 
like  Obcron,  disposing  of  the  destinie?  of  mortals  ;  he  rather 
appears  to  us  to  be  an  awkward  sort  of  a  mongrel  between 
Puck  and  Caliban,  of  a  senile  and  brutal  nature,  and  limited 
in  his  powers  to  the  indulgence  of  petty  malignity,  and  the 
infliction  of  despicable  injuries.  Besides  this  objection  to  his 
character,  his  existence  has  no  support  from  any  general  or 
established  superstition.  Fairies  and  devils,  ghosts,  angels, 
and  witches,  are  creatures  with  whom  we  are  all  familiar, 
and  who  excite  in  all  classes  of  mankind  emotions  with  which 


But  none  of  all  the  astonish'd  train 
Was  so  dismay'd  as  Deloraine  ; 
His  blood  did  freeze,  liis  brain  did  burn, 
'Twas  fear'd  his  mind  would  ne'er  retiu-n  ; 

For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan, 

Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran. 

Who  spoke  the  spectre-hound  in  Man." 
At  length,  by  fits,  he  darkly  told. 
With  broken  hint,  and  shuddering  cold-  - 

That  he  had  seen,  right  certainly, 
A  shape  with  amice  wrapp'd  around, 
With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 

Like  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea  ; 
And  knew — but  how  it  matter'd  not — 
It  was  the  wizard,  Michael  Scott.         j 

XXVII. 

The  anxious  crowd,  with  horror  pale. 
All  trembling  heard  the  wondrous  tale  ; 

No  sound  was  made,  no  word  was  spoke. 

TUl  noble  Angus  silence  broke ; 
And  he  a  solemn  sacred  plight 

Did  to  St.  Bride  of  Douglas  make,' 

That  he  a  pilgrimage  would  take 

To  Melrose  Abbey,  for  the  sake 
Of  Michael's  restless  sprite. 
Then  each,  to  ease  his  troubled  breast, 
To  some  bless'd  saint  liis  prayers  address'd : 
Some  to  St.  Modan  made  their  vows. 
Some  to  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes, 
Some  to  the  Holy  Rood  of  Lisle, 
Some  to  our  Ladye  of  the  Isle ; 
Each  did  his  patron  witness  make, 
That  he  such  pilgrimage  would  take. 
And  monks  should  sing,  and  bells  should  toll. 
All  for  the  weal  of  Michael's  soul. 
Wliile  vows  were  ta'en,  and  prayers  were  pray'd, 
'Tis  said  the  noble  dame,  dismay'd. 
Renounced,  for  aye,  dark  magic's  aid. 


we  can  ea.sily  be  made  to  sympathize.  But  the  story  of  Gilpin 
Horner  was  never  believed  out  of  the  village  where  he  is  said 
to  have  made  his  appearance,  and  has  no  claims  upon  the  cre- 
dulity of  those  who  were  not  originally  of  his  acquaintance. 
There  is  nothing  at  all  interesting  or  elegant  in  the  scenes  of 
which  he  is  the  hero  ;  and  in  reading  these  pa.ssages  we  really 
could  not  help  suspecting  that  they  did  not  stand  in  the  ro- 
mance when  the  aged  minstrel  recited  it  to  the  royal  Charles 
and  his  mighty  earls,  but  were  inserted  afterwards  to  suit  the 
taste  of  the  cottagers  among  whom  he  begged  his  bread  on  the 
border.  We  entreat  Mr.  Scott  to  inquire  into  the  grounds  of 
this  suspicion,  and  to  take  advantage  of  any  decent  pretext  lie 
can  lay  hold  of  for  purging  the  *  Lay'  of  this  ungraceful 
intruder.^  We  would  also  move  for  a  quo  warranto  against 
the  Spirits  of  the  River  and  the  Mountain  ;  for  though  they 
are  come  of  a  very  high  lineage,  we  do  not  know  what  lawful 
business  they  could  have  at  Branksome  Castle  in  the  yeaj 
1550." — Jeffrey. 
2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  O.  s  ibid.  Note  4  P. 

4  See  Uie  Author's  Inlroduccion  to  the  '  Lay,'  p.  13 


52                                         SCUTT\S  I'UO'ICAL  W'UliKS.                              canto  vl 

XX\  III. 

And  solemn  requiem  for  the  dead ; 

Naught  of  the  briciiil  will  I  tull, 

And  bells  tuU'd  out  their  mighty  pe^ 

AVliiih  iiltiT  in  short  !*j)iicc'  In-ffll ; 

For  the  departed  spirit's  weal; 

Jsor  how  brave  sons  luul  thiu^^liters  fair 

And  ever  in  tlie  otfice  close 

BleHs'd  Teviot's  Flower,  aiul  Crunstoiin's  liuir:' 

Tlie  hymn  of  intercession  rose ; 

Alter  siu'li  dreadful  scene,  'twere  vain 

And  far  the  echoinj^  aisles  prolong 

To  wake  the  note  of  mirth  aj^iin. 

The  awful  burden  of  the  song, — 

More  meet  it  were  to  mark  the  day 

Du:i*  III*:,  niKs  illa. 

Of  jH'iiitenee  and  prayer  divine. 

Soi.vtrr  s.KCLUM  i.v  kavilla  ; 

When  pilijrim-ehiefs,  in  mul  array, 

While  the  jiealin;;  organ  nmg : 

Sought  Melrose'  lioly  slirine. 

Were  it  meet  with  sacred  strain 

To  close  my  lay,  so  light  and  vain, 

XXIX. 

Thus  the  holy  Fathers  sung. 

With  naked  Awt,  and  sackcloth  vest, 

And  arms  enfolded  on  liis  breast, 

XXXI. 

Did  every  pilgrim  go ; 

nie  standers-by  niiglit  hear  uneath, 

HTMN  FOE  THE  DEAD. 

Footstep,  or  voice,  or  high-drawn  breath. 

Tliat  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day. 

Throuirh  all  the  lentrthen'd  row: 

When  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 

No  lordly  hmk,  no  martial  stride, 

What  power  shall  be  the  sinner's  stay  ? 

Gone  was  their  glory,  sunk  their  pride. 

How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day  ? 

Forgotten  their  renown ; 

Silent  and  slow,  like  ghosts  they  glide 

WHien,  shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll 

To  the  high  altar's  hallow'd  side. 

The  flaming  heavens  together  roll ; 

And  there  they  knelt  them  down: 

Wien  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread, 

Above  the  suppliant  cliieftains  Avave 

Swells  the  high  trump  that  wakes  the  dead  I 

The  banners  of  departed  brave ; 

Beneath  the  letter'd  stones  were  laid 

Oh !  on  that  day,  that  wrathful  day, 

Tlie  ashes  of  their  fathers  dead ; 

When  man  to  judgment  wakes  from  clay, 

From  many  a  garnish'd  niche  around, 

Be  Tiiou  the  trembUng  simier's  stay, 

Stem  saints  and  tortured  martyrs  frown'd. 
XXX. 

Though  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away  1 

And  slow  up  the  dim  aisle  afar, 

Husn'D  is  the  harp — the  Minstrel  gonpj^ 

With  sable  cowl  and  scapular. 

And  did  he  wander  fortli  alone? 

Ajid  snow-white  stoles,  in  order  due, 

Alone,  in  indigence  and  age,  - —                     ' 

The  holy  Fathers,  two  and  two,    , 

To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage  ? 

III  long  procession  came  ;             } 

No ;  close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower,* 

Taper  and  host,  and  book  they  bare. 

Arose  the  Minstrel's  lowly  bower ; 

And  holy  banner,  flourish'd  fair 

A  simple  hut ;  but  there  was  seen 

With  the  Redeemer's  name. 

The  little  garden,  hedged  with  green. 

Above  the  prostrate  pilin'im  band 

The  cheerful  hearth,  and  lattice  clean. 

The  mitred  Abbot  strctch'd  his  hand, 

There  shelterd  wanderers,  by  the  blaze. 

And  bless'd  them  as  they  kneel'd ; 

Oft  heard  the  tale  of  other  days ; 

With  holy  cross  he  signd  them  all, 

For  much  he  loved  to  ope  his  door. 

And  pray'd  they  might  be  siige  in  hall. 

And  fj:ive  the  aid  he  begg'd  before. 

And  fort\mate  in  field- 

So  pass'd  the  winter's  day ;  but  still. 

Then  mass  was  sung,  and  prayers  were  sam, 

When  summer  smiled  on  sweet  Bowhill,' 
For  manhood  to  enjoy  his  strength  ; 

Rich  gloves  of  lofty  stature, 

And  age  to  wear  away  in,"  i:c. 

With  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp 

Wordsworth's  Yarrow  Visited. 

Of  cultivated  nature; 

AnJ,  rising  fr jm  those  lofty  groves, 

*  Bowhill  is  now,  as  has  heen  mentioned  already,  a  seal  of 

Behold  a  ruin  hoary. 

the  Duke  of  Bucclenth.     It  stands  immediately  below  Newark 

The  shalter'd  front  of  Newark's  towers, 

Hill,  and  above  the  junction  of  the  Yarrow  and  the  Elirick. 

Renown'd  in  Bonier  story. 

For  the  other  places  named   in  the  text,  the  reader  is  referred 

"  Fair  scenes  for  childhood's  oi>ening  bloom. 

to  various  notes  on  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border.— 

For  sportive  youth  to  stray  in ; 

Ed. 

CANTO  VI. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


53 


And  July's  eve,  with  balmy  breath, 
Waved  the  blue-bells  on  Xewark  heath ; 
When  thi'ostles  sung  m  Harehead-shaw, 
And  corn  was  green  on  Carterhaugh ;' 
And  flourish'd,  broad,  Blackandro's  oak, 
The  aged  Harper's  soul  awoke  ! 
Then  would  he  smg  achievements  high, 

1  Orig. — "  And  grain  waved  green  on  Carterhangh." 

2  "  The  arch  allusions  which  rua  through  all  these  Introduc- 
tions, without  in  the  least  interrupting  the  truth  and  graceful 
pathos  of  their  main  impression,  seem  to  nie  ex(iuLsitely  chai^ 
acteristic  of  Scott,  whose  delight  and  pride  was  to  play  with 
the  genius  which  nevertheless  mastered  him  at  will.  For,  in 
truth,  what  is  it  that  gives  to  all  his  works  their  unique  and 
marking  charm,  except  the  matchless  effect  which  sudden 
effusions  of  the  purest  heart-blood  of  nature  derive  from  their 
being  poured  out,  to  all  appearance  involuntarily,  amidst  dic- 
tion and  sentiment  cast  equally  in  the  mould  of  the  busy 
world,  and  the  seemingly  habitual  desire  to  dwell  on  nothing 
but  what  might  be  likely  to  excite  curiosity,  witliout  too  much 
disturbing  deeper  feelings,  in  the  saloons  of  polished  life  ? 
Such  outbursts  come  forth  dramatically  in  all  his  writings  ; 
but  in  the  interludes  and  passionate  parentheses  of  the  Lay 
of  the  Last  3Iinstrel  we  have  the  poet's  own  inner  soul  and 
temperament  laid  bare  and  throbbing  before  us.  Even  here, 
indeed,  he  has  a  mask,  aud  he  trusts  it — but  fortunately  it  is  a 
transparent  one. 

"  Many  minor  personal  allusions  have  been  explained  in  the 
notes  to  the  last  edition  of  the  'Lay.'  It  was  hardly  neces- 
sary even  then  to  say  that  the  choice  of  the  hero  had  been 
dictated  by  the  poet's  aftection  for  the  living  des'jendants  of 
the  Baron  of  Cranstoun  ;  and  now — none  who  have  perused 
the  preceding  pages  can  doubt  that  he  had  dressed  out  his 
Margaret  of  Branksome  in  the  form  and  features  of  his  own 
first  love.  This  poem  may  be  considered  as  the  '  bright  con- 
summate flower'  in  which  all  the  dearest  dreams  of  liis  youth- 
ful fancy  had  at  length  found  expansion  for  theu:  strength, 
spirit,  tenderness,  and  beauty. 

"  In  the  closing  lines — 

'  Hush'd  is  the  harp— the  Minstrel  gone  ; 
And  did  he  wander  forth  alone  1 
Alone,  in  indigence  and  age. 
To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage  1 
No  ! — close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower 
Arose  the  Minstrel's  humble  bower,'  &c. — 

— in  these  charming  lines  he  has  embodied  what  was,  at  the 
time  when  he  penned  them,  the  chief  day-dream  of  Ashestiel. 
From  the  moment  that  his  uncle's  death  placed  a  considerable 
BUm  of  ready  money  at  his  command,  he  pleased  himself,  as 
we  have  seen,  with  the  idea  of  buying  a  mountain  farm,  and 
becoming  not  only  the  'sheriff'  (as  he  had  in  former  days 
delighted  to  call  himself),  but  '  the  laird  of  the  cairn  and  the 
Bcaur.'  " — LocKHART.     IJfe  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  212. 

"The  large  quotations  we  have  made  from  this  singular 
poem  must  have  convinced  our  readers  that  it  abounds  equal- 
ly with  poetical  description,  and  with  circumstance  curious 
to  the  antiquary.  These  are  farther  illustrated  in  copious  and 
very  entertaining  notes :  they,  as  well  as  the  poem,  must  be 
particularly  interesting  to  those  who  are  connected  with  Scot- 
tish families,  or  conversant  in  their  history.  The  author  has 
managed  the  versification  of  the  poem  with  great  judgment, 
and  the  most  happy  effect.  If  he  had  aimed  at  the  grave 
and  stately  cadence  of  the  epic,  or  any  of  or.r  more  regular 


And  chcumstance  of  chivalry, 

Till  the  rapt  traveller  would  stay,^ 

Forgetful  of  the  closing  day  ; 

And  noble  youtlis,  the  strain  to  hear, 

Forsook  the  htmting  of  the  deer ; 

And  Yarrow,  as  he  roird  along, 

Bore  burclen  to  the  Minstrel's  song. 

measures,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  have 
brought  in  such  names  as  fV^att  Tinlinn,  Black  John,  Priest' 
haugh,  Scrogg,  and  other  Scottish  names,  or  to  have  spoken 
of  the  lyke-tcake,  and  the  slogan,  and  drilling  of  cattle,  which 
Pope  and  Gray  would  have  thought  as  impossible  to  introduce 
into  serious  poetry,  as  Boileau  did  the  names  of  towns  in  the 
campaigns  of  Louis  IV.  Mr.  Scott  has,  therefore,  very  judi- 
ciously thrown  in  a  great  mixture  of  the  familiar,  and  varied 
the  measure ;  and  if  it  has  not  the  finished  harmony,  which, 
in  such  a  subject,  it  were  in  vain  to  have  attempted,  it  has 
great  ease  and  spirit,  and  never  tires  the  reader.  Indeed  we 
think  we  see  a  tendency  in  the  public  taste  to  go  back  to  the 
more  varied  measures  and  familiar  style  of  our  earlier  poets ; 
a  natural  consequence  of  having  been  satiated  with  the  regu- 
lar harmony  of  Pope  and  his  school,  and  somewhat  wearied 
with  the  stiffness  of  lofty  poetic  language.  We  now  know 
what  can  be  done  in  that  way,  and  we  seek  entertainment  and 
variety,  rather  than  finished  modulation  and  uniform  dignity. 
We  now  take  our  leave  of  this  very  elegant,  spirited,  and  stri  • 
king  poem." — .Annual  Review,  1804. 

"  From  the  various  extracts  we  have  given,  our  readers  will 
be  enabled  to  form  a  tolerably  correct  judgment  of  the  poem  , 
and,  if  they  are  jjleased  with  those  portions  of  it  which  have 
now  been  exhibited,  we  may  venture  to  assure  them  that  they 
will  not  be  disappointed  by  the  perusal  of  the  whole.  The 
whole  night  journey  of  Deloraine — the  opening  of  the  Wizard's 
tomb — the  march  of  the  English  battle — and  the  parley  before 
the  walls  of  the  castle,  are  all  executed  with  the  same  spirit 
and  poetical  energy,  which  we  think  is  conspicuous  in  the 
specimens  we  have  already  extracted  ;  and  a  great  variety  of 
short  passages  occur  in  every  part  of  the  poem,  which  are  still 
more  striking  and  meritorious,  though  it  is  impossible  to  detach 
them,  without  injury,  in  the  form  of  a  quotation.  It  is  but 
fair  to  apprize  the  reader,  on  the  other  hand,  that  he  will 
meet  with  very  heavy  pa.ssages,  and  with  a  variety  of  details 
which  are  not  likely  to  interest  any  one  but  a  Borderer  or  an 
antiquary.  We  like  very  well  to  hear  of  '  the  gallant  Chief 
of  Otterburne,'  or  '  the  Dark  Knight  of  Liddesdale,'  and  feel 
the  elevating  power  of  great  names,  wheu  we  read  of  the 
tribes  that  mustered  to  tiie  war,  '  beneatli  the  crest  of  Old 
Dunbar  and  Hepburn's  mingled  banners.'  But  we  really  can- 
not so  far  sympathize  with  the  local  partialities  of  the  author, 
as  to  feel  any  glow  of  patriotism  or  ancient  virtue  in  hearing  of 
the  Todrig  or  Johnston  clans,  or  of  Elliots,  Armstrongs,  and 
Tinlinns  ;  still  less  can  we  relish  the  introduction  of  Black 
Jock  of  Athtlstane,  Whitslade  the  Hawk,  Arthur  Fire-the- 
Braes,  Bed  Roland  Forstcr,  or  any  other  of  those  worthies, 
who 

'  Sought  the  beeves  that  made  their  broth, 
In  Scotland  and  in  England  both,' 

into  a  poem  which  has  any  pretensions  to  seriousness  or  dig- 
nity. The  ancient  metrical  romance  might  have  admitted 
these  homely  personalities  ;  but  the  present  age  will  not  en- 
dure them  ;  and  Mr.  Scott  must  either  sacrifice  his  Bordet 
prejudices,  or  offend  all  his  readers  in  the  other  part  of  th« 
empire. ' ' — Jeffrey. 


54 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKH 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

Theftatt  teat  over  in  liranksome  toieer. — P.  18. 

In  the  reign  of  Jami-s  I.,  Sir  William  Scott  of  Iliiccleuch. 
1  liii-f  of  tlie  clan  bearing  that  nam?,  exchanged,  with  Sir 
Thomas  Iiiglis  of  Manor,  the  estate  of  Munliestone,  in  Lanark- 
"liire.  for  one-half  of  the  barony  of  Branksonie,  or  Brank- 
hiilni,'  lying  npon  theTeviot,  about  three  miles  above  Hawick, 
lie  wa.1  probably  induced  to  this  transaction  from  the  viiinity 
of  Branksome  to  the  extensive  domain  which  he  possessed 
in  Ettriek  Forest  and  in  Teviotdale.  In  the  former  district 
lie  held  by  occupancy  the  estate  of  Baccleuch,2  and  much  of 
the  forest  land  on  the  river  Etlrick.  In  Teviotdale,  he  en- 
joyed the  harmony  of  Eckfonl,  by  a  grant  from  Robert  II.  to 
hi.s  ancestor,  Walter  Scott  of  Kirkurd,  for  the  apprehending 
of  Gilbert  Ridderford,  confirmed  by  Robert  III.,  3d  May,  1424. 
Tradition  imputes  the  exchange  betwixt  Scott  and  Inglis  to  a 
conversation,  in  which  the  latter — a  man,  it  would  appear, 
of  a  mild  and  forbearing  nature,  complained  much  of  the  in- 
juries which  he  was  exposed  to  from  the  English  Borderers, 
who  frequently  plundered  his  lands  of  Branksome.  Sir  Wil- 
liam Scott  instantly  offered  him  the  e.^^tate  of  Murdiestone,  in 
exchange  for  that  which  was  subject  to  such  egregious  incon- 
venience. When  tlie  bargain  was  completed,  he  dryly  re- 
marked, that  the  cattle  in  Cumberland  were  as  good  as  those 
of  Teviotdale  ;  and  proceeded  to  commence  a  system  of  repri- 
sals upon  the  English,  which  was  regularly  pursued  by  his  suc- 
cessors. In  the  next  reign,  James  II.  granted  to  Sir  Walter 
Scult  of  Branksome,  and  to  Sir  David,  his  son,  the  remaining 
half  of  the  barony  of  Branksome,  to  be  held  in  blanche  for  the 
pavment  of  a  red  rose.  The  cause  assigned  for  the  grant  is, 
their  brave  and  faithful  exertions  in  favor  of  the  King  against 
the  house  of  Douglas,  with  whom  James  had  been  recently 
tugging  for  the  throne  of  Scotland.  This  charter  is  dated  the 
2d  February,  1443  ;  and,  in  the  same  month,  part  of  the  barony 
of  Langholm,  and  many  lands  in  Lanarkshire,  were  conferred 
upon  Sir  Walter  and  his  son  by  the  .same  monarch. 

After  the  |)eriod  of  the  exchange  with  Sir  Thomas  Inglis, 
Branksome  became  the  principal  seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family. 
The  castle  was  enlarged  and  strengthened  by  Sir  David  Scott, 
the  grandson  of  Sir  W^iUiam,  its  first  possessor.  But,  in 
1.570-1,  the  vengeance  of  Elizabeth,  provoked  by  the  inroads 
of  Bncclench,  and  his  attachment  to  the  cause  of  (iueen 
Mary,  destroyed  the  castle,  and  laid  waste  the  lands  of  Brank- 
some. In  the  same  year  the  castle  was  repaired  and  enlarged 
by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  its  brave  possessor ;  but  the  work  was 
not  completed  until  after  his  death,  in  1.574,  when  the  widow 
finished  the  building.  This  appears  from  the  following  in- 
scriptions. Around  a  stone,  bearing  the  arms  of  Scott  of 
Buccleuch,   appears    the    following    legend  : — "  Sit   SLJLu 

Scott  of  33rnn].i)Efm  ISnjjt  oc  of  Sfr  JLJL'illi'nm 
Scott  of  EfrhuvD  linjjt  bcaan  ije  toovli  upon 
i)C  24  of  fttnrc!)c  1571  jcnr   qu1)a  ticpnrtft    at 

CSoD'S  slClSOlir  je  17  ^prfl  1574."  On  a  similar 
copartmsnt  are  sculptured  the  arms  of  Douglas,  with  this  in- 
icription,  "  Da.me  Margaret  Douglas  his  spot;!!  complb- 

1  Braiuholm  is  the  proprf^r  name  of  the  barony  ;  b-tt  Brunk»'»me  hns  been 
ftd'ipted,  oa  auitable  to  the  pronunciation,  And  more  proper  for  poctrj*. 

2  There  are  no  veitices  of  any  bnililine  at  Buccleuch,  except  the  site  of 


TIT  TliK   roRKSAiD  WORK  IN   OcTonEU    1.576."      Over  at; 

I  arched  docir  is  iiiscribtd  ihe-foUowing  moral  verse  : — 

III  baiili.  IS.  nocbt.  nature.  Ijcs.  toiouflI)t.  gat. 
!         sal.  lest.  ai). 

Cljareforc.  scrbc.  <GoU.  ftcfp.  bed.  jc.  roU.  tj)». 
I         fame.  .sal.  nocl't,  Ucfcai). 
'  Sir    5!i['altcr    Scott   of    ji3ranp!)olin    l^nijibt. 
iilaiflarct  Doufllas.  1571. 

I  Branksome  C.istle  continued  to  be  the  principal  seat  of  the 
Buccleuch  family,  while  security  was  any  object  in  their 
choice  of  a  maiLsion.  It  has  since  been  the  residence  of  the 
Commissioners,  or  Chamberlains,  of  the  family.  From  the 
various  alterations  which  the  building  has  undergone,  it  is  not 
only  greatly  restricted  in  its  dimen.sions,  but  retains  little  of 
the  ca.stellate(l  form,  if  we  except  one  square  tower  of  massy 
thickness,  the  only  part  of  the  original  building  which  now 
remains.  The  whole  forms  a  handsome  modern  residence, 
lately  inhabited  by  my  decea.sed  friend,  Adam  Ogilvy,  llsq., 
of  Hartwoodmyres,  Commissioner  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch. 

The  extent  of  the  ancient  edifice  can  still  be  traced  by  some 
vestiges  of  its  foundation,  and  its  strength  is  obvious  from  the 
situation,  on  a  deep  bank  surrounded  by  the  Teviot,  and 
flanked  by  a  deep  ravine,  formed  by  a  precipitous  brook.  It 
xvas  anciently  surrounded  by  wood,  as  appears  from  the  sur- 
vey of  Roxburghshire,  made  for  Pout's  Atlas,  and  preserved 
in  the  Advocates'  Library.  This  wood  was  cut  about  fifty 
years  ago,  but  is  now  replaced  by  the  tJiriving  plantations, 
which  have  been  formed  by  the  noble  proprietor,  for  milea 
around  the  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers. 


Note  B. 

J^'inc-and-twcnty  knights  of  fame 

Hung  their  shields  in  Brank.iomc-Hall. — P.  19. 

The  ancient  barons  of  Buccleuch,  both  from  feudal  sjdcndor 
and  from  their  frontier  situation,  retained  in  their  houseliold  at 
Brank-some,  a  number  of  gentlemen  of  their  own  name,  wlio 
held  lands  from  their  chief,  for  the  military  service  of  walclnr.g 
and  wanling  his  castle.  Satchells  tells  us,  in  his  doggrel 
poetry, 

"  No  baron  was  better  served  in  Britain  ; 

The  barons  of  Buckleugh  they  kept  their  call, 

Four  and  twenty  gentlemen  in  their  hall, 

All  being  of  his  name  and  kin  ; 

Each  two  had  a  servant  to  wait  npon  them 

Before  supper  and  dinner,  most  renowned, 

The  bells  rung  and  the  trumpets  sowned  ; 

And  more  than  th€it,  I  do  confess, 

They  kept  four  and  twenty  pensioners. 

Think  not  I  lie,  nor  do  me  blame, 

For  the  pensioners  I  can  all  name : 

Satchellt,  many  of  the  ancient  barons  of  Buccleuch  lie  buried.  There  ia 
also  said  to  have  been  a  mill  near  tliis  ftolilan.'  spot ;  an  extrnordinary  cir- 
cunutancc,  as  little  or  no  com  tTowg  within  scieriil   mileli  of  Bucclcuclfc 


■•upel,  wtere,  according  to  »*-adition  current  in  the  time  of  Scott  of  Salchtlli  say»  it  wa»  iu«d  to  jfrind  com  for  the  hounda  of  the  chieftain. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


oo 


There's  men  alive,  elder  than  I, 

They  know  if  I  speak  truth,  or  lie. 

Every  pensioner  a  room'   did  gain, 

For  service  done  and  to  be  done  ; 

This  let  the  reader  undei-stand, 

The  name  both  of  the  men  and  land, 

Which  they  possessed,  it  is  of  truth. 

Both  from  the  Lairds  and  Lords  of  Buekleugh." 

Accordingly,  dismounting  from  his  Pegasus,  Satchells  gives 
cs,  in  prose,  the  names  of  twenty-four  gentlemen,  younger 
brothers  of  ancient  families,  who  were  pensioners  to  the  house 
of  Buccleuch,  and  describes  the  lands  which  each  possessed  for 
his  Border  service.  In  time  of  war  with  England,  the  garrison 
was  doubtless  augmented.  Satchells  adds,  "These  twenty- 
three  pensioners,  all  of  his  own  name  of  Scott,  and  Walter 
Gladstanesof  Whitelaw,  a  near  cousin  of  my  lord's,  as  aforesaid, 
were  ready  ou  all  occasions,  when  his  honor  pleased  cause  to 
advertise  them.  It  is  known  to  many  of  the  country  better 
than  it  is  to  me,  that  the  rent  of  these  lands,  which  the  Lairds 
and  Lords  of  Bnccleueh  did  freely  bestow  upon  their  friends, 
will  amount  to  above  twelve  or  fourteen  thousand  merks  a- 
year." — History  of  the  name  of  Scott,  p.  45.  An  immense 
sum  in  those  times. 

1  Roomy  portion  of  land. 


ISTOTE  C. 


with  Jedwood-axe  at  saddlebow. — P.  19. 

"  Of  a  truth,"  says  Froissart,  "the  Scottish  cannot  boast 
great  skill  with  the  bow,  but  rather  bear  axes,  with  which,  in 
time  of  need,  they  give  heavy  strokes."  The  Jedwood-axe 
was  a  sort  of  partisan,  used  by  horsemen,  as  a])pears  from  the 
arms  of  Jedburgh,  which  bear  a  cavalier  mounted,  and  armed 
with  this  weapon.     It  is  also  called  a  Jed  wood  or  Jeddart  staff. 


FOTE  D. 


They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  guile. 
Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome's  lordly  towers. 

From  Warkworth,  or  J^Taworth,  or  merry  Carlisle. — P.  19. 

Branksome  Castle  was  contintially  exposed  to  the  attacks  of 
the  English,  both  from  its  situation  and  the  restless  military 
disposition  of  its  inhabitants,  who  were  seldom  on  good  terms 
with  their  neighbors.  The  following  letter  from  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland  to  Henry  VIII.  in  1333,  gives  an  account  of  a 
successful  inroad  of  the  English,  in  which  the  country  was 
plundered  up  to  the  gates  of  the  castle,  although  the  invaders 
failed  in  their  principal  object,  which  was  to  kill,  or  make  pris- 
oner, the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  It  occurs  in  the  Cotton  MS. 
Calig.  b.  viii.  f.  222. 

"  Pleaseth  yt  your  most  gracious  highness  to  be  aduertised, 
that  my  comiitroller,  with  Raynald  Carnaby,  desyred  licence 
of  me  to  invade  the  realme  of  Scotlande,  for  the  annoysaunce 
of  your  highnes  enemj-s,  where  they  thought  best  exploit  by 
theyme  might  be  done,  and  to  haue  to  concur  withe  theyme 
tiTc  inhabitants  of  Nortiiumberland,  suche  as  was  towards  me 
according  to  theyre  assembly,  and  as  by  theyre  discretions  vpone 
the  same  they  shulde  thinke  most  convenient ;  and  soo  they 
dyde  meet  vppone  Monday,  before  night,  being  the  iii  day  of 
tills  instant  monethe,  at  Wawhope,  upon  NortUe  Tyne  water, 
slK)ve  Tyndaill,  where  they  were  to  the  number  of  xv  c  men. 


and  soo  invadet  Scotland  at  the  hour  of  viii  of  the  clok  at 
nyght,  at  a  place  called  Wliele  Causay  ;  and  before  xi  of  the 
clok  dyd  send  forth  a  forrey  of  Tyndaill  and  Ryddisdail,  and 
laide  all  the  resydewe  in  a  bushment,  and  actyvely  did  set  vpon 
a  towne  called  Branxholme,  where  the  Lord  of  Buclough 
dwellythe,  and  purpesed  tlieymeselves  with  a  trayne  for  hym 
lyke  to  his  acoustomeil  manner,  in  rysynge  to  all  frayes  ;  albeit, 
that  knyght  he  was  not  at  home,  and  so  they  brynt  the  said 
Branxholm,  and  other  tovvnes,  as  to  say  Whichestre,  Which 
estre-helme,  and  Wlielley,  and  haid  ordered  theyraself,  soo 
that  sundry  of  the  said  Lord  of  Buclough's  servants,  who  dyd 
Lssue  fourthe  of  his  gates,  was  takyn  prisoners.  They  dyd  not 
leve  one  house,  one  stak  of  corne,  nor  one  shyef,  without  the 
gate  of  the  said  Lord  Buclough  vnbrynt ;  and  thui  t:rymaged 
and  frayed,  supposing  the  Lord  of  Buclough  to  be  within  iii  or 
iiii  myles  to  have  trayned  him  to  the  bushment ;  and  soo  in  the 
breyking  of  the  day  dyd  the  forrey  and  the  bushment  mete, 
and  reculed  homeward,  making  tlicyre  way  westward  trom 
theyre  invasion  to  beover  Lyddersdaill,  as  intending  yfthe  fray 
frome  theyre  fui-st  entry  by  the  Scotts  waiches,  or  otherwyse  by 
warnjing,  shuld  haue  bene  gyven  to  Gedworth  and  the  couu- 
trey  of  Scotland  theyreabouts  of  theyre  invasion  ;  whiche  Ged- 
worth is  from  tlia  Wheles  Causay  vi  miles,  that  thereby  the 
Scotts  shulde  have  comen  further  vnto  theyme,  and  more  out 
of  ordre  ;  and  soo  upon  sundry  good  considerations,  before  tliey 
entered  Lyddersdaill,  as  well  accompting  the  inhabitants  of  the 
same  to  be  towards  your  highness,  and  to  enforce  theyme  the 
more  thereby,  as  alsoo  to  put  an  occasion  of  suspect  to  the 
Kinge  of  Scotts,  and  his  counsaill,  to  be  taken  anenst  theyme, 
amonges  theymeselves,  made  proclamacions,  commanding, 
upon  payne  of  dethe,  assurance  to  be  for  the  said  inhabitants  of 
Lyddersdaill,  without  any  prejudice  or  hurt  to  be  done  by  any 
Inglysman  vnto  theyme,  and  soo  in  good  ordre  abowte  the 
howre  of  ten  of  the  clok  before  none,  vppon  Tewisday,  dyd 
pass  through  the  said  Lyddersdail,  when  dyd  come  diverse  of 
the  said  inhabitants  there  to  my  scrvauntes,  under  the  said  as- 
surance, otferring  theymselfs  with  any  service  tliey  couthe 
make ;  and  thus,  thanks  be  to  Godde,  j'our  highnes'  subjects, 
abowte  the  howre  of  xii  of  the  clok  at  none  the  same  daye, 
came  into  this  your  highnes  realme,  bringing  wt  theyme  above 
xl  Scottsmen  prisoners,  one  of  theyme  named  Scot,  of  tlie  sur- 
name and  kyn  of  the  said  Lord  of  Buclough,  and  of  his  howse- 
hold ;  they  brought  also  ccc  nowte,  and  above  Ix  horse  and 
mares,  keping  in  savetie  frome  losse  or  hurte  all  your  saiil  high- 
nes subjects.  There  was  alsoo  a  towne,  called  Newbyggins, 
by  diverse  fotmen  of  Tyndaill  and  Ryddesdaill,  takyn  vp  of 
the  night,  and  spoyled,  when  was  slayne  ii  Scottsmen  of  the 
said  towne,  and  many  Scotts  there  hurte ;  your  highnes  sub- 
jects was  xiii  myles  within  the  grounde  of  Scotlande,  and  is 
from  my  house  at  Werkworthe,  above  Ix  miles  of  the  most  evil 
passage,  where  great  snawes  doth  lye ;  heretofore  the  same 
towues  now  brynt  haith  not  at  any  tyme  in  the  mynd  of  man 
in  any  warrs  been  enterprised  unto  nowe  ;  your  subjects  were 
thereto  more  encouraged  for  the  better  advancement  of  your 
highnes  service,  the  said  Lord  of  Buclough  beyng  always  a 
mortall  enemy  to  this  your  Graces  realme,  and  he  dyd  say, 
within  xiii  days  before,  he  woulde  see  who  durst  lye  near  hym  ; 
wt  many  other  cruell  words,  the  knowledge  whereof  was  cer- 
tainly haid  to  my  said  servaunts,  before  theyre  enterprice  maid 
vpon  him  ;  most  humbly  beseeching  your  majesty,  that  youre 
highnes  thanks  may  concur  vnto  theyme,  whose  names  be  here 
inclosed,  and  to  have  in  your  most  gracious  memory,  the  payn- 
fuU  and  diligent  service  of  my  pore  servaunte  Wharton,  and  thus, 
as  I  am  most  boundeii,  shall  dispone  wt  them  that  be  under  me 

f annoysaunce  of  your  highnes  enemys."     In  resent/- 

ment  of  this  foray,  Buccleuch,  with  other  Border  chiefs,  as- 
sembled an  army  of  3001)  riders,  with  which  they  penetrated 
into  Northumberland,  and  laid  waste  tlie  country  as  far  as  the 
banks  of  Bramish.  They  bamed,  or  defeated,  the  English  for^ 
ces  opposed  to  them,  and  returned  loaded  with  prey. — PijiKB»- 
10^' s  History,  vol.  ii.  p.  318. 


56 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


NoteE. 

Bards  lonfr  shall  tell, 

Jioie  Lord  Walter  fell.— \\  19. 

Sir  Waltrr  Scott  ofBucclcuch  snccecdt'd  to  \\U  grniKlfallicr, 
Sir  David,  in  Nlhl.  Ho  was  a  bravo  aiiJ  fAJWt'rlul  barun,  and 
Wanlen  of  tbe  Wi-t  Marches  of  Scollanii.  His  dcatli  was 
tlie  cou>oi|uence  of  a  fi'iul  betwixt  the  SeotLs  and  Kerrs,  tlio 
history  of  which  is  ncccKtary,  to  explain  repeated  allusions  in 
the  romance. 

In  the  year  15M,  in  the  words  of  Pitseottie,  "the  Earl  of 
Angns,  and  the  rest  of  the  Dougla-^.'ses,  rnled  all  which  lliey 
liked,  and  no  man  durst  say  the  contrary  ;  wherefore  the  King 
(Janae!<  V.  then  a  minor)  wa.s  heavily  displeased,  and  would 
fain  have  been  out  of  their  hands,  if  he  might  by  any  way  : 
And,  to  that  etVect,  wrote  a  quiet  and  secret  letter  with  his 
own  hand,  and  sent  it  to  the  Laird  of  Bucclench,  beseeching 
him  that  he  would  come  with  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  the 
force  that  he  might  be,  and  meet  him  at  Metroes,  at  his  home 
passing,  and  there  to  take  him  out  of  the  Douglasses  hands, 
and  to  put  him  to  liberty,  to  use  himself  among  the  lave  {rest') 
of  his  lords,  as  he  thinks  expedient. 

"  This  letter  was  quietly  directed,  and  sent  by  one  of  the 
King's  own  secret  servants,  which  was  received  very  thank- 
fully by  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  who  was  very  glad  thereof, 
to  be  put  to  such  char^'es  and  familiarity  with  his  prince,  and 
did  great  diligence  to  jicrform  the  King's  writing,  and  to  bring 
the  matter  to  pass  as  the  King  desired  :  And,  to  that  eft'ect, 
convened  all  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  that  would  do  for 
him,  to  ride  with  him  to  Melro:*,  when  he  knew  of  the  King's 
homecoming.  And  so  he  brought  with  liim  six  hundred  spears, 
of  Liddesdale,  and  Annandale,  and  countrymen,  and  clans 
thereabout,  and  held  themselves  quiet  while  that  the  King 
returned  out  of  Jedburgh,  and  came  to  Melross,  to  remain  there 
all  that  night. 

"  Hut  when  the  Lord  Hume,  Cessfoord,  and  Femyherst 
(the  chiefs  of  the  clan  of  Kerr),  took  their  leave  of  the  King,  and 
returned  home,  then  appeared  the  Lord  of  Buccleuch  in  sight, 
and  Ills  company  with  him,  in  an  arrayed  battle,  intending  to 
have  fultilled  the  King's  petition,  and  therefore  came  stoutly 
forward  on  the  back  side  of  Haliden  hill.  By  that  the  Earl  of 
Angu«,  with  George  Douglas,  his  brother,  and  sundry  other 
of  his  friends,  seeing  this  army  coming,  they  marvelled  what 
the  matter  meant ;  while  at  the  last  they  knew  the  Laird  of 
Buccleuch,  with  a  certain  company  of  the  thieves  of  Annan- 
dale.  With  him  they  were  less  afleard,  and  made  them  man- 
fully to  the  field  contrary  them,  and  said  to  the  King  in  this 
manner,  'Sir,  yon  is  Buccleuch,  and  thieves  of  Annandale 
with  him,  to  unbeset  your  Grace  from  the  gale'  (t.  e.  inlerrupt 
your  jiassage).  '  I  vow  to  God  they  shall  cither  light  or  flee  : 
and  ye  sliali  tarry  here  on  this  know,  and  my  brother  George 
with  you,  with  any  other  company  you  please ;  and  I  shall 
pass,  and  put  yon  thieves  off  the  ground,  and  rid  the  gate  unto 
your  Grace,  or  else  die  for  it.'  The  King  tarried  still,  as  was 
devised  ;  and  George  Douglas  with  him,  and  sundry  otiier 
lords,  such  as  the  Earl  of  Lennox,  and  the  Lord  Erskine,  and 
some  of  the  King's  own  servants  ;  but  all  the  lave  (rest)  past 
with  the  Earl  of  Angns  to  the  field  against  the  Laird  of  Bnc- 
cieu-ih,  who  joyned  and  countered  crutlly  both  the  said  parties 
in  the  field  of  Darnelinver,'  either  against  other,  with  uncertain 
victory.  But  at  the  la.it,  the  Lord  Hume,  hearing  word  of  that 
matter  how  it  stood.  rcturne>l  again  to  the  King  in  all  possible 
Dhste,  with  him  the  Lairds  of  Cessfoord  and  Fernyhirst,  to  the 
number  of  fourscore  spears,  and  set  freshly  on  the  lap  and  wing 
of  the  Laird  of  Bncclcnch's  field,  and  shortly  bare  tliem  back- 
ward to  the  ground  ;  which  caused  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch, 
and  the  rest  of  his  friends,  to  go  back  and  flee,  whom  they  fol- 

1  Damwick,  near  Melrose.  The  pbico  of  conflict  ia  BliU  called  Skinner'i 
Field,  from  s  comptioo  of  Skirmitk  Field.    (See  the  Minstreli;  of  the 


lowed  and  chased  ;  and  especially  the  Lairds  of  Caafoord  and 
Fernyhirst  followed  furiouslie,  till  at  the  foot  of  a  path  \ne 
Laird  of  Cexsfoonl  was  slain  by  the  stroke  of  a,  spear  by  an 
Elliot,  who  was  then  wrvanl  to  the  Laird  of  Buceleuch.  But 
when  the  Laird  of  dssfoord  wat  slain,  tlie  chase  ceased.  Tne 
Earl  of  Angus  ivturned  again  with  great  merrineiw  and  victory, 
and  thanked  God  that  he  saved  him  frum  that  chance,  and 
passed  with  the  King  to  Melrom,  where  they  remained  all  that 
night.  (In  the  morn  they  past  to  Kilinburgh  with  the  King, 
who  was  very  sad  and  dolorous  of  the  slaughter  of  the  Laird  of 
CessfoonI,  and  many  other  gentlemen  and  yeomen  slain  by  the 
Lainl  of  lluccleuch,  containing  the  number  of  fourscore  and 
fifteen,  which  died  in  defence  of  the  King,  and  at  the  command 
of  liis  writing." 

I  am  not  the  first  who  has  attempted  to  celebrate  in  verse  th« 
renown  of  this  ancient  baron,  and  his  hazardous  attempt  to 
procure  his  sovereign's  freedom.  In  a  Scottish  Latin  poet  we 
find  tlie  following  verses  : — 

Valterics  Scotus  Balcluchius, 

Egregio  snscepto  facinore,  libertate  Regis,  ac  aliis  rebus  gestli 
clarus,  sub  Jacobo  V.  Ao.  Christi,  15^. 

"  Intentata  aliis,  nnlliqne  audita  priorum 

Audet,  nee  pavidum  morsve,  metusve  qnatit, 
Libertatcm  aliis  soliti  transcribere  Regis  : 

Subre])tam  banc  Regi  restituisse  paras  ; 
Si  vincis,  quanta  6  succedunl  priemia  dextri  I 

Sin  victus,  f'alsas  spes  jace,  pone  animam. 
Hoslica  vis  nocuit :  stant  alti£  robora  mentis 

Atqne  decus.     Vincet,  Rege  probantc,  fides 
Insila  quels  animis  virtus,  ([uosque  acrior  ardor 

Obsidet,  obscuris  nox  premat  an  tcnebris  1" 

Heroes  ex  omni  Historia  Scotica  lectissimi,  Aoctore  Johan 
Jonstonio  Abredonense  Scoto,  1603. 

In  consequence  of  the  battle  of  Melrose,  there  ensued  a 
deadly  feud  betwixt  the  names  of  Scott  and  Kerr,  which,  in 
spite  of  all  means  used  to  bring  about  an  agreement,  raged  fol 
many  years  upon  the  Borders.  Buccleuch  was  imprisoned,  and 
his  estates  forfeited,  in  the  year  1535,  for  levying  war  against 
the  Kerrs,  and  restored  by  act  of  Parliament,  dated  15th  March, 
1542,  during  the  regency  of  Mary  of  Lorraine.  But  the  most 
signal  act  of  violence  to  which  this  quarrel  gave  rise,  was  the 
murder  of  Sir  Walter  himself,  who  was  slain  by  the  Kerrs  in 
the  streets  of  Edinburgh  in  1552.  This  is  the  event  alluded 
to  in  stanza  vii.  ;  and  the  poem  is  supposed  to  open  shortly 
after  it  had  taken  j)lace. 

The  feud  between  these  two  families  was  not  reconciled  in 
1596,  when  both  chieftains  paraded  the  streets  of  Edinburgh 
with  their  followers,  and  it  was  expected  their  first  meeting 
would  decide  their  quarrel.  But,  on  July  14ih  of  the  same 
year,  Colvil,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Bacon,  informs  him,  "  that  there 
was  great  trouble  upon  the  Borders,  which  would  continue  till 
order  should  be  taken  by  the  Queen  of  England  and  the  King, 
by  reason  of  the  two  young  Scots  chieftains,  Cesford  and  Bac- 
lugh,  and  of  the  present  neces.'ity  and  scarcity  of  corn  amongst 
the  Scots  Borderers  ami  riders.  That  ther;-  hail  been  a  private 
quarrel  betwixt  those  two  lairds  on  the  Borders,  which  was 
like  to  have  turned  to  blood  ;  but  the  fear  of  the  general  trouble 
had  reconciled  them,  and  the  injuries  which  they  thought  to 
have  committed  against  each  otiier  were  now  transferred  uiion 
England :  not  unlike  that  emulation  in  France  between  the 
Baron  de  Biron  and  Mons.  Jeverie,  who,  being  both  ambitious 
of  honor,  undertook  more  hazardous  enterprises  against  the 
enemy  than  they  would  have  done  if  they  had  been  at  concord 
together." — Birch's  Memorials,  vol.  ii.  p.  67. 


Scottish  Border,  vols.  i.  and  ii.,  for  farther  particular*  concenung  these 
plac«>,  of  all  which  the  author  of  the  Lay  was  ultimately  propiielor._£i>.> 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


57 


Note  F. 

While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 
While  Ettrick  boasts  the  line  of  Scott, 

The  slaugliter'd  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar, 

The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war, 
Shall  never,  never  be  forgot! — P.  19. 
Among  other  expedients  resorted  to  lor  stancliing  the  feud 
betwixt  the  Scotts  and  the  Kerrs,  there  was  a  bond  executed 
in  15i9,  between  the  heads  of  each  clan,  binding  themselves 
to  perform  reciprocally  the  four  principal  pilgrimages  of  Scot- 
land, for  the  benefit  of  the  souls  of  those  of  the  oppO!-ite  name 
who  had  fallen  in  the  quarrel.  This  indenture  is  printed  in 
the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol  i.  But  either 
It  never  look  effect,  or  else  the  feud  was  renewed  shortly 
afterwards. 

Such  pactions  were  not  uncommon  in  feudal  times  ;  and,  as 
might  be  expected,  they  were  often,  as  in  the  present  case, 
void  of  the  efiect  desired.  When  Sir  Walter  Manny,  the  re- 
nowned follower  of  Edward  III.,  had  taken  the  town  of  Ryol 
in  Gascony,  he  remembered  to  have  heard  that  his  father  lay 
there  buried,  and  ofl'ered  a  hundred  crowns  to  any  who  couid 
show  liim  his  grave.  A  verj'  old  man  appeared  before  Sir 
Walter,  and  informed  him  of  the  manner  of  his  father's  death, 
and  the  place  of  his  sepulture.  It  seems  the  Lord  of  Manny 
hart,  at  a  great  tournament,  unhorsed,  and  wounded  to  the 
death,  a  Gascon  knight,  of  the  house  of  Mirepoix,  whose  kins- 
man was  Bishop  of  Cambray.  For  this  deed  he  was  held  at 
feud  by  the  relations  of  the  knight,  until  he  agreed  to  under- 
take a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  St.  James  of  Compostella, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  .soul  of  the  deceased.  But  as  he  returned 
through  the  town  of  Ryol,  after  accomplishment  of  his  vow, 
he  was  beset  and  treacherously  slain,  by  the  kindred  of  the 
knight  whom  he  had  killed.  Sir  Walter,  guided  by  the  old 
man,  visited  the  lowly  tomb  of  his  father;  and,  having  read 
the  inscription,  which  was  in  Latin,  he  caused  the  body  to  be 
raised,  and  transported  to  his  native  city  of  Valenciennes, 
where  masses  were,  in  the  days  of  Froissart,  duly  said  for  the 
soul  of  the  unfortunate  pilgrim. — Chronycle  of  Froissart, 
vol.  i.  p.  123. 


Note  G. 

With  Carr  in  arms  had  stood. — P.  20. 

The  family  of  Ker,  Kerr,  or  Carr,'  was  very  powerful  on 
the  Border.  Fynes  Morrison  remarks,  in  his  Travels,  that 
their  influence  extended  from  the  village  of  Preston-Grange, 
in  Lothian,  to  the  limits  of  England.  Cessford  Castle,  the 
ancient  baronial  residence  of  the  family,  is  situated  near  the 
village  of  Morebattle,  within  two  or  three  miles  of  the  Cheviot 
Hills.  It  has  been  a  place  of  great  strength  and  consequence, 
but  is  now  ruinous.  Tradition  affirms  that  it  was  founded  by 
Halbert,  or  Habby  Kerr,  a  gigantic  warrior,  concerning  whom 
many  stories  are  current  in  Roxburghshire.  The  Duke  of 
Roxbnrghe  represents  Kerr  of  Cessford.  A  distinct  and  power- 
ful branch  of  the  same  name  own  tlie  Marquis  of  Lothian  as 
their  chief.  Hence  the  distinction  betwixt  Kerrs  of  Cessford 
and  Fairniliirst. 


Note  H. 
Lord  Cranstoun. — P.  20. 
The  Cranstouns,  Lord  Cranstoun,  are  an  ancient  Border 
family,  whose  chief  seat  was  at  Craihng,  in  Teviotdale.  They 
were  at  this  time  at  feud  with  the  clan  of  Scott ;  for  it  ap- 
pears that  the  Lady  of  Bnccleuch,  in  1557,  beset  the  Laird 
of  Cranstoun,  seeking  liis  life.  Nevertheless,  the  same  Cran- 
stoun, or  perhaps  his  son,  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  the 
same  lady. 

1  The  name  is  spelt  differently  by  the  various  families  who  bear  it.    Carr 
b  selected,  not  as  the  most  correct,  but  as  the  most  poetical     ^ding. 


Note  L 

Of  Bcthune's  line  of  Picardie. — P.  20. 
The  Bethune's  were  of  French  origin,  and  derived  their 
name  from  a  small  town  in  Artois.  There  were  several  dis- 
tinguished families  of  the  Bethunes  in  the  neighboring  province 
of  Picardy  ;  they  numbered  among  their  descendants  the  cele- 
brated Due  de  Sully  ;  and  the  name  was  accounted  among  the 
most  noble  in  France,  while  auglit  noble  remained  in  that 
country .2  The  family  of  Bethune,  or  Beatoun,  in  Fife,  pro- 
duced three  learned  and  dignified  prelates  :  narael)  Cardina. 
Beaton,  and  two  successive  Archbishops  of  Glasgc  ir,  all  of 
whom  flourished  about  the  date  of  the  romance.  Of  this 
family  was  descended  Dame  Janet  Beaton,  Lady  Bo  jcleuch, 
widow  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  of  Branksome.  She  was  a  woman 
of  masculine  spirit,  as  appeared  from  her  riding  at  the  head  of 
her  son's  clan,  after  her  husband's  murder.  She  also  possessed 
the  hereditary  abilities  of  her  family  in  such  a  degree  that 
the  superstition  of  the  vulgar  imputed  them  to  supernatural 
knowledge.  With  this  was  mingled  by  faction,  the  foul  ac- 
cusation of  her  having  influenced  Q,ueen  Mary  to  the  murder 
of  her  husband.  One  of  the  placards  preserved  in  Buchanan's 
Detection,  accuses  of  Darnley's  murder  "  the  Erie  of  Both- 
well,  Mr.  James  Balfour,  the  persoun  of  Fliske,  Mr.  David 
Chalmers,  black  Mr.  John  Spens,  who  was  principal  devLser 
of  the  murder ;  and  the  duene,  assenting  thairto,  throw  the 
persuasion  of  the  Erie  Bothwell,  and  the  witchcraft  of  Lady 
Bucldeach." 


Note  K. 


He  learn'd  the  art  that  none  may  name. 
In  Padua,  far  beyond  the  sea. — P.  20. 
Padua  was  long  supposed,  by  the  Scottish  peasants,  to  be 
the  principal  school  of  necromancy.  The  Earl  of  Gowrie, 
slain  at  Perth,  in  1600,  pretended,  during  his  studies  in  Italy, 
to  have  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  cabala,  by  which,  he 
said,  he  could  charm  snakes,  and  work  other  miracles ;  and, 
in  particular,  could  produce  children  without  the  intercourse 
of  the  sexes. — See  the  examination  of  Wemyss  of  Bogie  beforfl 
the  Privy  Council,  concerning  Cowrie's  Conspiracy. 


Note  L. 


His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 
Upon  the  sunny  wall! — P.  20. 
The  shadow  of  a  necromancer  is  independent  of  the  snn. 
Glycas  informs  us  that  Simon  Magus  caused  his  shadow  to  go 
before  him,  making  people  believe  it  was  an  attendant  spirit 
— Heywood's  Hierarchie,  p.  475.  The  vulgar  conceive, 
that  when  a  class  of  students  have  made  a  certain  progress  in 
their  mystic  studies,  they  are  obliged  to  run  through  a  subter- 
raneous hall,  where  the  devil  literally  catches  the  hindmost 
in  the  race,  unless  he  crosses  the  hall  so  speedily  that  the 
arch-enemy  can  only  apprehend  his  shadow.  In  the  latter 
case,  the  person  of  the  sage  never  after  throws  any  shade , 
and  those,  who  liave  thus  lost  their  shadow,  always  prove  tli* 
best  magicians. 


Note  M. 
The  viewless  forms  of  air. — P.  20. 
The  Scottish  vulgar,  without  liaving  any  very  defined  no- 
tion of  their  attributes,  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  inter- 
mediate class  of  spirits,  residing  in  the  air,  or  in  the  watei^  ;  to 
whose  agency  they  ascribe  floods,  storms,  and  all  such  phe- 
nomena as  their  own  philosophy  cannot  readily  explain.  They 
are  supposed  to  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  mortals,  sometime* 

2  This  expression  and  sentiment  were  dictated  by  the  situation  of  France, 
in  the  year  1803,  when  the  poem  was  originally  written.    1821. 


&s 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Hrith  a  malcvolpiit  purjto^e,  ami  ftomolimpn  witli  milder  viewR, 
It  i«i«ai>l,  lur  fxuiii|ilf,  lliat  a  gallant  boron,  liaviii^  returnoil 
Iroin  llie  Holy  Land  to  liui  oa.'illo  of  Drumnu-lziar,  Ibund  liin 
lair  lady  nui>iii^  a  liealtliy  cliild,  >vho!i<'  tiirtli  did  not  by  any 
oioaiu  cum'^iHinil  to  the  date  of  liis  do|>artnrfi  Such  an  oc- 
currtMice,  to  tlie  ort-dit  of  tin-  daim-^  of  tlie  ('rniiiili'm  \m  it 
«|iokiMi,  \vif>  M)  ran',  tliut  it  nM|nirt>il  n  niimeulous  Mihilion. 
Tlie  lady,  llicriloir,  wii«  belirvid,  wlirn  -Ik-  avim-d  conlidiMilly, 
tlint  tin-  fSpirit  of  llie  Twtfd  lind  ii-iniMl  from  llic  river  while 
ihe  W3«  wnlkiii!;  t\\mi\  il.s  bnnk,  and  c'Oiii|H'lled  lier  to  i-nbmit 
to  liii  onibrai'i's  ;  and  the  name  of  Tweedio  was  bcslowwl 
Ofion  the  child,  who  nftorwardH  bronnir  Huron  of  Druniincl/Jor, 
and  fhief  of  a  powerful  clan.  To  tho^e  spirits  are  also  aa- 
:ribed,  in  Scotland,  the 

— "  Airy  tongues,  that  syllable  nien'a  names, 
On  sands,  and  (chores,  and  disert  wildernesses." 

When  the  workmen  were  engaged  in  erecting  the  ancient 
churvh  of  Old  Oeer,  in  Aberdeenshire,  upon  a  small  hill  called 
Bissau,  they  were  surprised  to  find  that  the  work  was  impeded 
by  supernatural  obstacles.  At  length,  the  Spirit  of  the  River 
w:is  Inard  to  say, 

"  It  is  not  here,  it  is  not  here 
That  ye  shall  build  the  church  of  Deer  ; 
Dut  on  Taj)tillery, 
Where  many  a  corpse  shall  lie." 

The  site  of  the  edifice  was  accordingly  transferred  to  Tap- 
lillery,  an  eminence  at  some  distance  from  the  place  where  the 
building  had  been  commenced. — Macfarlane's  jMSS.  1 
mention  tliosc  popular  fables,  because  the  introduction  of  the 
River  and  Mountain  Spirits  may  not,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  ac- 
cord with  the  general  tone  of  the  romance,  and  the  superstitions 
of  the  country  where  the  scene  is  laid. 


Note  N. 
^fancied  moss-trooper,  ^-c. — P.  21. 

This  was  the  usual  appellation  of  the  marauders  upon  the 
Bor<lers :  a  profession  diligently  pursued  by  the  inhabitanLs  on 
both  sides,  and  by  none  more  actively  and  successfully  than  by 
Buecleuch's  clan.  Long  after  the  union  of  the  crowns,  the 
moss-trooi)ers,  although  sunk  in  reputation,  and  no  longer  en- 
joying the  pretext  of  national  hostility,  continued  to  pursue 
their  calling. 

Fuller  includes,  among  the  wonders  of  Cumberland,  "  The 
moss-troopers :  so  strange  in  the  condition  of  their  living,  if 
considered  in  their  Original,  Increase,  Height,  Decay,  and 
Ruine. 

"  I.  Originnl.  1  conceive  them  "the  same  called  Borderers 
in  Mr.  Camden  ;  and  characterized  by  him  to  be  a  wild  and 
wiirlike  people.  They  are  called  moss-troopers,  because  dwell- 
ing in  the  mosses,  and  riding  in  troops  together.  They  dwell 
in  the  bounds,  or  meeting,  of  the  two  kingdoms,  but  obey  the 
law<i  of  neither.  They  come  to  church  as  seldom  as  the  29th 
of  February  comes  into  the  kalendar. 

"2.  Increase.  When  England  and  Scotland  were  tinited 
In  Great  Britain,  they  that  formerly  lived  by  hostile  incursions, 
betook  themselves  to  the  robbing  of  their  neighbors.  Their 
sons  are  free  of  the  trade  by  their  fathers'  copy.  They  are  like 
to  Job,  not  in  piety  and  patience,  but  in  sudden  ])lenty  and 
poverty  ;  sometimes  having  floaJ(s  and  herds  in  the  morning, 
none  at  night,  and  perchance  many  again  next  day.  They 
may  give  for  their  motto,  vivitor  ex  rapto,  stealing  from  their 
honest  neighbors  what  they  sometimes  require.  They  are  a 
nest  of  hornets ;  strike  one-,  and  stir  all  of  them  about  vour 
ears.  Indeed,  if  they  promise  safely  to  conduct  a  traveller, 
they  will  perform  it  with  the  fidelity  of  a  Turkish  janizary  ; 
otherwise,  woe  be  to  him  that  fallelh  into  their  quarters  ! 

"3.  Height.  Amounting,  forty  years  since,  to  some  thon- 
lands.     These  compelled  the  vicinage  to  purchase  tlieir  secu- 


rity, by  paying  a  constant  rent  to  thorn.  When  in  Iheii 
gn'attiit  height,  they  had  two  great  enemies, — the  I.aas  of  llie 
I^anJ,  and  the  hard  H'il/iam  Howard  of  jVaicorth.  He  sent 
many  of  them  to  CarliMe,  to  that  place  where  the  oliicer  iloth 
alienya  his  irork  Inj  dnijlight.  Vet  these  moss-troopi-m,  if  pos- 
sibly lliey  could  procure  Ihe  |)nnlon  for  u  coiidi-miied  (ktsoii  of 
tlieir  company,  would  advance  great  sums  out  of  their  cuniiiiun 
stock,  who,  in  such  a  case,  cast  in  their  lots  amongst  them- 
selces,  and  all  have  one  purse. 

"4.  Ijecay.  Caused,  by  the  wisdom,  valour,  and  di'ligenca 
of  the  Right  Honourable  Charles  Lord  Howard,  Earl  of  Car- 
lisle, who  routed  these  English  Tories  with  his  regiment.  Hii 
severity  unto  them  will  not  only  be  excused,  but  coininendcd, 
by  the  judicious,  who  consider  how  our  great  lawyer  djth 
describe  such  persons,  who  are  solemnly  outlawed.  Brac- 
TON,  lib.  viii.,  Irac.  2,  cap.  11.—'  Kx  tune  girunt  caput  lupi- 
num,  ita  quod  sine  judiciali  inquisitione  rite  pereant,  e'. 
secuni  SHum  judicium  jiorlcnt ;  ci  tncrito  sine  lege  pcreunt, 
qui  secundum  legem  vivere  recusdrunt.' — 'Thenceforward 
•(after  that  they  are  outlawed),  they  wear  a  wolf's  head,  so  that 
they  lawfully  may  be  destroyed,  without  any  judicial  inquisi- 
tion, as  who  carry  their  own  condemnation  about  them,  and 
deservedly  die  without  law,  because  they  refused  to  live  ac- 
cording to  law.' 

"5.  Ituine.  Such  was  the  success  of  this  worthy  lord's 
severity,  that  he  made  a  thorough  reformation  among  them  ; 
and  the  ring-leaders  being  destroyed,  the  rest  arc  reduced  »o 
legal  obedience,  and  so,  I  trust,  will  continue." — Fulllr's 
Worthies  of  England,  ]).  210. 

The  last  public  mention  of  moss-troopers  occurs  during  the 
civil  wars  of  the  17th  century,  when  many  ordinances  of 
Farliament  were  directed  against  them. 


Note  O. 

tame  the  Unicorn's  pride. 

Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star. — P.  21. 

The  arms  of  the  Kerrs  of  Cessford  were,  ViTt  on  a  cheveron, 
betwixt  three  unicorns'  heads  erased  argent,  three  mullets  sa- 
ble;  crest,  a  unicorn's  head,  era-sed  proper.  The  Scotts  of 
Buccleuch  bore,  Or,  on  a  bend  azure  ;  a  star  of  six  points  be- 
twixt two  crescents  of  the  first. 


Note  P. 


William  of  Deloraine. — P.  21. 

The  lands  of  Deloraine  are  joined  to  those  of  Buccleuch  in 
Ettrick  Forest.  They  were  immemorially  possessed  by  the 
Buccleuch  family,  under  the  strong  title  of  occupancy,  al 
though  no  charier  was  obtained  from  the  crown  until  15-15. 
Like  other  possessions,  the  lands  of  Deloraine  were  occasionnll} 
granted  by  them  to  vassals,  or  kinsmen,  for  Border  service 
Satchells  mentions,  among  the  twenty-four  gentIemen-]icnsion- 
eis  of  the  family,  "  William  Scott,  commonly  called  ('ut-ai 
the-Black,  who  had  the  lands  of  Nether  Deloraine  for  his  ser- 
vice." And  again,  "This  William  of  Deloraine,  commonly 
called  Cut-a'-thc-lilaclt,  was  a  brother  of  the  ancient  house  of 
Ilaining,  which  house  of  llaining  is  descended  from  the  an- 
cient house  of  Ha.ssendcan."  The  lands  of  Deloraine  now 
give  an  earl's  title  to  the  descendant  of  Henry,  the  seconil  sui^ 
viving  son  of  the  Duchess  of  Bncck-ucli  and  Monmouth.  I 
have  endeavored  to  give  William  of  Deloraine  the  aliributes 
which  characterized  the  Borderers  of  his  day  ;  for  which  I 
can  only  picad  Froissart's  ajiology,  that,  "it  behoveth,  in  a 
lynage,  some  to  be  folyshe  and  outrageous,  to  maynteyne  and 
sustayne  the  peasable."  As  a  contrast  to  my  Marchman,  I 
beg  leave  lo  transcribe,  from  the  same  author,  the  speech  of 
Amergot  Marcell,  a  cantain  of  the  Adventurous  Companions, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


59 


ft  robber,  and  a  pillager  of  the  country  of  Auvergene,  who  had 
been  bribed  Uy  sell  his  strongholds,  and  to  assume  a  more  hon- 
orable military  life  under  the  banners  of  the  Earl  of  Armagnac. 
But  "  when  he  remembered  alle  this,  he  was  sorrowful ;  his 
tresour  he  thought  he  wolde  not  mynysshe ;  he  wonte  dayly 
to  serche  for  newe  pyllages,  wlierebye  encresed  his  profyle,  and 
then  he  sawe  tliat  alle  was  closed  fro'  hym.  Then  he  sayde 
and  imasyned,  that  to  pyll  and  to  robbe  (all  things  considered) 
was  a  good  lyfe.  and  so  repented  hym  of  his  good  doing.  On  a 
time,  he  said  to  his  old  companyons, '  Sirs,  there  is  no  sporte  nor 
glory  in  this  worlde  amonge  men  of  warre,  but  to  use  suche 
iyfe  as  we  have  done  in  tyme  past.  What  a  joy  was  it  to  us 
when  we  rode  forth  at  adventure,  and  somlyme  foimd  by  llie  way 
a  rich  prioiir  or  merchaunt,  or  a  route  of  niulettes  of  Mount- 
pellyer.  of  Narhonne,  of  Lymens,  of  Fongans,  of  Besyers,  of  Tholous, 
or  of  Carcasonne,  laden  with  cloth  of  Brussels,  or  peltre  ware 
comynge  fro  the  favres,  or  laden  with  spycery  fro  Surges,  fro 
Damns,  or  fro  Alysaundre ;  whatsoever  we  met,  all  w.is  ours,  or 
els  ransoumed  at  our  pleasures  ;  dayly  we  gate  new  money,  and 
the  vyllaynes  of  Auvergne  and  of  Lymosyn  dayly  provyded  and 
brought  to  our  castell  wliete  mele,  good  wynes,  belfes,  and  fatte 
mottons,  puiMyne,  and  wylde  foule  :  We  were  ever  furnyshed  as 
tho  we  had  been  kings.  When  we  rode  forthe,  all  the  countery 
trynibled  for  feare  :  all  was  ours  goyng  and  comynge.  How  tok 
we  Carlast,  I  and  the  Bourge  of  Compayne,  and  f  and  Perot  of 
Bernoys  took  Caluset ;  how  dyd  we  scale,  with  lytell  ayde,  the 
strong  casttll  of  Marquell,  pertayning  to  tlie  £rl  Dolphyn  :  I  kept 
it  nat  pa-^it  fyve  days,  but  I  received  for  it,  on  a  feyre  table,  fyve 
thonsande  frankes,  and  forgave  one  thousande  for  the  love  of  the 
Erl  Dolpliin's  children.  By  my  fayth,  this  was  a  fayre  and  a  good 
lyfe  !  wherefore  I  repute  myselfe  sore  deceyved,  in  that  I  have 
rendered  up  the  fortress  of  Aloys ;  for  it  wolde  have  kept  fro 
all  the  worlde,  and  the  daye  that  I  gave  it  up,  it  was  foumyshed 
with  vytaylles,  to  liave  been  kept  seven  yere  without  any  re- 
vytayllin^e.  This  Erl  of  Armynake  hath  deceived  me :  Olyve 
Barbe.  and  Perot  le  Bernoys,  showed  to  me  how  I  shulde  repente 
myselfe  ;  certayne  I  sore  repente  myselfe  of  what  I  have  done.'  " 
■-Fkoissart,  vol.  ii.  p.  195. 


Note  Q. 

£y  wily  turns,  by  desperate  lounds. 

Had  baHkd  Percy's  best  blood-hounds.— P.  21. 

The  kings  and  heroes  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  the  Border- 
riders,  were  sometimes  obliged  to  study  how  to  evade  the  pur- 
suit of  blood-hounds.  Barbour  informs  us,  that  Robert  Bruce 
was  repeatedly  tracked  by  sleuth-dogs.  On  one  occasion,  he 
escaped  by  wading  a  bow-shot  down  a  brook,  and  ascending 
into  a  tree  by  a  branch  wliich  overhung  the  water  ;  thus,  leav- 
ing no  trace  on  land  of  his  footste;.,s,  he  bafBed  the  scent.  The 
pursuers  came  up  : 

"  Rycht  to  the  burn  tliai  passyt  ware, 
Bot  the  sleuth-hund  made  stinting  thar, 
And  waueryt  lang  tyme  ta  and  fra, 
That  he  na  certain  gate  couth  ga ; 
Till  at  the  last  that  John  of  Lome 
Perseuvit  the  hund  the  sleuth  had  lome." 

The  Bruce,  Book  Wi. 

A  sure  way  of  stopping  the  dog  was  to  spill  blood  upon  the 
tr.ick,  which  destroyed  the  discriminating  fineness  of  his  scent. 
A  captive  was  sometimes  sacrificed  on  such  ocf.asions.  Henry 
the  Minstrel  tells  a  romantic  story  of  Wallace,  founded  on  this 
circumstance  : — The  hero's  little  band  had  been  joined  by  an 
Irishman,  named  Fawdoun,  or  Fadzean,  a  dark,  savage,  and 
suspicious  character.  After  a  sharp  skirmish  at  Black-Erne 
Side,  Wallace  was  forced  to  retreat  with  only  sixteen  follow- 
ers. The  English  pursued  with  a  Border  sleuth-bratch,  or 
olood-hound. 


"  In  Gelderland  there  was  that  bratchet  bred, 
Siker  of  scent,  to  follow  them  that  fled  ; 
So  was  he  used  in  Eske  and  Liddesdail, 
While  (i.  e.  till)  slxe  gat  blood  no  fleeing  might  avail." 

In  the  retreat,  Fawdoun,  tired,  or  affecting  to  be  so,  would  go  no 
farther.  Wallace,  having  in  vain  argued  with  him.  in  hasty  anger, 
struck  off  his  head,  and  continued  the  retreat.  When  the  English 
came  up,  their  hound  stayed  upon  the  dead  body :  — 

"  The  sleuth  stopped  at  Fawdon,  still  she  stood. 
No  farther  would  fra  time  she  fund  the  blood." 

The  story  concludes  with  a  fine  Gothic  scene  of  terror.  Wallace 
took  refuge  in  the  solitary  tower  of  Cask.  Here  he  was  disturbed 
at  midnight  by  the  blast  of  a  horn.  He  sent  out  his  attendants  by 
two  and  two.  but  no  one  returned  with  tidings.  At  leneth,  when 
lie  was  left  alone,  the  sound  was  heard  still  louder.  The  cham- 
pion descended,  sword  in  hand  ;  and,  at  the  gate  of  the  tower,  was 
encountered  by  the  headless  spectre  of  Fawdoun,  whom  he  had 
slain  so  rashly.  Wallace,  in  great  terror,  fled  up  into  the  tower, 
tore  open  the  boards  of  a  window,  leapt  dov.-n  fil'teen  feet  in  height, 
and  continued  his  flight  up  the  river.  Looking  back  to  Gask^  he 
discovered  the  tower  on  fire,  and  the  form  of  Fawdoun  upon  the 
battlements,  dilated  to  an  immense  size,  and  holding  in  his  hand  » 
blazing  rafter.    The  Minstrel  concludes, 

"  Trust  ryght  wele,  that  all  this  be  sooth  indeed, 
Supposing  it  to  be  no  point  of  the  creed." 

The  Wallace,  Book  v. 

Mr.  Ellis  has  e.xtracted  this  tale  as  a  sample  of  Henry's  poetiy.- 
Specimens  of  English  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  351. 


Note  R. 
■  the  Moat-hill's  mound. 


Where  Druid  shades  still  fluted  rowid.—P.  22. 

This  isa  round  artificial  mount  near  Hawick,  which,  from  its 
name  (jfHot.  Aiitj.  Sax.  Conctlium,  Comentus).  was  probably 
anciently  u.«ed  as  a  place  for  assembling  a  national  council  of  the 
adjacent  tribes.  There  are  many  such  mounds  in  Scotland,  and 
they  are  sometimes,  but  rarely,  of  a  square  form. 


Note  S. 

the  tower  of  Hazeldean, — P.  22. 

The  estate  of  Hazeldean,  corrnptly  Hassendean,  belonged 
formerly  to  a  family  of  Scotts,  thus  commemorated  by  Satch- 
ells:— 

"  Hassendean  came  without  a  call. 
The  ancientest  house  among  them  all." 


Note  T. 


On  Minto-crags  the  moonbeams  glint. — P.  22. 

A  romantic  assemblage  of  cliffs,  which  rise  suddenly  above 
the  vale  of  Te\iot,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  family-seat, 
from  which  Lord  Minto  takes  his  title.  A  small  platform,  on 
a  projecting  crag,  commanding  a  most  beautiful  prospect,  is 
termed  Barnhills'  Bed.  This  Barnhills  is  said  to  have  been  a 
robber,  or  outlaw.  There  are  remains  of  a  strong  tower  be- 
neath the  rocks,  where  he  is  supposed  to  have  dwelt,  and  from 
which  he  derived  his  name.  On  the  summit  of  the  crags  ara 
the  fragments  of  another  ancient  tower,  in  a  picturesque  situa- 


60 


aCOlT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tion.  Among  the  Hodsm  cast  clown  by  the  Earl  of  Ilartfunl^ 
in  1543,  occur  the  towem  of  Eamrr  liarnhilU,  anil  ul'  Minto 
crag,  witli  Mintu  town  and  place.  Sir  (jillicrt  Klllui.  fallicrto 
the  prvM-nt  Lonl  Minto,>  was  the  author  of  a  Ix-autitul  paiito- 
ral  soil';,  ol  which  tin-  t°olluwin<;  is  a  more  com>ot  copy  than  is 
tuually  published.  The  (loetical  mantle  of  Sir  Uilbert  Elliot 
has  tiesceiided  to  his  family. 

"  My  »heep  I  ncglectwl ,  I  broke  my  «heep-hook, 
And  all  the  gay  haunts  of  my  youth  I  fur>ook : 
No  more  for  Amynta  frt-sh  garlnnds  I  wove : 
Ambition,  I  xaid,  would  M>on  cure  me  of  love. 
But  what  had  my  youth  with  ambition  to  do  I 
Wliy  left  I  Ainynta  !  why  broke  I  my  vow  I 

"  Through  regions  remote  in  vain  do  1  rove, 
And  bill  the  wide  world  secure  me  from  love. 
Ah,  fool,  to  imagine,  that  aught  could  subdue 
A  love  so  well  founded,  a  passion  so  true ! 
Ah,  give  me  my  slice)),  and  my  sheep-hook  restore  I 
And  I'll  wander  from  love  and  Amynta  no  more ! 

"  Alas  !  'tis  too  late  at  thy  fate  to  repine  ! 
Poor  shepherd,  Amynta,  no  more  can  be  thine  I 
Thy  tears  are  all  fruitless,  thy  wishes  are  vain, 
The  moments  neglected  return  not  again. 
Ah  !  what  had  my  youth  with  ambition  to  do  I 
Why  left  I  Amynta !  wliy  broke  I  my  vow  I" 


Note  U. 


Ancient  Riddcll's  fair  domain. — P.  22. 

The  family  of  Riddell  have  been  very  long  in  possession  of 
the  barony  called  Riddell,  or  Ryedale,  part  of  which  still  bears 
the  latter  name.  Tradition  carries  their  antiquity  to  a  point 
extremely  remote  ;  and  is,  in  some  degree,  sanctioned  by  the 
discovery  of  two  stone  coffins,  one  containing  an  earthen  pot 
filled  with  ashes  and  arms,  bearing  a  legible  date,  A.  D.  727 ; 
the  other  dated  936,  and  filled  with  the  bones  of  a  man  of  gi- 
gantic size.  These  coffins  were  discovered  in  the  foundations 
of  what  was,  but  has  long  cea-sed  to  be,  the  chapel  of  Riddell  ; 
and  as  it  was  argued  with  plausibility,  that  they  contained  the 
remains  of  some  ancestors  of  the  family,  they  were  deposited 
in  the  modem  place  of  sepulture,  comparatively  so  termed, 
though  built  in  1110.  6ut  the  following  curious  and  authen- 
tic documents  w.irrant  most  conclusively  the  epithet  of  "  an- 
cient Riddell :"  1st,  A  charter  by  David  I.  to  Walter  Rydale, 
Sheriff  of  Roxburgh,  confirming  all  the  estates  of  Liliesclive, 
&c.,  of  which  his  father,  Gervasins  de  Rydale,  died  possessed. 
2dly,  A  bull  of  Pope  Adrian  IV.,  confirming  the  will  of  Wal- 
ter de  Ridale,  knight,  in  favor  of  his  brother  Ansehittil  de  Ri- 
dale,  dated  8th  April,  1155.  3dly,  A  bull  of  Pope  Alexan- 
der ni.,  confirming  the  said  will  of  Walter  de  Ridale,  be- 
queathing to  his  brotlier  Ansehittil  the  lands  of  Liliesclive, 
Whettunes,  &c.,  and  ratifying  the  bargain  betwixt  Ansehittil 
and  Huctredns,  concerning  the  church  of  Liliesclive,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  mediation  of  Malcolm  II.,  and  confirmed  by  a 
charter  from  that  monarch.  This  bull  is  dated  17th  June,  IIGO. 
4tbly.  A  bull  of  the  same  Pope,  confirming  the  will  of  Sir 
Ani^rhittil  de  Ridale,  in  favor  of  his  son  Walter,  conveying  the 
said  lands  of  Liliesclive  and  others,  dated  10th  March,  1120. 
It  is  remarkable,  that  Liliesclive.  otherwise  Rydale,  or  Riddell, 
and  the  Whittnnes,  ha\e  descended,  through  a  long  train  of 
ancestors,  without  ever  passing  into  a  collateral  line,  to  the 
person  of  Sir  John  Buchanan  Riddell,  Bart,  of  Riddell,  the 
lineal  descendant  and  representative  of  Sir  Ansehittil. — These 
circumstances  appeared  worthy  of  notice  in  a  Border  work.^ 


1  Gnuulfather  to  the  preMnt  EsrL    1819. 

2  Since  the  above  note  wot  written,  the  ancient  family 'of  Riddell  hove 
parted  with  all  their  Scotch  eatAtet.— Ed. 


Note  V. 

Hut  when  Melrose  he  rrach'd  'taas  sUenee  all ; 

Jie  meelly  slabUd  hit  gteed  in  stall, 

Jind  sought  the  concent's  lonely  wall. — P. 22. 

The  ancient  and  beautiful  monastery  of  Melrose  was  founded 
by  King  David  I.  Ilh  ruins  alTunl  the  fineot  specimen  of  (jothio 
nrchili'ctun.-  and  Gothic  sculpture  which  Soutluixl  can  bo-ixt. 
The  stone  of  which  it  is  built,  though  it  has  resisted  the  weather 
for  BO  many  ages,  retains  perfect  sharpness,  no  that  even  the 
mo!it  minute  ornaments  seem  us  eiitin.*  a-s  when  newly  wrought. 
In  some  of  the  cloisters,  as  is  hinleil  in  the  next  (.';inIo,  there 
are  rejiresentations  of  flowers,  vegetables,  4ic.,  carvr'd  in  slone, 
with  accuracy  and  precision  so  delicate,  that  we  almost  distrust 
our  senses,  when  we  consider  the  difficulty  of  subjecting  so 
hard  a  substance  to  such  intricate  and  exquisite  modulation. 
This  superb  convent  was  dedicated  to  St,  Mnry,  and  the  nioiiki 
were  of  the  Cistertian  order.  At  the  time  of  the  Reformation, 
they  shared  the  general  reproach  of  sensuality  and  irregularity, 
thrown  upon  the  Roman  churchmen.  The  old  words  of  Oalor 
ehiels,  a  favorite  Scotch  air,  ran  thus  : — 

O  the  monks  of  Melrose  made  guda  kale,* 

On  Friilays  when  they  fasted. 
They  wanted  neither  beef  nor  ale, 

As  long  as  their  neighbors'  lasted 


Note  W, 


When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory  ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 

,^nd  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die. 

•  ••••• 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruin' d  pile. — P.  23. 

The  buttresses  ranged  along  the  sides  of  the  ruins  of  Melrose 
Abbey,  are,  according  to  the  Gothic  style,  richly  carved  and 
fretted,  containing  niches  for  the  statues  of  saints,  and  labelled 
with  scrolls,  bearing  api)ropriate  texts  of  Scripture.  Most  of 
these  statues  have  been  demolished. 

David  I.  of  Scotland  purcli;i»ed  the  rejtutation  of  sanctity, 
by  founding,  and  liberally  endowing,  not  only  the  monastery 
of  Melrose,  but  those  of  Keko,  Jedburgh,  and  many  others  ; 
which  led  to  the  well-known  observation  of  his  successor,  that 
he  was  a  sore  saint  for  the  crown. 


Note  X. 


For  mass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tarry. 

Save  to  patter  an  ~9vc  Mary, 

When  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray. — P.  24. 

The  Borderers  were,  as  may  be  supposed,  very  ignoran  about 
religious  matters.  Colville,  in  his  Paranesis,  or  .'Jdmonilivn, 
states,  that  the  reformed  divines  were  so  far  from  undertaking 
distant  journeys  to  convert  the  Heathen,  "  as  I  wold  wis  at 
God  that  ye  wold  only  go  bot  to  the  Hielands  and  Borrlers  ol 
our  own  realm,  to  gain  our  awin  coiintreymen,  who,  for  lack 
of  prechingand  ministration  of  tlieBuer.iments,  must,  with  tyine, 
becum  either  infidells,  or  atheLsts."  But  we  learn,  from  Les- 
ley, that,  however  deficient  in  real  religion,  they  regul.irly  toiJ 
their  beads,  and  never  with  more  zeal  than  when  going  on  a 
plandeiing  expedition. 


9  Kale,  Brotk. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


61 


Note  Y. 

So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start  ; 

Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. — P.  34. 

"  By  my  faith,"  sayd  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  (to  a  Portu- 
guese squire),  "  of  all  the  feates  of  armes  that  the  Castellyans, 
and  they  of  your  countrey  doth  use,  the  castyiige  of  their  dertes 
best  pleaseth  me,  and  gladly  I  wolde  se  it :  for,  as  I  hear  say, 
if  they  strike  one  aryglite,  without  he  be  well  armed,  the  dart 
will  pierce  him  thrughe." — "  By  my  fayth,  sir,"  sayd  the 
squyer,  "  ye  say  trouth  ;  for  I  have  seen  many  a  grete  stroke 
given  with  them,  which  at  one  time  cost  us  derely,  and  was 
to  us  great  displeasure  ;  for,  at  tlie  said  skyrmishe,  Sir  John 
Lawrence  of  Coygne  was  striken  with  a  dart  in  such  wise,  that 
the  head  perced  all  the  plates  of  his  cote  of  mayle,  and  a  sacke 
stopped  with  sylke,  and  i)assed  thrughe  his  body,  so  that  he 
fell  down  dead."^FROissART,  vol.  ii.  ch.  44. — This  mode  of 
fighting  with  darts  was  imitated  in  the  military  game  called 
Jeiigo  de  las  canas,  which  the  Spaniards  borrowed  from  their 
Moorish  invaders.  A  Saracen  champion  is  thus  described  by 
Froissart :  "  Among  the  Sarazyns,  there  was  a  yonge  knight 
called  Agadinger  DolylVrne  ;  he  was  always  wel  mounted  on 
a  redy  and  a  lyght  horse ;  it  seemed,  when  the  horse  ranne, 
that  he  did  fly  in  the  ayre.  The  knighte  seemed  to  be  a  good 
man  of  armes  by  his  dedes ;  he  bare  always  of  usage  three 
fethered  dartes,  and  ryclite  well  he  could  handle  them  ;  and, 
according  to  their  custome,  he  was  clene  armed,  with  a  long 
white  towell  about  his  head.  His  apparell  was  blacke,  and 
his  own  colour  browne,  and  a  good  horseman.  The  Crysten 
men  say,  they  thoughte  he  dyd  such  deeds  of  armes  for  the 
love  of  some  yonge  ladye  of  his  countrey.  And  true  it  was, 
that  he  loved  entirely  the  King  of  Thune's  daughter,  named 
the  Lady  Azala  ;  she  was  inherytor  to  the  realme  of  Thune, 
after  the  discease  of  the  kyng,  her  father.  Tliis  Agadinger 
was  sone  to  the  Duke  of  Olyferne.  I  can  nat  telle  if  they  were 
married  together  after  or  nat  ;  but  it  was  shewed  me,  that 
this  knyght,  for  love  of  the  sayd  ladye,  during  the  siege,  did 
many  feates  of  armes.  The  knyghtes  of  France  wold  fayne 
have  taken  hym  ;  but  they  colde  never  attrape  nor  inclose 
him  ;  his  horse  was  so  swyft,  and  so  redy  to  his  hand,  that 
alwaies  he  escaped." — Vol.  ii.  ch.  71. 


Note  Z. 

And  there  the  dying  lamps  did  burn. 

Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn, 

O  gallant  Chief  of  Otterburne  .'—P.  SM. 

The  famous  and  desperate  battle  of  Otterburne  was  fought 
15th  August,  1388,  betwixt  Henry  Percy,  called  Hotspur,  and 
James,  Earl  of  Douglas.  Both  these  renowned  champions  were 
at  the  head  pf  a  chosen  body  of  troops,  and  they  were  rivals 
in  military  fame  ;  so  that  Froissart  atfirms,  "  Of  all  the  bat- 
tayles  and  encounteryngs  that  1  have  made  mencion  of  here 
before  in  all  this  hystory,  great  or  smalle,  this  battayle  that 
I  treat  of  nowe  was  one  of  the  sorest  and  best  foughten,  with- 
out cowardes  or  faynte  hertes  :  for  there  was  neyther  knyghte 
nor  squyer  but  that  dyde  his  devoyre,  and  foughte  hande  to 
hande.  This  batayle  was  tyke  the  batayle  of  Becherell,  the 
which  was  valiauatly  fought  and  endured."     The  issue  of  the 

1  There  is  something  affecting  in  the  manner  in  which  the  old  Prior  of 
Lochleven  turns  from  descrihing  the  death  of  the  gallant  Ramsay,  to  the 
general  sorrow  which  it  excited  : — 

"  To  tell  you  there  of  the  manere, 
It  is  bot  sorrow  for  til  here  ; 
He  wes  the  grettast  menyd  man 
That  ony  cowth  have  tbowcht  of  than, 
Of  hie  state,  or  of  mare  be  fare  : 
All  menyt  him,  bath  bettjT  .ind  war  ; 


conflict  is  well  known :  Percy  was  made  prisoner,  and  the 
Scots  won  the  day,  dearly  purchased  by  the  death  of  their  gal- 
lant general,  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  was  slain  in  the  action. 
He  was  buried  at  Melrose,  beneath  the  high  altar.  "  His 
obsequye  was  done  reverently,  and  on  his  bodye  layde  a  tombe 
of  stone,  and  his  baner  hangyng  over  hym." — Froissart, 
vol.  ii.  p.  1S5 


Note  2  A. 


Dark  Knight  of  Liddesdale. — P.  24. 

William  Douglas,  called  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale,  flour- 
ished during  the  reign  of  David  II.,  and  was  so  distinguished 
by  his  valor,  that  he  was  called  the  Flower  of  Chivalry. 
Nevertheless,  he  tarnished  his  renown  by  the  cruel  murder  of 
Sir  Alexander  Ramsay  of  Dalhousie,  originally  his  friend  and 
brother  in  arms.  The  King  had  conferred  upon  Ramsay  the 
sheriffdom  of  Teviotdale,  to  which  Douglas  pretended  some 
claim.  In  revenge  of  this  preference,  the  Knight  of  Liddes- 
dale came  down  upon  Ramsay,  while  he  was  administering 
justice  at  Hawick,  seized  and  carried  him  oft"  to  iiis  remote 
and  inaccessible  castle  of  Hermitage,  where  he  threw  his  un- 
fortunate prisoner,  horse  and  man,  into  a  dungeon,  and  left 
him  to  perish  of  hunger.  It  is  said,  the  miserable  captive  pro- 
longed his  existence  for  several  days  by  the  corn  which  fell 
from  a  granary  above  the  vault  in  which  he  was  confined. l 
So  weak  was  the  royal  authority,  that  David,  although  highly 
incensed  at  this  atrocious  murder,  found  himself  obliged  to 
appoint  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale  successor  to  his  victim,  as 
Sheriff  of  Teviotdale.  But  he  was  soon  after  slain,  while  hunt- 
ing in  Ettrick  Forest,  by  his  own  godson  and  chieftain,  Wil- 
liam, Earl  of  Douglas,  in  revenge,  according  to  some  autliors, 
of  Ramsay's  murder  ;  although  a  popular  tradition,  preserved 
in  a  ballad  quoted  by  Godscroft,  and  some  parts  of  which  are 
still  preserved,  ascribes  the  resentment  of  the  Earl  to  jealousy. 
The  place  where  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale  was  killed  is  called, 
from  his  name,  William-Cross,  upon  the  ridge  of  a  hill  called 
William-hope,  betwixt  Tweed  and  Yarrow.  His  body,  ac- 
cording to  Godscroft,  was  carried  to  Limlean  church  the  first 
niglit  after  his  death,  and  thence  to  Melrose,  where  he  waa 
interred  with  great  pomp,  and  where  his  tomb  is  still  shown. 


Note  2  B. 

The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone. — P.  34. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  beautiful  specimen  of  ths 
lightness  and  elegance  of  Gothic  architecture,  when  in  its 
purity,  than  the  eastern  window  of  Melrose  Abbey.  Sir  James 
Hall  of  Dunglas,  Bart.,  has,  with  great  ingenuity  and  plausi- 
bility, traced  the  Gothic  order  through  its  various  forms  and 
seemingly  eccentric  ornaments,  to  an  architectural  imitation  of 
wicker  work  ;  of  which,  as  we  learn  from  some  of  the  legends, 
the  earhest  Christian  churches  were  constructed.  In  such  an 
edifice,  the  original  of  the  clustared  pillars  is  traced  to  a  set  of 
round  posts,  begirt  with  slender  rods  of  willow,  whose  loose 
summits  were  brought  to  meet  from  all  quarters,  and  bound 
together  artificially,  so  as  to  produce  the  frame-work  of  the 
roof:  and  the  tracery  of  our  Gothic  windows  is  displayed  in  the 

The  ryche  and  pure  him  menyde  bath, 
For  of  his  dede  wes  mekil  skath.'* 

Some  years  ago,  a  person  digging  for  stones,  about  the  old  castle  of 
Hermitage,  broke  into  a  vault,  containing  a  quantity  of  chaff,  some  bones, 
and  pieces  of  iron  ;  amongst  others,  the  curb  of  an  ancient  bridle  which  the 
author  has  since  given  to  the  E.nrl  "'  Dalhousie,  under  the  impression  that 
it  possibly  may  be  a  relic  of  his  brave  ancestor.  The  worthy  clergyman  of 
the  parish  has  mentioned  this  discovery  in  his  Statistical  Acount  of 
Castletown, 


fi2 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


meeting  and  interlacing  of  kkU  and  hooiw,  afTording  an  inex- 
haastible  variety  ot'lH>autil°ul  forms  of  open  work.  This  inge- 
nious sjiitcin  is  alludfd  to  in  the  luinunuc  Sir  Juiii:rs  llall'ii 
Ejsiv  on  Gotliic  Afcliiteeture  iji  publinhed  iii  The  Kdinburgh 
Philosopkical  Trantactions. 


Note  2  C. 


Thi  -londrous  Michael  Scott— V.  2-1. 


Sir  Michael  Scott  of  Balweario  flourished  during  the  l')th 
eenlury,  and  was  one  of  the  ambassadors  sent  to  briii^'  the 
Maid  of  Norway  to  Scotland  u|1bii  the  death  of  Alcxan<ler  III. 
By  a  poetical  anachronism,  he  is  here  placed  in  a  later  era. 
He  was  a  man  of  much  learning,  chiefly  acquired  in  6)reign 
conntries.  He  wrote  a  commentary  upon  Aristotle,  printed  at 
Venice  in  H96 ;  and  several  treatises  upon  natural  philosophy, 
from  which  he  appears  to  have  been  addicted  to  the  abstruse 
studies  of  judicial  astrolojiy,  alchymy,  jdiysiognomy,  and  chi- 
romancy. Hence  he  pa'^scd  among  his  contemporaries  for  a 
pkilful  magician.  Dempster  informs  us,  that  he  remembers  to 
have  heard  in  his  youth,  that  the  magic  books  of  Michael 
Scott  were  still  in  existence,  but  could  not  be  opened  without 
danger,  on  account  of  the  malignant  fiends  who  were  thereby 
invoked.  Dempster!  Historia  Ecclcsiastica,  16'27,  lib.  xii. 
p.  495.  Lesly  characterizes  Michael  Scott  as  "  sbigularie 
philosophite,  astronomiai,  ac  medicintE  laude  prestans  ;  dice- 
batur  penitissimos  magiie  recessus  indagdsse."  Dante  also 
mentions  him  as  a  renowned  wizard  : — 

"  Quell  altro  che  ne'  fianchi  e  cosi  poco, 
Michele  Scotto  fu,  che  veramente 
Delle  magiche  frodc  seppe  il  giuoco." 

Inferno,  Canto  xxmo. 

A  personage,  thus  spoken  of  by  biographers  and  historians, 
loses  little  of  his  mystical  fame  in  vulgar  tradition.  Accord- 
ingly, the  memory  of  Sir  Michael  Scott  survives  in  many  a 
legend  ;  and  in  the  south  of  Scotland,  any  work  of  great  labor 
and  antiquity  is  ascribed,  either  to  the  agency  of  Jlutd  Michael, 
of  Sir  William  Wallace,  or  of  the  devil.  Tradition  varies  con- 
cerning the  place  of  his  burial  ;  some  contend  for  Home  Col- 
trame,  in  Cumberland  ;  others  for  Melrose  Abbey.  But  all 
agree,  that  his  books  of  magic  were  interred  in  his  grave,  or 
preser^"ed  in  the  convent  where  he  died.  Satchells,  wishing  to 
give  some  autliority  for  his  account  of  the  origin  of  the  name 
of  Scott,  pretends,  that,  in  1629,  he  chanced  to  be  at  Burgh 
under  Bowness,  in  Cumberland,  where  a  person,  named  Lance- 
lot Scott,  showed  him  an  extract  from  Michael  Scott's  works, 
contwning  that  story  ". — 

"  He  said  the  book  which  he  gave  me 
Was  of  Sir  Michael  Scott's  historic  ; 
Which  history  was  never  yet  read  through, 
Nor  never  will,  for  no  man  dare  it  do. 
Young  scholars  have  pick'd  out  something 
From  the  contents,  that  dare  not  read  within. 
He  carried  me  along  the,ca.stle  then. 
And  shew'd  his  written  book  hanging  on  an  iron  pin. 
HLs  writing  pen  did  seem  to  me  to  be 
Of  hardened  metal,  like  steel,  or  accumie  ; 
The  volume  of  it  did  seem  so  large  to  me, 
As  the  Book  of  Martyrs  and  Turks  historic. 
Then  in  the  church  he  let  me  see 
A  stone  where  Mr.  Michael  Scott  did  lie  ; 
I  asked  at  him  how  that  could  appear, 
Mr.  Michael  had  been  dead  above  five  hundred  year? 
He  shew'd  me  none  durst  bury  under  that  stone, 
More  than  he  had  been  dead  a  few  years  agone ; 
For  Ml.  Michael's  name  does  terrific  each  one." 

History  of  the  Right  Honorable  J^avie  of  ScOTT 


NOTK  2  D. 

Salamanca's  cave. — P.  25. 

Spain,  from  the  ndics,  doubtless,  of  Arabian  learning  and 
sn|HTstilion,  was  accounted  a  favorite  residence  of  magicians. 
Pope  Sylvester,  who  actually  imported  from  Spain  the  u-e  of 
the  Arabian  numerals,  wa.s  supposed  to  have  learned  tliers 
the  magic,  for  which  he  was  stigmatized  by  the  ignorance  of 
his  age. — Wii.LikH  of  Ma/msbury,  lib.  ii.  cap.  10.  There 
were  public  schools,  where  magic,  or  rither  the  sciences  sup- 
posed to  involve  its  mysteries,  yvcrc  regularly  taught,  at  Toli'do, 
Seville,  and  Salamanca.  In  the  latter  city,  they  were  held  in 
a  deep  cavern  ;  the  mouth  of  which  was  walled  up  by  Queen 
Isabella,  wife  of  King  Ferdinand. — D'Al'Tos  on  Learned  In- 
credulity, p.  45.  These  Spanish  .'cliools  of  raajjic  are  celebra- 
ted also  by  the  Italian  poets  of  romance  : — 

"  Questo  citti'i  di  Tolleto  solea 
Tenere  studio  di  negroman/.ia, 
Quivi  di  magica  arte  si  leggea 
Pubblicamente,  e  di  peromanzia  ; 
K  molti  geomanti  sempre  avea, 
Esperimenti  assai  d'  idromanzia 
E  d'  allre  false  opinion'  di  sciocchi 
Come  (i  fatture,  o  spesso  batter  gli  occhi." 

II  Morgantc  Maggiore,  Canto  xxv.  St.  259. 

The  celebrated  magician  Maugis,  cousin  to  Rinaldoof  Mont- 
alban,  called,  by  Ariosto,  Mal.'igigi,  studied  the  black  art  at 
Toledo,  as  we  learn  from  V Hisloire  dc  Mavgis  D'Aygre- 
mont.  He  even  held  a  jirofes-sor's  chair  in  the  necromantic 
university ;  for  so  I  interpret  the  passage,  "  iju'on  tous  leg 
sept  ars  d'enchantcmcnt,  dcs  charmcs  et  conjurations,  il  n'y 
avoit  meillcur  maistre  que  lui  ;  et  en  tcl  renom  qu'on  le  Inis- 
soit  en  chaise,  et  I'appelloit  on  maistre  Maguis."  This 
Salamancan  Domdaniel  is  said  to  have  been  founded  by  Her- 
cules. If  the  classic  reader  inquires  where  Hercules  himself 
learned  magic,  he  may  consult  "  L,cs  faicts  et  processes  du 
noble  et  vaillant  Hercules,"  where  he  will  learn,  that  the 
fable  of  his  aiding  Atlas  to  support  the  heavens,  arose  from 
the  said  Atlas  having  taught  Hercules,  the  noble  knight-errant, 
the  seven  liberal  sciences,  and  in  particular,  that  of  judicia' 
astrology.  Such,  according  to  the  idea  of  the  middle  ages, 
were  the  studies,  "  mazimus  qute  docuit  Jltlas." — In  a  ro- 
mantic history  of  Roderic,  the  last  Gothic  King  of  S|)ain,  he 
is  said  to  have  entered  one  of  those  enchanted  caverns.  It  was 
situated  beneath  an  ancient  tower  near  Toledo  ;  and  when  the 
iron  gates,  which  secured  the  entrance,  were  nnfolded,  there 
rushed  forth  so  dreadful  a  whirlwind,  that  hitherto  no  one  had 
dared  to  penetrate  into  its  recesses.  But  Roderic,  threatened 
with  an  invasion  of  the  Moors,  resolved  to  enter  the  cavern, 
where  he  expected  to  find  some  prophetic  intimation  of  the 
event  of  the  war.  Accordingly,  his  train  being  furnished  with 
torches,  so  artificially  composed  that  the  tempest  could  not  ex- 
tinguish them,  the  King,  with  great  difficulty,  penetrated  into 
a  square  hall,  inscribed  all  over  with  Arabian  characters.  In 
the  midst  stood  a  colossal  statue  of  brass,  representing  a  Sara- 
cen wielding  a  Moorish  mace,  with  which  it  discharged  furious 
blows  on  all  sides,  and  seemed  thus  to  excite  the  tempest  which 
raged  around.  Being  conjured  by  Roderic,  it  ceased  from 
striking,  until  he  read,  inscribed  on  the  right  hand,  "  IVretcked 
Monarch,  for  thy  evil  hast  thou  come  hither;"  on  the  left 
hand,  "  Thou  shalt  be  dispossessed  by  a  strange  people;" 
on  one  shoulder,  "I invoke  the  sons  of  Mngar;"  on  the  other, 
"  /  do  mine  office."  When  the  King  had  deciphered  these 
ominous  inscriptions,  the  statue  returned  to  its  exercise,  the 
tempest  commenced  anew,  and  Roderic  retired,  to  mourn  over 
the  predicted  evils  which  approached  his  throne.  He  caused 
the  gates  of  the  cavern  to  be  locked  and  barricaded  ;  but,  in 
the  course  of  the  night,  the  tower  fell  with  a  tremendous  noise, 
and  under  its  ruins  concealed  forever  the  entrance  to  the  mys- 
tic cavern.    The  conquest  of  Spain  \>t  the  Saracens,  and  tli* 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


(53 


death  of  tlie  unfortunate  Don  Roderic,  fulfilled  tlie  prophecy 
of  the  hrazen  statue.  Historia  vcrdadera  del  Rey  Don  Rod- 
rigo  por  cl  Sabio  Alcayde  Mulcacim,  traduicda  de  la  lengua 
Arabiga  por  Miguel  de  Luna,  1654,  cap.  vi. 


Note  2  E. 

The  hells  would  ring  in  JVotre  Dame. — P.  25. 

"  Tantamne  rem  tarn  ncgligenler  7"  says  Tyrwhitt,  of  his 
preiecessor,  Speight ;  who,  in  his  commentary  on  Chaucer, 
had  omitted,  as  trivial  and  fabulous,  tlie  story  of  Wade  and 
his  boat  Guingelot,  to  the  great  prejudice  of  posterity,  the 
memory  of  the  hero  and  the  boat  being  now  entirely  lost.  That 
future  antiquaries  may  lay  no  such  omission  to  my  charge,  I 
liave  noted  one  or  two  of  the  most  current  traditions  concern- 
ing Michael  Scott.  He  was  chosen,  it  is  said,  to  go  upon  an 
embassy,  to  obtain  from  the  King  of  France  satisfaction  for 
certain  piracies  committed  by  his  subjects  upon  tliose  of  Scot- 
land. Instead  of  preparing  a  new  equipage  and  splendid 
retinue,  the  ambassador  retreated  to  his  study,  opened  his  book, 
and  evoked  a  fiend  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  black  hoi'se,  mount- 
ed upon  his  back,  and  forced  him  to  fly  through  the  air  to- 
wards France.  As  they  crossed  the  sea,  the  devil  insidiously 
asked  his  rider.  What  it  was  that  the  old  women  of  Scotland 
muttered  at  bedtime  1  A  less  experienced  wizard  might  have 
answered  that  it  was  the  Pater  Noster,  which  would  have 
licensed  the  devil  to  precipitate  him  from  his  back.  But 
Michael  sternly  replied,  "  What  is  that  to  thee  I^Mount, 
Diabolus,  and  fly!"  When  he  arrived  at  Paris,  he  tied  his 
horse  to  the  gate  of  the  palace,  entered,  and  boldly  delivered 
his  message.  An  ambassador,  witli  so  little  of  the  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  diplomacy,  was  not  received  with  much  re- 
spect, and  the  King  was  about  to  return  a  contemptuous  refusal 
to  his  demand,  when  Micliael  besought  him  to  suspend  his 
resolution  till  he  had  seen  his  horse  stamp  three  times.  The 
first  stamp  shook  every  steeple  in  Paris,  and  caused  all  the 
bells  to  ring ;  the  second  threw  down  three  of  the  towers  of 
the  palace  ;  and  the  infernal  steed  had  lifted  liis  hoof  to  give 
the  third  stamp,  when  the  King  rather  chose  to  dismiss  Michael, 
witli  the  most  ample  concessions,  than  to  stand  to  the  probable 
consequences.  Another  time,  it  is  said,  tliat,  when  residing  at 
the  Tower  of  Oakwood,  ujjon  the  Ettrick,  about  three  miles 
above  Selkirk,  he  heard  of  the  fame  of  a  sorceress,  called  the 
Witch  of  Falsehope,  who  lived  on  the  ojiposite  side  of  the 
river.  Michael  went  one  morning  to  put  her  skill  to  the  test, 
but  was  disappointed,  hy  her  denying  positively  any  know- 
ledge of  the  necromantic  art.  In  his  discourse  with  her,  he 
laid  his  wand  inadvertently  on  the  table,  which  the  hag  ob- 
serving, suddenly  snatched  it  up,  and  struck  him  with  it. 
Feeling  the  force  of  the  charm,  he  rushed  out  of  the  house  ; 
6ut,  as  it  had  conferred  on  him  the  external  appearance  of  a 
hare,  his  servant,  who  Avaited  without,  halloo'd  upon  the  dis- 
comfited wizard  his  own  greyhounds,  and  pursued  him  so 
close,  that,  in  order  to  obtain  a  moment's  breathing  to  revei-se 
the  charm,  Michael,  after  a  very  fatiguing  course,  was  fain  to 
take  refuge  in  his  own  jawkolc  {Anglice,  common  sewer).  In 
order  to  revenge  himself  of  the  witeli  of  Falseliope,  Michael, 
one  morning  in  the  ensuing  harvest,  went  to  the  hill  above  the 
house  with  his  dogs,  and  sent  down  his  servant  to  ask  a  bit  of 
bread  from  the  goodwife  for  his  greyhounds,  with  instructions 
what  to  do  if  he  met  with  a  denial.  Accordingly,  when  the 
witch  had  refused  the  boon  with  contumely,  the  servant,  as  his 
master  had  directed,  laid  above  the  door  a  paper  which  he  had 
given  him,  containing,  amoiigst  many  cabalistical  words,  the 
■well-known  rhyme, — 

"  Maister  Michael  Scott's  man 
Sought  meat,  and  gat  nane." 

Immediatel)  the  good  old  woman,  instead  of  pursuing  her 


domestic  occupation,  whicli  wa.s  baking  bread  for  the  reap- 
ers, began  to  dance  round  the  fire,  repeating  the  rhyme,  and 
continued  this  exercise  till  her  husband  sent  the  reapers  to 
the  house,  one  after  anotlier,  to  see  what  had  delayed  their 
provision  ;  but  the  charm  caught  each  as  they  entered,  and 
losing  all  idea  of  returning,  they  joined  in  the  dance  and 
chorus.  At  length  the  old  man  himself  went  to  the  house; 
but  as  his  wife's  frolic  with  Mr.  Michael,  whom  he  liad  sp«n 
on  the  hill,  made  him  a  "little  cautious,  he  contented  himself 
with  looking  in  at  the  window,  and  saw  the  reapers  at  their 
involuntary  exercise,  dragging  his  wife,  now  completely  ex- 
hausted, sometimes  round,  and  sometimes  through,  the  fire, 
which  was,  as  usual,  in  the  midst  of  the  house.  Instead  of 
entering,  he  saddled  a  horse,  and  rode  up  the  hill,  to  humble 
himself  before  Micliael,  and  beg  a  cessation  of  the  spell  ; 
which  the  good-natured  warlock  immediately  granted,  direct- 
ing him  to  enter  the  house  backwards,  and,  with  his  left  hand, 
take  the  spell  from  above  the  door  ;  which  accordingly  ended 
the  supernatural  dance. — This  tale  was  told  less  particularly 
in  former  editions,  and  I  have  been  censured  for  inaccuracy 
in  doing  so. — A  similar  charm  occurs  in  Haoii  de  Bourdeaiix, 
and  in  the  ingenious  Oriental  tale,  called  the  Caliph  Vathek. 

Notwitlistanding  his  victory  over  the  witch  of  Falsehope, 
Michael  Scott,  like  his  predecessor.  Merlin,  fell  at  last  a  vic- 
tim to  female  art.  His  wife,  or  concubine,  elicited  from  hiiu 
the  secret,  that  his  art  could  ward  oft"  any  danger  except  the 
poisonous  qualities  of  broth,  made  of  the  flesh  of  a  breme  sow. 
Such  a  mess  she  accordingly  administered  to  the  wizard,  who 
died  in  consequence  of  eating  it;  surviving,  however,' long 
enough  to  put  to  death  his  treacherous  confidant. 


KOTE  2  F. 


The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three. — P.  25. 

Michael  Scott  was,  once  upon  a  time,  much  embarrassed 
by  a  spirit,  for  whom  he  was  under  the  necessity  of  finding 
constant  employment.  He  commanded  him  to  build  a  cauld, 
or  dam-head,  across  the  Tweed  at  Kelso  ;  it  was  accomplished 
in  one  night,  and  still  does  honor  to  the  infernal  architect. 
Michael  next  ordered  that  Eildon  hiU,  wliich  was  then  a  uni- 
form cone,  should  be  divided  into  three.  Another  night  was 
sufficient  to  part  its  summit  into  the  three  picturesque  peaks 
which  it  now  bears.  At  length  tlie  enchanter  conquered  thi< 
indefatigable  demon,  by  employing  him  in  the  hopeless  and 
endless  task  of  making  ropes  out  of  sea-sand. 


Note  2  GT. 


That  lamp  shall  burn  uvquenchably, 
Until  the  eternal  doom  shall  be. — P.  25. 

Baptista  Porta,  and  otlier  authors  who  treat  of  natural 
magic,  talk  much  of  eternal  lamps,  pretended  to  have  been 
found  burning  in  ancient  sepulchres.  Fortunius  Licetus  in- 
vestigates the  subject  in  a  treatise,  De  Lucernis  Antiquorum 
Reconditis,  published  at  Venice,  1621.  One  of  these  j)erpet- 
ual  lamps  is  said  to  have  been  discovered  in  the  tomb  of  Tnl- 
liola,  the  daughter  of  Cicero.  The  wick  was  supposed  to  be 
composed  of  asbestos.  Kircher  enumerates  three  different 
recipes  for  constructing  such  lamps ;  and  wisely  concludes, 
that  the  thing  is  nevertheless  impossible. — Mundus  Subter- 
rannens,  p.  72.  Delrio  imputes  the  fabrication  of  such  lights 
to  magical  skill. — Disqnisitiones  Magicai,  p.  58.  In  a  very 
rare  romance,  which  "  treateth  of  the  life  of  Virgilius,  and  of 
his  deth,  and  many  marvayles  that  he  dyd  in  liis  lyfe-time,  by 
wychecrafte  and  nygramancye,  throughe  the  helpe  of  tli" 
devyls  of  hell,"  mention  is  made  of  a  very  extraordinary  pro- 
cess, in  wliich  one  of  these  mystical  lamps  was  employed.     It 


64 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOUKS. 


Kt-nu  that  Virjil,  as  he  ndvancKl  in  yean,  became  Jesiroui  of 
reuovatiiij;  hU  youlh  by  magical  art.  For  tlii«  purpose  he 
coiutrucu-d  a  iiolitary  tower,  liuviiig  only  one  narrow  portal,  iu 
which  he  placed  twenty-lour  copjH'r  tij^ures,  armed  with  iron 
flnilii,  twelve  on  each  side  of  the  porch.  Thf«c  enchanted 
•tatueii  >lruok  with  their  llailsi  incer'santly,  and  rcnilcnsl  all  en- 
trance iml>o!^>lhle,  uiilu!>.'i  when  Vir;;il  touched  theoprin;;,  which 
ttO|i|>ed  tlieir  inutiuii.  To  thin  tower  he  n.'pairvd  privately,  at- 
teniled  by  one  trusty  servant,  to  whom  he  conimuiiicated  the 
■ecri't  of  the  entrance,  and  hither  they  coiiveyeil  all  the  ma- 
gician's tn-asure.  '■  Then  loyde  Virjjdius,  my  dere  beloved 
frende,  and  that  I  above  allc  men  truste  and  knowe  tnooste  of 
my  Rcvret ;"  and  then  he  led  the  man  into  a  cellar,  where  he 
madea/ayirr  lamp  at  all  seasons  burnijnge.  "And  tiicn 
■ayd  VirgiliuA  to  the  man,  *  Se  you  the  barrel  tliat  8tandcth 
hero  ?'  and  he  sayd,  yea  :  '  Therein  must  thou  put  me  :  fyrst 
ye  must  slee  me,  and  liewe  me  smalle  to  pieces,  and  cut  my 
hc<l  in  iiii  pieces,  and  salte  the  heed  under  in  the  bottom,  and 
then  the  pieces  there  alter,  and  my  herte  in  the  myddcl,  and 
then  set  the  barrel  under  the  lam])e,  that  nyjjlite  and  day  the 
fat  therein  may  droppc  and  Icake  ;  and  ye  shall  ix  dayes  long, 
ones  in  the  day,  fyll  the  lanipe,  and  fayle  nat.  And  when  this 
is  all  done,  then  shall  I  be  reneued,  and  made  yonge  ogen." 
At  this  extraordinary  proposal,  the  confidant  was  sore  abashed, 
and  made  some  scruple  of  obeying  his  master's  commands. 
At  length,  however,  he  complied,  and  Virgil  was  slain,  pick- 
led,  and  barrelled  up,  in  all  respects  according  to  his  own 
airection.  The  servant  then  left  the  tower,  taking  cure  to  put 
tiie  coi)iier  thrashers  iu  motion  at  his  departure,  lie  continued 
daily  to  visit  the  tower  with  the  same  precaution.  Meanwhile, 
the  emperor,  with  whom  Virgil  was  a  great  favorite,  missed 
h^m  from  the  court,  and  demanded  of  his  servant  where  he 
Wjis.  The  domestic  pretended  ignorance,  till  the  emperor 
threatened  him  with  death,  when  at  length  he  conveyed  him 
to  the  enchanted  tower.  The  .same  threat  extorted  a  discovery 
of  the  mode  of  stopping  the  statues  from  wielding  their  flails. 
"  And  then  the  emperour  entered  into  the  castle  with  all  his 
foike,  and  sought  all  aboute  in  every  corner  after  Virgilius ; 
and  at  the  laste  they  sought  so  longe,  that  they  came  into  the 
seller,  where  they  sawe  the  lampe  hang  over  the  barrell, 
where  Virgilius  lay  in  deed.  Then  asked  the  em|)erour  the 
man,  who  had  made  hym  so  herdy  to  put  his  mayster  Virgi- 
lius so  to  dethe  ;  and  the  man  answered  no  worde  to  the  em- 
perour. And  then  the  emperour,  with  great  anger,  drewe  out 
bis  sworde,  and  slewe  he  there  Virgilius'  man.  And  when  all 
tliis  was  done,  then  sawe  the  emperour,  and  all  his  folke,  a 
naked  child  iii  tymes  rennynge  about  the  barrell,  saynge  these 
wordes,  '  Cursed  be  the  tyme  that  ye  ever  came  here.'  And 
with  those  words  vanyshed  the  chylde  awaye,  and  was  never 
gene  ageyn  ;  and  thus  abyd  Virgilius  in  the  barrell  deed." — 
Virgitius,  bl.  let.,  printed  at  Antwerpe  by  John  Doesboreke. 
This  curious  volume  is  in  the  valuable  Ubrary  of  Mr.  Douce ; 
and  is  supposed  to  be  a  translation  from  the  French,  printed 
in  Flanders  for  the  English  market.  See  Ooujct  liibliuth. 
Franc,  ix.  225.  Catalogue,  de  la  Bibliolhique  J^'alionalc,  torn. 
i.  p.  5.     Dc  Dure,  No.  3857. 


Note  2  H. 


Then  Dclorninr,  in  terror,  took 
From  the  cold  hand  the  .Mighty  Book, 

He  thought,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  froicn'd. — P.  26. 

William  of  Deloraine  might  be  strcnsthened  in  this  belief  by 
the  well-known  story  of  the  Cid  Rny  IJiaz.  When  the  body 
of  that  famous  Chri-'tian  champion  was  sitting  in  state  by  the 
high  altar  of  the  cathedral  church  of  Toledo,  where  it  remained 
for  ten  years,  a  certain  malicious  Jew  attempted  to  pull  him 


by  the  beanl  ;  but  he  had  no  sooner  touched  the  furmidabla 
whiaken,  than  the  corpse  btarted  up,  and  half  unsheathed  hia 
■word.  The  Israelite  tied  ;  and  so  permanent  was  the  elfect  o. 
his  terror,  that  he  became  Christian. — Hky  wooo'h  Htcrarchie 
p.  4>H),  (juoted  from  Hcbaslian  Cvbarruvias  t'roice. 


Note  2  I. 


Th  e  Baron's  Dwarf  his  courser  held. — P.  iJ7. 

The  idea  of  Lord  Cranstoon's  Goblin  Page  is  taken  from  a 
being  called  Gilpin  Horner,  who  appeared,  aud  made  some 
stay,  at  a  farm-house  among  the  Border-mountains.  A  gentle- 
man of  that  country  has  noted  down  the  following  particulan 
concerning  his  appearance  : — 

"  The  only  certain,  at  least  most  probable  account,  that  ever 
I  heard  of  Gilpin  Horner,  was  from  an  old  man,  of  the  name 
of  Anderson,  who  was  born,  and  lived  all  his  life  at  Toilshaw- 
hill,  in  G>kcda1e-niuir,  the  place  where  Gilpin  appeared  and 
staid  for  some  time.  He  said  there  were  two  men,  late  in  the 
evening,  when  it  was  growing  dark,  ein|)loyed  in  fastening  the 
horses  upon  the  uttermost  part  of  their  ground  (that  is,  tying 
their  forel'ect  together,  to  hinder  them  from  travelling  far  in 
the  night),  when  they  heard  a  voice  at  some  distance,  crjing, 
•Tint!  Tint!  Tint!'^  One  of  the  men,  named  Mollat, 
called  out,  '  What  diel  has  tint  you?  Come  here.'  Imme- 
diately a  creature,  of  something  like  a  human  form,  appeared. 
It  was  surprisingly  little,  distorted  in  features,  and  misshajien 
in  limbs.  As  soon  as  the  two  men  could  see  it  plainly,  tiiey 
ran  home  in  a  great  fright,  imagining  they  had  met  witii  some 
goblin.  By  the  way,  Moflat  fell,  and  it  ran  over  him,  and  was 
home  at  the  house  as  .soon  as  either  of  them,  and  staid  tliere  a 
long  time  ;  but  I  cannot  say  how  long.  It  was  real  llesh  and 
blood,  and  ate  and  drunk,  was  fond  of  cream,  and,  wlien 
it  could  get  at  it,  would  destroy  a  great  deal.  It  seemed  a 
mischievous  creature ;  and  any  of  the  children  whom  it  could 
master,  it  would  beat  and  scratch  without  mercy.  It  was  once 
abusing  a  child  belonging  to  the  same  Mollat,  who  had  been 
80  frightened  by  its  first  appearance ;  and  he,  in  a  passion, 
struck  it  BO  violent  a  blow  upon  the  side  of  the  head,  tliat  it 
tumbled  upon  the  ground  ;  but  it  was  not  stunned  ;  for  it  set 
up  its  head  directly,  and  exclaimed,  '  Ah,  hah,  Will  o'  Moflat, 
you  strike  sair  !'  (viz.  sore).  After  it  had  staid  there  long,  one 
evening,  when  the  women  were  milking  the  cows  in  the  loan, 
it  was  playing  among  the  children  near  by  them,  when  suddenly 
they  heard  a  loud  shrill  voice  cry  three  times,  '  Oiipin  llur- 
ncr !'  It  started,  and  said,  'That  is  me,  I  must  auraij,'  and 
in.stantly  disappeared,  and  was  never  heard  of  more.  Old  An- 
derson did  not  remember  it,  but  said,  he  had  often  heard  his 
father,  and  other  old  men  in  the  place,  who  were  there  at  the 
time,  speak  about  it ;  and  in  my  younger  years  I  have  often 
heard  it  mentioned,  and  never  met  with  any  who  had  the  re- 
motest doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  the  story  ;  although.  I  must 
own,  I  cannot  helji  thinking  there  must  be  some  misrepresenta- 
tion in  it." — To  this  account,  I  have  to  add  the  following  i)ar- 
ticulars  from  the  most  respectable  authority.  Besides  constant- 
ly repeating  the  word  lint!  tint!  Gilpin  Horner  was  often 
heard  to  call  upon  Peter  Bertram,  or  Be-te-ram,  as  he  pronoun- 
ced the  word  ;  and  when  the  shrill  voice  called  Giljjin  Horner, 
he  immediately  acknowledged  it  was  the  summons  of  the  said 
Peter  Bertram :  who  seems  therefore  to  have  been  the  devil 
who  had  tint,  or  lost,  the  little  imp.  As  much  has  been  ob- 
jected to  Gilpin  Horner,  on  account  of  his  being  supposed 
rather  a  device  of  the  author  than  a  popular  superstition,  I  can 
only  say,  that  no  legeml  which  I  ever  heard  seemed  to  be 
more  universally  credited  ;  and  lliat  many  persons  of  very  good 
rank,  and  considerable  information,  are  well  known  to  reposn 
absolute  faith  in  the  tradition. 

1  Tint  signifiea  lotL 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


65 


Note  2  K. 

But  the  Ladye  of  Branksome  gather' d  a  band 

Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command. — P.  27. 

■'  Upon  2otli  Juae,  1557,  Dame  Janet  Beatoune  Lady  Buc- 
eleucli,  and  a  great  number  of  the  name  of  Scott,  delaitit  (ac- 
cused) tor  coming  to  the  kirk  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  to  the 
number  of  two  huiidred  persons  bodin  in  feire  of  vveire  (arrayed 
in  armor),  and  breaking  open  the  door  of  tlie  said  kirk,  in  or- 
der to  apjjreheni!  tlie  Laird  of  Cranstonne  for  his  destruction." 
On  the  ;20tli  July,  a  warrant  from  tlie  Q,ueen  is  presented,  dis- 
tharging  tlie  justice  to  proceed  against  the  Lady  Buccleuch 
while  new  calling — Abridgment  of  Books  of  Jliljournal,  in 
Advocates'  Library. — The  following  proceedings  upon  this 
case  appear  on  the  record  of  the  Court  of  Justiciary  :  On  the 
25th  of  June,  1557,  Robert  Scott,  in  Bowhiil  parish,  priest  of 
the  kirk  of  St.  Mary's,  accused  of  the  convocation  of  the 
CiueL'u's  lieges,  to  the  number  of  two  hundred  persons,  in  war- 
like array,  with  jacks,  helmets,  and  other  weapons,  and  march- 
ing to  the  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  for  the  slaughter 
of  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  out  of  ancient  fead  and  malice  pre- 
pense, and  of  breaking  the  doors  of  the  said  kirk,  is  repledged 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Glasgow.  The  bail  given  by  Robert 
Scott  of  AUanhaugh,  Adam  Scott  of  Burnfute,  Robert  Scott 
in  Howfurde,  Walter  Scott  iu  Todsliawhaugh,  Walter  Scott 
younger  of  Synton,  Thomas  Scott  of  Hayning,  Robert 
Scott,  William  Scott,  and  James  Scott,  brothers  of  the  said 
Walter  Scott,  Walter  Scott  in  the  WoU,  and  Walter  Scott, 
son  of  W^illiam  Scott  of  Harden,  and  James  Wemyss  in  Eck- 
ford,  all  accused  of  the  same  crime,  is  declared  to  be  forfeited. 
On  the  tame  day,  Walter  Scott  of  Synton,  and  Walter  Chis- 
holme  of  Cliisholrae,  and  VV'iliiam  Scott  of  Harden,  became 
bound,  jointly  and  severally,  that  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  and  Ms 
kindred  and  servants,  should  receive  no  injury  from  them  in 
future.  At  the  same  time,  Patrick  Murray  of  Fallohill,  Alex- 
ander Stuart,  uncle  to  the  Laird  of  Trakwhare,  Jolm  Murray 
of  Is'ewhall,  John  Fairlye,  residing  in  Selkirk,  George  Tait, 
younger  of  P  in,  John  Pennycuke  of  Pennycuke,  James  Ram- 
say of  Cokpen,  the  Laird  of  Fassyde,  and  the  Laird  of  Henders- 
toune,  were  all  severally  fined  for  not  attending  as  jurors; 
being  probably  either  in  alliance  with  the  accused  parties,  or 
dreading  their  vengeance.  Uj)0u  the  20th  of  July  following, 
Scott  of  Synton,  Ciiisholme  of  Chisholme,  Scott  of  Harden, 
Scott  of  Howpaslie,  Scott  of  Burnfule,  with  many  others,  are 
ordered  to  appear  at  next  calling,  under  the  pains  of  treason. 
But  no  farther  procedure  seems  to  have  taken  place.  It  is 
said,  that,  upon  this  rising,  the  kirk  of  St.  Mary  was  burnt  by 
the  Scotls. 


Note  2  L. 


Like  a  book-bosom'' d  priest. — P.  29. 

"At  L^nthank,  two  miles  N.  E.  from  the  church  (of  Ewes), 
aiere  are  the  ruins  of  a  chapel  for  divine  service,  in  time  of  Po- 
pery. There  is  a  tradition,  that  friars  were  wont  to  come  from 
Melrose  or  Jedburgh,  to  baptize  and  maiTy  in  this  ])arish  ;  and 
from  being  in  use  to  carry  the  mass-book  in  their  bosoms,  they 
were  called  by  the  inhabitants,  Book-a-bosom.es.  There  is  a 
man  yet  alive,  who  knew  old  men  who  had  been  baptized  by 
these  Book-a-bosomes,  and  who  says  one  of  tliem,  called  Hair, 
used  this  parish  for  a  very  long  time." — Account  of  Parish  of 
Ewes,  apud  JUacfarlane' s  MSS. 


Note  2  M. 

All  was  delusion,  naught  was  truth. — P.  29. 

Olamonr,  in  the  legends  of  Scottish  superstition,  means  the 
magic  power  of  imposing  on  the  eyesight  of  the  spectators,  so 
9 


tliat  the  appearance  of  an  object  shall  be  totally  different  from 
the  reality.  The  transformation  of  Michael  Scott  by  the  witch 
of  Falsehope,  already  mentioned,  was  a  geimine  operation  of 
glamour.  To  a  similar  charm  the  ballad  of  Johnny  Fa'  im- 
putes tlie  fascination  of  the  lovely  Countess,  who  eloped  with 
tliat  gipsy  leader  : — 

"  Sae  soon  as  they  saw  her  weel-far'd  face, 
They  cast  the  glamour  o'er  lier." 

It  was  formerly  used  even  in  war.  In  1381,  when  the  Dnke 
of  Anjou  lay  before  a  strong  castle,  upon  the  coast  of  Najiles, 
a  necromancer  offered  to  "  make  the  ayre  so  thycke,  that  they 
within  shall  thynke  that  there  is  a  great  bridge  on  the  .see  (by 
whicli  the  castle  was  surrounded)  for  ten  men  to  go  a  front ; 
and  whan  they  within  the  castle  se  this  bridge,  they  will  be  so 
afrayde,  that  they  shall  yelde  them  to  your  mercy.  The 
Duke  demanded, — '  Fayre  Master,  on  this  bridge  that  ye  speke 
of,  may  our  people  assuredly  go  thereon  to  the  castell,  to  as- 
sayle  it  ?' — '  Syr,'  quod  the  enchantour,  '  I  dare  not  assure  you 
that ;  for  if  any  that  passeth  on  the  bridge  make  the  signe  of  the 
crosse  on  hyra,  all  shall  go  to  noughte,  and  they  that  be  on  the 
bridge  shall  fall  into  the  see.'  Then  the  Duke  began  to  laugh  ; 
and  a  certain  of  young  knightes,  that  were  there  present,  said 
'  Syr,  for  godsake,  let  the  mayster  assey  his  cunning :  we  shall 
leve  making  of  any  signe  of  the  crosse  on  us  for  that  tyme.'  " 
The  Earl  of  Savoy,  shortly  after,  entered  the  tent,  and  recog- 
nized in  the  enchanter  tlie  same  person  who  had  put  the  ca.stle 
into  the  power  of  Sir  Charles  de  la  Payx,  wlio  then  held  it,  by 
persuading  the  garrison  of  the  Q,ueen  of  Naples,  through  magic- 
al deception,  that  the  sea  was  coming  over  tlie  walls.  The 
sage  avowed  the  feat,  and  added,  that  he  was  the  man  in  the 
world  most  dreaded  by  Sir  Charles  de  la  Payx.  "  '  By  ray 
fayth,'  quod  the  Earl  of  Savoy,  '  ye  say  well ;  and  I  will  tliat 
Syr  Ciiarles  de  la  Payx  shall  know  that  he  hath  gret  wrongs 
to  fear  you.  But  I  shall  assure  hym  of  you  ;  for  ye  shall 
never  do  enchantment  to  deceyve  hym,  nor  yet  none  other.  1 
wolde  nal  that  in  tyme  to  come  we  shulde  be  reproached  that 
in  so  high  an  enterprise  as  we  be  in,  wherein  there  be  so  many 
noble  knyghtes  and  squyres  assembled,  that  we  shulde  do  any 
thyng  be  enchantment,  nor  that  we  shulde  wyn  cur  enemys  be 
suche  crafte.'  Then  he  called  to  him  aservaunt,  and  said,  '  Go, 
and  get  me  a  hangman,  and  let  him  stiyke  off  this  mayster's 
heed  without  delay  ;'  and  as  soone  as  the  Erie  had  command- 
ed it,  incofttynent  it  was  done,  for  his  heed  was  stryken  of 
before  the  Erie's  tent."— Froissart,  vol.  i.  ch.  391,  393. 

The  art  of  glamour,  or  other  fascination,  was  anciently  a 
principal  part  of  the  skill  of  the  jongleur,  or  juggler,  whose 
tricks  formed  much  of  the  amusement  of  a  Gothic  castle. 
Some  instances  of  this  art  may  be  found  in  the  Minstrelsy  of 
the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  iv.  p.  106.  In  a  strange  allegorical 
poem,  called  the  Houlat,  written  by  a  dependent  of  the  house 
of  Douglas,  about  1452-3,  the  jay,  ir  an  assembly  of  birds, 
piays  the  part  of  the  juggler.  His  feats  of  glamour  are  thui 
described  : — 

"  He  gart  them  see,  as  it  semyt  in  sarayn  honre. 

Hunting  at  herdis  in  holtis  so  hair  ; 
Some  sailand  on  the  see  schippis  of  toure, 
Bernis  battalland  on  burd  brim  as  a  bare : 
He  conlde  carye  the  coup  of  the  kingis  des, 
Syne  leve  in  the  stede, 
Bot  a  black  bunwede  ; 
He  could  of  a  henis  hede 
Make  a  man  mes. 

"  He  gart  the  Empronre  trow,  and  trewlye  behald, 
That  the  corncraik,  the  pundere  at  hand, 

Had  poyndit  all  his  pris  hors  in  a  poynd  fald 
Because  thai  ete  of  the  corn  in  the  kirkland. 

He  could  wirk  windaris,  quhat  way  that  he  wald, 
Mak  a  gray  gus  a  gold  garland, 

A  lang  spere  of  a  bittile,  for  a  beme  bald 


66 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


NobilU  of  nntacliellca,  nnd  ailver  of  «and. 
Tlir.«  joukit  with  jujtlere  the  ja'K'laue  ja, 

Fair  ImlvM  in  ringin, 

Kiivchiin  ill  cnralyiigin, 

Baylh  daiMis  and  Miigii^ 
It  scmyt  as  sa." 


Note  2  N. 


A'oit  if  you  mk  vho  gnre  the  stroke, 

I ennnot  tell,  so  mnt  I  thrice; 

It  was  not  giccH  fry  man  alirc. — P.  29. 

Pr.  Henry  Morv,  in  a  letter  pn-fixed  lo  Glaiiville's  Saducis- 
mus  Triiimphatus,  mentions  a  similar  |ilieiioiiienon. 

"  I  remember  an  old  gentleman  in  the  oountry,  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, an  excellent  jnstiee  of  peare,  and  a  piece  of  a 
mathematician  ;  but  what  kind  of  a  philoiiopher  he  was,  yon 
may  understand  from  a  rhyme  of  his  own  making,  which  he 
commended  to  me  at  my  taking  horse  in  his  yard,  which  rhyme 
is  iJiis : — 

'  Ens  ii  nothing  till  i<ense  finds  ont : 
Sense  ends  in  nothing,  so  naught  goes  about.' 

Wliich  rhyme  of  his  was  po  rapturous  to  himself,  that,  on  the 
rcciliiig  of  the  second  verse,  the  old  man  turned  hini'ielf  about 
n[)on  his  toe  as  nimbly  as  one  may  observe  a  dry  leaf  whisked 
round  the  comer  of  an  orchard-walk  by  some  little  whirlwind. 
With  tliis  philosoplier  I  have  had  many  discourses  concerning 
the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  its  distinction  ;  when  I  have 
run  him  quite  down  by  reason,  he  would  bat  laugh  at  me,  and 
say  this  is  logic,  H.  (calling  me  by  my  Christian  name)  ;  to 
which  I  replied,  this  is  reason,  father  L.  (for  so  I  useil  and 
some  others  to  rail  him)  ;  but  it  seems  you  are  for  the  new 
lights,  and  immediate  inspiration,  which  I  confess  he  was  as 
little  for  a.s  for  the  other;  but  I  .said  so  only  in  the  way  of 
drollery  to  him  in  lliose  times,  bnt  truth  is,  nothing  but  palpa- 
ble ex|)erience  would  move  him  ;  and  being  a  bold  man,  and 
fearing  nothing,  iie  told  me  he  had  used  all  the  magical  cere- 
monies of  conjuration  he  could,  to  raise  the  devil  or  a  spirit, 
and  had  a  most  enrnest  desire  to  meet  with  one,  but  never  could 
do  it.  Bnt  this  he  told  me,  when  he  did  not  so  much  as  think 
of  it,  while  his  servant  was  pulling  ofl'  his  boot^  in  the  hall, 
soma  mvisible  hand  gave  him  snch  a  clap  upon  the  back,  that 
it  made  all  ring  again  ;  '  so,'  thought  he  now,  '  I  am  invited 
to  the  converse  of  my  spirit,'  and  therefore,  so  soon  as  his  boots 
were  off,  and  his  shoes  on,  out  he  goes  into  the  yard  and  next 
field,  to  find  out  the  spirit  that  had  given  him  this  familiar  clap 
on  the  back,  bat  found  none  neither  in  the  yard  nor  field  next 
to  it. 

"Bnt  though  he  did  not  feel  this  stroke,  albeit  he  thought 
it  afterwards  (finding  nothing  came  of  it)  a  mere  delusion  ; 
yet  not  long  before  his  death,  it  had  more  force  with  him  than 
all  Uic  philosophical  arguments  I  could  use  to  him,  though  I 
could  wind  liim  and  nonplus  him  as  I  pleased ;  but  yet  all  my 
urgnmi-nl.'i,  how  solid  Eoevcr,  made  no  iinpres.sion  upon  iiiin  ; 
wherefore,  after  several  reasonings  of  this  nature,  whereby  I 
wonld  prove  to  him  the  soul's  distinction  from  the  body,  and 
its  immortality,  when  nothing  of  such  subtile  consideration  did 
any  more  execution  on  his  mind  than  some  lightning  is  said  to 
do,  tliough  it  melts  the  sword,  on  the  fuzzy  consLsteney  of  the 
scabbaid, — 'Well,'  said  I,  '  fatlier  L.,  though  none  of  these 
things  move  yon,  I  have  something  still  behind,  and  what 
vonrsclf  has  acknowledged  to  be  true,  that  may  do  the  busi- 
ness ; — Do  you  remember  the  clap  on  your  back  when  your 
n^rvant  wn  pulling  off  your  boots  in  the  hall  1  Assure  your- 
tt-lf,'  says  I,  '  father  L.,  that  goblin  will  be  the  first  to  bid  you 
welcome  into  the  other  world.'  Upon  that  his  countenance 
change<l  most  sensibly,  and  he  was  more  confounded  with  this 
nibbing  up  his  memory,  than  with  all  the  rational  or  philoso- 
phical argomentations  that  I  could  produce." 


Note  2  O. 

The  running  ftrram  dissolved  the  spell. — P.  30. 

(t  is  a  firm  article  of  pujiular  faith,  that  no  enchantment  can 
■ulMtit  in  a  living  stivam.  Nay,  if  you  can  inter|>0!ie  a  brook 
betwixt  you  and  witches,  siiocm>s,  or  even  fiends,  you  aru  in 
|H-rfect  nafi-ty.  Burns's  inimitable  T<im  o'  Shanirr  tuniFi  en- 
tin-ly  U|ion  such  a  circumstance.  The  belief  seems  to  be  u( 
antiquity.  Bromptoii  iiifuriiis  us,  that  certain  Irish  wi/.ur  « 
could,  by  S|H'lls,  convert  earthen  clods,  or  stones,  into  fat  piffs, 
which  they  sold  in  the  mitrk't,  but  which  always  reaw-uiiied 
their  pro|K'r  form  when  driven  by  the  deceived  jiiirchaser  across 
a  running  stream.  But  Brompton  is  severe  on  tlie  Irish,  for  a 
very  good  reason.  "Gens  ista  spurciwiina  non  M>lvunt  dcci- 
mas." — Chronicon  Johannis  Brompton  apud  decern  Scrip- 
tores,  p.  1070. 


Note  2  P. 

He  never  counted  him  a  mart, 

IVould  strike  below  the  knee. — P.  30. 

Imitated  from  Drayton's  account  of  Robin  Hood  and  hia 
followers : — 

"  A  hundred  valiant  men  had  this  brave  Robin  Hood, 
Still  ready  at  his  call,  that  bowmen  were  right  good  : 
All  clad  in  Lincoln  green,  with  caps  of  red  and  blue, 
His  fellow's  winded  horn  not  one  of  them  but  knew. 
When  setting  to  their  lips  their  bugles  shrill. 
The  warbling  echoes  waked  from  every  dale  and  hill ; 
Their  bauldrics  set  with  studs  athwart  their  shoulders  cast. 
To  which  under  their  arms  their  sheafs  were  buckled  fast, 
A  short  sword  at  their  belt,  a  buckler  scarce  a  span. 
Who  struck  below  the  knee  not  counted  then  a  man. 
All  made  of  Spanish  yew,  their  bows  were  wondrous  strong. 
They  not  an  arrow  drew  but  was  a  cloth-yard  long. 
Of  archery  they  had  the  very  perfect  craft. 
With  broad  arrow,  or  bnt,  or  prick,  or  roving  shaft." 

Poly-Albion,  Song  26. 

To  wonnd  an  antagonist  in  the  thigh,  or  leg,  was  r.->ckoiicd 
contrary  to  the  law  of  arms.  In  a  tilt  between  Gawain  Mi- 
chael, an  English  squire,  and  Joachim  Cathorc,  a  Frenchman, 
"they  met  at  the  speare  poyntes  rudely;  the  French  squyer 
justed  right  pleasantly ;  the  Englishman  ran  too  lowe,  for  ht 
strak  the  Frenchman  depe  into  the  thigh.  Whercwiih  tht 
Erie  of  Buckingham  was  right  sore  displeased,  and  so  were  all 
the  other  lords,  and  sayde  how  it  was  shamefully  done." — 
Froissart,  vol.  i.  chap.  366.  Upon  a  similar  occasion,  "  the 
two  knyghts  came  a  fote  cohe  against  other  rudely,  with  ihcii 
speares  low  couched,  to  stryke  echo  other  within  the  Iburi 
quarters.  Johan  of  Castell-.Moraiit  strake  the  English  s.juyer 
on  the  brest  in  such  wyse,  that  Syr  Wyllyam  Ferineton'? 
stombled  ami  bowed,  for  his  fote  a  lyttel  fayled  him.  He 
helde  his  sjiere  lowe  with  both  his  handes,  and  couilc  nal 
amende  it,  and  strake  Syr  Jolian  of  the  Castell-Mornnt  in  the 
tliighe,  so  that  the  speare  went  clene  throughe,  that  tho  heed 
was  sene  a  hanilfull  on  'he  other  syde.  And  Syr  Johan  with 
the  stroke  reled,  but  he  fell  nat.  Than  the  Englyshe  knyglites 
and  squyers  were  ryghte  sore  disjileased,  and  sayde  how  it  was 
a  foule  stroke.  Syr  Wyllam  Fermeton  excused  himselfe,  and 
sayde  how  he  was  sorrie  of  that  adventure,  and  howe  that  yf 
he  hatl  knowen  that  it  shuldc  have  bene  so,  he  wolde  never 
have  begone  it ;  sayenge  how  he  could  nat  amende  it,  by  cause 
of  glannsing  of  his  fote  by  constraynt  of  the  great  stroke  tnat 
Syr  Johan  of  the  Castell-Morant  had  given  him." — FroissaRT, 
vol.  i.  chaji.  373. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


Note  2  Q. 

She  drew  the  splinter  from  the  wound. 
And  with  a  charm  she  stanch' d  the  hi::-'.. — P.  31. 

See  several  charms  for  this   [)uri)ose   in   Reginald   Scott's 
Discovery  of  IVitchcraft,  p.  273. 

"  Tom  Potts  was  but  a  serving  man, 
But  yet  he  was  a  doctor  good  ; 
He  bound  his  handlierchief  on  the  wound. 
And  witli  some  kinds  ot  words  he  stanclied  the  blood." 
Pieces  of  Ancient  Popular  Puctnj,  Lond.  1791,  p.  131. 


Note  2  R. 


But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance. 
And  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore. 
And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er. — P.  31. 

Sir  Keneim  Di^by,  in  a  discourse  upon  the  cure  by  sympa- 
thy, pronounced  at  Montpelier,  before  an  assembly  of  nobles 
and  learned  men,  translated  into  English  by  R.  Wliite,  gen- 
tleman, and  i)ublished  in  1658,  gives  us  the  following  curious 
surgical  case : — 

"  Mr.  James  Howel  (well  known  in  France  for  bis  public 
works,  and  particularly  for  his  Dendrologie,  translated  into 
French  by  Mons.  Baudouin)  coming  by  chance,  as  two  of  his 
best  friends  were  fighting  in  duel,  he  did  his  endeavor  to 
part  them  ;  and  putting  himselfe  between  them,  seized,  with 
his  left  hand,  ujion  the  hilt  of  the  sword  of  one  of  the  com- 
batants, while  with  his  right  hand  he  laid  I'.old  of  the  blade  of 
the  otiier.  They,  being  transjiorted  with  fury  one  against  the 
other,  struggled  to  rid  themselves  of  the  hinderance  their  friend 
made,  that  they  should  not  kill  one  another  ;  and  one  of  them 
roughly  drawing  the  blade  of  his  sword,  cuts  to  the  very  bone 
the  nerves  and  muscles  of  Mr.  Hov/el's  hand ;  and  then  the 
other  disengaged  his  hilts,  and  gave  a  cross  blow  on  his  adver- 
sarie's  head,  %vhich  glanced  towards  his  friend,  who  heaving  up 
his  sore  hand  to  save  the  blow,  he  was  wounded  on  the  back 
of  his  hand  as  he  had  been  before  wilhin.  It  seems  some 
strange  constellation  reigned  then  agaijist  him,  that  he  should 
lose  so  much  bloud  by  parting  two  such  dear  friends,  wlio,  had 
they  been  themselves,  would  have  hazarded  both  their  lives  to 
have  preserved  his  ;  but  this  involuntary  efl'usion  of  bloud  by 
them,  prevented  that  which  they  sholde  have  drawn  one  from 
the  otlier.  For  they,  seeing  Mr.  Howel's  face  besmeared  with 
bloud,  by  heaving  up  his  wounded  hand,  they  both  ran  to  em- 
brace liim  ;  and,  having  searched  his  hurts,  they  bound  up  his 
hands  with  one  of  his  gartei-s,  to  close  the  veins  which  were 
cut,  and  bled  abundantly.  They  brought  him  home,  and  sent 
for  a  surgeon.  But  this  being  lieard  at  court,  the  King  sent 
one  of  his  own  surgeons ;  for  his  Majesty  much  aflected  the 
said  Mr.  Howel. 

"  It  was  my  chance  to  be  lodged  hard  by  him  ;  and  four  or 
five  days  after,  as  I  was  making  myself  ready,  he  came  to  my 
Bouse,  8c.d  prayed  me  to  view  his  wounds  ;  '  for  I  understand,' 
said  he,  '  that  you  have  e.xtraordinary  remedies  on  such  occa- 
sions, and  my  surgeons  apprehend  some  fear  that  it  may  grow 
to  a  gangrene,  and  so  the  hand  must  be  cut  oft".'  In  elfect,  his 
countenance  discovered  that  he  was  in  much  pain,  which  he 
said  was  insupportable,  in  regard  of  the  extreme  inflamma- 
tion. I  told  him  I  would  willingly  serve  him  :  but  if  haply 
he  knew  the  manner  how  I  would  cure  him,  without  touching 
or  seeing  him,  it  may  be  he  would  not  expose  himself  to  my 
manner  of  curing,  because  he  would  think  it,  perad venture, 
either  ineffectual  or  superstitious.  He  replied,  '  The  wonderful 
things  which  many  have  related  unto  me  of  your  way  of 
medicament,  makes  me  nothing  doubt  at  all  of  its  efficacy ; 
and  all  that  I  have  to  say  unto  you  is  comprehended  in  the 
Spanish  proverb,  Hagase  cl  viHagro  y  hagalo  jMahoma—hei 
the  miracle  be  done,  though  Mahomet  do  it.' 


"  I  asked  him  then  for  anytliing  that  had  the  blood  upon  it  ; 
so  he  presently  sent  for  his  garter  wherewith  his  hand  was  first 
bound  ;  and  as  I  called  for  a  basin  of  water,  as  if  I  would  wash 
my  hands,  I  took  a  handful  of  powder  of  vitriol,  which  I  liad 
in  my  study,  and  presently  dissolved  it.  As  soon  as  the  bloudy 
garter  was  brought  me,  I  put  it  within  the  basin,  observing, 
in  the  interim,  what  Mr.  Howel  did,  who  stood  talking  with  : 
gentleman  in  a  corner  of  my  chamber,  not  regarding  at  al' 
what  I  was  doing  ;  but  he  started  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  found 
some  strange  alteration  in  himself.  I  asked  him  what  h« 
ailed  7  '  I  know  not  what  ailes  me  ;  but  I  finde  that  I  feel  no 
more  pain.  Methinks  that  a  pleasing  kinde  of  freshnesse,  a.-< 
it  were  a  wet  cold  napkin,  did  spread  over  my  hand,  which 
hath  taken  away  the  inflammation  that  tormented  me  before.' 
— I  replied,  '  Since  then  that  you  feel  already  so  good  effect 
of  my  medicament,  I  advise  you  to  cast  away  all  your  plays- 
ters ;  only  keep  the  wound  clean,  and  in  a  moderate  tempei 
betwixt  heat  and  cold.'  This  was  presently  reported  to  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  a  little  after  to  the  King,  who  were 
both  very  curious  to  know  the  circumstance  of  the  businesse, 
which  was,  that  after  dinner  I  took  the  garter  out  of  the  water, 
and  put  it  to  dry  before  a  great  fire.  It  was  scarce  dry,  but 
Mr.  Howel's  servant  came  running,  that  his  master  felt  as 
much  burning  as  ever  he  had  done,  if  not  more  ;  for  the  liT'.t 
was  such  as  if  his  hand  were  'twixt  coles  of  fire.  I  answered, 
although  that  had  happened  at  present,  yet  he  should  find  ease 
in  a  short  time  :  for  I  knew  the  reason  of  this  new  accident, 
and  would  provide  accordingly  ;  for  liis  master  should  be  free 
from  that  inflammation,  it  may  he  before  be  could  possibly 
return  to  him  ;  but  in  case  he  found  no  ease,  I  wished  him  to 
come  presently  back  again  ;  if  not,  he  might  forbear  coming. 
Thereupon  he  went ;  and  at  the  instant  1  did  put  again  the 
garter  into  the  water,  thereupon  he  found  his  master  without 
any  pain  at  all.  To  be  brief,  there  was  no  sense  of  pain  after- 
ward ;  but  within  five  or  six  dayes  the  wounds  were  cicatrizsd, 
and  entirely  healed." — Page  6. 

The  King  (James  VI.)  obtained  from  Sir  Kenelm  the  dis 
covery  of  his  secret,  which  he  pretended  had  been  taught 
him  by  a  Carmelite  friar,  who  had  learned  it  in  Armenia,  or 
Persia.  Let  not  the  age  of  animal  magnetism  and  metallic 
fractal's  smile  at  the  sympathetic  powder  of  Sir  Kenelm  D.j'by. 
Reginald  Scott  mentions  the  same  mode  of  cure  in  these 
terms: — "  And  that  which  is  more  strange  .  .  .  they  can 
remedie  anie  stranger  with  that  verie  sword  wherewith  thev 
are  wounded.  Yea,  and  that  which  is  beyond  all  admiration, 
if  they  stroke  the  sword  upward  with  their  fingers,  the  partie 
shall  feele  no  pain  ;  whereas,  if  they  draw  their  fingers  down- 
wards, thereupon  the  partie  wounded  shall  feele  Jntolerab'.A 
pain."  I  presume  that  the  success  ascribed  to  the  sympathetic 
mode  of  treatment  might  arise  from  the  pains  bestowed  ii 
washing  the  wound,  and  excluding  the  air,  thus  bringing  on  a 
cure  by  tlie  first  intention.  It  is  introduced  by  Dryden  in  the 
Enchanted  Island,  a  (very  unnecessary)  alteration  of  the 
Tempest : — 

"  Ariel.  Anoint  the  sword  which  pierced  him  with  this 
Weapon-salve,  and  wraj)  it  close  from  air, 
Till  I  have  time  to  visit  him  again, — Act  v,  se.  2. 

Again,  in  scene  4th,  Miranda  enters  with  Hippolito's  swora 
wrapt  up  : — 

"  Hiji.  O  my  wound  pains  me ! 

Mir.  I  am  come  to  ease  you.         [She  unwraps  the  sword 

Hip.  Alas,  I  feel  the  cold  air  come  to  me  ; 
My  wound  shoots  worse  than  ever. 

Mir.  Does  it  still  grieve  you  ?     [SAe  wipes  and  anoints  th- 
sword. 

Hip.  Now,  methinks,  there's  something  laid  just  upon  ■* 

Mir.  Do  you  find  no  ease  ■? 

Hip.  Yes,  yes  •  upon  the  sudden  all  this  pjiin 
Is  leaving  me.     Bweet  heaven,  how  I  am  eased  !" 


08 


scorrs  poetical  works. 


Note  2  S. 

On  PtHchryst  gloien  a  bait  of  fire. — P.  32. 

Bale,  beacoii-lajjul.  Tin-  Bonlpr  bpacon>,  from  their  nuni- 
brr  and  po^itiuii,  ruriiiol  a  »ort  of  tcl(>^r:i|>liic  iroinmiinirnlioii 
wild  Kiliiibur^'li. — The  ai't  t>(  PiiHiaiiicnt.  H.Vi,  r.  -IH.  ilirni'ta, 
that  Olio  bale  or  fagot  ^hnll  b«  wariiins  uf  lhi>  a|>|iruach  of 
ihf  Kiigluh  in  any  manner;  two  bale!)  that  they  ixrv  coming 
indeei;  four  bale.4,  bla/ing  lH-->i(le  eneh  oiIkt,  that  the  enemy 
ore  ill  gr»'at  force.  '•  Tho  naine  taikening^  to  be  wateheil  anil 
maiil  at  Eggcrhope  (Eggenland)  Cvilcll,  fra  lh"y  »e  the  firo  of 
Uunie.  that  thry  lire  right  swa.  And  in  like  manner  on  8ow- 
tra  Edge,  >all  so  the  tiro  of  Eggerho|ic  Costcll,  and  mak 
taikeniiig  in  like  manner:  And  then  may  all  Loutliaiiie  be 
warned,  and  in  upeeial  the  Ca^tell  of  Edinburgh  ;  and  their 
four  tire;*  to  be  made  in  like  mannir,  that  they  in  Fife,  and  fra 
Striveling  east,  and  the  ea-st  part  of  Louthaine,  and  to  Dunbar, 
all  may  see  tlicin,  and  come  to  the  defence  of  the  realiiie." 
These  beacons  (at  least  in  latter  times;  were  a  "long  and 
strong  tree  set  up,  with  a  long  iron  jKile  acros.'<  the  head  of  it, 
and  an  iron  brander  fixed  on  a  stalk  in  the  middle  of  it,  for 
holding  a  tar-bam-l." — Stevenso.n's  History,  vol.  ii.  p.  701. 


Note  2  T. 


Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends  to  raise. — P.  32. 

The  speed  with  which  the  Borderer.i  collected  great  bodies 
of  horse,  may  be  judged  of  from  the  following  extract,  when 
the  subject  of  the  rLsing  was  much  less  important  than  that  sui>- 
po^'d  in  the  romance.     It  is  taken  from  Carey's  Memoirs  : — 

"  U|M>n  the  death  of  the  old  Lord  Scroop,  the  Q.Decn  gave 
•he  west  wardenry  to  his  son,  that  had  married  my  si-ster.  He 
having  received  that  office,  came  to  me  witli  great  earnestness, 
and  desired  me  to  be  his  dejiuty,  offering  me  that  I  should  live 
with  him  in  his  house  ;  that  he  would  allow  me  half  a  dozen 
men,  and  as  many  horses,  to  be  kept  at  his  charge  ;  and  his  fee 
being  1000  merks  yearly,  he  would  pan  it  with  me,  and  1 
ihould  have  the  half.  This  his  noble  offer  I  accepted  of,  and 
went  with  hira  to  Carlisle ;  where  I  was  no  sooner  come,  but 
I  entered  into  my  office.  We  had  a  stirring  time  of  it :  and 
few  days  past  over  my  head  but  1  was  on  horseback,  either  to 
prevent  mischief,  or  take  malefactors,  and  to  bring  the  Border 
in  belter  quiet  than  it  had  been  in  times  past.  One  menioruble 
thing  of  God's  mercy  shewed  unto  me,  was  sucli  as  I  have 
good  cause  still  to  remember  it. 

"  I  had  private  intelligence  given  me,  that  there  were  two 
Bcottiihmen  that  had  killed  a  churchman  in  Scotland,  and 
were  by  one  of  the  Grammes  relieved.  This  GriEiiie  dwelt 
within  five  miles  of  Carlisle.  He  had  a  pretty  house,  and 
close  by  it  a  strong  tower,  for  his  own  defence,  in  lime  of 
need. — About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  1  took  horse  in  Car- 
lisle, and  not  above  twenty-five  in  my  company,  thinking  to 
lurpnse  the  house  on  a  sudden.  Before  I  could  surround  the 
house,  the  two  Scots  were  gotten  in  the  strong  tower,  and  I 
could  see  a  boy  riding  from  the  house  as  fa.st  as  his  horse  could 
carry  him  ;  I  little  suspecting  what  it  meant.  But  Thomas 
Carlelon  came  to  me  presently,  and  told  me,  that  if  I  did  not 
pifsently  prevent  it,  both  myself  and  all  my  company  would 
De  either  slain  or  taken  prisoners.  It  was  strange  to  me  to  hear 
this  language.  He  then  said  to  me,  '  Do  you  see  that  boy  tliat 
rideih  away  so  fa--^t  ?  He  will  be  in  Scotland  within  this  half 
nour  ;  and  he  is  gone  to  let  them  know,  that  you  are  here,  and 
to  what  end  you  are  come,  an.l  the  small  number  you  have 
with  yon  ;  and  that  if  ihey  will  make  haste,  on  a  sudden  they 
l.iay  surprise  us,  and  do  with  us  what  they  please.'  Hereuj>on 
we  look  advice  what  was  best  to  be  done.  We  sent  not'ce 
presently  to  all  parts  to  raise  the  country,  and  to  come  to  '.is 
with  all  the  speed  tliey  could  ;  and  wiihall  we  sent  to  Carli°!e 
lo  raise  the  townsmen  ;  for  without  foot  we  could  do  no  good 
•gainst  the  tower.    There  we  staid  some  hours,  ex[iectirig  more 


company  ;  and  within  hhort  time  aflcr  the  country  came  in  oo 
all  liidi-^.  Ml  that  we  were  ijuiekly  hmween  three  and  four  hun- 
dred liunM.- ;  and,  after  tomo  longer  stay,  the  foot  of  Carlisia 
caiiio  to  us,  to  the  number  ol  thp-e  or  four  buiidn-d  men; 
whom  we  presently  set  lo  work,  lo  get  to  the  lop  ol  the  tower, 
and  to  uncover  the  roof;  and  then  noiiic  twenty  of 'liem  to  fall 
down  together,  and  by  that  miaiis  lo.  win  the  "ower. — The 
StoLs,  seeing  iheir  pr.-m-nt  danger,  oiKred  lo  |iarl"y,  an  1  )  ielded 
tlii-mselves  to  my  mercy.  Tliey  had  no  M>oiier  opened  tlie  iron 
gate,  and  yielded  theiiiselves  my  prisoiuri,  but  wc  might  »e« 
400  hone  williin  a  ijuurter  of  a  mile  coming  lo  their  rescue, 
and  to  surprise  me  and  my  small  coni|iany  ;  but  of  a  sudden 
they  stayed,  and  stood  at  gaze.  Tlien  had  I  more  to  do  than 
ever;  for  all  our  Borderers  came  crying,  with  full  mouths, 
'  Sir,  give  us  leave  to  set  upon  them  ;  lor  th'-se  are  they  that 
have  killed  our  fathers,  our  brolhi-rs,  and  uncles,  and  our  eou 
sins  ;  and  they  are  coming,  thinking  to  surprise  you,  upon  weak 
gr:iss  nags,  such  as  they  could  get  on  a  sudden  ;  and  (ind  hath 
put  them  into  your  hands,  tliat  we  may  take  revenge  of  lliem 
fur  much  lilooil  that  tliey  have  spilt  of  ours.'  I  desired  they 
would  be  patient  a  while,  and  bethought  myself,  if  I  should 
give  them  their  will,  there  would  be  few  or  none  of  the  Scots 
that  would  eseajie  unkilled  (there  was  so  many  deadly  feuils 
among  them)  ;  and  therefore  I  resolved  with  myself  lo  give 
them  a  fair  answer,  but  not  to  give  them  their  desire.  So  I 
told  them,  that  if  I  were  not  there  myself,  they  might  then  do 
what  lliey  jleascd  ibeniselves ;  but  being  present,  if  I  should 
give  them  leave,  the  blood  that  should  be  spilt  that  day  would 
lie  very  hard  upon  my  conscience.  And  therefor;;  I  desired 
them,  for  my  sake,  to  forbear;  and,  if  the  Scots  did  not  pres- 
ently make  away  with  all  the  speed  they  could,  upon  my  send- 
ing to  them,  they  should  then  have  their  wills  to  do  what  they 
pleased.  They  were  ill  satisfied  with  my  answer,  but  durst 
not  disobey.  I  sent  with  speed  to  the  Scots,  and  baile  them 
puck  away  with  all  the  speed  they  could  ;  'or  if  they  stayed 
the  messenger's  return,  they  should  few  of  them  return  to  their 
own  home.  They  made  no  stay  ;  bnt  they  were  returned 
homewards  before  the  in:-ssenger  had  made  an  end  of  his  mes- 
.sage.  Thus,  by  God's  mercy,  I  escaped  a  great  dangfT;  and, 
by  my  means,  there  were  a  great  many  men's  lives  sa<ied  that 
day." 


Note  2  U. 


On  many  a  cairn's  gray  pyramid. 

Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid. — P.  32. 

The  cairns,  or  piles  of  loose  stones,  which  crown  the  sum- 
mit of  most  of  our  Scottish  hills,  and  are  found  in  other  re- 
markable situalion-s,  seem  usually,  though  not  universally,  to 
have  been  sepulchral  monuments.  Six  Hat  r'.ones  are  com- 
monly found  in  the  centre,  forming  a  cavity  of  greater  or  small- 
er dimensions,  in  which  an  urn  is  often  placed.  The  author  is 
possessed  of  one,  discovered  beneath  an  immense  cairn  at 
Roughlce,  in  Liddesdale.  It  is  of  the  most  barbarous  con- 
struct.on  ;  the  middle  of  the  substance  alone  having  been  sub- 
jected 10  the  fire,  over  which,  when  hardened,  the  ariist  had 
laid  an  inner  and  outer  coat  of  unbaked  clay,  etched  with  some 
very  rude  ornaments  ;  his  skill  apparently  being  inadequate  to 
baking  the  va.se,  when  completely  finished.  The  contents 
were  bones  and  ashes,  and  a  quanlity  of  heads  made  of  coal. 
This  seems  to  nave  been  a  barbarous  imitatioD  of  the  Roman 
fashion  of  sepulture. 


Note  2  V. 


For  pathless  march  and  mountain  cell, 
The  peasant  left  his  lowly  shed. — P.  33. 

The  morasses  were  the  usual  refuge  of  the  Border  herdsmen, 
on   the  approach  of  an  English  army. — {Minslrtlay  of  fit 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


6& 


Scottish  Border,  vol.  i.  p.  393.)  Caves,  hewed  in  the  most 
dangerous  and  inaccessible  places,  also  afforded  an  occasional 
retreat.  Such  caverns  may  be  seen  in  the  precipitous  banks  of 
the  Teviot  at  Sunlaws,  upon  tlie  Ale  at  Ancram,  upon  the 
Jed  at  Hundalee,  and  in  many  other  places  upon  the  Border. 
The  banks  of  the  Eske,  at  Gorton  and  Hawthornden,  are  hol- 
lowed into  similar  recesses.  But  even  these  dreary  dens  were 
not  always  secure  places  of  concealment.  "  In  the  way  as  we 
came,  not  far  from  tliis  place  (Long  Niddry),  George  Ferres, 

a  gentleman  of  my   Lord  Protector's happened 

upon  a  cave  in  the  grounde,  the  mouth  whereof  was  so  worne 
with  the  fresh  print  of  steps,  that  he  seemed  to  be  certayne 
tliear  wear  some  folke  within  ;  and  gone  doune  to  trie,  he  was 
readily  reeeyved  with  a  hakobut  or  two.  He  left  them  not 
yet,  till  he  had  known  wheyther  thei  wolde  be  content  to  yield 
and  come  out ;  which  they  fondly  refusing,  he  went  to  my 
lord's  grace,  and  upon  utterance  of  the  thynge,  gat  licence  to 
deale  with  them  as  he  coulde  ;  and  so  returned  to  them,  with 
a  skore  or  two  of  pioners.  Three  ventes  had  their  cave,  that 
we  wear  ware  of,  whereof  he  first  stopt  up  on  ;  anoother  he 
fiU'd  full  of  strawe,  and  set  it  a  fyer,  whereat  they  w-ithin  cast 
water  apace  ;  but  it  was  so  wei  raaynteyned  without,  that  the 
fyer  prevayled,  and  thei  within  fayji  to  get  them  belyke  into 
anoother  parler.  Then  devysed  we  (for  I  hajit  to  be  with  him) 
to  stop  the  same  up,  whereby  we  should  eyther  smoother  them, 
or  fynd  out  their  ventes,  if  thei  hadde  any  moe  ;  as  this  was 
done  at  another  issue,  about  xii  score  of,  we  moughte  see  the 
fume  of  their  smoke  to  come  out :  the  which  continued  with 
50  great  a  force,  and  so  lo!!g  a  while,  that  we  could  not  but 
thinke  they  must  needs  get  them  out,  or  smoother  within  :  and 
forasmuch  as  we  found  not  that  they  dyd  the  tone,  we  thought 
it  for  certain  thei  wear  sure  of  the  toother." — Patten's  jSc- 
zount  of  Somerset's  Expedition  into  Scotland,  apud  Dal- 
yell's  Fragments. 


Note  2  W. 


Show'd  southern  ravage  was  begun. — P.  33. 

From  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter  from  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland  to  King  Henry  VIIL,  preserved  among  the 
Cotton  MSS.^alig.  B.  vii.  179,  the  reader  may  estimate  the 
nature  of  the  dreadful  war  which  was  occasionally  waged  upon 
the  Borders,  sharpened  by  mutual  cruelties,  and  the  personal 
hatred  of  the  wardens,  or  leaders. 

Some  Scottish  Barons,  says  the  Earl,  had  threatened  to  come 
within  "  three  miles  of  ray  pore  house  of  Werkworth,  where  I 
lye,  and  gif  me  light  to  put  on  my  clothes  at  mydnight ;  and 
alsoo  the  said  Marke  CaiT  said  there  opynly,  that  seyng  they 
had  a  governor  on  the  Marches  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  they 
had  in  Ingland,  he  shulde  kepe  your  highness  instructions, 
gyffyn  unto  your  garyson,  for  making  of  any  day-forrey  ;  for 
he  and  his  friends  wolde  burne  enough  on  the  nyght,  lettyng 
your  counsaill  here  defyne  a  notable  acte  at  theyre  pleasures. 
Upon  whiche,  in  your  highnes  name,  I  comaundet  dewe  watche 
to  be  kepte  on  your  Marchies,  for  comyng  in  of  any  Scotts. — 
Neuertheles,  upon  Thursday  at  night  last,  came  thyrty  light 
horsemen  into  a  litil  village  of  myna,  called  VVliitell,  having 
net  past  se,\  houses,  lying  towards  Ryddisdaill,  upon  Shilbotell 
More,  and  there  wold  liave  fyred  the  said  bowses,  but  ther  was 
no  lyre  to  get  there,  and  they  forgate  to  brynge  any  withe 
theynie  ;  and  took  a  wyf  being  great  with  chylde,  in  the  said 
towne,  and  said  to  hyr,  Wher  we  can  not  gyve  the  lard  lyght, 
yet  we  shall  doo  this  in  spyte  of  hym  ;  and  gyve  her  iii  mortall 
vounds  upon  the  heid,  and  another  in  the  right  side,  wnth  a 
dagger;  whereupon  the  said  wyf  is  deede,  and  the  childe  in 
her  bely  is  loste.  Beseeching  yonr  most  gracious  highness  to 
reduce  unto  your  gracious  memory  this  wylful  and  shameful! 
murder,  done  within  this  your  highnes  realme,  notwithstanding 

1  RUp,  creak. — Rive,  tear. 


all  the  inhabitants  thereabout  rose  unto  the  said  fray,  and  gave 
warnynge  by  beeons  into  the  countrey  afore  theyme,  and  yet 
the  Scottsmen  dyde  escape.  An<l  uppon  certeyne  knowledge 
to  my  brother  Clyftbrthe,  and  me,  had  by  credible  persons  of 
Scotland,  this  abomynable  act  not  only  to  be  done  by  dyverse 
of  the  Mershe,  but  also  the  afore  named  persons  of  Tyvidaill, 
and  consented  to,  as  by  appearance,  by  the  Erie  of  Murey, 
upon  Friday  at  night  last,  let  slip  C  of  the  best  horsemen  o' 
Glendaill,  with  a  parte  of  your  highnes  subjects  of  Berwyke. 
together  with  George  Dowglas,  whoo  came  into  Ingland  agayue, 
in  the  dawning  of  the  day  ;  but  afore  theyre  retorne,  they  dyd 
mar  the  Earl  of  Murreis  provisions  at  Coldingham  ;  for  they 
did  not  only  burne  the  said  town  of  Coldingham,  with  all  the 
come  thereunto  belonging,  which  is  esteemed  worthe  cii  marke 
sterling  ;  but  alsoo  burned  twa  townes  nye  adjoining  thereunto, 
called  Branerdergest  and  the  Black  Hill,  and  toke  xxiii  persons, 
l.\  horse,  with  cc  hed  of  eataill,  which,  nowe,  as  I  am  inform- 
ed, hathe  not  only  been  a  staye  of  the  said  Erie  of  Murreis  not 
coming  to  the  Bordure  as  yet,  but  alsoo,  that  none  inlande 
man  will  adventure  theyr  self  uppon  the  Marches.  And  as  for 
the  ta.x  that  shulde  have  been  grauntyd  for  finding  of  the  said 
iii  hundred  men,  is  utterly  denyed.  Upon  which  the  King  of 
Scotland  departed  from  Edynburgh  to  Stirling,  and  as  yet 
there  doth  remayn.  And  also  I,  by  the  advice  of  my  brother 
Clylforth,  have  devysed,  that  within  this  iii  nyghts,  Godde  wil- 
ling. Kclsey,  in  like  case,  shall  be  brent,  with  all  the  com  in 
the  said  town  ;  and  then  they  shall  have  noo  place  to  lye  any 
garyson  in  nygh  unto  t'ne  Borders.  And  as  I  siiaU  atteigne  fur- 
ther knowledge,  I  shall  not  faill  to  satLsfye  your  highnes,  ac- 
cording to  my  most  bounden  dutie.  And  for  this  bumyng  of 
Kelsey  is  devysed  to  be  done  secretly,  by  Tyndaill  and  Rj^ddis 
dale.  And  thus  the  holy  "Prynite  and  *  *  *  your  most  royal 
estate,  with  long  lyf,  and  as  much  increase  of  honour  as  your 
most  noble  heart  can  desire.  At  IVerkicorth,  the  sxii<Z  day  of 
October."     (1522.) 


Note  2  X. 


Watt  Tinlinn.—¥.  33. 
This  person  was,  in  my  younger  days,  the  theme  of  many  a 
fireside  tale.  He  was  a  retainer  of  the  Buccleuch  family,  and 
held  for  his  Border  service  a  small  tower  on  the  frontiers  of 
Liddesdale.  Watt  was,  by  profession,  a  sutor,  but,  by  incli- 
nation and  practice,  an  archer  and  warrior.  Upon  one  occa- 
sion, the  captain  of  Bewcastle,  military  governor  of  that  wild 
district  of  Cumberland,  is  said  to  have  made  an  incursion  into 
Scotland,  in  which  he  was  defeated,  and  forced  to  tly.  Watt 
Tinlinn  pui-sued  hira  closely  through  a  dangerous  morass;  the 
cajiiain.  however,  gained  the  firm  ground  ;  and  seeing  Tinlinn 
dismounted,  and  floundering  in  the  bog,  used  these  words  of 
insult :—"  Sutor  Watt,  ye  cannot  sew  yonr  boots;  the  heels 
risp,  and  the  seams  rive."^ — "  If  I  cannot  sew,"  retorted  Tin- 
Unn,  discharging  a  shaft,  which  nailed  the  captain's  thigh  to 
his  saddle, — "  If  I  cannot  sew,  I  can  yerk.'''"^ 


Note  2  Y. 


Bilihope  Stag.— P.  34. 

There  is  an  old  rhyme,  which  thus  celebrates  the  places  in 
Liddesdale  remarkable  for  game  : 

"  Bilihope  braes  for  bucks  and  raes, 

And  Carit  haugh  for  swine. 
And  Tarras  for  the  good  bull-trout, 
If  he  be  ta'en  in  time." 

The  bucks  and  roes,  as  well  as  the  old  swine,  are  now  e» 
tinct ;  but  the  good  bull-trout  is  still  famotis. 


1  Terk,  to  twitch,  aa  shoemaliers  do, 
work. 


Becoriiig  the  sHtchen  of  thej 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS. 


Note  2  Z. 

Belted  tVitl  Uoicard.—V.  34. 

I^unl  William  Iluwanl,  tliini  ran  of  Tlioiiia.i,  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk,  HUccc'iifil  to  Niiwortli  C'aMU-,  uiiil  a  lur^-c  tluiiinin  an- 
11  'Mil  to  it,  ill  right  of  liU  wife  KlizntH-tti,  sinter  of  (Jrory* 
l.rird  Darrp,  who  din!  without  hi-int  inalo,  in  iho  lldi  of 
(tuuvii  Eli/abtfth.  By  a  |>octical  aiiaohronixin,  he  in  iiitro- 
(luctil  into  the  romance  a  iVw  yean  earlier  than  hi>  actually 
flourt«he<l.  Ho  wail  warilcn  of  the  Wt-iterii  Mar>.'lii'a  :  auil, 
fruiu  the  rigor  with  which  he  reprcoM-J  the  iiorlt-r  exe&s«o«, 
lliL*  naiuf  of  Belted  \Vill  liowanl  \*  Klill  famonii  in  our  traili- 
tiuiis.  In  ihe  contle  uf  Nuworlh,  hix  a|iartment.s,  ooiitainlng 
a  biMlrouin,  oratory,  and  library,  are  still  shown.  They  im- 
l'rer.9  us  with  an  uii|i1c:u><iiig  idea  of  the  life  of  a  lord  warden 
of  the  Marches.  Three  or  four  strong  iloors,  sepuraiing  these 
room!!  from  the  rest  of  the  caMtle,  indicate  the  uiiprehensions 
of  treachery  from  his  garrison  ;  and  the  scoi-et  winding  pa.s- 
ta^'i-s,  through  which  lie  could  privately  descend  into  the 
guardroom,  or  even  into  the  dungeons,  imply  the  nece.s.iity  of 
no  small  degree  al"  secret  superintendence  on  the  part  of  the 
governor.  As  the  ancient  books  and  furniture  have  remained 
undisturbed,  the  venerable  appearance  of  these  apartments, 
and  the  armor  scattered  around  the  chamber,  almost  lead  us  to 
r.xjK'el  the  arrival  of  tiie  warden  in  jicrson.  Naworth  Castle 
is  situated  near  Dramptoii,  in  Cumberland.  Lord  William 
Howard  is  ancestor  of  tlie  £arls  of  Carlisle. 


Note  3  A. 

Lord  Dacre.—V.  34. 

The  well-known  name  of  Dacre  is  derived  from  tJie  exploits 
of  one  of  their  ancestors  at  the  siege  of  Acre,  or  Ptolemaia, 
under  Richard  Ca'ur  de  Lion.  There  were  two  powerful 
branches  of  that  name.  The  lirst  family,  called  Lord  Dacres 
of  the  Sooth,  held  the  castle  of  the  same  name,  and  are  an- 
Ptstora  to  the  present  Lord  Dacre.  The  other  family,  descend- 
ed from  the  same  stock,  were  called  Lord  D.icres  of  the 
Xorth,  and  were  barons  of  Gil-sland  and  Graystock.  A  chief- 
tain of  the  latter  branch  was  warden  of  the  West  Marches 
during  the  reign  of  Edward  VL  Ue  was  a  man  of  a  hot  and 
ob.stinate  character,  as  appears  from  some  particulars  of  LopJ 
Surrey's  letter  to  Henry  VIIL,  giving  an  account  of  his  beha- 
vior at  the  siege  and  storm  of  Jedburgh.  It  is  printed  in  the 
.Minstrdsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  Appendix  to  the  Intro- 
duction. 


Note  3  B. 


The  Oerman  hackbut-men. — P.  34. 

In  the  wars  witli  Scotland,  Henry  VIII.  and  his  sncce«sore 
emjiloycd  numerous  bands  of  mercenary  troops.  At  the  bat- 
tle of  Pinky  there  were  in  the  English  army  six  hundred  hack- 
butters  on  foot,  and  two  hundred  on  hor^^jback,  composed 
chiefly  of  foreigners.  On  the  27th  of  September,  l.WJ,  the 
Dnke  of  Somerset,  Lord  Protector,  writes  to  the  Lord  Dacre, 
warden  of  the  Wei-t  M."\rches : — "The  Almaiiis,  in  number 
two  thousand,  very  valiant  soldiers,  shall  be  «ent  to  you  shortly 
from  Newcastle,  together  with  Sir  Thomas  Holcroft,  and  with 
the  force  of  your  wardtnry  (which  we  would  were  advanced 
to  the  most  strength  of  horsemen  that  might  be),  shall  make 
the  attempt  to  Longhmaben,  being  of  no  such  strength,  but 
th»t  it  may  be  skailed  with  ladders,  whereof,  beforehand,  we 
would  you  caused  secretly  some  number  to  lie  provided  ;  or 
•loe  ndermined  with  the  pvke-axe,  and  so  taken  :  either  to  be 


kept  for  the  King'*  Majenty,  or  ot:.erwihu  to  he  defaced,  anil 
taken  from  the  profits  of  the  enemy.  And  in  like  luanncr  the 
hou>e  of  Curlaverock  to  be  used."  Re|H-uted  iiieiilioii  occUfii 
of  the  Alinaiiui,  in  the  hubsei|ueiit  correnjiondence  ;  a^d  the 
enlerpriiM'  wem*  linully  to  have  been  abaiiiloned,  froi'i  the  dif- 
ficulty of  providing  theiie  htrangers  with  the  neeewary  "  vic- 
tual* and  eurriages  in  ho  poor  a  eouijiry  as  Duinfriexiihire." — 
Ili.ilury  of  Cumberland,  vol.  i.  Iiilrod.  p.  Ixi.  From  the 
battle-piecen  of  the  ancient  Flenli^h  paiiiten,  we  learn,  thai 
the  Low  Country  and  German  soldient  inarched  to  uii  OMiiiU 
with  their  right  knee*  bared.  And  wu  may  aiko  ol>ner\e,  iu 
such  pictures,  the  extravagance  to  which  they  carried  tlia 
ftt'liion  of  ornamenting  iheir  dress  with  knots  of  rilihon.  Thii 
custom  of  the  Germans  is  alluded  to  in  the  JSIirrour  for  .\1  .^'1* 
triitcs,  p.  Mi. 

"  Their  pleited  garments  therewith  well  acconi. 
All  jagde  and  frounst,  with  divers  colours  deckt. 


Note  3  C. 

"  Ready,  aye  ready,"  for  the  field.— V.  34. 

Sir  John  Scott  of  Thirlestane  flonrished  in  the  reign  of  James 
v.,  and  possessed  the  estates  of  Thirlestane,  Gamescleueh, 
&c.,  lying  upon  the  river  of  Eitrick,  and  extending  to  St. 
Mary's  Loch,  at  the  head  of  Yarrow.  It  apjiearv,  that  when 
James  had  assembled  his  nobility,  and  their  feudal  followers, 
at  Fala,  with  the  purpose  of  invading  England,  and  was,  as  is 
well  known,  disappointed  by  the  obstinate  refusal  of  his  peers, 
this  baron  alone  declared  himself  ready  to  follow  the  King 
wherever  he  should  lead.  In  memory  of  his  fidelity,  James 
granted  to  his  family  a  charter  of  arms,  entitling  them  to  bear 
a  border  of  flenrs-de-luce,  similar  to  the  tressure  in  the  royal 
arms,  with  a  bundle  of  spears  for  the  crest  ;  motto,  Urady, 
aye  ready.  The  charter  itself  is  jirinted  by  Nisbet ;  but  his 
work  being  scarce,  I  insert  the  following  accurate  transcript 
from  the  original,  in  the  possession  of  the  Right  Honorable 
Lord  Napier,  the  representative  of  John  of  Thirlestaine. 

"  James  Rex. 
We  James,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  Scottis,  consider- 
and  the  ffaith  and  guid  servis  of  of  of  right  traist  friend  John 
Scott  of  Thirlestane,  quha  cnmmand  to  our  hoste  at  Soutra- 
edge,  with  three  score  and  ten  launcieres  on  horseback  of  his 
friends  and  followers,  and  beand  willing  to  gang  with  ws  into 
England,  when  all  onr  nobles  and  others  refused,  he  was 
ready  to  stake  at  all  our  bidding;  ft'or  the  quhilk  eau>e,  it  is 
our  will,  and  we  doe  straitlie  command  and  cliarg  our  lion 
hcrauld  and  his  deputies  for  the  time  beand,  to  give  and  to 
graunt  to  the  said  John  Scott,  anc  Border  of  ffleure  de  lises 
about  his  coattc  of  armes,  sik  as  is  on  onr  royal  banner,  and 
alsua  ane  bundell  of  launcea  above  his  helmet,  with  thir  words, 
Readily,  ay  Rcaddy,  that  he  and  all  his  aftercummers  m.-iy 
bruik  the  samine  as  a  pledge  and  taiken  of  our  guid  will  and 
kyndnes  for  his  true  worthines  ;  and  thir  our  letters  seen,  ye 
nae  waes  failzie  to  doe.  Given  at  Ffalla  Muire,  under  our 
hand  and  privy  cashet,  the  xxvii  day  of  July,  m  c  and  xxxii 
zeires.     By  the  King's  graces  special!  ordinance. 

"  Jo.  Arskink." 

On  the  back  of  the  charter  is  written, 
"  Edin.  14  January,  1713.     Registred,  conform  to  the  act  of 
parliament  made   anent    probative  writs,  per  M'Kaile.  pror. 
and  produced  by  Alexander  Borthwick,  servant  to  Sir  WillianE 
Scott  of  Thirlestane.     M.  L.  J." 

]  Sic  in  ori|{. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MIXSTREL. 


7i 


/      Note  3  D. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  steel' d. 

With  many  a  moss-trooper  came  on  ; 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field, 
The  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield, 
Without  the  licnd  of  Murdieston. — P.  34. 

The  family  of  Harden  are  desceniled  from  a  younger  son  of 
iJie  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  wlio  flourished  before  the  estate  of 
Murdieston  was  acquired  by  tlie  marriage  of  one  of  those 
chieftains  with  the  heiress,  in  1290.  Hence  tliey  bear  the  cog- 
nizance of  the  Scotts  upon  the  field  ;  whereas  those  of  the 
Euccleuch  are  disposed  upon  a  bend  dexter,  assumed  in  conse- 
quence of  tliat  marriage.— See  Gladstai.ve  of  Whitclaroe's 
JISi'.,  and  Scott  of  Sto/coe's  Pedigree,  Newcastle,  1783. 

Walter  Scott  of  Harden,  who  flourished  during  the  reign  of 
Queen  Mary,  wa»  a  renowned  Border  freebooter,  concerning 
whom  tradition  has  preserved  a  variety  of  anecdotes,  some  of 
which  have  been  pubUshed  in  tlie  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border;  others  in  IjEYDkvi's  Scenes  of  Infancy  ;  and  others, 
more  lately,  in  The  Mountain  Bard,  a  collection  of  Border 
ballads  by  Mr.  James  Hogg.  The  bugle-liorn,  said  to  liave 
been  used  by  this  formiiiable  leader,  is  preserved  by  his  de- 
scendant, the  present  Mr.  Scott  of  Harden.  His  castle  was 
situated  upon  the  very  brink  of  a  dark  and  precijjitous  dell, 
through  which  a  scanty  rivulet  steals  to  meet  the  Borthwick. 
In  the  recess  of  this  glen  he  is  said  to  have  kept  his  spoil, 
which  served  for  the  daily  maintenance  of  his  retainers,  until 
the  production  of  a  pair  of  clean  spurs,  in  a  covered  dish,  an- 
nounced to  the  hungry  band,  that  they  must  ride  for  a  supply 
of  provisions.  He  was  married  to  Mary  Scott,  daughter  of 
Philip  Scott  of  Dryhope,  and  called  in  song  the  Flower  of 
Yarrow.  He  possessed  a  very  extensive  estate,  which  was  di- 
vided among  his  five  sons.  There  are  numerous  descendants 
of  this  old  marauding  baron.  The  following  beautiful  passage 
of  Leyde.n's  Scenes  of  Infancy,  is  founded  on  a  tradition  re- 
fjjecting  an  infant  captive,  whom  Walter  of  Harden  carried  off 
in  a  predatory  incursion,  and  who  is  said  to  have  become  the 
lutlior  of  some  of  our  most  beautiful  pastoral  songs  : 

"  Where  Bortha  hoarse,  that  loads  the  meads  with  sand, 
Rolls  her  red  tide  to  Teviot's  western  strand, 
Through  slaty  hills,  whose  sides  are  shagg'd  with  thorn, 
Where  springs,  in  scatter'd  tufts,  the  dark-green  corn, 
Towers  wood-girt  Harden,  far  above  the  vale. 
And  clouds  of  ravens  o'er  the  tuiTets  sail. 
A  hardy  race,  who  never  shrunk  from  war, 
The  Scott,  to  rival  realms  a  niiglity  bar. 
Here  fix'd  his  mountain  home  ; — a  wide  domain. 
And  rich  the  soil,  had  jmrple  heath  been  grain  ; 
But  what  the  niggard  ground  of  wealth  denied, 
From  fields  more  bless'd  his  fearless  arm  supplied. 

"  The  waning  harvest-moon  shone  cold  and  bright ; 
The  warder's  horn  w  as  heard  at  dead  of  night ; 
And  as  the  massy  portals  wide  were  flung. 
With  stamping  hoofs  the  rocky  pavement  rung. 
What  fair,  half  veil'd,  leans  from  her  latticed  hall, 
Where  red  the  wavering  gleams  of  torchlight  fall? 
'Tis  Yarrow's  fairest  flower,  who,  through  the  gloom. 
Looks,  wistful,  for  her  lover's  dancing  plume. 
Amid  the  piles  of  spoil,  that  strew'd  the  ground. 
Her  ear,  all  anxious,  caught  a  wailing  sound  ; 
With  trembling  haste  the  youtliful  matron  flew, 
And  from  the  humed  heaps  an  infant  drew. 

"  Scared  at  the  light,  his  little  hands  he  flung 
Around  her  neck,  and  to  her  bosom  clung  ; 
While  beauteous  Mary  sootlied,  in  accents  mild, 
His  fluttering  soul,  and  clasp'd  her  foster  child. 
Of  milder  mood  the  gentle  captive  grew. 
Nor  loved  tlie  scenes  that  scared  his  infant  view  ; 


In  vales  remote,  from  camps  and  castles  far, 
He  sliunn'd  the  fearful  shuddering  joy  of  war; 
Content  the  loves  of  simple  swains  to  sing. 
Or  wake  to  fame  the  harp's  heroic  string. 

"  His  are  the  strains  whose  wandering  echoes  thriii 
The  shepherd,  lingering  on  the  twilight  hiil. 
When  evening  brings  the  meiTy  folding  hours. 
And  sun-eyed  daisies  close  their  winking  flowers. 
He  lived  o'er  Yarrow's  Flower  to  shed  the  tear, 
To  strew  the  holly  leaves  o'er  Harden's  bier : 
But  none  was  found  above  the  minstrel's  tomb, 
Emblem  of  peace,  to  bid  the  daisy  bloom  : 
He,  nameless  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprung. 
Saved  other  names,  and  left  his  own  unsung." 


Note  3  E. 

Scotts  of  Eskdale,  a  stalwart  band. — P.  35. 

In  this,  and  the  following  stanzas,  some  acconnt  is  given  of 
the  mode  in  which  the  property  in  the  valley  of  Esk  was  trans- 
ferred from  the  Beattisons,  its  ancient  possessors,  to  the  name 
of  Scott.  It  is  needless  to  repeat  the  circumstances,  which 
are  given  in  the  poem,  literally  as  they  have  been  ])reserved 
by  tradition.  Lord  Maxwell,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  took  upon  himself  the  title  of  Earl  of  Morton. 
The  descendants  of  Beattison  of  Wcodkerrick,  who  aided  the 
Earl  to  escape  from  his  disobedient  vassals,  continued  to  hold 
these  lands  within  the  memory  of  man,  and  were  the  only 
Beattisons  who  had  property  in  the  dale.  The  old  peoi)le  give 
locality  to  the  story,  by  showing  the  Galliard's  Haugh,  the 
place  where  Buccleuch's  men  were  concealed,  &c. 


Note  3  F. 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden. — P.  36. 

Bellenden  is  situated  near  the  head  of  Borthwick  water,  and 
being  in  the  centre  of  the  possessions  of  the  Scotts,  was  fre- 
quently used  as  their  place  of  rendezvous  and  gatliering  word. 
• — Survey  of  Selkirkshire  in  Macfarlanc' s  MSS.,  Advocates' 
Library.  Hence  Satchells  calls  one  part  of  his  genealogical 
account  of  tlie  families  of  that  clan,  his  Bellenden. 


Note  3  G. 


The  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 
They  knew  no  country,  own'd  no  lord. — P.  36. 

The  mercenary  adventurers,  whom,  in  1380,  the  Earl  of 
Cambridge  carried  to  the  assistance  of  the  King  of  Portugal 
against  the  Spaniards,  mutinied  for  want  of  regular  jiay.  At 
an  assembly  of  thfir  leaders.  Sir  John  Soltier,  a  natural  son 
of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  thus  addressed  them  :  "  '  I  conn- 
sayle,  let  us  be  alle  of  one  alliance,  and  of  one  accorde,  and  .ei 
us  among  ourselves  reyse  up  the  banner  of  St.  George,  and  let 
us  be  frendes  to  God,  and  enemyes  to  alle  the  worlde  ;  for 
witliout  we  make  ourselfe  to  be  feared,  we  gete  nothynge.' 

"  '  By  my  fayth,'  quod  Sir  William  Helmon,  '  ye  saye  right 
well,  and  so  let  us  do.'  They  all  agreed  with  one  voyce,  and 
so  regarded  among  them  who  shulde  be  their  capitayne.  Then 
they  advysed  in  the  case  how  they  coude  nat  have  a  better 
capitayne  than  Sir  John  Soltier.  For  they  sulde  than  have 
good  leyser  to  do  yvel,  and  they  thought  he  was  more  metel- 
yer  thereto  than  any  other.  Then  they  raised  up  the  penon 
of  St.  George,  and  cried,  'A  Soltier!  a  Sohier  !  the  valyaunt 
bastarde  !  frendes  to  God,  and  enemies  to  aU  the  worlde  !'  "— 
Froissart,  vol.  i.  ch.  393. 


72 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  3  H. 

That  hr  may  fuffrr  march-treaaon  pain. — P.  37. 

PevrmI  ii()«i'i<s  of  oUVmici-s,  |ieculiar  to  lliu  DoriltT,  coiwUlu- 
tol  wliul  w.i-i  ciillL'fl  iii:iri'li-tri'ii.'<uii.  Aiiiuiii;  oll»"r<,  wnn  tlio 
Clime  otridiii^',  ur  t-au^ing  to  ride,  ii«aiiu>t  lUv  0|>|MMiu-  i-ouiilry 
Juriiig  ill)'  tiiiiu  ul' IriK'c.  Thus,  in  an  iiiilfiituro  iua>iu  at  llio 
water  of  Iv>k>-,  boiiiilv  Saloin,  on  llic  ^'tlli  ilay  ol'  Murt-li,  IXi-t, 
tietwi.xl  iioLilc  lords  oiiil  uii';lity,  Sin  Henry  IVrcy,  Kurl  of 
Nurtliumberlanil,  mid  Ar-liibaUl  Douglan,  Lord  of  UiiUoway, 
'I  irur'-  i<  .'i;;n'<'il  U|Hin  until  lliu  Ut  day  of  July  ;  nnd  it  u  cx- 
|iri'-^'v  :i'  <<tili'<{,  "  (iif  ony  •telli'i  nullilr  on  the  Ui  part,  or  on 
llie  tollr.  r.  lli:il  lie  »lnll  l>e  liunget  or  lieofdit  ;  ;inil  gif  ony 
cuni|>niiy  stellix  any  gudes  williin  the  trieux  bofun-sayd,  unc  of 
tlial  ronipany  call  be  liangct  or  heufdit,  and  the  reiiinunt  call 
restoro  the  gud\M  Ktoirn  in  the  dubble." — History  of  tt'ral- 
morcland  and  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  xxxii. 


Note  3  I. 


Deloraine 


Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  stain. — P.  38. 

In  dubious  ca.«e9,  the  innocence  of  Border  criminals  was  oc- 
casionally ri'fcnvJ  to  their  own  oath.  The  form  of  excusing 
bill),  or  indictments,  by  Border-oath,  ran  thus  :  "  You  shall 
swear  by  heaven  above  you,  hell  beneath  you,  by  your  jiart  of 
Paradiv?,  by  all  that  God  made  in  six  days  and  seven  nights, 
and  by  God  hintself,  yon  are  wliart  out  sackless  of  art,  part, 
way,  witling,  ridd,  kenning,  having,  or  recetling  of  any  of  the 
good.s  and  cattcls  named  in  this  bill.  So  help  you  God." — 
History  of  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  xxv. 


Note  3  K. 


Knighthood  he  took  of  Dovglas'  sword. — P.  38. 

The  dignity  of  knighthood,  according  to  the  original  institn- 
uon,  had  this  peculiarity,  that  it  did  not  flow  from  the  mon- 
arch, but  could  be  conferred  by  one  who  himself  possessed  it, 
npon  any  squire  who,  after  due  probation,  was  found  to  merit 
the  honor  of  chivalry.  Latterly,  this  |>ower  was  confined  to 
generals,  who  were  wont  to  create  knights  bannerets  after  or 
iicfore  an  eiipajement.  Even  so  late  as  the  reign  of  Q.ueen 
Elizabeth,  Es>-f;.\  highly  offended  his  jealous  sovereign  by  the 
indiscriminate  exertion  of  this  privilege.  Among  others,  he 
knighted  the  willy  Sir  John  Harrington,  whose  favor  at  court 
was  by  no  means  enhanced  by  his  new  honors. — See  the  Jfuga 
Jlnfiqua,  edited  by  Mr.  Park.  But  probably  the  latest  in- 
stance of  knighthood,  conferred  by  a  subject,  was  in  the  case 
of  Thomas  Kcr,  knighted  by  the  Earl  of  Hunlley,  after  the  de- 
feat of  the  Earl  of  Argyle  in  the  battle  of  Relrinnes.  The  fact 
is  attested,  both  by  a  poetical  and  prose  account  of  the  en- 
fageinent,  contained  in  an  ancient  MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Li- 
brary and  edited  by  Mr.  Dalyell,  in  OoiUy  Hangs  and  Ballets, 
Edin.  1(50-2. 


Note  3  L. 
When  EnglisX  b'ood  sirelt'd  .Incram'sford.—V.  38. 

The  battle  of  Ancram  Moor,  or  Penielheoch,  was  fooght 
A.  U.  I.i4.».  The  English,  commanded  by  Sir  Ralph  Evers 
and  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  vi-ere  totally  routed,  and  both  their 
leaders  slain  in  the  action.  The  S'ottish  army  was  com- 
manded by  Ari;hilialil  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  assisted  by  the 
Laird  of  Buccleuch  and  Norman  Lesley. 


Note  3  M. 

Fur  who,  infield  or  foray  slack. 

Haul  the  blanthe  lion  e'er  fall  back  ?— P.  38. 

This  wan  the  cugniznnce  of  the  noblo  house  of  Howard  in  all 
its  braiiehes.  The  crest,  or  bearing,  of  a  warrior,  was  oflen 
H«<-<l  as  a  nnmmt  dr guerre.  Thus  Richard  III.  ae(|uired  hin 
well-known  epithet,  VVir  Hoar  of  York.  In  the  violent  salira 
on  Cardinal  Wolwy,  written  by  Roy,  coninionly,  bul  erro- 
neously, impulMl  to  Dr.  Bull,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  is 
called  the  lieauliful  Swan,  and  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  or  Earl 
of  Sum-y,  the  H' hite  I.ion.  As  the  book  is  extri'inely  rare, 
anil  iho  whole  passage  relaten  to  iho  embleinulical  interpreta- 
tion of  herahlry,  it  shall  be  here  given  at  lengclh. 

"  The  Description  of  the  ..Srmcs. 

"  Of  the  proud  Cardinal  this  is  the  slielde 
Borne  up  betweene  two  angels  of  Satlian  ; 
The  six  bloudy  axes  in  a  bare  feldc, 
Sheweth  the  cruclte  of  the  red  man. 
Which  lialh  devoured  the  Beautiful  Bwau, 
Mortal  enemy  unto  ihe  VV'hytc  Lion, 
Carter  of  Yorke,  the  vyle  butcher's  sonne, 
The  sLv  bnlles  hcddes  in  a  felde  blacke, 
Cctokeiielh  his  slordy  furiousness, 
Wlierefor.?,  the  godly  lyghi  to  put  abacke, 
lie  bryngeth  in  his  dyvli.^li  dareness  ; 
The  bandog  in  the  middes  dolli  expresso 
The  mastiti'curre  bred  in  Ypswieh  lowne, 
Gnawynge  with  his  telh  a  kinges  crowne. 
The  cloubbe  sigiiilielh  playne  his  liranny, 
Covered  over  with  a  Cardinall's  halt, 
Wherein  shall  be  fulfilled  the  piojihecy, 
Aryse  up,  Jackc,  and  put  on  ihy  salatt, 
For  the  lyme  is  come  of  bagge  and  walatt. 
The  temporall  clievalry  thus  thrown  doune, 
Wlierefor,  prest,  take  hede,  and  beware  thy  crowne." 

There  were  two  copies  of  this  very  scarce  satire  in  the  libra- 
ry of  the  late  John,  Duke  of  Roxburghe.  See  an  account  of  it 
also  in  Sir  Egerlon  Brydges'  curious  miscellany,  the  Censura 
L,ilcraria. 


Note  3  N. 


Let  Jifusgrave  meet  fierce  Deloraine 
In  single  fight. P.  38. 

It  may  ea.sily  be  supposed,  that  trial  by  single  combat,  so 
peculiar  to  the  feudal  system,  was  common  on  the  Borders. 
In  1558,  the  well-known  Kirkaldy  of  Grange  fought  a  duel 
with  R.-iIph  Evre,  brother  to  the  then  Lord  Evrc,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  dispute  about  a  prisoner  said  to  have  been  ill- 
treated  by  tlie  Lord  Evre.  PiLscottie  gives  the  following  ac- 
count of  the  affair  : — "  The  Lord  of  Ivers  his  brother  provoked 
William  Kircaldy  of  Grange  to  fight  with  him,  in  singular 
comb  It,  on  horseback,  with  spears  ;  who,  keeping  the  apjioint- 
ment,  accompanied  with  Monsieur  d'Ossel.  lieutenant  to  the 
French  king,  and  the  garrison  of  Ilaymouth,  and  Mr.  Ivers, 
accompanied  with  the  governor  and  garrison  of  Berwick,  it 
was  discharged,  under  the  jiaiu  of  treason,  that  any  man 
shonid  come  near  the  champions  within  a  flight-shot,  except 
one  man  for  either  of  them,  to  bear  ihcir  speare,  two  trumpets, 
and  two  lonls  to  be  judges.  When  they  were  in  readiness,  the 
trnmiiets  sounded,  the  heraulds  cried,  and  the  judges  let  them 
go.  They  then  encountered  very  fiercely  ;  but  Grange  struck 
his  spear  through  his  adversary's  shoulder,  and  bare  him  off 
his  horse,  being  sore  wounded  :  But  whether  he  died  or  not,  it 
is  uncertain." — P.  202. 

The  following  indenture  will  show  at  how  late  a  period  the 
trial  by  combat  was  resorted  to  on  the  Border,  as  a  proof  o' 
guilt  or  imiocence : — 


appe:(dix  to  the  lay  of  the  last  minstrel. 


"  It  is  agreed  between  Thomas  Masgrave  and  Laancelot 
Carleton,  for  the  true  trial  of  such  controversies  as  are  betwixt 
them,  to  have  it  openly  tried  by  way  of  combat,  before  God 
and  the  face  of  the  world,  to  try  it  in  Canonbyholme,  before 
England  and  Scotland,  upon  Thursday  in  Ea,ster- week ,  being 
the  eighth  day  of  April  next  ensuing,  A.  D.  IWi.  betwixt  nine 
of  the  clock  and  one  of  the  same  day,  to  fight  on  foot,  to  be 
armed  witli  jack,  steel  cap,  plaite  sleeves,  plaite  breaches, 
p'aite  soekes,  two  basleard  swords,  the  blades  to  be  one  yard 
and  lialf  a  (juarter  in  length,  two  Scotch  daggers,  or  dorks,  at 
their  girdles,  and  cither  of  them  to  provide  armour  and  weaj)- 
ons  for  themselves  according  to  this  indenture.  Two  gentle- 
men to  be  appointed  on  the  field,  to  view  both  the  parties,  to 
see  that  they  both  be  equal  in  arms  and  weajjons,  according  to 
this  indenture ;  and  being  so  viewed  by  the  gentlemen,  liie 
gentlemen  to  ride  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  to  leave 
them  but  two  boys,  viewed  by  the  gentlemen,  to  be  under  six- 
teen years  of  age,  to  hold  their  horses.  In  testimony  of  this 
our  agreement,  we  have  both  set  our  hands  to  this  indenture, 
of  intent  all  matters  shall  be  made  so  jilain,  as  there  shall  be 
no  question  to  stick  upon  that  day.  Which  indenture,  as  a 
witness,  sliall  be  delivered  to  two  gentlemen.  And  for  that  it 
is  convenient  the  world  should  be  privy  to  every  particular 
of  the  grounds  of  the  quarrel,  we  have  agi-eed  to  set  it  down 
in  this  indenture  betwixt  us,  that,  knowing  the  quarrel,  their 
uyes  may  be  v/itness  of  the  trial. 

THE  GROUNDS  OF  THE  QUARREL. 

"  1.  Lancelot  Carleton  did  charge  Thomas  Musgrave  before 
the  Lords  of  her  Majesty's  Privy  Council,  that  Lancelot  Carle- 
ton was  told  by  a  gentleman,  one  of  her  Majesty's  swcrn  ser- 
vants, tliat  Tlion^asMusgiave  had  offered  to  deliver  her  Majes- 
ty's Castle  of  Bewcastle  to  the  King  of  Scots  ;  and  to  witness 
the  same,  Lancelot  Carleton  had  a  letter  under  the  gentleman's 
own  hand  for  his  discharge. 

"  2.  He  chargeth  him,  that  whereas  her  Majesty  dtith  yearly 
bestow  a  great  fee  upon  him,  as  captain  of  Bewcastle,  to  aid 
and  defend  her  Majesty's  subjects  therein  :  Thomas  Musgrave 
hath  neglected  his  duty,  for  that  her  Majesty's  Castle  of  Bew- 
castle was  by  him  made  a  den  of  thieves,  and  an  harbour  and 
receipt  for  murderers,  felons,  and  all  sorts  of  misdemeanors. 
The  precedent  was  Cluintia  Whitehead  and  Runion  Blackburne. 

"  3.  He  chargeth  him,  that  his  office  of  Bewcastle  is  open 
for  the  Scotch  to  ride  in  and  tlirough,  and  small  resistance 
made  by  him  to  the  contrary. 

"Thomas  Musgrave  doth  deny  all  this  charge;  and  saith, 
that  he  will  prove  that  Lancelot  Carleton  doth  falsely  bely  him, 
and  will  prove  the  same  by  way  of  combat,  according  to  this 
indenture.  Lancelot  Carleton  hath  entertained  the  challenge; 
and  so,  by  God's  permission,  will  prove  it  true  as  before,  and 
bath  set  his  hand  to  the  same. 

(Signed)        "  Tho.mas  Musgrave. 

"Lancelot  Carleton." 


Note  3  0. 


He,  the  jovial  harper. — P.  39. 

The  person  here  alluded  to,  is  one  of  our  ancient  Border 
minstrels,  called  Rattling  Roaring  Willie.  This  soubriquet 
was  jirobably  derived  from  liis  bullying  disposition  :  being,  it 
would  seem,  such  a  roaring  boy,  as  is  frequently  mentioned  in 
old  plays.  While  drinking  at  Newmill,  upon  Teviot,  about 
five  miles  above  Hawick,  Willie  chanced  to  quarrel  with  one 
of  his  own  profession,  wlio  was  usually  distinguished  by  the 
odd  name  of  Sweet  Milk,  from  a  place  on  Rule  Water  so 
called.  They  retired  to  a  meadow  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Teviot,  to  decide  the  contest  with  their  swords,  and  Sweet 


1  Tlie  d.iy  of  the  Rood-fair  at  Jedburgh. 
SSirGUhert  EUiot  of  Stobs,  and  Scott  of  Falnash, 
TO 


Milk  was  killed  on  the  spot.  A  thorn-tree  marks  the  scene  of 
the  murder,  which  is  still  called  Sweet  Milk  Thorn.  Willie 
was  taken  and  e.xecuted  at  Jedburgh,  bequeathing  liis  name 
to  the  beautiful  Scotch  air,  called  "  Rattling  Roaring  Willie." 
Ramsay,  who  set  no  value  on  traditionary  lore,  published  a 
few  verses  of  this  song  in  the  Tea-Table  Jliscellaiiy,  carefully 
suppressing  all  which  had  any  coimection  with  the  hi>tory  of 
the  author  and  origin  of  the  piece.  In  this  case,  liowever, 
honest  Allan  is  in  some  degree  justified,  by  the  extreme  wortii- 
lessness  of  tlie  poetry.  A  verse  or  two  may  be  taken,  as  illus- 
trative of  the  history  of  Roaring  Willie,  alluded  to  in  tJie  fell 

"  Now  Willie's  gane  to  Jeddart, 

And  he's  for  the  rood-ilHij  ;i 
But  Stobs  and  young  Falnash^ 

They  follow'd  him  a'  the  way  ; 
They  follow'd  him  a'  the  way, 

They  sought  him  up  and  down, 
In  the  links  of  Ousenam  water 

Ti)ey  fand  him  sleeping  sound. 

"  Stobs  light  aff  his  horse. 

And  never  a  word  he  spak. 
Till  he  lied  Willie's  hands 

Fu'  fast  behind  his  back ; 
Fu'  fast  behind  his  back. 

And  down  beneath  his  kneoj 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  WiUie, 

When  sweet  milk^  gars  him  di« 

"  Ah  wae  light  on  ye,  Stobs  1 

An  ill  death  mot  ye  die  ; 
Ye're  the  first  and  foremost  man 

That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me  ; 
That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me. 

And  took  my  mare  me  frae : 
Wae  to  you.  Sir  Gilbert  EUio'  * 

Ye  are  my  mortal  fae  1 

"  The  lasses  of  Ousenam  Watei 

Are  rugging  and  riving  their  h^it 
And  a'  for  the  sake  of  WilUe^ 

His  beauty  was  so  fair ". 
His  beauty  was  so  fair. 

And  comely  for  to  see. 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  sweet  milk  gars  him  die  " 


IS^OTE  3  P. 

He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 
Of  Black  Lord  Jlrchibald's  battle-law  i 
In  the  Old  Douglas'  day. — P.  39. 

The  title  to  the  most  ancient  collection  of  Border  regulation 
runs  thus  : — "  Be  it  remembered,  that,  on  the  18lh  day  of  De 
cember,  1468,  Earl  William  Douglas  assembled  the  whole 
lords,  freeholders,  and  eldest  Borderers,  that  best  knowledge 
had,  at  the  college  of  TAnclouden  ;  and  there  he  caused  thesb 
lords  and  Borderers  bodily  to  be  sworn,  the  Holy  Gosjiol 
touched,  that  they,  justly  and  truly,  after  their  cunning, 
should  decrete,  decern,  deliver,  and  put  in  order  and  writing, 
the  statutes,  ordinances,  and  uses  of  marclse,  that  were  ordained 
in  Black  Jlrchibald  of  Douglas's  days,  and  Archibald  his 
son's  days,  in  time  of  warfare ;  and  they  came  again  to  him 
advisedly  with  tliese  statutes  and  ordinances,  which  were  in 
time  of  warfare  before.  The  said  Enrl  (Villiam,  seeing  the 
statutes  in  writing  decreed  and  delivered  by  the  said  lords  anil 

3  A  -irretched  pun  on  his  antagonist's  nam* 


74 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Borderer!!,  thought  them  right  speeilfnl  and  profitable  to  the 
Bordi-rs  ;  the  wliich  siattilc:),  ordinaneos,  and  points  of  warfare, 
he  look,  and  tlie  whole  lords  and  Borderers  he  eausi>d  hodily  to 
be  nwurii,  that  they  should  niaintuiu  and  sujiply  him  at  llwir 
goodly  )>o»or,  to  do  the  law  u|>on  tho'^c  that  shunlil  Im-ak  the 
statutes  underwritten.  Also,  the  said  Karl  ll'i/liiiin,  and 
lords,  and  eldest  Borderers,  made  certain  points  to  he  trexsoii  in 
time  of  warfare  to  be  useil,  which  were  no  Inrison  bid'ore  his 
.iine,  but  lu  be  treaiion  in  his  time,  aii<l  in  all  time  coming." 


Note  3  Q. 

The  Bloody  Heart  blazed  in  the  van, 
Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name. — P.  40. 

The  chief  of  this  potent  race  of  heroes,  about  the  date  of  the 
poem,  wa.s  Archibald  Douglas,  seventh  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man 
of  great  courage  and  activity.  The  Bloody  Heart  was  the 
Well-known  cognizance  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  assumed  from 
the  time  of  good  Lord  James,  to  whose  care  llobcrt  Bruce 
committed  his  heart,  to  be  carried  to  the  Holy  Laud. 


Note  3  R. 


And  Swinton  laid  his  lance  in  rest. 
That  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 
Of  Clarence's  Plantagcnet. — F.  40. 

At  the  battle  of  Beaug6,  in  France,  Thomas,  Duke  of  Clai^ 
ence,  brother  to  Henry  V.,  was  uiJion^ed  by  Sir  John  Swinton 
of  Swinton,  who  distinguished  him  by  a  coronet  set  with 
precious  stones,  which  he  wore  around  liis  helmet.  The  family 
of  Swinton  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  in  Scotland,  and  pro- 
duced many  celebrated  warriors.i 


Note  3  S. 


And  shouting  still,  A  Home !  a  Home ! — P.  40. 

The  Earls  of  Home,  as  descendants  of  the  Dunbars,  ancient 
Earls  of  March,  carried  a  lion  rampant,  argent ;  but,  as  a 
difference,  changed  the  color  of  the  shield  from  gules  to  vert, 
in  allusion  to  Greenlaw,  their  ancient  possession.  Tlie  slogan, 
or  war-cry,  of  this  powerful  family,  was,  "  A  Home !  a 
Home  !"  It  was  anciently  placed  in  an  escrol  above  the  crest. 
The  helmet  is  armed  with  a  lion's  head  erased  gules,  with  a 
cap  of  state  gules,  turned  up  ermine. 

The  Hepburns,  a  powerful  family  in  East  Lothian,  were 
Dsaally  in  close  alliance  with  the  Homes.  The  chief  of  this 
clan  was  Hepbuni,  Lord  of  Hailes  ;  a  family  which  terminated 
in  the  too  famous  Earl  of  Botliwell. 


Note  3  T. 

And  some,  with  many  a  merry  shout. 
In  riot,  revelry,  and  rent. 

Pursued  the  foot-ball  play. — P.  4L 

The  foot-ball  was  anciently  a  very  favorite  sport  all  through 
Scotland,  but  especially  npon  the  Borders.  Sir  John  Carmi- 
chael  of  Carmichael,  Warden  of  the  Middle  Marches,  was 
killed  in  IWX)  by  a  band  of  the  Armstrongs,  returning  from  a 
foot-ball  match.  Sir  Robert  Gary,  in  his  .Memoirs,  mentions 
a  great  meeting,  appointed  by  the  Scotch  riders  to  be  held  at 
Kelso  for  the  purpose  of  playing  at  foot-liall,  but  which  ter- 
minated in  an  incursion  npon  England.     At  present,  the  foot- 

Sefl  the  Battle  of  Halidon  Hill.    Sir  W.  Scott  waa  dejMendcJ  from  Sir 
Jclm  Sviiiton. — Ed. 


ball  ia  often  played  by  the  inhabitants  of  adjacent  paiisnea, 
or  of  the  opposite  banks  of  a  stream.  The  victory  is  con 
tested  with  the  utmost  fury,  and  very  serioun  accidents  ha\* 
sometimes  taken  place  in  the  struggle. 


Note  3  U. 


'  Twtzt  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 
Was  not  infreijuint,  nor  held  strange. 
In  the  old  liordcr-day. — P.  4L 

Notwithstanding  the  constant  wars  upon  the  Bordens,  an  . 
the  occasional  cruelties  which  marked  the  mutual  inroails 
the  inhabitants  on  either  side  do  not  appear  to  have  regarileii 
each  other  with  that  violent  and  personal  animosity,  which 
might  have  been  expected.  On  the  contrary,  like  the  out 
posts  of  hostile  armies,  they  often  carried  on  something  re 
sembling  friendly  intercourse,  even  in  the  middle  of  hostili- 
ties ;  and  it  it  evident,  from  various  ordinances  against  trade 
and  )iiterinarriagc~<,  between  English  and  Scottish  Borderers, 
that  tlie  governments  of  both  countries  were  jealous  of  theit 
cherishing  too  intimate  a  connection.  Froissart  says  of  both 
nations,  that  "  Englyshmen  on  the  one  party,  and  Scottes  on 
the  other  party,  are  good  men  of  warre  ;  for  when  they  meet, 
there  is  a  harde  fight  without  sjiarynge.  There  is  no  lioo 
\_truce']  between  thwn,  as  long  as  s|)ears,  swords,  axes,  or  dag 
gers,  will  endure,  bt»,.  'aye  on  cche  upon  uthtr;  and  whan 
they  be  well  beaten,  and  «.''at  the  one  party  hath  obtained  the 
victory,  they  then  glorifye  so  in  theyre  dedes  of  armies,  and 
are  so  joyfuU,  that  such  as  be  taken  they  shall  be  ransomed, 
or  that  they  go  out  of  the  felde  ;  so  that  shortly  eche  of  them 
is  so  content  with  other,  that,  at  their  departynge,  curtyslye 
they  will  say,  God  thank  yon." — Bekners'  Froissart,  vol. 
ii.  p.  153.  The  Border  meetings  of  truce,  wliich,  altliough 
places  of  merchandise  and  merriment,  often  witnessed  the  most 
bloody  scenes,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  descrijuion  in  the 
text.  They  are  vividly  portrayed  in  the  old  ballad  of  'he 
Reidsquair.  [See  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  L5.]  Both  parties 
came  armed  to  a  meeting  of  the  wardens,  yet  they  intermixed 
fearlessly  and  peaceably  with  each  other  in  mutual  sports  and 
familiar  intercourse,  until  a  casual  fray  arose  :  — 

"  Then  was  there  naught  but  bow  and  spear, 
And  every  man  pnll'd  out  a  brand." 

In  the  29th  stanza  of  this  canto,  there  is  an  attempt  to  ex- 
press some  of  the  mixed  feelings,  with  which  the  Borderers  n 
each  side  were  led  to  regard  tlieir  neighbors. 


Note  3  V. 


•  on  the  darkening  plain. 


J^oud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran. 
As  hands  their  stragglers  to  regain. 

Give  the  shrill  watchword  of  their  clan. — P.  41. 

Patten  remarks,  with  bitter  censure,  the  disorderly  conduct 
of  the  English  Borderers,  who  attended  the  Protector  Somei^ 
set  on  his  expedition  against  Scotland.  "  As  we  wear  then  a 
setling,  and  the  tents  a  setting  up,  among  all  things  els  com- 
mendable in  our  hole  journey,  one  thing  seemed  to  me  an 
intollerable  disorder  and  abuse  :  that  wherea-s  always,  both  in 
all  tonnes  of  war,  and  in  all  campes  of  armies,  quietness  and 
stilncs,  without  nois,  Ls,  principally  in  the  night,  after  the 
watch  is  set,  observed  (I  need  not  reason  why),  our  northern 
prikers,  the  Borderers,  notwilhstandyiig,  with  great  cnorinitie 
(as  thought  me),  ami  not  unlike  (to  be  playn)  unto  a  masteries 
liounde  howlyng  in  a  hie  way  when  he  hath  lost  him  he  waited 
ufion,  sum  hoopynge,  sum  whistlyng,  and  most  with  crying,  A 
Berwyke,  a  Berwyke '  A  Fenwyke,  a  Fenwyke-!  A  Bulmer, 
a  Bulmer !   or  so  ootherwise  as  the)T  captains  names  wear, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


1o 


never  liii'ile  these  troublous  and  dangerous  noyses  all  the 
j  nyglite  longe.  They  s.-iiil,  they  did  it  to  find  their  captain  and 
fellows  ;  but  if  tlie  souldiers  of  our  oother  countreys  and  sheres 
iiud  used  the  same  maner,  in  that  case  we  should  have  oft 
times  had  the  state  of  our  campe  more  like  the  outrage  of  a 
dissolute  huiityng,  than  the  quiet  oi"  a  well  ordered  armye.  It 
is  a  feat  of  war,  in  mine  opinion,  that  might  right  well  be  left. 
I  could  reherse  causes  (but  yf  I  take  it,  they  are  better  unsjio- 
ken  than  uttred,  unless  the  faut  wear  sure  to  be  amended)  that 
might  shew  thei  move  alweis  more  peral  to  our  armie,  but  in 
their  one  nyght's  so  doynge,  than  they  shew  good  service  (as 
Bome  sey)  in  a  hoole  vyage." — Jipud  Dalzell's  Fragments, 
i>.  75. 


Note  3  W. 


To  see  how  thou  the  chase  couldst  leind, 
Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound  on  his  way, 
And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray. — P.  45. 

The  pursuit  of  Border  marauders  was  followed  by  the  in- 
jured party  and  liis  friends  with  blood-hounds  and  bugle-horn, 
and  was  called  the  hot-trod.  He  was  entitled,  if  his  dog  could 
trace  the  scent,  to  Ibllow  the  invaders  into  the  opposite  king- 
dom ;  a  privilege  which  often  occasioned  bloodshed.  In  addi- 
tion to  what  has  been  said  of  the  blood-hound,  1  may  add, 
that  the  breed  was  kept  up  by  the  Buccleuch  family  on  their 
Border  estates  till  within  the  18th  century.  A  person  was 
alive  in  the  memory  of  man,  who  remembered  a  blood-hound 
being  kept  at  Eldinhope,  in  Eltriek  Forest,  for  whose  main- 
tenance the  tenant  had  an  allowance  of  meal.  At  that  time 
the  sheep  were  always  watched  at  night.  Upon  one  occasion, 
when  the  duty  had  fallen  on  the  narrator,  then  a  lad,  he  be- 
came exhausted  with  fatigue,  and  fell  asleep  upon  a  bank, 
near  sun-rising.  Suddenly  he  was  awakened  by  the  tread  of 
horses,  and  saw  five  men,  well  mounted  and  armed,  ride 
briskly  over  the  edge  of  the  hill.  They  stopped  and  looked  at 
the  flock ;  but  the  day  was  too  far  broken  to  admit  the  chance 
of  their  carrying  any  of  them  oft".  One  of  them,  in  spite, 
leaped  from  his  horse,  and  coming  to  the  she])lierd,  seized 
him  by  the  belt  he  wore  round  his  waist ;  and,  setting  his  foot 
upon  his  body,  pulled  it  till  it  broke,  and  carried  it  away 
whh  him.  They  rode  off  at  the  gallop  ;  and,  the  shepherd 
giving  the  alarm,  the  blood-hound  was  turned  loose,  and  the 
people  in  the  neighborhood  alarmed.  The  marauders,  how- 
ever, escaped,  notwithstanding  a  sharp  pursuit.  This  circum- 
stance serves  to  show  how  very  long  the  license  of  the  Borderers 
continued  in  some  degree  to  manifest  itself. 


Note  3  X. 


She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell. — P.  46. 

Popular  belief,  though  contrary  to  the  doctrines  of  the  Church, 
made  a  favorable  distinction  betwixt  magicians,  and  necroman- 
cers, or  wizards  ;  the  former  were  supposed  to  command  the 
evil  spirits,  and  the  latter  to  serve,  or  at  least  to  be  in  league 
and  compact  with,  those  enemies  of  mankind.  The  arts  of 
subjecting  the  demons  were  manifold  ;  sometimes  the  fiends 
were  actually  swindled  by  the  magicians,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
bargain  betwixt  one  of  their  number  and  the  poet  Virgil.  Tlie 
classical  reader  will  doubtless  be  curious  to  peruse  this  anec- 
dote : — 

"  Virgilius  was  at  scole  at  Tolenton,  where  he  stodyed  dyly- 
gently,  for  he  was  of  great  understandynge.  Upon  a  tyme, 
the  scolers  had  lycense  to  go  to  play  and  sprote  them  in  the 
fyldes,  after  the  usance  of  the  old  tyme.     A  nd  there  was  also 


Virgilius  therbye,  also  walkynge  among  the  hylles  aUe  about. 
It  fortuned  he  S[iyed  a  great  hole  in  the  syde  of  a  great  hyll, 
wherein  he  went  so  depe,  that  lie  culd  not  see  no  more  lyglit ; 
and  than  he  went  a  lytell  farther  therein,  and  than  he  saw 
some  lyght  egayne,  and  than  he  went  fourth  streyghte,  and 
within  a  lytell  wyle  after  he  harde  a  voyce  that  called  '  Vir- 
gilius!  VirgiUus!'  and  looked  aboute,  and  he  colde  nat  see 
no  body.  Than  sayd  he  (i.  e.  the  voice),  '  Virgilius,  see  ye 
not  the  lytell  borde  lying  besyde  you  there  marked  with  Jiat 
word  1'  Than  answered  Virgilius,  'I  see  that  bonle  well 
anough.'  The  voice  said,  '  Doo  awaye  that  borde,  and  lette 
me  out  there  atte. '  Than  answered  Virgilius  to  the  voice  that 
was  under  the  lytell  borde,  and  sayd,  '  Who  art  thou  thai 
callest  me  so  V  Than  answered  the  devyll,  '  I  am  a  devyll 
conjured  out  of  the  bodye  of  a  certeyne  man,  and  banysshed 
here  tyll  the  day  of  judgmend,  without  that  I  be  delyvered 
by  the  handes  of  men.  Thus,  Virgilius,  I  pray  the,  delyver 
me  out  of  this  payn,  and  I  shall  shewe  unto  the  many  bokes 
of  negromancye,  and  how  thou  shall  come  by  it  lyghsly,  and 
know  the  praetyse  therein,  that  no  man  in  the  scyence  of  ne- 
gromancye shall  passe  the.  And  moreover,  I  shall  shewe  and 
enforme  the  so,  that  thou  shall  have  alle  thy  desyre,  whereby 
methinke  it  is  a  great  gyfte  for  so  lytyll  a  doyng.  For  ye  may 
also  thus  all  your  power  frendys  helpe,  and  make  ryche  youj 
enemyes.'  Thorough  that  great  promyse  was  Virgilius  tempt- 
ed ;  he  badde  the  fynd  show  the  bokes  to  hyni,  that  he  might 
have  and  occupy  them  at  his  wyll ;  and  so  the  fynde  shewed 
him.  And  than  Virgilius  pulled  open  a  borde,  and  there  was 
a  lytell  hole,  and  thereat  wrang  the  devyll  out  like  a  yell,  and 
cam  and  stode  before  Virgilius  lyke  a  bygge  man;  whereof 
Virgilius  was  astonied  and  marveyled  greatly  thereof,  that  so 
great  a  man  myght  come  out  of  so  lytyll  a  hole.  Than  sayd 
Virgilius,  '  Shulde  ye  well  passe  into  the  hole  that  ye  cam  out 
of?'— 'Yea,  I  shall  well,'  said  the  devyl.— '  I  holde  the  best 
plegge  that  I  have,  that  ye  shall  not  do  it.' — '  Well,'  sayd  the 
devyll,  '  tliereto  I  consent.'  And  than  the  devyll  wrange 
himselfe  into  the  lytyll  hole  agene ;  and  as  he  was  therein, 
Virgilius  kyvered  the  hole  ajeyne  with  the  borde  close,  and 
so  was  the  devyll  begyled,  and  myght  nat  there  come  out 
agen,  but  abydeth  shytte  styll  therein.  Than  called  the  devyll 
dredefully  to  Virgilius,  and  said,  '  What  have  ye  done,  Vir- 
gilius ?' — Virgilius  answered,  '  Abyde  there  styll  to  your  day 
appoynted  ;'  and  fro  Ihens  forth  abydeth  he  there.  And  so 
Virgilius  became  very  connynge  in  the  praetyse  of  the  black 
scyence. ' ' 

This  story  may  remind  the  reader  of  the  Arabian  tale  of  the 
Fisherman  and  the  imprisoned  Genie ;  and  it  is  more  than 
probable,  that  many  of  the  marvels  narrated  in  the  life  of  Vir- 
gil, are  of  Oriental  extraction.  Among  such  I  am  disposed  to 
reckon  the  following  whimsical  account  of  the  foundation  of 
Naples,  containing  a  curious  theory  concerning  the  origin  of 
the  earthquakes  with  which  it  is  afflicted.  Virgil,  who  was  a 
person  of  gallantry,  had,  it  seems,  carried  off  the  daughter  of  a 
certain  Soldan,  and  was  anxious  to  secure  his  prize. 

"  Tlian  he  thought  in  his  mynde  how  he  myghte  marye  hyr, 
and  thought  in  his  mynde  to  fonnde  in  the  middes  of  the  see 
a  fayer  towne,  with  great  landes  belongynge  to  it ;  and  so  he 
did  by  his  cnnnynge,  and  called  it  Napells,  And  the  fanda- 
cyon  of  it  was  of  egges,  and  in  that  town  of  Napells  he  made 
a  tower  with  iiii  cornel's,  and  in  the  toppe  he  set  an  apell  upon 
an  yron  yarde,  and  no  man  culde  pull  away  that  apell  without 
he  brake  it ;  and  thoroughe  that  yren  set  he  a  bolte,  and  in  that 
bolte  set  he  a  egge.  And  he  lienge  the  apell  by  the  stauke 
upon  a  cheyne,  and  so  hangeth  it  still.  And  when  the  egge 
styrreth,  so  shulde  the  towne  of  Napells  quake  ;  and  whan 
the  egge  brake,  then  shnlde  the  towne  sinke.  Whan  he  had 
made  an  ende,  he  lette  call  it  Napells."  This  appears  to  have 
been  an  article  of  current  belief  during  the  middle  ages,  as  ap- 
pears from  the  statutes  of  the  order  Du  Saint  Esprit  au  droit 
desir,  instituted  in  1352.  A  chapter  of  the  knights  is  appointed 
to  be  held  annually  at  the  Castle  of  the  Enchanted  Egg,  near 
the  grotto  of  Virgil. — Montfaucon,  vol.  ii.  p.  329 


1G 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  W0KK8. 


Note  8  Y. 

.1  merlin  gat  upon  hrr  lerisi, 

HtlU  by  a  leash  of  silken  licist.—P.  46. 

A  merlin,  or  uparrow-liawk,  was  aotaally  carrit-d  by  lailic* 
of  rank,  as  a  fali-uii  wa.t,  in  lime  ul'iMace,  tlir  t'OM>iant  attrnil- 
am  of  a  kniglil  or  liaron.  Kit-  Latham  oh  FnUvnnj. — God»- 
ir.i:[  r  r.  s  tlint  when  Mary  of  l^rrainr  was  n-gi-nl,  ftir  |ir<»»ed 
til"  Kill  uT  Anj;iu  to  admit  a  royal  garrii>on  into  liis  Ca>.tlo  of 
Taiitall»n.  To  tliis  he  tvtunicil  nu  ilin-ct  answer;  but,  as  if 
d|>o>itro|ilii/inj;  a  (,'o»-h,iwli,  wliivh  xat  on  his  wrist,  anil  which 
he  w;is  tVriliiig  iluring  the  Queen's  8j)eech,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Tlie  drNil's  in  tliifi  greedy  glede,  she  will  never  lie  lull." — 
IIi'Me's  History  of  the  Uomsc  of  Douglas,  17-13,  vol.  ii.  p. 
KII.  r!.>.r\'l,iy  eunijilaiiis  ol'  the  common  and  indecent  practice 
ol'  tjr:i'._'h!^  hawks  and  hounds  into  churches. 


Note  3  Z. 


And  prinee/ij  peacock's  gilded  train, 

Jlnd  o'er  the  boar-head  garnished  brave. — P.  47. 

The  peacock,  it  is  well  known,  was  considered,  daring  the 
times  of  chivalry,  not  merely  as  an  exqai^ilc  delicacy,  but  as  a 
dish  of  peculiar  solemnity.  After  being  roa-sted,  it  was  again 
decorated  with  its  plumage,  and  a  sponge,  dipped  in  lighted 
Bpiriu  of  wine,  was  placed  in  its  bill.  When  it  was  introduced 
on  days  of  grand  festival,  it  was  the  signal  for  the  adventurous 
knights  to  take  upon  them  vows  to  do  some  deed  of  chivalry, 
"  before  the  peacock  and  tlie  ladies." 

The  boar's  head  was  also  a  usual  dish  of  feudal  splendor. 
In  Scotland  it  was  sometimes  surrounded  with  little  banners, 
disjilaying  the  colors  and  achievements  of  the  baron  at  whose 
buunl  it  was  served. — Pinkerton's  Histonj,  vol.  i.  p.  432. 


Note  4  A. 


Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Ilunthill. — P.  47. 
The  Ruiherfords  of  Ilunthill  were  an  ancient  race  of  Border 
Lairds,  whose  names  occur  in  history,  sometimes  as  defending 
the  frontier  against  the  English,  sometimes  as  disturbing  the 
peace  of  their  own  country.  Dickon  Draw-lhe-svvord  was  son 
to  the  ancient  warrior,  called  in  tradition  the  Cock  of  Iluutliill, 
remarkable  for  leading  into  battle  nine  sons,  gallant  warriors, 
all  sons  of  the  aged  champion.  Mr.  Rutherford,  late  of  New 
York,  in  a  letter  to  the  editor,  soon  after  these  songs  were  first 
published,  quoted,  when  upwards  of  eighty  years  old,  a  ballad 
apparently  the  same  with  tiie  Raid  of  the  Reid-square,  but 
which  apparently  is  lost,  except  the  following  lines : — 

"  Banid  Rutherfurd  he  was  fu'  stoat, 
With  all  his  nine  sons  him  about. 
He  brought  the  lads  of  Jedbrught  out, 
And  bauldly  fought  that  day." 


Note  4  B. 

bit  his  glove. — P.  47. 

I  o  bite  the  thumb,  or  tlie  glove,  secma  not  to  have  been  con- 

1  Fmusart  relate),  thtt  a  Icnight  of  the  hotiaclioM  of  the  Comtc  do  Foix 
•xbibited  a  timilar'fcat  of  itrcnr"!!.  T' -^  hall-fire  liad  waxed  low,  and 
wood  wai  wanted  to  mer.I  it.  ■.■■  nt  down  to  the  court-yard, 

There  stood  an  as*  laden  wi:'  1  on  tbe  animal  and  burden, 

ind,  carr}*ing  him  up  to  the  hoU  lii  L-s  anoulders,  tumbled  bim  into  the 
chimney  wiib  bia  hc^la  uppermost :  a  humane  pleaaaotry,  much  applauded 
by  ll  '.    'I  the  apeclaton. 

3  ■■  ■  niooD,"  aa  Fabtaff  would  have  said.    The  vocation 

punu.-i  .  jitc  lent  Borderera  may  be  justified  on  the  authority  of  the 

*iQ>;«t  p"l!]i'i.'d  of  the  ancient  nationa:  "For  the  Grecians  in  old  time,  and 
inch  Lorbahana  aa  in  the  continent  lived  neere  unto  the  s^n,  or  else  inhab- 
ited the  talanda,  after  9&ce  Ibey  began  to  cioaae  orer  one  to  another  in 


■idrred,  upon  the  Bonier,  as  a  gesture  of  contempt,  though  ao 
used  by  Bhakupean-,  but  a.s  a  pledge  of  mortal  n-venge.  It  ia 
yet  rrmeniben-tl,  that  a  \oiiiig  gentleman  ol'Teiiotdale,  on  the 
morning  after  a  hani  drinkiii;;-liout,  oltM-rvi-d  that  he  had  hitti-u 
his  gluvi'.  lie  iiiHtantly  il<  inuiided  of  his  eonipuuiun  witli 
whom  he  hid  c|utim'lleil  ?  And.  Ic-irning  that  ho  had  had 
worls  with  one  of  the  parly,  insiitted  on  iiiHtant  aatislaclion, 
aaserling,  that  thuugh  he  remembered  nothing  of  the  dispute, 
yet  he  wai  sure  ho  never  would  have  bit  his  glove  unlraa  he 
had  receive<l  some  unpardonable  insult.  He  fell  in  llie  duel, 
which  was  fought  near  Selkirk,  in  1?21. 


Note  4  C. 
Since  old  Bucelcueh  the  name  did  gain, 
When  in  the  clcuch  the  buck  was  ta'en. — P.  47. 
A  tradition  jireserved  by  Scott  of  Hatchells,  who  published, 
in  1688,  Jl  true  Histonj  of  the  liight  Honorntile  name  of  Scott, 
gives  the  following  romantic  origin  of  that  name.  Two  bretli- 
ren,  natives  of  Galloway,  having  been  banished  from  that 
country  for  a  riot,  or  insurrection,  came  to  Ranklebnrn,  in  Et- 
trick  Forest,  where  the  keeper,  whose  name  was  Brydone,  re- 
ceived them  joyfully,  on  account  of  their  skill  in  winding  the 
horn,  and  in  the  other  mysteries  of  the  chase.  Kenneth  Mac- 
Alpin,  then  King  of  Scotland,  came  soon  afti-r  to  hunt  in  the 
royal  forest,  and  pursued  a  buck  from  Eltrick-heugh  to  the 
glen  now  called  Buckcleuch,  about  two  miles  above  the  junc- 
tion of  Rankleburn  with  the  river  Kttrick.  Here  the  stag  stood 
at  bay  ;  and  the  King  and  his  attendants,  who  followed  on 
horseback,  were  thrown  out  by  the  steepness  of  the  hill  and  the 
morass.  John,  one  of  the  brelliren  from  Galloway,  had  fol- 
lowed the  chase  on  foot ;  and,  now  coming  in,  seized  the  buck 
by  the  horns,  and,  being  a  man  of  great  strength  and  activity, 
threw  him  on  his  back,  and  ran  with  his  burden  about  a  mile 
up  the  steep  hill,  to  a  pl.ace  called  Cracra-Cross,  where  Ken- 
neth had  halted,  and  laid  the  buck  at  the  sovereign's  fect.t 

"  The  deer  being  cnreed  in  that  place, 

At  his  Majesty's  demand, 
Then  John  of  Galloway  ran  apace, 

And  fetched  water  to  his  hand. 
The  King  did  wash  into  a  dish. 

And  Galloway  John  he  wot ; 
He  said,  '  Thy  name  now  after  this 

Shall  ever  be  called  John  Scott. 

"  '  The  forest  and  the  deer  therein, 

We  commit  to  thy  hand  ; 
For  thou  shall  sure  the  ranger  be, 

If  thou  obey  command  ; 
And  for  the  buck  thou  stoutly  brought 

To  us  up  that  stee]i  bench, 

Thy  designation  ever  shall 

Be  John  Scott  in  Buckscleoch.' 

•  ••••• 

"  In  Scotland  no  Buckcleuch  was  then. 

Before  the  buck  in  the  cleuch  was  slain  , 

Night's  men'  at  firvt  they  did  appear, 

Becanse  moon  and  stars  to  their  arms  they  bear. 

Their  crest,  supporters,  and  hunting-horn. 

Show  their  beginning  from  hunting  came ; 

ships,  became  theeves,  and  went  abroad  under  the  conduct  of  their  more 
f'ui&s^'nt  itmn,  both  to  enrich  themselves,  and  to  feU^h  in  maintenance  for 
the  weak :  and  falling  upon  tou-ns  unfortified,  or  scatterinply  inhabit,?d, 
rifled  them,  and  made  this  the  best  means  of  thenr  living ;  lioing  a  matter  at 
that  time  nowhere  in  disgrace,  but  rather  cany  ing  with  it  tome  thing  of  glory. 
This  is  manifest  by  some  that  dwell  opon  the  continent,  amon^vt  whom,  so 
it  be  performed  nobly,  it  is  still  esteemed  as  an  ornament.  The  same  is 
also  proved  by  some  of  the  ancient  poets,  who  introduced  men  questioning 
of  such  as  sail  by,  on  all  coasts  alike,  whether  they  be  theeves  or  not;  as  a 
Ihyng  nej-lher  scorned  by  snch  as  were  asked,  nor  upbraided  by  those  tha* 
were  desirous  to  know.  They  also  robbed  one  another,  within  the  moui 
land ;  and  much  of  Greece  nseth  that  old  custome,  aa  the  Locriant  th* 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


I"! 


Tlieir  name,  and  style,  the  book  doth  say, 
John  gained  them  both  into  one  day." 

Watt's  Bcllendcn. 

The  Buccleuch  arms  have  been  altered,  and  now  allnde  less 
pointedly  to  this  hunting,  whether  real  or  fabulous.  The  fa- 
mily now  bear  Or,  upon  a  bend  azure,  a  mullet  betwixt  two 
crescents  of  the  field  ;  in  addition  to  whicli,  they  fonnerjy  bore 
in  the  field  a  hunting-horn.  Tlie  supportei-s,  now  two  ladies, 
were  formerly  a  hound  and  buck,  or,  according  to  the  old 
terms,  a  kart  of  Itush  and  a  hart  of  greecc.  The  family  of 
Scott  of  Howpasley  and  Thirlestaine  long  retained  the  bugle- 
horn  ;  they  ai.so  carried  a  bent  bow  and  arrow  in  the  sinister 
cantle,  perhaps  as  a  difference.  It  is  said  the  motto  was — 
Best  riding  by  moonlight,  in  allusion  to  the  crescents  on  the 
shield,  and  perhaps  to  the  habits  of  those  who  bore  it.  The 
motto  now  given  is  Amo,  applying  to  the  female  supporters. 


Note  4  D. 


-old  Albert  Ormme, 


The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name. — P.  48. 

"  John  Grieme,  second  son  of  Malice,  Earl  of  Monteith, 
commonly  surnamed  John  with  the  Bright  Sword,  upon  some 
displeasure /isen  against  him  at  court,  retired  with  many  of  his 
clan  and  kindred  into  the  English  Borders,  in  tlie  reign  of  King 
Henry  the  Fourtli,  wliere  they  seated  themselves;  and  many 
of  their  posterity  have  continued  there  ever  since.  Mr.  Sand- 
ford,  speaking  of  them,  says  (which  indeed  was  applicable  to 
most  of  the  Borderers  on  botli  sides),  '  They  were  all  stark 
moss-troopers,  and  arrant  thieves  :  Both  to  England  and  Scot- 
and  outlawed  ;  yet  sometimes  connived  at,  because  they  gave 
intelligence  forth  of  Scotland,  and  would  raise  400  horse  at  any 
time  upon  a  raid  of  the  English  into  Scotland.  A  saying  is  re- 
corded of  a  mother  to  her  son  (which  is  now  become  prover- 
bial), Ride,  Rowley,  hough^s  V  the  pot :  that  is,  the  last  piece 
of  beef  was  in  the  pot,  and  therefore  it  was  high  time  to  go  and 
fetch  more.'  " — Introduction  to  the  History  of  Cutnbtrlund. 

The  residence  of  the  Griemes  being  chiefly  in  the  Debatea- 
ble  Land,  so  called  because  it  was  claimed  by  both  kingdoms, 
their  depredations  extended  both  to  England  and  Scotland, 
with  impunity  ;  for  as  both  wardens  accounted  them  the  pro- 
per subjects  of  their  own  prince,  neither  inclined  to  demand 
reparation  for  their  excesses  from  the  opposite  officers,  which 
would  have  been  an  acknovvledgment  of  his  jurisdiction  over 
them. — See  a  long  correspondence  on  this  subject  betwixt  Lord 
Dacre  and  the  English  Privy  Council,  in  Introduction  to  His- 
tory of  Cumberland.  The  Debateable  Land  was  finally  divid- 
ed betwixt  England  and  Scotland,  by  commissioners  appointed 
by  both  nations. 1 


Note  4  E. 

The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall. — P.  48. 

This  burden  is  adopted,  with  some  alteration,  from  a:  old 
Scottish  song,  beginning  thus  : — 

"  She  lean'd  her  back  against  a  thorn, 
The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wa'  : 
And  there  she  has  her  young  babe  born, 
And  the  lyon  shall  be  lord  of  a'." 

Acamanians,  and  those  of  the  continent  in  that  quarter,  unto  thia  day. 
Moreover,  the  fashion  of  wearing  iron  remaineth  yet  with  the  people  of  tliat 
continent,  from  their  old  trade  of  thieving." — Hobbes'  Thucydides,  p.  4. 
Lond. 

1  See  various  note8  in  the  Minstrelsy. 

2  The  tomb  of  Sir  William  St.  Clnir,  on  which  he  appears  sculptured  in 
armor,  with  a  greyhound  at  his  feet,  is  still  to  be  seen  in  Roslin  chapel. 
The  person  who  shows  it  always  tells  the  story  of  his  hunting  match,  with 


Note  4  F. 

fVho  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame? — P.  48. 

The  gallant  and  unfortunate  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Sur- 
rey, was  uncjuestionably  the  most  accomplished  cavalier  of  his 
time  ;  and  his  sonnets  display  beauties  which  would  do  honor 
to  a  more  polished  age.  He  was  beheaded  on  Tower-hill  in 
1546;  a  victim  to  the  mean  jealousy  of  Henry  VIII.,  who 
could  not  bear  so  brilliant  a  character  near  his  throne. 

The  song  of  the  supposed  bard  is  founded  on  an  incident  said 
to  have  happened  to  the  Earl  in  his  travels.  Cornelius  Agrij)- 
pa,  the  celebrated  alchemist,  showed  him,  in  a  looking-glass, 
the  lovely  Geraldine,  to  whose  service  he  had  devoted  his  pen 
and  his  sword.  The  vision  represented  her  as  indisjjosed,  and 
reclining  upon  a  couch,  reading  her  lover's  verses  by  the  light 
of  a  waxen  taper. 


Note  4  G. 
The  storm-swept  Orcades : 


Where  erst  St.  Clairs  held  princely  sway. 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay. — P.  49. 

The  St.  Clairs  are  of  Norman  extraction,  being  descended 
from  William  de  St.  Clair,  second  son  of  Walderne  Compte  de 
St.  Clair,  and  Margaret,  daughter  to  Richard  Duke  ot  Nor- 
mandy. He  was  called,  for  his  fair  dejiortmeiit,  the  Seemly 
St.  Clair;  and,  settling  in  Scotland  during  the  reign  of  Mai 
colm  Caenmore,  obtained  large  grants  of  land  in  Mid-Lothian. 
These  domains  were  increased  by  the  liberality  of  succeeding 
monarchs  to  the  descendants  of  the  family,  and  comprehended 
the  baronies  of  Rosline,  Pentland,  Cowsland,  Cardaine,  and 
several  others.  It  is  said  a  large  addition  was  obtained  from 
Robert  Bruce,  on  the  following  occasion  : — The  King,  in  fol- 
lowing the  chase  upon  Pentlaad-hills,  bad  olten  started  a 
"white  faunch  deer,"  which  had  always  escaped  from  his 
hounds  ;  and  he  asked  the  nobles,  who  were  assembled  around 
him,  whether  any  of  them  had  dogs,  which  they  thought  might 
be  more  successful.  No  courtier  would  aflirm  that  his  hounds 
were  fleeter  than  those  of  the  king,  until  Sir  William  St.  Clair 
of  Rosline  unceremoniously  said,  he  would  wager  his  head  that 
his  two  favorite  dogs,  Help  and  Hold,  would  kill  the  deer  be- 
fore she  could  cross  the  March-burn.  The  King  instantly 
caught  at  his  unwary  oft'cr,  and  betted  the  forest  of  Pentland- 
moor  against  the  life  of  Sir  William  St.  Clair.  All  the  hound.'i 
were  tied  up,  except  a  few  ratches,  or  slow-hounds,  to  put  up 
the  deer ;  while  Sir  William  St.  Clair,  posting  himself  in  the 
best  situation  for  slipjiing  liis  dogs,  prayed  devoutly  to  Chri.st, 
the  blessed  Virgin,  and  St.  Katherine.  Tlie  deer  was  siiortly 
after  roused,  and  the  hounds  slipped  ;  Sir  William  following 
on  a  gallant  steed,  to  cheer  his  dogs.  The  hind,  however, 
reached  the  middle  of  the  brook,  upon  which  tlie  hunter  threw 
himself  from  his  hor.se  in  despair.  At  this  critical  moment, 
however.  Hold  stopped  her  in  the  brook  ;  and  Helji.  coming 
up,  turned  her  back,  and  killed  her  on  Sir  William's  side 
The  King  descended  I'rom  the  hill,  embraced  Sir  William,  and 
bestowed  on  him  the  lands  of  Kirkton,  Logan-house,  Ti-in- 
craig,  &e.,in  free  forestrie.  Sir  William,  in  acknowledgment 
of  St.  Katherine's  intercession,  built  the  chapel  of  St.  Kathe- 
rine in  the  Hopes,  the  churchyard  of  which  is  still  to  be  seen. 
The  hill,  from  which  Robert  Bruce  beheld  this  memorable 
chase,  is  still  called  the  King's  Hill  ;  and  the  place  where  Sir 
William  hunted,  is  called  the  Knight's  Field.'-' — ^1/.S.  History 

some  addition  to  Mr.  Hay's  account ;  as  that  the  Knight  of  Rosline's  fright 
made  him  poetical,  and  that  in  the  last  emergency,  he  shouted,      ^ 
"  Iteip,  Haud,  an  ye  may. 
Or  Roslin  will  Irse  his  head  this  day." 
If  this  couplet  does  him  no  great  honor  as  a  poet,  the  conclusion  of  the 
story  does  him  still  less  credit.    He  set  his  foot  on  the  dog,  says  the  nar- 
rator, and  killed  him  on  the  spot,  saying  he  would  never  again  put  his  neck 
in  such  a  risk.     As  Mr.  Hay  does  not  mention  this  circumstance,  I  hope  it 
is  only  founded  on  the  couchant  posture  of  the  hound  on  tb")  nonumeut 


18 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOliKS. 


tf  the  Family  of  St.   Clair,  fry  RiriuRn  Aiiii'stis  Hav, 
Ctiiitin  vf  St,  Oftterirrr. 

Tliiit  ailvoiituruun  liiinuinan  iiinrri<Ml  Kli/.ul>i't)i,  itaii;;litor  uf  ; 
Malico  S|>ar,  Karl  of  Orkiiry  nml  Stratlnrni-,  in  wliov  right  | 
tlirir  xoii  Henry  wa.i,  in  lU7i),  onatoil  Kiirl  of  Drkiifv.  by  Unco, 
king  of  Norway.  His  title  wax  refugni/.etl  liy  tliu  Kings  of 
Scotland,  and  rt'inninml  wilh  hia  aucoiwotii  until  it  wai  an- 
nexed to  the  crown,  in  H71,  by  act  of  I'nrliann-nt.  In  cx- 
clian;;e  for  (his  earldom,  the  rni>tl<<  and  doinaiim  of  Ravens- 
crai:;,  or  Raven^heuch,  were  conferred  on  William  Saintclair, 
Earl  of  Cailhnesa. 


Note  4  H. 


Still  nods  their  palace  to  its  fall, 

Th<j  pride  and  sorrotp,  fair  Kirkirall. — P.  49. 

Tlio  Ca-stlo  of  Kirkwall  was  built  by  the  St.  Clairs,  while 
Earls  of  drkney.  It  was  dismantled  by  the  Earl  of  Caithness 
about  1C15,  having  been  garrisoned  against  the  government  by 
Robert  Stewart,  natural  son  to  the  Earl  of  Orkney. 

Its  ruins  aflbrded  a  sad  subject  of  contcinjilation  to  John, 
Master  of  St.  Clair,  who,  flying  from  his  native  country,  on 
account  of  his  ehare  in  the  insurrection  1715,  made  some  stay 
at  Kirkwall. 

"  I  had  occ.Tsion  to  entertain  my-self  at  Kirkwall  witli  the 
melancholy  prospect  of  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  the  scat  of 
the  old  Earls  of  Orkney,  my  ancestors  ;  and  of  a  more  melan- 
choly reflection,  of  so  great  and  noble  an  estate  as  the  Orkney 
and  Shetland  Isles  being  taken  from  one  of  them  by  James  the 
Thinl  for  faullrie,  after  his  brother  Alc.\ander,  Duke  of  Alba- 
ny, had  married  a  daughter  of  my  family,  and  for  protecting 
and  defemling  the  said  Alexander  against  the  King,  who  wish- 
ed to  kill  him,  as  he  had  done  his  youngest  brother,  the  Earl 
of  Mar;  and  for  which,  after  the  forfaultric,  he  gratefully 
divorced  my  forfaulted  ancestor's  sister ;  though  I  cannot  pei^ 
sDade  myself  that  he  had  any  misalliance  to  plead  against  a 
familie  in  whose  veins  the  blood  of  Robert  Bruce  ran  as  fresh 
as  in  his  own  ;  for  their  title  to  the  crowne  was  by  a  daughter 
of  David  Bruce,  son  to  Robert ;  and  our  alliance  was  by  mar- 
rying a  grandchild  of  the  same  Robert  Bruce,  and  daughter  to 
the  sister  of  the  same  David,  out  of  the  familie  of  Douglass, 
which  at  that  time  did  not  much  suUie  the  blood,  more  than 
my  ancestor's  having  not  long  before  had  the  honour  of  marry- 
ing a  daughter  of  the  King  of  Denmark's,  who  was  named 
Florentine,  and  has  left  in  the  town  of  Kirkwall  a  noble  mon- 
nment  of  the  grandeur  of  the  times,  the  finest  church  ever  I 
saw  entire  in  Scotland.  I  then  had  no  small  reason  to  think, 
in  that  unhappy  state,  on  the  many  not  inconsiderable  services 
rendered  since  to  the  royal  familie,  for  these  many  years  by- 
gone, on  all  occasions,  when  they  stood  most  in  need  of  friends, 
wliicli  they  have  thought  themselves  very  often  obliged  to  ac- 
knowledge by  letters  yet  extant,  and  in  a  style  more  like  friends 
iJian  souveraigns  ;  our  attachment  to  them,  without  any  other 
thanks,  having  brought  upon  ns  considerable  losses,  and  among 
others,  flint  of  our  all  in  Cromwell's  time;  and  lefl  in  that 
Lonilition  without  the  least  relief  except  what  we  found  in  our 
own  virtue.  My  father  was  the  only  man  of  the  Scots  nation 
who  had  courage  enough  to  protest  in  Parliament  against  King 
William's  title  to  the  throne,  which  was  lost,  God  knows  how  ; 
and  this  at  a  time  when  the  losses  in  the  eau.se  of  the  royall 
familie.  and  their  usual  gratitude,  had  scarce  left  him  bread  to 
maintain  a  numerous  familie  of  eleven  children,  who  had  soon 
after  sprung  up  on  him,  in  spi'c  of  all  which,  he  h.id  honoura- 
bly persisted  in  his  principle.  1  j-S-t,  those  things  considered, 
and  after  being  treated  as  I  was,  and  in  that  uiducky  state, 
when  objects  appear  to  men  in  their  true  light,  as  at  the  hour 
of  death,  cocid  I  be  blamed  for  making  some  bitter  reflections 
to  myself,  and  laughing  at  the  extravagance  and  unaccountable 
humour  of  men,  and  the  singnlaritie  of  my  own  case  (an  exile 
for  the  cause  of  the  Stuart  family),  when  I  ought  to  have 
known,  that  the  greatest  crime  I,  or  my  family,  could  have 


committed,  was  pentevering.  to  my  own  ilcstruction,  in  servinij 
the  royal  family  fuillifully,  though  obstinately,  nl'ler  ro  gn'at  a 
shatv  of  depn-snioii,  and  afl<-r  they  had  been  pleased  to  iloum 
in«  nnil  luy  fnmilio  to  starve. — .MS.  .Mimnim  -tf  John,  .Mii.'- 
tcr  of  St.  Clair. 


Note  4  I. 

vf  that  Sea-Snake,  tremendous  curl'd, 

hhoae  monstrous  circle  girds  the  tcortd. — P.  49. 

TUejormiinf^andr,  or  Snake  of  the  Oei-an,  whose  folds  sur^ 
routid  the  earth,  is  one  of  the  wilib-st  fictions  of  the  Edda.  tt 
was  very  nearly  caught  by  the  gofl  Thor,  who  wont  to  fish  for 
it  with  a  hook  haiteil  with  a  bnll's  head.  In  the  battle  be- 
twixt  the  evil  demons  and  the  divinities  of  O.lin,  which  is  to 
precede  the  Hngnaroclcr,  or  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  this  Snake 
is  to  act  a  conspicuous  part. 


Note  4  K. 
Of  those  dread  Maids,  whose  hideous  yell. — P.  49. 
These  were  the  Valeyriur,  or  Selectors  of  the  Slain,  dis- 
patched by  Odin  from  Valhalla,  to  choose  those  who  wi^re  to 
die,  and  to  distribute  the  contest.     Tliey  were  well  kuonn  to 
the  Englisli  reader  as  Gray's  Fatal  Sisters. 


Note  4  L. 


Of  Chiefs,  who,  giiidcd  through  the  gloom 

By  the  pale  death-tights  of  the  tomh, 

RansarkUl  the  graves  of  warriors  old. 

Their  falchions  wrench' d  from  corpses'  hold. — P.  49. 

The  northern  warriors  were  usually  entombed  with  their 
arms,  and  their  other  treasures.  Thus,  Angantyr,  before  com- 
mencing the  duel  in  which  he  was  slain,  stipulated,  that  if  he 
fell,  his  sword  Tyrfing  should  be  buried  with  him.  His  daugh- 
ter Hcrvor,  afterwards  took  it  from  his  tomb.  The  dialogue 
which  passeil  betwixt  her  and  Angantyr's  s[)irit  on  this  occa- 
sion has  been  often  translated.  The  whole  history  may  be 
found  in  the  Ilervarar-S.iga.  Indeed,  the  ghosts  of  the  north- 
ern warriors  were  not  wont  tamely  to  suffer  their  tombs  to  be 
plundered  ;  and  hence,  the  mortal  heroes  had  an  additional 
temptation  to  attempt  such  adventures  ;  for  they  held  nothing 
more  worthy  of  their  valor  than  to  encounter  supernatural  be- 
ings.— Bartiiolinus  Dc  causis  contcmpla  a  Danis  mortis, 
lib.  i.  cap.  2,  9,  10,  13. 


Note  4  M. 
Castle  Ravcnsheuch. — P.  50. 


A  large  and  strong  castle,  now  ruinous,  situated  betwixt 
Kirkaldy  and  Dysart,  on  a  steep  crag,  washed  by  tlie  Frith  o( 
Forth.  It  was  conferred  on  Sir  W^illiam  St.  Clair  as  a  slight 
compensation  for  the  earldom  of  Orkney,  by  a  charter  of  King 
James  III.  dated  in  1471,  and  is  now  the  property  of  Sir  James 
St.  Clair  Erskine  (now  Earl  of  Rosslyn),  repn^sentative  of  the 
family.  It  was  long  a  principal  residence  of  the  Barons  of 
Roslin. 


Note  4  N. 


Seem'd  all  on  fire  within,  around, 
J)rrp  sacristy  and  altar's  pale  ; 
Shone  every  pillar  foliage  bound, 
Jind  glimmer' d  all  the  dead  men's  mail. — P.  50. 
The  beautiful  chai>el  of  Roslin  is  still  in  tolerable  preserva- 
tion.    It  was  founded  in  144G,  by  William  St.  Clair,.  Prince  of 


OAney,  Duke  of  OWenburgh.  Earl  of  Cnitliness  and  Stiatli- 
eine.  Lord  St.  Clair,  Lord  Niddesdale.  Lord  Admiral  of  the 
Scottish  Seas,  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  SioUand,  Lord  Warden 
of  the  three  Marches,  Baron  of  Roslin,  Pentland,  Pentland- 
raoor,  &i  ,  Knight  of  the  Cockle,  and  of  the  Garter  (as  is 
affirmed),  High  Chancellor,  Chamberlain,  and  Lieutenant  of 
Scotland.  This  lofty  person,  whose  titles,  says  Godseroft, 
might  weary  a  Spaniard,  built  tlie  castle  of  Roslin,  where  lie 
resided  in  princely  splendor,  and  founded  the  chapel,  which  is  in 
the  most  rich  and  florid  style  of  Gothic  architecture.  Among 
the  profuse  carving  on  the  pillars  and  buttresses,  the  rose  is  fre- 
quently introduced,  in  allusion  to  the  name,  with  which,  how- 
ever, the  flower  has  no  connection  ;  the  etymology  Deing  Ross- 
liunlie,  the  promontory  of  the  linn,  or  watei^fall.  The  chapel 
is  said  to  appear  on  fire  previous  to  the  deatli  of  any  of  his  de- 
scendants. This  superstition,  noticed  by  Slezer,  in  his  Thea- 
trum  ScoticB,  and  alluded  to  in  the  text,  is  probably  of  Nor- 
wegian derivation,  and  may  have  been  imported  by  the  Earls 
of  Orkney  into  their  Lothian  dominions.  The  tomb-fires  of 
the  north  are  mentioned  in  most  of  the  Sagas. 

The  Barons  of  Roslin  were  buried  in  a  vault  beneath  the 
chapel  floor.  The  manner  of  their  interment  is  thus  described 
by  Father  Hay,  in  the  MS.  history  already  fjuoted. 

"  Sir  Wilaam  Sinclair,  the  father,  was  a  lewd  man.  He 
kept  a  miller's  daughter,  with  whom,  it  is  alleged,  he  went  to 
Ireland  ;  yet  I  think  the  cause  of  his  retreat  ■was  rather  occa- 
sioned by  the  Presbyterians,  who  vexed  liim  sadly,  because  of 
his  religion  being  Roman  Catholic.  His  son,  Sir  William,  died 
during  the  troubles,  and  was  inten-ed  in  the  chapel  of  Roslin 
the  very  same  day  that  the  battle  of  Dunbar  was  fought. 
When  ray  godfather  was  buried,  his  (i.  e.  Sir  William's)  corpse 
seemed  to  be  entire  at  the  opening  of  the  cave  ;  but  when  they 
came  to  touch  liis  body,  it  fell  into  dust.  He  was  laying  in 
his  armor,  with  a  red  velvet  cap  on  !iis  head,  on  a  flat  stone  ; 
nothing  was  spoiled  except  a  piece  of  the  white  furring  that 
went  round  the  cap,  and  answered  to  the  hinder  part  of  the 
/lead.  All  his  predecessors  were  buried  after  the  same  mari- 
ner, in  their  armor  :  late  Rosline,  my  good  father,  was  the  first 
that  was  buried  in  a  coffin,  against  the  sentiments  of  King 
James  tlie  Seventh,  who  was  then  in  Scotland,  and  several 
other  persons  well  versed  in  antiquity,  to  whom  my  mother 
would  not  hearken,  thinking  it  beggarly  to  be  buried  after  that 
manner.  The  great  expenses  she  was  at  in  burying  her  hus- 
band, occasioned  the  sumptuary  acts  which  were  made  in  the 
following  parliament." 


XOTE  4  0. 


For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan 

Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran. 

Who  spoke  tkc  spectre-hound  in  Man. — P.  5L 

The  ancient  castle  of  Peel-town,  in  the  Isle  of  Man,  is  sur- 
rounded by  four  churches,  now  ruinous.  Through  one  of  these 
chapels  there  was  formerly  a  passage  from  the  guard-room  of 
the  garrison.  This  was  closed,  it  is  said,  upon  the  following  oc- 
casion :  "  They  say,  that  an  apparition,  called,  in  the  Mankish 
language,  the  Maulhe  Doog,  in  the  shape  of  a  large  black 
spaniel,  with  curled  shaggy  hair,  was  used  to  haunt  Peel-eastle  ; 
and  lias  been  frequently  seen  in  every  room,  bnt  particularly  in 
the  guard-chamber,  where,  as  soon  as  candles  were  lighted,  it 
came  and  lay  down  before  the  fire,  in  presence  of  all  the  sol- 
diers, who,  at  length,  by  being  so  mucli  accustomed  to  the 
Bight  of  it,  lost  great  part  of  the  terror  thay  were  seized  with  at 


its  first  appearance.  They  still,  however,  retained  a  certain 
awe.  as  believing  it  was  an  evil  spirit,  which  only  waited  per- 
mission to  do  them  hurt ;  and,  for  that  reason,  forebore  swear- 
ing and  all  profane  discourse,  while  in  its  company.  But 
though  they  endured  the  shock  of  such  a  guest  when  altogether 
in  a  body,  none  cared  to  be  left  alone  with  it.  It  being  the 
custom,  therefore,  for  one  of  the  soldiers  to  lock  the  gates  of 
the  castle  at  a  certain  hour,  and  carry  the  keys  to  the  captain, 
to  whose  apartment,  as  I  said  before,  the  way  led  througli  the 
church,  they  agreed  among  themselves,  that  whoever  was  to 
succeed  the  ensuing  night  his  fellow  in  this  errand,  should  ac- 
company him  that  went  first,  and  by  this  means  no  man  would 
be  exposed  singly  to  the  danger;  for  I  forgot  to  mention,  tliat 
the  Mauthe  Doog  was  always  seen  to  come  out  from  that  pas- 
sage at  the  close  of  the  day,  and  return  to  it  again  as  soon  as 
the  morning  dawned  ;  which  made  ihcni  look  on  this  place  as 
its  peculiar  residence. 

"  One  night  a  fellow  being  drunk,  and  by  the  strength  of  his 
liquor  rendered  more  daring  than  ordinarily,  laughed  at  the 
simplicity  of  his  companions,  and,  though  it  was  not  his  turn 
to  go  with  the  keys,  would  needs  take  that  oflice  upon  him,  to 
testify  his  courage.  All  the  soldiers  endeavored  to  dissuade 
him  ;  but  the  more  they  said,  the  more  resolute  he  seemed,  and 
swore  that  he  desired  nothing  more  than  that  the  Jilauthc 
Doog  would  follow  him,  as  it  had  done  the  others ;  for  he 
would  try  if  it  were  dog  or  devil.  After  having  talked  in  a 
very  reprobate  manner  for  some  time,  he  snatched  up  the  keys, 
and  went  out  of  the  guard-room.  In  some  time  after  his  de- 
parture, a  great  noi.se  was  heard,  but  nobody  had  the  boldness 
to  see  what  occasioned  it,  till  the  adventurer  returning,  they 
demanded  the  knowledge  of  him  ;  but  as  loud  and  noisy  as  he 
had  been  at  leaving  them,  he  was  now  become  sober  and  silent 
enough  ;  for  he  was  never  heard  to  speak  more,  and  thouL'h 
all  the  time  he  lived,  which  was  three  days,  he  was  entreated 
by  all  wiio  came  near  him,  either  to  speak,  or,  if  he  could  not 
do  that,  to  make  some  signs,  by  which  they  might  understand 
what  had  happened  to  him,  yet  nothing  intelligible  could  be 
got  from  him,  only  that,  by  the  distortion  of  his  limbs  and  fea- 
tures, it  might  be  guessed  that  he  died  in  agonies  more  than  is 
common  in  a  natural  death. 

"  The  Mauthe  Doog  was,  however,  never  after  seen  in  the 
castle,  nor  would  any  one  attempt  to  go  through  that  passage  ; 
for  which  reason  it  was  closed  up,  and  another  way  made. 
This  accident  happened  about  three  score  years  since  ;  and  I 
heard  it  attested  by  several,  but  especially  by  an  old  soldier, 
who  assured  me  he  had  seen  it  oftener  than  he  had  then  hairs 
on  his  head." — Waldron's  Description  of  the  Isle  of  Man, 
p.  107. 


WOTE  4  P. 


St.  Bride  of  Douglas.— V.  51. 

This  was  a  favorite  saint  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  and  of  the 
Earl  of  Angus  in  particular,  as  we  learn  from  the  following 
passage: — "The  ftueen-regent  had  proposed  to  raise  a  rival 
noble  to  the  ducal  dignity  ;  and  discoursing  of  her  purpose  with 
Angus,  he  answered,  '  Why  not,  madam  ?  we  are  happy  that 
have  such  a  princess,  that  can  know  and  will  acknowledge 
mer.'s  services,  and  is  willing  to  recompense  it ;  but,  by  the 
might  of  God'  (this  was  his  oath  when  he  was  serious  and  in 
anger  ;  at  other  times,  it  was  by  St.  Bryde  of  Douglas),  '  if  he 
be  a  Duke,  I  will  be  a  Drake  !' — So  she  desisted  from  prosecu- 
ting of  that  purpose." — Godscroft,  vol.  ii.  p.  131. 


in  a  V  in  i  0  ii : 

A   TALE    OF    FLO  I)  DEN   FIELD.' 
IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


Alas !    that  Scottnli  maid  should  sing 

The  comhnt  where  her  lover  fell  ! 
That  Scottish  Bard  should  wake  the  string, 

The  triumph  of  our  foes  to  tell. 

Leydbn. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

Some  alterations  in  the  text  of  the  Introduction 
to  Marinion,  and  of  the  Poem  itself,  as  well  as 
v.iri(>u3  additions  to  the  Author's  Notes,  "will  be 
observed  in  this  Edition.  We  have  followed  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  interleaved  copy,  as  finally  revised 
by  liini  in  the  summer  of  1831. 

Tlie  preservation  of  the  original  MS.  of  the 
Poem  has  enriched  this  volume  with  numerous 
various  readings,  which  will  be  found  curious  and 
interesting. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

What  I  liavc  to  say  respecting  this  Poem  may 
be  briefly  told.  In  the  Introduction  to  the  "  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  I  have  mentioned  the  cir- 
cumstances, so  far  as  my  literary  life  is  concerned, 
wliich  induced  me  to  resign  the  active  pursuit  of 
an  honorable  profession,  for  the  more  precarious 
resources  of  hterature.  My  appointment  to  the 
Sheriffdom  of  Selkirk  called  for  a  chiuige  of  resi- 
dence. I  left,  therefore,  the  pleasant  cottage  I 
had  upon  the  .^ide  of  the  Esk,  for  the  "pleasanter 
banks  of  the  Tweed,"  in  order  to  comply  with  the 
law,  which  requires  that  the  SheriiY  shall  be  resi- 
dent, at  least  during  a  certain  number  of  months, 
within  his  jurisdiction.  We  fotmd  a  delightful  re- 
tirement, by  my  becoming  the  tenant  of  my  inti- 
mate friend  and  cousin-german,  Colonel  RusseU,' 
in  his  mansion  of  Aishestiel,  wliicli  was  unoccupied, 
dmbig  his  absence  on  military  service  in  India. 
The  house  was  adequate  to  our  accommodation, 
and  the  exercise  of  a  limited  hospitality.     T'; 

'  Published  in  4to,  XI  lis.  6d.,  Febrnar 


situation  is  imcommonly  beautiful,  by  tlic  side  of  a 
fine  river,  whose  streams  are  there  very  favorable 
for  angling,  surrounded  by  the  remains  of  natural 
woods,  and  by  liills  abounding  in  game.  In  point 
of  society,  according  to  the  heartfelt  phra.se  of 
Scripture,  we  dwelt  "  amongst  our  own  people  ;" 
and  as  the  distance  from  the  metroj)olis  was  only 
thirty  miles,  we  were  not  out  of  reach  of  our  Ed- 
inburgh friends,  in  wliich  city  we  spent  the  tcrm.i 
of  the  summer  and  winter  Sessions  of  the  Court, 
that  is,  five  or  six  mouths  in  the  year. 

An  important  circumstance  had,  about  the  same 
time,  taken  place  in  my  life.  Hopes  had  been 
held  out  to  me  from  an  influential  quarter,  of  a 
nature  to  relieve  me  from  the  anxiety  wliich  I 
must  have  otherwise  felt,  as  one  upon  tlie  preca- 
rious tenure  of  whose  own  life  rested  the  principal 
prospects  of  his  family,  and  especially  ns  one  who 
had  necessarily  some  dependence  upon  tlie  favor 
of  the  public,  which  is  proverbially  capricious; 
though  it  is  but  justice  to  add,  tliat,  in  my  own 
case,  I  have  not  fotmd  it  so.  Mr.  Pitt  had  express- 
ed a  wish  to  my  personal  friend,  the  Rig)  it  Hon- 
orable William  Dundas,  now  Lord  Clerk  Register 
of  Scotland,  that  some  fitting  opportunity  sliould 
be  taken  to  be  of  service  to  me ;  and  as  my  views 
and  wishes  pointed  to  a  future  rather  than  an  im- 
mediate provision,  an"  opportunity  of  accomplish- 
ing this  was  soon  found.  One  of  the  Principal 
Clerks  of  Session,  as  they  are  called  (official  per- 
sons who  occupy  an  important  and  responsible 
situation,  and  enjoy  a  considerable  income),  who 
had  served  upwards  of  thirty  years,  felt  himself^ 
from  age,  and  the  infirmity  of  deafness  with  which 
it  was  accompanied,  desirous  of  retiring  from  his 
"; 'ial   situation.     As   the  law  then   stood,  such 


2  Now   Major-Gcneral   Sir  Jamos  Russell,  K.   C.   B.- 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  viii.  pp.  133,  318. 


-Sea 


MARMION. 


81 


official  persons  were  entitled  to  bargain  with  theii" 
successors,  either  for  a  sum  of  money,  which  was 
usually  a  considerable  one,  or  for  an  interest  in  the 
emoluments  of  the  office  during  their  life.     My 
predecessor,  whose  services  had  been   unusually 
meritorious,  stipulated  for  the  emoluments  of  his 
office  during  liis  life,  while  I  shoidd  enjoy  the  sur- 
dvorship,  on  the  condition  that  I  discharged  the 
duties  of  the  office  in  the  mean  time.     ill-.  Pitt, 
however,  having  died  in  the  interval,  his  adminis- 
tration was  dissolved,  and  was  succeeded  by  tliat 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Fox  aud  Grenville  Min- 
istry.    My  affah  was  so  far*  completed,  that  my 
commission  lay  in   the   office   subscribed  by  his 
Majesty ;  but,  from  hurry  or  mistake,  the  interest 
of  my  predecessor  was  not  expressed  in  it,  as  had 
been  usual  in  such  cases.    Although,  therefore,  it 
only  requhed  payment  of  the  fees,  I  could  not  in 
honor  take  out  the  commission  in  the  present  state, 
since,  in  the  event  of  my  dying  before  him,  the 
gentleman  whom  I  succeeded  must  have  lost  the 
vested  interest  which  he  had  stipulated  to  retain. 
I  had  the  honor  of  an  interview  with  Earl  Spen- 
cer on  the  subject,  and  he,  in  the  most  handsome 
manner,  gave  dhectious  that  the  commission  should 
issue  as  originally  intended ;  adding,  that  the  mat- 
ter having  received  the  royal  assent,  he  regarded 
only  as  a  claim  of  justice  wliat  he  would  have 
willingly  done  as  an  act  of  favor.     I  never  saw 
Ml".  Fox  on  this,  or  on  any  other  occasion,  and 
never  made   any  appUcatiou  to  him,  conceiving 
that  in  doing  so  I  might  have  been  supposed  to 
express  political  opinions  contrary  to  those  which 
I  had  always  professed.     In  his  private  capacity, 
there  is  no  man  to  whom  I  would  have  been  more 
proud  to  owe  an  obligation,  had  I  been  so  distin- 
guislied. 

By  tliis  arrangement  I  obtained  the  survivor- 
ship of  an  office,  the  emoluments  of  wliich  were 
fully  adequate  to  my  wishes ;  and  as  the  law  re- 
specting the  mode  of  providing  for  superannuated 
officers  was,  about  five  or  six  years  after,  altered 
fi'om  that  which  admitted  the  aiTangemeut  of  as- 
sistant and  successor,  my  colleague  very  hand- 
somely took  the  opportunity  of  the  alteration,  to 
accept  of  the  retiring  annuity  provided  in  such 
cases,  aud  admitted  me  to  tlie  fuU  beuefit  of  the 
office. 

>  See  Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  4. 

2  "  Next  view  in  state,  prond  prancing  on  his  roan, 
Tlie  yoUlen-crested  hanglity  Marmion, 
Now  I'oigiiig  scrolls,  now  Ibremost  in  the  figlit, 
Not  i|uite  a  felon,  yet  but  half  a  linight, 
The  gihbet  or  tlie  field  prepared  to  grace  ; 
A  mighty  mixture  of  the  great  and  base. 
And  think'st  thou,  Scott !  by  vain  conceit  perchance, 
On  public  taste  lo  foist  thy  stale  romance, 
Though  Murray  with  his  Miller  may  combine 
To  yield  thy  muse  just  lialf-a-crown  per  line  % 
W 


But  although  the  certainty  of  succeeding  to  a 
considerable  income,  at  the  time  I  obtained  it, 
seemed  to  assure  me  of  a  quiet  harbor  in  my  old 
age,  I  did  not  escape  my  share  of  inconvenience 
from  the  contrary  tides  and  currents  by  which  we 
are  so  often  encoimtered  in  our  journey  through 
hfe.  Indeed,  the  publication  of  my  next  poetical 
attempt  was  prematurely  accelerated,  from  one  of 
those  unpleasant  accidents  which  can  neither  be 
foreseen  nor  avoided. 

I  had  formed  the  prudent  resolution  to  endeavor 
to  bestow  a  Uttle  more  labor  than  I  had  yet  done 
on  my  productions,  and  to  be  in  no  hmTy  again  to 
annovmce  myself  as  a  candidate  for  literary  fame. 
Accordingly,  particular  passages  of  a  poem,  which 
was  finally  called  "  Marmion,"  were  labored  with 
a  good  deal  of  care,  by  one  by  whom  much  care 
was  seldom  bestowed.  Whether  the  work  was 
worth  the  labor  or  not,  I  am  no  competent  judge ; 
but  I  may  be  permitted  to  say,  that  the  period  of 
its  composition  was  a  very  happy  one,  in  my  life ; 
so  much  so,  that  I  remember  with  pleasm-e,  at  this 
moment,  some  of  the  spots  in  which  particular  pas- 
sages were  composed.  It  is  probably  owing  to 
this,  that  the  Introduction  to  the  several  Cantos 
assumed  the  form  of  famihar  epistles  to  my  inti- 
mate friends,  in  which  I  alluded,  perhaps  more 
than  was  necessary  or  graceful,  to  my  domestic 
occupations  and  amusements — a  loquacity  which 
may  be  excused  by  those  who  remember,  that  I 
was  still  young,  light-headed,  and  happy,  and  that 
"  out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heai-t  the  mouth 
speaketh." 

Tlie  misfortunes  of  a  near  relation  and  friend, 
which  happened  at  this  time,  led  me  to  alter  my 
prudent  determination,  which  had  been,  to  use 
great  precaution  in  sending  this  poem  into  the 
world ;  and  made  it  convenient  at  least,  if  not  ab- 
solutely necessary,  to  hasten  its  pubUcation.  The 
pubhshers  of  "  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  em- 
boldened by  the  success  of  that  poem,  willingly  of- 
fered a  thousand  pounds  for  "  Marmion.'"  The 
transaction  being  no  secret,  affi:rded  Lord  Byron, 
who  was  then  at  general  war  with  all  who  blacked 
paper,  an  apology  for  including  me  in  his  satire, 
entitled  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers."* 
I  never  could  conceive  how  an  arrangement  be- 
tween an  author  and  his  publishers,  if  satisfactoi^ 

No  !  when  the  sons  of  song  descend  to  trade, 
Their  bays  are  sear,  their  former  laurels  fade. 
Let  such  forego  the  poet's  sacred  name, 
Who  rack  their  braias  for  lucre,  not  for  fame  ; 
Still  for  stern  Mammon  may  they  toil  in  vain ! 
And  sadly  gaze  on  gold  they  cannot  gain  ! 
Such  be  their  meed,  such  still  the  just  reward 
Of  prostituted  muse  and  hireling  bard  ! 
For  this  we  spurn  Apollo's  venal  son, 
And  bid  a  long  '  Good-night  to  Marmion.'  " 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  235-ft 


82 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


to  the  persona  concerned,  coulil  nffonl  mutter  of 
censure  to  any  third  party.  I  had  taken  no  unii- 
Biial  iir  iiHL;oiicrous  means  of  cii]uinoin>j^  the  value 
of  my  nurthaiidise — I  had  never  liiggled  a  mo- 
ment about  the  barjjain,  but  accepted  at  onco 
wlmt  I  considered  tlie  liand.some  oiler  of  my  i)nb- 
lijihers.  'nieso  gentlemen,  at  least,  were  not  of 
opinion  that  they  Imd  been  taken  advantage  of  iu 
the  tnuisactiou,  which  indeed  was  one  of  their  ()\\'n 
framing;  nn  the  ciuitrary,  the  sale  of  the  I'ocm 
was  so  for  beyond  their  expectation,  as  to  induce 
them  to  supply  the  Author's  cellars  with  what  is 
always  an  acceptable  present  to  a  young  Scottish 
housekeeper,  namely,  a  hogshead  of  excellent  claret. 
The  Poem  was  finished  in  too  much  haste,  to 
allow  me  mi  opportunity  of  softening  down,  if  not 
removing,  some  of  its  most  prominent  defects.  The 
nature  of  ihirmion's  guilt,  although  similar  mstan- 
ces  were  found,  and  might  be  quoted,  as  cxistuig 
in  feudal  times,  was  nevertheless  not  sufficiently 
Dcculiar  to  be  indicative  of  the  character  of  the 
period,  forgery  being  the  crime  of  a  commercial, 
rather  than  a  proud  and  warlike  age.  This  gross 
defect  ought  to  have  been  remedied  or  palliated. 
Yet  I  suft'ered  the  tree  to  lie  as  it  liad  fallen.  I 
remember  my  friend,  Dr.  Leyden,  then  in  the  East, 
■wrote  me  a  furious  remonstrance  on  the  subject. 

On  first  reading  thU  satire,  1809,  Scott  says,  "  It  is  funny 
enoogli  to  see  a  wliclp  of  a  jonng  Lord  Byron  abusing  me,  of 
wliose  circumstances  he  knows  notliing,  for  endeavoring  to 
scratch  out  a  living  witli  my  pen.  God  lielp  the  hear,  if  hav- 
ing liltle  else  to  eat,  he  must  not  even  sock  his  own  paws.  I 
can  assure  the  noble  imp  of  fame  it  is  not  my  fault  that  I  was 
not  bom  to  a  park  and  X.5000  a  year,  as  it  is  not  his  lordship's 
merit,  although  it  may  be  his  great  good  fortune,  that  he  was 
not  bora  to  live  by  his  literary  talents  or  success." — Life,  vol. 
iii.  p.  195. — See  also  Correspondence  with  Lord  Byron,  Ibid. 
pp.  395,  398. 

1  "  Marmion  was  first  printed  in  a  splendid  quarto,  price 
one  guinea  and  a  half.  The  2000  copies  of  this  edition  were 
all  disposed  of  in  less  than  a  month,  when  a  second  of  3000 
copies,  in  8vo.,  was  sent  to  press.  There  followed  a  third  and 
a  fourth  edition,  each  of  .3000,  in  1809 ;  a  fifth  of  2000,  early 
iu  1810  ;  and  a  sixth  of  3000,  in  two  volumes,  crown  8vo., 


I  have,  nevertheless,  always  been  of  opinion,  that 
corrections,  however  in  themselves  judifimis,  have 
a  bad  effect — after  publication.  An  author  is  nev- 
er so  decidedly  condemned  iis  on  his  own  confes- 
sion, and  may  long  find  apologists  and  partisans, 
\mtU  he  gives  up  his  own  cause.  I  w:ls  not,  there- 
fore, inclined  to  affortl  matter  for  censure  out  ot 
my  own  admissions;  and,  by  good  fortune,  the 
nove'ty  of  the  subject,  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  some 
force  and  vivacity  of  de^<criJ)tion  were  allowed  to 
atone  for  many  imperfections.  Tims  the  second 
experiment  on  the  jjublic  patience,  generally  the 
most  perilous, — for  the  public  'are  then  most  apt 
to  judge  with  rigor,  what  in  the  first  instance  they 
luid  received,  perhaps,  with  imprudent  gcnero.'-ity, 
— wius  in  my  case  decidedly  successful.  I  had  the 
good  fortime  to  pass  this  ordeal  favorably,  and  the 
return  of  sales  before  me  makes  the  copies  amoimt 
to  tliirty-sLX  thousand  printed  between  1808  and 
1825,  besides  a  considerable  sale  since  that  period.' 
I  sh.iU  here  pause  upon  the  subject  of  "  Marmion," 
and,  in  a  few  prefiitory  words  to  "  ITie  Lady  of 
the  Lake,"  the  last  poem  of  mine  which  obtained 
eminent  success,  I  will  continue  the  task  which  I 
have  imposed  on  myself  respecting  the  origin  of 
my  productions. 

Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830, 

with  twelve  designs  by  Singleton,  before  the  end  of  that  year; 
a  seventh  of  4000,  and  an  eighth  of  5000  copies  8vo.,  in  1811  ; 
a  ninth  of  3000  in  18 15;  a  tenth  of  500  in  1820;  an  clevei.th  of 
500,  and  a  twelfth  of  2000  copies,  in  foolscap,  both  in  1625. 
The  legitimate  sale  in  this  country,  therefore,  down  to  the 
time  of  its  being  included  in  the  first  collective  edition  of  his 
poeticil  works,  amounted  to  31,000  ;  and  the  aggregate  of  tliat 
sale,  down  to  the  period  at  which  I  am  writing  (May,  1836), 
may  be  stated  at  50,000  copies.  I  presume  it  is  right  for  me 
to  facilitate  the  task  of  future  historians  of  our  literature  by 
preserving  these  details  as  often  as  I  can.  Such  particulars 
respecting  many  of  the  great  works  even  of  the  last  century, 
are  already  sought  for  with  vain  regret ;  and  I  anticipate  no 
day  when  the  student  of  English  civilization  will  pass  without 
curiosity  the  contemporary  recejition  of  the  Tale  of  Floddea 
Field."— LocKHART,  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  66. 


MX  a  X  m  ion. 


TO    THE 
RIGHT     HONORABLE 

HENRY   LORD   MONTAGU,^ 

d'c.  d'c.  d'c. 

THIS  noiTANCE    IS    INSCRIBED   BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITIOK 

It  is  hardly  to  be  expected,  that  an  Author  whom  the  Public  have  honored  with  some  degree  of  ap 
pJause,  should  not  be  again  a  trespasser  on  their  kindness.  Yet  the  Author  of  Marmion  must  be  sup- 
posed to  feel  some  anxiety  concerning  its  success,  since  he  is  sensible  that  he  hazards,  by  this  second 
intrusion,  any  reputation  ivhich  his  first  Poem  may  have  procured  him.  The  present  story  turns  upon 
tfie  private  adventures  of  a  fictitious  character;  but  is  called  a  Tale  of  Flodden  Field,  because  the  hero's 
fate  is  connected  with  that  memorable  defeat,  and  the  causes  which  led  to  it.  The  design  of  the  Autlwr 
was,  if  possible,  to  apprize  his  readers,  at  the  outs-;t,  of  the  date  of  his  Story,  and  to  prepare  them  for 
the  manners  of  the  Age  in  which  it  is  laid.  Any  Historical  Narrative,  far  more  an  attempt  at  Epic 
composition,  exceeded  his  plan  of  a  Romantic  Tale ;  yet  he  may  be  permitted  to  hope,frmn  the  popularity 
ofTsE.  Lay  of  the  Last  '^iis&TVCEi^,  that  an  attempt  to  paint  the  manners  of  the  feudal  times,  upon  a 
broader  scale,  and  in  the  course  of  a  more  interesting  story,  will  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  Public. 

The  Poem  opens  about  the  commencement  of  August,  and  concludes  toith  the  defeat  of  Flodden,  9tk 
September,  1513. 

ASHESTIEL,  1808. 


iHarmxon. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FIRST. 


TO 
WILLIAM  STEWART  ROSE,  ESQ.a 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
November's  sky  is  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  is  red  and  sear : 
Late,  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn, 
That  hems  our  httle  garden  in, 
Low  in  its  dark  and  narrow  glen, 
You  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken, 
So  thick  the  tangled  greenwood  grew, 
So  feeble  triU'd  the  streamlet  through : 
Now,  murmm-ing  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen 
Through  bush  and  brier,  no  longer  green, 

'  Lord  Montagu  was  the  seconJ  son  of  Henry  Duke  of  Bnc- 
cleuch,  by  the  only  daughter  of  John  last  Duke  of  Montagu. 

2  For  the  origin  and  progress  of  Scott's  acquaintance  with 
Wr.  Rose,  see  Life,  vols.  ii.  iii    iv.  vi.     Part  of  Marmion 


An  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade, 
Brawls  over  rock  and  wild  cascade, 
And,  foaming  brown  with  doubled  speed, 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed. 

No  longer  Autumn's  glowing  red 
Upon  our  Forest  hiUs  is  shed  -^ 
No  more,  beneath  the  evening  beam. 
Fair  Tweed  reflects  their  purple  gleam ; 
Away  hath  pass'd  the  heather-bell 
•  That  bloom'd  so  rich  on  Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow  his  brow,  and  russet  bare 
Are  now  the  sister-heights  of  Yair. 
The  sheep,  before  the  pincliing  heaven, 
To  shelter'd  dale  and  down  are  driven, 
Where  yet  some  faded  herbage  pines, 
And  yet  a  watery  sunbeam  shines : 
In  meek  despondency  they  eye 
The  wither'd  sward  and  wintry  sky, 

was  composed  at  Mr.  Rose's  seat  in  the  New  Forest,  Ibid, 
vol.  iii.  p.  10. 
3  MS. — "  No  longer  now  in  glowing  red 

The  Ettericke-Forest  hiUs  are  clad," 


84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  far  benuatli  thoir  siininier  liill, 
Stray  sadly  by  Oleiikiniioii's  rill : 
Tlie  shepherd  sliifts  liis  mantle's  ft)ld, 
And  •WTups  liim  closer  from  the  cold ; 
His  dogs,  no  merry  circles  wheel, 
But,  shivering,  follow  at  his  heel ; 
A  cowering  glance  they  often  cast, 
As  deeper  moans  the  gathering  blast. 

My  imps,  though  hardy,  b<ild,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child. 
Feel  the  sad  influence  of  the  hour, 
And  wail  the  daisy's  vanished  flower ; 
Their  summer  gambols  tell,  ami  mourn. 
And  anxious  ask, — Will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gay. 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray? 

Yes.  prattlers,  yes.     The  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower ; 
Again  the  Lawihorn  shall  supply 
Tlic  garlands  you  delight  to  tie  ; 
The  iambs  upon  the  lea  shall  boimd. 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round. 
And  while  you  frolic  light  as  they, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day. 

To  mute  and  to  material  things 
New  life  reYoiving^^ummcr"T7rTngs ;' 

rs, 


TKe  genial  call  dead  Nature  TieZ 

And  in  her  glory  reappears. 

But  oh  !  my  country's  wintry  state 

"VMiat  second  spring  shall  renovate  ? 

What  powerful  call  shall  bid  arise 

The  buried  warlike  and  the  wise  ;' 

The  mind  that  thought  for  Britain's  weal, 

Tlie  hand  that  grasp'd  the  victor's  steel  ? 

The  vernal  sun  new  life  bestows 

Even  on  the  meanest  flower  that  blows ; 

But  vainly,  vainly  may  he  sliinc. 

Where  glory  weeps  o'er  Nelson's  shrine  ; 

1  "  The  '  chance  and  change'  of  nature, — the  vicissitades 
which  are  observable  in  the  moral  as  well  as  the  physical  part 
of  the  creation, — have  given  occasion  to  more  excjuisite  poetry 
than  any  other  general  subject.  The  author  had  before  made 
ample  use  of  the  sentiments  suggested  by  these  tojjics  ;  yet  he 
is  not  satisfied,  but  begins  again  with  the  same  in  his  first  in- 
troduction. The  lines  are  certainly  pleasing ;  but  they  fall,  in 
our  estimation,  far  below  that  beautiful  simile  of  the  Tweed 
which  he  has  introduced  into  his  former  poem.  The  Ai,  at. 
Tat  fia'S.ixKai  of  Moschus  is,  however,  worked  up  again  to  some 
advantage  in  the  following  passage; — 'To  mute,'  &c." — 
Monthly  Rev..  May,  1808. 

»  MS. — "  What  call  awakens  from  the  dead 

The  hero's  heart,  the  patriot's  head  T" 

•  MS. — "  Deep  in  each  British  bosom  wrote, 

O  never  be  those  name*  forgot !" 

•  Nelson. 

'  Copenhairen. 

•  MS  — "  T'lgg'd  at  subjection's  cracking  rein." 


And  vainly  pierce  the  solemn  gloor/i, 
That  shrouds,  0  Pitt,  thy  liallow'd  tomb  I 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 
O  never  let  those  names  depart !' 
Say  to  your  st)n.s, — Lo,  here  his  grave. 
Who  victor  died  on  Gaditc  wave  * 
To  him,  its  to  the  burning  levin, 
Short,  bright,  resistless  course  was  given. 
Where'er  his  country's  foes  were  f<jund, 
Wiis  heard  the  fated  thunder's  soimd, 
Till  burst  the  bolt  on  yonder  shore, 
Roll'd,  blazed,  destroy'd, — and  was  no  more. 

Nor  mourn  ye  less  his  pcrish'd  worth, 
Wlio  bade  the  conqueror  go  fortli. 
And  launch'd  that  thunderbolt  of  war 
On  Egypt,  Ilafnia,'  Trafalgar  ; 
Wlio,  born  to  guide  such  high  emprize. 
For  Britain's  weal  was  early  wise ; 
Alas !  to  whom  the  Almighty  gave, 
For  Britain's  sins,  an  early  grave ! 
Ilis  worth,  who,  in  his  mightiest  hour, 
A  bauble  held  the  pride  of  power, 
Spurn'd  at  the  sordid  lust  of  pelf, 
And  served  his  Albion  for  herself; 
Who,  when  the  frantic  crowd  amain 
Strain'd  at  subjection's  bursting  rein,* 
O'er  their  wild  mood  full  conquest  gain'd, 
The  pride,  he  would  not  crush,  restrain'd, 
Show'd  their  fierce  zeal  a  wortliier  cause,' 
And  brought  the  freeman's  arm,  to  aid  the  free- 
man s  laws. 

Had'st  thou  but  lived,  though  stripp'd  of 
power,* 
A  watchman  on  the  lonely  tower, 
Tliy  thrilling  trump  had  roused  the  land. 
When  fraud  or  danger  were  at  hand ; 
By  thee,  as  by  the  beacon-light. 
Our  pilots  had  kept  course  aright ; 
As  some  proud  column,  though  alone 


T  MS. — "  Show'd  their  bold  zeal  a  worthier  cause." 
"  This  paragraph  was  interpolated  on  the  blank  page  of  the 
MS.     We  insert  the  lines  as  they  apjjcar  there  : — 
"  O  had  he  lived,  though  stripp'd  of  power, 
Like  a  lone  watchman  on  the  tower, 
Uis  thrilling  trumpet  through  the  land 
Had  warn'd  when  foenien  were  at  hand. 
As  by  some  beacon's  lonely  light, 

{By  thee  our  conrsc  had  steer'd  aright ;  \ 
Our  steady  course  had  steer'd  aright ;  V 
Our  pilots  kept  their  course  aright ;  \ 

His  single  mind,  unbent  by  fate, 
Had  propp'd  hij  country's  tottering  weight ; 

As  some  \  >  column  left  alone, 

(  vast  J 

J  Had  propp'd  our  tottering  state  and  throne, 

/  His  strength  had  propp'd  our  tottering  throne, 

The  beacon  light  is  qucncb'-l  in  smoke. 

The  warder  fallen,  the  column  broke." 


MARMION. 


85 


Tliy  strength  liad  propp'd  the  tottering  throne  : 
Now  is  the  stately  c^'lumn  broke, 
The  beacon-light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 
Tlie  trumpet's  silver  sound  is  still, 
Tlie  warder  silent  on  the  hill  1 

Oh  think,  how  to  his  latest  day,' 
When  Death,  just  hovering,  claim'd  his  prey, 
With  Pahuure's  unalter'd  mood. 
Firm  at  his  dangerous  post  he  stood ; 
Each  call  for  needful  rest  repell'd, 
With  dying  hand  the  rudder  held, 
TUl  in  liis  fall,  with  fateful  sway, 
The  steerage  of  the  realm  gave  way  ! 
Then  while  on  Britain's  thousand  plains, 
One  unpolluted  church  remains, 
Wliose  peaceful  bells  ne'er  sent  around 
The  bloody  tocsin's  maddening  sound. 
But  still,  upon  the  hallow'd  day,"* 
Convoke  the  swains  to  praise  and  pray ; 
Wliile  faith  and  civil  peace  are  dear, 
Grace  this  cold  marble  with  a  t(>ar, — 
He,  who  preserved  them,  Pitt,  Ues  here  ! 

Nor  yet  suppress  the  generous  sigh. 
Because  his  rival  slumbers  nigh ; 
Nor  be  thy  requiescat  dumb. 
Lest  it  be  said  o'er  Fox's  tomb.^ 
For  talents  mourn,  untimely  lost. 
When  best  employ'd,  and  wanted  most ; 
Mourn  genius  high,  and  lore  profound, 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound ; 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine. 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine ; 
And  feelings  keen,  and  fancy's  glow, — 
They  sleejj  with  him  who  sleeps  below : 
And,  if  thou  mourn'st  they  could  not  save 
From  error  him  who  owns  this  grave, 

1  MS.—"  Yet  think  how  to  his  latest  day." 

2  MS.—"  But  still  apon  the  holy  day.'" 

3  In  place  of  this  couplet,  and  the  ten  lines  which  follow  it, 
tlie  original  MS.  of  Marraion  has  only  the  following  : — 

"  If  genius  high  and  judgment  sound. 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound, 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine. 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine. 
Could  save  one  mortal  of  the  herd 
From  error — Fox  had  never  err'd." 

"  While  Scott  was  correcting  a  second  proof  of  the  passage 
where  Pitt  and  Fox  are  mentioned  together,  at  Stanmore  Priory, 
in  April,  1807,  Lord  Abercorn  suggested  that  the  compliment 
to  the  Whig  statesman  ought  to  be  still  further  heightened,  and 
several  lines — 

'  For  talents  mourn  untimely  lost, 
When  best  employed,  and  wanted  most,'  &c. — 
were  added  accordingly.  I  have  heard,  indeed,  that  they  came 
from  the  Marquis's  own  pen.  Ballantyne,  however,  from  some 
inadvertence,  had  put  the  sheet  to  press  before  the  revise,  a.s  it 
is  called,  arrived  In  Edinburgh,  and  some  few  copies  got  abroad 
in  which   the  additional  couplets  were  omitted.     A  London 


Be  every  harsher  thought  suppress'd, 
And  sacred  be  the  last  Ions:  rest. 
Here,  where  the  end  of  eartlily  things 
Lays  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings ; 
Wliere  stiff  the  hand,  and  still  the  tongue, 
Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and  sung ; 
Jlcre,  where  the  fretted  aisles  prolong 
The  distant  notes  of  holy  song. 
As  if  some  angel  spoke  agen, 
"  All  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men  •" 
If  ever  from  an  English  heart, 
0,  here  let  prejudice  depart, 
And,  partial  feeUng  cast  aside,^ 
Record,  that  Fox  a  Briton  died  1 
When  Europe  crouch'd  to  France's  yoke, 
And  Austria  bent,  and  Prussia  broke. 
And  the  firm  Russian's  purpose  brave. 
Was  barter'd  by  a  timorous  slave. 
Even  then  dishonor's  peace  he  spurn' d, 
The  sullied  oUve-branch  return'd. 
Stood  for  his  country's  glory  fast. 
And  nail'd  her  colors  to  the  mast ! 
Heaven,  to  reward  his  firmness,  gave 
A  portion  in  tliis  honor'd  grave. 
And  ne'er  held  marble  in  its  trust 
Of  two  such  wondrous  men  the  dust.* 

With  more  than  mortal  powers  endow'd. 
How  liigh  they  soar'd  above  the  crowd ! 
Theirs  was  no  common  party  race,° 
Jostling  by  dark  intrigue  for  place  ; 
Like  fabled  Gods,  their  mighty  war 
Shook  realms  and  nations  in  its  jar ; 
Beneath  each  banner  proud  to  stand, 
Look'd  up  the  noblest  of  the  land, 
TUl  through  the  British  world  were  known 
The  names  of  Pitt  and  Fox  alone. 
Spells  of  such  force  no  wizard  grave 

journal  (the  Morning  Chronicle)  was  stupid  and  malignant 
enough  to  insinuate  that  the  author  had  his  presentation  cooies 
struck  off  with  or  without  them,  according  as  they  were  for 
Whig  or  Tory  hands.  I  mention  the  circumstance  now  only 
because  I  see  by  a  letter  of  Heber's  that  Scott  had  thought  it 
worth  his  while  to  contradict  the  absurd  charge  in  the  newsr 
papers  of  the  day." — LocKHART,  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  CI. 

*  MS. — "  And  party  passion  doil"'d  aside." 

6  "  The  first  epistolary  effusion,  containing  a  threnody  on 
Nelson,  Pitt,  and  Fox,  exhibits  a  remarkable  failure.  We  are 
unwilling  to  quarrel  with  a  poet  on  the  score  of  pohtics  ;  but 
the  manner  in  which  he  has  chosen  to  praise  the  last  of  these 
great  men,  is  more  likely,  we  conceive,  to  give  offence  to  li:s 
admirers,  than  the  most  direct  censure.  The  only  deed  for 
which  he  is  praised  is  for  having  broken  off  the  negotiation  for 
peace ;  and  for  this  act  of  firmness,  it  is  added.  Heaven  re- 
warded him  with  a  share  in  the  honored  grave  of  Pitt !  It  is 
then  said  that  his  errors  should  be  forgotten,  and  that  he  died 
a.  Briton — a  pretty  plain  insinuation  that,  in  the  author's  opin 
ion,  he  did  not  live  one  ;  and  just  such  an  encomium  as  he 
himself  pronounces  over  the  grave  of  his  villain  hero,  Mar- 
raion."— Jeffrey. 

s  MS. — "  Theirs  was  no  common  courtier  race.' 


86 


SCJOTTS  POETICAL  WORKS. 


E'er  framed  in  tlark  Tliessiiliun  cave, 

Tlnm;,'li  liis  roulil  drain  the  ocean  dry, 

And  force  t)ie  planets  from  tlie  nky.' 

niese  spells  are  spent,  and,  spent  with  these, 

The  wine  of  life  is  on  the  lees. 

(niniiH,  and  tiiste,  and  taK-nt  j^ono, 

PiiU'vei  minb'd  l:)et\e:dlVTIie  sic  me, 

Where — taniiiijj  tliouijht  to  liuman  pride ! — 

Tlie  miijhty  cliiefs  sleep  side  TJyauIoT 

Drop  ujMin  Fox's  j;rave  the  tear, 

Twill  trickle  to  his  rival's  bier; 

O'er  Pitt's  the  mournful  requiem  sound, 

And  Fox's  shall  the  notes  rebound. 

The  solemn  echo  seems  to  cry, — 

"  Here  let  their  discord  with  them  die. 

Speak  not  for  those  a  separate  doom, 

"VNIiom  Fate  made  Brothers  in  the  tomb ; 

But  search  the  land  of  living  men, 

Where  wilt  thou  finrl  thi^ir  li^^P,  fjgpn  J" 

Rest,  ardent  Spirits !  till  the  cries 
Of  dying  Xature  bid  you  rise ; 
Not  even  your  Britain's  groans  can  pierce 
Tlie  leaden  silence  of  your  hearse ; 
Tlien,  0,  how  impotent  and  vain 
This  grateful  tributary  strain ! 
Though  not  unmark'd  from  northern  clime, 
Ye  heard  the  Border  Minstrel's  rhyme : 
His  Gothic  harp  has  o'er  you  rung ; 
The  Bard  you  deign'd  to  praLse,  your  deatldess 
names  has  sung. 

Stay  yet,  illusion,  stay  a  while, 
My  wilder'd  faucy  still  begidle  ! 
From  tliis  high  theme  how  can  I  part, 
Ere  half  uuloaded  is  my  heart ! 
For  all  the  teara  e'er  sorrow  drew, 
And  all  the  raptures  fancy  knew. 
And  all  the  keener  rudi  of  blood, 
That  throbs  through  bard  in  bard-like  mood, 
"Were  here  a  tribute  mean  and  low, 
Though  all  their  mingled  streams  could  flow — 
Woe,  wonder,  and  sensation  high, 
In  one  spring-tide  of  ecstasy ! — 
It  will  not  be — it  may  not  last — 
The  vision  of  enchantment's  past : 

•  MS. — "  And  force  the  pale  moon  from  the  sky." 

*  "  Rpadcr  !  rememher  when  thou  wert  u  lad. 

Then  Pitt  was  all  ;  or,  if  not  all,  so  much, 
His  very  rival  almost  deem'd  him  such. 
We,  we  have  seen  the  intellectual  race 
Of  giants  !'tand,  like  Titans,  face  to  face  ; 
Athos  and  Ida,  with  a  da.'<liing  sea 
Of  eloquence  between,  which  flow'd  all  free, 
As  the  deep  billows  of  the  yKgein  roar 
Betwixt  the  Hellenic  and  the  Phrygian  shore. 
But  where  are  they — the  rivals  ! — a  few  feet 
Of  sullen  earth  divide  each  winding-^jheet. 
Mow  peaceful  and  how  powerful  is  '.he  grave 


Like  frostwork  in  tiie  morning  ray, 
Tlie  fancied  fabric  melts  away  ;* 
Kach  (Jotiiic  arch,  nicniorial-stono, 
And  long,  dim,  lofty  ai.-'le,  are  gone; 
And,  lingering  last,  deception  detir, 
The  choir's  liigh  sounds  die  on  my  ear. 
Now  8h)W  return  the  lonely  (h)wn, 
Tlie  silent  pastures  bleak  and  brown, 
Tlie  farm  begirt  with  coj)><(!w<M>d  wild, 
llie  ganib<jls  of  each  frolic  child. 
Mixing  their  shrill  cries  with  the  tone 
Of  Tweed's  dark  waters  rushing  on. 

Prompt  on  unequal  tasks  to  rim, 
Tlius  Nature  disciplines  her  son : 
Meeter,  she  says,  for  me  to  stray. 
And  waste  the  solitary  day. 
In  plucking  from  yon  feu  the  reed. 
And  watdi  it  floating  down  the  Tweed; 
Or  idly  list  the  shrilhng  lay, 
With  which  the  milkmaid  cheers  her  way, 
Marking  its  cadence  rise  and  fail, 
As  from  the  field,  beneath  her  j)ail. 
She  trips  it  down  the  uneven  dale  ; 
Meeter  for  me,  by  yonder  cairn. 
The  ancient  shepherd's  tale  to  learn ; 
lliough  oft  he  stop  in  rustic  fear,* 
Lest  his  old  legends  tire  the  ear  .  JfJ 

Of  one,  who,  in  his  simple  mind,  J^^  J  ^ 

May  boast  oflSoolifTdamTrtaste  refined. 

But  thou,  my  friend,  can'st  fitly  tell 
(For  few  have  read  romance  so  well). 
How  still  the  legendary  lay 
O'er  poet's  bosom  holds  its  sway ; 
How  on  the  ancient  minstrel  strain 
Time  lays  his  palsied  hand  in  vain ; 
And  how  our  hearts  at  doughty  deeds. 
By  warriors  wrought  in  steely  weeds, 
StUl  throb  for  fear  and  pity's  sake  ; 
As  when  the  Champion  of  the  Lake 
Enters  Morgana's  fated  house, 
Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous,   *• 
Despising  spells  and  demons'  force. 
Holds  converse  with  the  miburied  corse  ;* 
Or  when.  Dame  Ganore's  grace  to  move. 


Wliich  hushes  all !  a  calm  unstormy  wave 
Which  oversweeps  the  world.     The  theme  is  old 
Of  '  dust  to  dust ;'  but  half  its  tale  untold  ; 

Time  tempers  not  its  terrors." 

Byron's  ^ge  of  Bronze- 
3  "  If  but  a  beam  of  sober  reason  play, 

Lo  1  Fancy's  fairy  frostwork  melts  away." 

Rogers'  Pleasures  of  Jifemorv 
*  MS. — "  Though  oft  he  stops  to  wonder  still 
That  his  old  legends  have  the  skill 
To  win  so  well  the  attentive  ear, 
Perchance  to  draw  the  sigh  or  tear  " 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


CANTO  I. 


MARMION. 


87 


(Alas,  that  lawless  -was  their  love  !) 
He  sought  proud  Tarquin  in  his  den, 
And  free  full  sixty  knights ;  or  when, 
A  Sinful  man,  and  unconfess'd. 
He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest, 
And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high. 
He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye.' 

The  mightiest  cliiefs  of  British  song 
Scorn'd  not  such  legends  to  prolong : 
They  gleam  tlu-ough  Spenser's  elfin  dream. 
And  mix  m  Milton's  heavenly  theme ; 
And  Drydeu,  m  immortal  strain. 
Had  raised  the  Table  Round  again,' 
But  that  a  ribald  King  and  Court 
Bade  liim  toil  on,  to  make  them  sport ; 
Demanded  for  their  niggard  pay. 
Fit  for  their  souls,  a  looser  lay. 
Licentious  sathe,  song,  and  play  f 
The  world  defrauded  of  the  liigh  design,* 
Profaned  the  God-given  strength,  and  marr'd 
the  lofty  hue. 

Warm'd  by  such  names,  well  may  we  then, 
Though  dwindled  sons  of  little  men. 
Essay  to  break  a  feeble  lance 
In  the  fair  fields  of  old  romance  ; 
Or  seek  the  moated  castle's  cell. 
Where  long  tln-ough  taUsman  and  spell, 
Wliile  tyrants  ruled,  and  damsels  wept, 
Thy  Genius,  Chivalry,  hath  slept: 
There  sound  the  harpmgs  of  the  N'orth, 
Till  he  awake  and  sally  forth, 
On  ventm'ous  quest  to  prick  again. 
In  all  his  arms,  witli  all  his  train,'' 
Shield,  lance,  and  brand,  and  plume,  and  scarf, 
Fay,  giant,  dragon,  squire,  and  dwarf. 
And  wizard  with  liis  wand  of  might, 
And  errant  maid  on  palfrey  wliite. 
Aromid  the  Genius  weave  tlieir  spells. 
Pure  Love,  who  scarce  his  passion  tells; 
Mystery,  half  veil'd  and  half  reveal'd ; 
And  Honor,  with  liis  spotless  shield ; 
Attention,  with  fix'd  eye ;  and  Fear, 
That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  hear ; 


■  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


s  Ibid.  Note  C. 


3  MS. — "  Licentious  song;  lampoon,  and  play." 
*  MS.—"  Tlie  world  defrauded  of  the  bold  design, 

And  quench'd  tlie  heroic  I  fire,  and  marr'd  tlie 
Profaned  the  heavenly        )      lofty  line." 
Again, 

'  Profaned  his  God-given  strength,  and  man-'d  his  lofty  line." 
6  In  the  MS.  the  rest  of  the  passage  stands  as  follows  : — 

"  Around  him  wait  with  all  their  \  '^''''™s> 

'  spells. 

Pure  Love  which  |  ^"''"^  ""'^  "'"™^  ! 

'  scarce  his  passion  tells  ; 

Mystery,  half  seen  and  half  conceal'd  ; 
Aud  Honor,  with  unspotted  shield  ; 


And  gentle  Courtesy ;  and  Faith, 
Unchanged  by  sufferings,  time,  or  death  j 
And  Valor,  Hon-mettled  lord. 
Leaning  upon  liis  own  good  sword. 

Well  has  thy  fair  achievement  shown, 
A  worthy  meed  may  thus  be  won ; 
Ttene's'  oaks — beneath  whose  shade 
Their  theme  the  merry  minstrels  made, 
Of  Ascapart  and  Bevis  bold,' 
And  that  Red  Kmg,'  who,  while  of  old, 
Tlu-ough  Boldrewood  the  chase  he  led, 
By  his  loved  huntsman's  arrow  bled — 
Ytene's  oaks  have  heard  again 
Renew'd  such  legendary  strain ; 
For  thou  hast  sung,  how  He  of  Gaul, 
That  Amadis  so  famed  in  hall, 
For  Oriana,  foil'd  in  fight 
The  Necromancer's  felon  might ; 
And  well  in  modern  verse  hast  wove 
Partenopex's  mystic  love  ■? 
Hear,  then,  attentive  to  my  lay, 
A  knightly  tale  of  Albion's  elder  day. 


iH  a  r  m  i  0  It . 


CANTO  FIEST. 


^ite  Castle 


Day  set  on  Norham's  castled  steep,"* 
And  Tweed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep, 

And  Cheviot's  mountams  lone : 
The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep," 
The  loophole  grates,  where  captives  weep. 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 

In  yeUow  lustre  shone." 
The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high. 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky," 

Seem'd  forms  of  giant  height : 
Their  armor,  as  it  caught  the  rays. 

Attention,  with  fix'd  eye  ;  and  Feai, 

That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  Hear; 

And  gentle  Courtesy  ;  and  Faith, 

And  Valor  that,  despises  death." 
6  The  New  Forest  in  Hampshire,  anciently  so  called. 
'  See  Appendix,  ">  ote  D. 
8  William  Rufus. 

s  Partcnopex  de  Blois,  a  poem,  by  W.  S.  Rose,  Esq.,  wu 
published  in  1808.— Ed. 

•    See  Appendix,  Note  E.  Ibid.  Note  F. 

'2  In  the  MS.  the  first  line  has  "  hoary  keep  :"  the  fonnh 
"  donjon  steep  ;"  the  seventh  "  ruddy  lustre." 
13  MS.— "  Eastern  sty." 


88 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


1 


Flasli'd  back  again  the  western  blaze,' 


In  lines  of  dazzling  light. 


II. 


Saint  George's  banner,  broad  and  gay, 
Now  faded,  as  the  fading  ray 

Less  bright,  and  lesd,  was  flung ; 
The  evening  gale  luul  scarce  the  power 
To  wave  it  on  tlie  Donjon  Tower, 

So  lioavily  it  luing. 
The  scouts  had  p.nrted  on  their  search 

The  Castle  gates  were  barr'd  ; 
Above  the  gloomy  portal  areli, 
Timing  his  footsteps  to  a  march, 

The  Warder  kept  his  guard  ; 
Low  humming,  as  lie  paced  along, 
Some  ancient  Border  gathering  song. 

in. 

A  distant  trampling  sound  he  hears ; 
He  looks  abroad,  and  soon  appears, 
O'er  Horncliff-hill  a  plump"  of  spears, 

Beneath  a  pcnuon  gay  ; 
A  horseman,  darting  from  the  crowd. 
Like  lightning  from  a  summer  cloud. 
Spurs  on  his  mettled  courser  proud, 

Before  the  dark  array. 
Beneatli  the  sable  pali.sade, 
That  closed  the  Castle  barricade, 

His  bugle  horn  he  blew ; 
The  warder  hasted  from  the  wall. 
And  x^aru'd  the  Captain  in  the  liall. 
For  well  the  blast  he  knew ; 
And  joyfully  that  kniglit  did  call, 
To  sewer,  squire,  and  seneschaL 

IV. 

"  Now  broach  ye  a  pipe  of  Malvoisie, 

Bring  pasties  of  the  doe. 
And  quickly  make  the  entrance  free, 
And  bid  my  heralds  ready  be. 
And  every  minstrel  sound  liis  glee. 

And  all  our  trumpets  blow ; 
And,  from  the  platform,  spare  ye  not 
To  fire  a  noble  salvo-.sliot :' 

Lord  Mai'.mion'  waits  below !" 
Then  to  the  CiSnes  lower  ward 

Sped  forty  yeomen  tall, 
The  iron-studded  gates  unbarr'd, 

1  "  Evening  blaze." 

»  Til  is  word  properly  applies  to  a  flight  of  water-fowl ; 
b  applied,  by  analogy,  to  a  body  of  horse. 

"  There  is  a  knight  of  the  North  Country, 
Which  leads  a  Xxaiy  plump  of  spears." 

Flodden  Field. 

MS. — "  A  welcome  shot." 

*  MS. — "  On  his  brown  cheek  an  aznre  scar 
Bore  token  true  of  Bosworlh  war." 


but 


Raised  tlie  portcullis'  ponderous  guard, 
The  lofty  jjalisade  unsj)arr'd 
And  let  the  drawbridge  fall 

V. 
Along  the  bridge  Lord  ilarmion  rode, 
\  Proudly  his  retl-roun  ciiarger  trode. 
His  helm  hung  at  the  saddlebow  ; 
Well  by  his  visage  y(ju  might  know 
He  was  a  stalwortli  knight,  and  keen. 
And  had  in  many  a  battle  been ; 
llie  sc;ir  on  his  brown  cheek  rcveal'd* 
A  token  true  of  Boswortli  field ; 
His  eyebrow  dark,  and  eye  of  fire, 
Show'd  spirit  proud,  and  prompt  to  ire ; 
Yet  lines  of  thought  upon  his  cheek 
Did  deep  design  and  counsel  speak. 
His  forehead,  by  liis  casque  worn  bare, 
His  tliick  mustache,  and  curly  hair, 
Coal-black,  and  grizzled  here  and  there, 

But  more  through  toil  than  age ; 
His'^^qiTare'Turri'cVl^ifiTSrSncI  strength  of  limb^ 
Show'd  him  no  carpet  knight  so  trim. 
But  in  clo.se  fight  a  champion  grim. 
In  camps  a  leader  sage.* 

VL 

Well  was  he  arm'd  from  head  to  heel, 

In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel ;' 

But  liis  strong  helm,  of  mighty  cost. 

Was  all  with  bumish'd  gold  emboss'd: 

Amid  the  pliunage  of  the  crest, 

A  falcon  hover'd  on  her  nest. 

With  wings  outspread,  and  forward  breast ; 

E'en  such  a  falcon,  on  his  shield, 

Soar'd  sable  in  an  azure  field : 

The  golden  legend  bore  aright, 

ffa'lio  cljcclts  at  me,  to  Ucatf)  is  Uffltt.'' 

Blue  was  the  charger's  broider'd  rein ; 

Blue  ribbons  deck'd  liis  arching  mane ; 

Tlie  knightly  housing's  ample  fold 

Was  velvet  blue,  and  trapp'd  with  gold. 

VIL 
Behind  him  rode  two  gallant  squires. 
Of  noble  name,  and  knightly  su-es ; 
Tliey  bum'd  the  gilded  spurs  to  claim ; 
For  well  could  each  a  wjy-horse  tame, 
Could  draw  the  bow,  the  sword  could  sway, 

6  "Marmion  is  to  Deloraine  what  Tom  Jones  is  to  Jose,»li 
Andrews  :  the  varnisli  of  higher  breeding  nowhere  diminishe« 
the  prominence  of  the  features ;  and  the  minion  of  a  king  is 
a-s  light  and  sinewy  a  cavalier  as  the  Borderer— rather  lcs« 
ferocious— more  wicked,  not  less  fit  for  the  hero  of  a  ballad, 
and  much  more  so  for  the  hero  of  a  regular  poem."— Georoi 
Ellis. 

0  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

7  Ibid.  Note  H. 


CANTO  I.                                               MARMION.                                                        89 

And  lightly  bear  the  rin;j  away ; 

The  cannon  from  the  ramparts  glanced. 

Nor  less  with  courteous  precepts  stored, 

And  thundermg  welcome  gave. 

Could  dauce  iu  hall,  and  carve  at  board, 

A  blithe  salute,  in  martial  sort, 

And  frame  love-ditties  passing  rare, 

The  minstrels  well  might  sound. 

And  sing  them  to  a  lady  fan-. 

For,  as  Lord  Marmion  cross'd  tlie  court, 

He  scatter'd  angels  round. 

VIII. 

"  Welcome  to  Norham,  Marmion  1 

Four  men-at-arms  came  at  their  backs, 

Stout  heart,  and  open  hand ! 

With  halbert,  bill,  and  battle-axe : 

Well  dost  thou  brook  thy  gallant  roan, 

They  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong,' 

Thou  flower  of  English  land !" 

And  led  liis  sumpter-mules  along, 

And  ambling  palfrey,  when  at  need 

XL 

Him  listed  ease  his  battle-steed. 

Two  pursuivants,  whom  tabarts  deck, 

The  last  and  trustiest  of  the  four,    w,^^-^ 
On  high  liis  forlty  pennon  bore ; 

With  silver  scutcheon  round  their  neck, 

Stood  on  the  steps  of  stone. 

Like  swallow's  tail,  in  shape  and  hue,  ■ 

By  wliich  you  reach  the  donjon  gate, 

Flutter'd  the  streamer  glossy  blue, 

And  there,  with  herald  pomp  and  state. 

Where,  blazou'd  sable,  as  before. 

They  hail'd  Lord  Marmion  •? 

The  towering  falcon  seem'd  to  soar. 

They  hail'd  liim  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 

Last,  twenty  yeomen,  two  and  two. 

Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye, 

In  hosen  black,  and  jerkuis  blue, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town  :* 

With  falcons  broider'd  on  each  breast. 

And  he,  then-  courtesy  to  requite. 

Attended  on  their  lord's  behest. 

Gave  them  a  chain  of  twelve  marks'  weight, 

Each,  chosen  for  an  archer  good, 

All  as  he  hghted  down. 

luiew  hunting-craft  by  lake  or  wood ; 

"  Now,  largesse,  largesse,^  Lord  Marmion, 

Each  one  a  six-foot  bow  could  bend. 

Ivnight  of  the  crest  of  gold ! 

And  far  a  clotli-yard  shaft  could  send ; 

A  blazon'd  shield,  in  battle  won. 

Each  held  a  boar-spear  tough  and  strong. 

Ne'er  guarded  heart  so  bold." 

And  at  their  belts  their  qmvers  rung. 

Tlieir  dusty  jjalfreys,  and  array. 

XIL 

Show'd  they  had  march'd  a  weary  way. 

They  marshall'd  liim  to  the  Castle-haU, 

"VSTiere  the  guests  stood  aU  aside, 

IX. 

And  loudly  flourish'd  the  triunpet-call. 

'Tis  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  now. 

And  the  heralds  loutUy  cried. 

How  faudy  arm'd,  and  order'd  how. 

— "  Room,  lordlings,  room  for  Lord  Marmion, 

The  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

With  the  crest  and  helm  of  gold  1 

With  musket,  pike,  and  morion. 

Full  well  we  know  the  trophies  won 

To  welcome  noble  Marmion, 

In  the  lists  at  Cottiswold : 

Stood  in  the  Castle-yard  ; 

There,  vainly  Ralph  de  Wilton  strove 

Minstrels  and  truTnpeters  were  there. 

'Gainst  Marmion's  force  to  stand : 

The  gumier  held  liis  linstock  yare. 

To  him  he  lost  his  lady-love, 

For  welcome-shot  prepared : 

And  to  the  King  his  land. 

Enter'd  the  train,  and  such  a  clang," 

Om-selves  beheld  the  listed  field. 

As  then  through  all  his  turrets  ran», 

A  sight  both  sad  and  tah ; 

Old  Norham  never  heai'd. 

We  saw  Lord  Marmion  pierce  Ms  shield,* 

And  saw  his  saddle  bare  ; 

X. 

We  saw  the  victor  win  the  crest 

The  guards  their  monice-pikes  advanced. 

He  wears  with  worthy  pride ; 

The  trumpets  flom-ish'd  brave. 

And  on  the  gibbet-tree,  reversed, 

'•  MS.—  '   One  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong. 

inconsiderable  in  themselves,  have  the  effect  of  giving  troth 

Two  led  his  sumpter-mules  along, 

and  identity  to  the  picture,   and  assist  the  mind  in  realizing 

The  third  his  pallrey,  when  at  need." 

the  scenes,   m   a  degree   which  no  general   description  could 

2  MS. — "  And  when  he  enter'd,  such  a  clang 

suggest ;    nor  could  we  so  completely  enter  the  Castle  with 

As  through  the  echoing  turrets  rang." 

Lord  Marmion,   were  any  circumstances  of  the  description 

omitted. ' ' — British  Critic. 

s  "The  most  picturesque  of  all  poets,  Homer,  is  frequently 
minute,  to  the  utmost  degree,  in  the  description  of  the  dresses 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  I.                         5  Ibid.  Note  K. 

and  accoutrements  of  his  personages.     These  particulars,  often 
12 

6  MS.—"  Cleave  his  shield." 

- 
90                                        SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  l 

His  fijeiiiaii's  scutcheon  tied. 

XV. 

Place,  nobles,  for  the  Fulcon-Knijjht ! 

Tlie  Captain  mark'd  hi*  alter'd  l(X>k, 

llotMM,  rooni,  ye  gentles  guy, 

And  gave  a  wjiiire  the  si^n; 

For  him  who  conquer'd  hi  the  light, 

A  mighty  wassjiil-ljowl  he  took, 

^iirniion  of  Fontenaye  1" 

And  crown'd  it  hi^di  in  wine. 

"  Now  pledge  me  here.  Lord  JIanuion : 

XIII. 

But  first  I  pray  thee  fair,* 

Tlion  stepp'J  to  meet  tlmt  noblo  Lord 

Where  ha.nt  thou  left  that  ])age  of  thino. 

Sir  Uugh  the  Heron  bold, 

ITiat  used  to  serve  thy  cuj)  of  wine. 

Bjiron  of  Twi.-ell,  and  of  Ford, 

Whose  beauty  was  so  rare  ? 

And  Captain  of  the  Hold.' 

When  \:\»i  in  Haby  towers  we  met, 

He  led  Lord  Marniion  to  the  dens. 

Tlie  boy  I  closely  eyed, 

Kuised  o'er  the  pavement)  high, 

And  often  mark'd  his  cheeks  were  wet. 

And  placed  him  in  the  upper  place — 

With  tears  he  fain  would  hide : 

They  feasted  full  and  high : 

Hi.s  was  no  rugged  horse-boy's  hand. 

The  whiles  a  Northern  harjier  rude 

To  burnish  sliicld  or  sharpen  brand,* 

Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, 

Or  saddle  battle-steed ; 

"//ow    the  fierce    Thirwalls,    and    Ridleys 

But  mectcr  seemed  for  lady  fan-. 

all,'' 

To  fan  her  cheek,  or  curl  her  hair. 

Stout  Willimondswick, 

Or  tlirough  embroidery,  rich  and  rare, 

And  Ilardriding  Dick, 

Tlie  slender  silk  to  lead : 

And  llurjhie  of  JJawdon,   and    m,ll   o'    tJic 

His  .skin  wius  fair,  his  rmglets  gold. 

Wail, 

His  bosom — when  he  sigh'd. 

Have  set  on  Sir  Albany  Fcatherstonltaugh, 

Tlie  russet  doublet's  rugged  fold 

And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadman s-shaw'' 

Could  scarce  repel  its  pride  ! 

Scantily  Lord  Marmion's  ear  could  brook 

Say,  hast  thou  given  that  lovely  youth 

Tlie  liarper's  barbarous  lay ; 

To  serve  in  lady's  bower  ? 

Yet  much  he  pnaised  the  pains  he  took, 

Or  was  the  gentle  page,  in  sooth. 

And  well  those  pains  did  pay : 

A  gentle  paramour  ?" 

1    For  lady's  suit,  and  minstrel's  strain, 
•  By  knight  should  ne'er  be  heard  in  vain. 

XVL 

Lord  Marmion  ill  could  brook  such  jest  * 

He  roU'd  his  kindling  eye. 

XIV. 

With  pain  his  rising  wrath  suppress'd, 

"  Now,  good  Lord  Marniion,"  Heron  says, 

Yet  made  a  calm  rejily  : 

"  Of  your  fair  courtesy. 

"  That  boy  thou  thoughfst  so  go^idly  fair, 

I  pray  you  bide  some  little  space 

He  might  not  brook  the  northern  air. 

In  tills  poor  tower  with  me. 

More  of  liis  fate  if  thou  wouldst  learn. 

Here  may  you  keep  your  arms  from  rust, 

I  left  hun  .sick  in  Lindisfarn :' 

May  breathe  your  war-horse  well ; 

Enough  of  him. — But,  Heron,  say. 

Seldom  has  psiss'd  a  week  but  giust 

Wliy  does  thy  lovely  lady  gay 

Or  feats  of  arms  befell : 

Disdain  to  grace  the  hall  to  day  ? 

The  Scots  can  rein  a  mettled  steed ; 

Or  has  that  dame,  so  fair  and  sage. 

And  love  to  couch  a  spear ; — 

Gone  on  some  pious  pilgrim:ige  ?" — 

Saint  George !  a  stirring  life  they  lead, 

He  spoke  m  covert  scorn,  for  fame 

That  have  such  neighbirs  near. 

Whispcr'd  light  tales  of  Heron's  dame.* 

Then  stay  with  us  a  little  space, 

Our  northern  wars  to  learn ; 

XVIL 

•  I  pray  you,  for  yoiu*  lady's  grace  !" 

Unmark'd,  at  least  unreck'd,  the  taimt. 

Lord  Marmion's  brow  grew  stern. 

Careless  the  Knight  replied,' 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  L.                        '  Ibid.  Note  M. 

Is  come,  I  ween,  of  lineage  high. 

'  MS. — "  Jlnd  let  me  pray  thee  fair." 

And  of  thy  lady's  kin. 

*  MS. — "  To  rub  a  shield  or  sharp  a  brand." 

That  youth,  so  like  a  paramour, 

'  MS. — "  Lord  Marniion  ill  snch  jest  coald  brook. 

Who  wept  for  shame  and  pride. 

He  roll'd  hit  kindling  eye  ; 

Was  erst,  in  Wilton's  lordly  bower. 

Fix'd  on  the  Knight  his  dark  haaght  look. 

Sir  Ralph  de  Wilton's  bride.'  " 

And  answer'd  stem  and  high  : 

•  See  Note  2  B,  canto  ii.  stanza  1. 

'  That  page  thou  didst  so  closely  eye. 

MS. — "  Whispcr'd  strange  things  of  Heron's  dame. 

So  fair  of  hand  and  skin, 

>  MS.—"  The  Captain  gay  replied." 

CANTO  I.                                               MARMION.                                                        91 

"  No  bird,  whose  feathers  gayly  flaunt, 

Or  friar,  sworn  in  peace  to  bide ; 

Deliglits  in  cage  to  bide : 

Or  pardoner,  or  travelling  priest, 

Norhaui  is  grim  and  grated  close, 

Or  strolling  pilgrim,  at  the  least." 

Henim'd  in  by  battlement  and  fosse, 

And  many  a  darksome  tower  ; 

XXL 

And  better  loves  my  lady  bright 

The  Captain  mused  a  little  space. 

To  sit  in  liberty  and  light. 

And  pass'd  his  hand  across  his  face. 

In  fair  Queen  Margaret's  bower 

— "  Fain  would  I  find  the  guide  you  want. 

We  hold  oin-  greyhound  m  our  hand, 

But  ill  may  spare  a  pursuivant, 

Our  falcon  on  our  glove ; 

Tine  only  men  that  safe  can  ride 

But  where  shall  we  find  leash  or  bani:. 

Mine  errands  on  the  Scottish  side : 

For  dame  thai  loves  to  rove  ? 

And  though  a  bisliop  built  this  fort. 

Let  the  wild  falcon  soar  her  swmg, 

Few  holy  brethren  here  resort ; 

She'U  stoop  when  she  has  tked  her  wmg." — ' 

Even  om"  good  cliaplaui,  as  I  ween. 

Since  our  last  siege,  we  have  not  seen : 

XVIII. 

The  mass  he  might  not  sing  or  say, 

"  Nay,  if  with  Royal  James's  bride 

Upon  one  stinted  meal  a-day  ; 

The  lovely  Lady  Heron  bide, 

So,  safe  he  sat  in  Dm-ham  aisle. 

Behold  me  here  a  messenger, 

And  pray'd  for  our  success  the  while. 

Your  tender  greetings  prompt  to  bear ; 

Om-  Norham  vicai-,  woe  betide. 

For,  to  the  Scottish  court  addi-ess'd, 

Is  all  too  well  in  case  to  ride ; 

I  jom-ney  at  our  Kuig's  behest, 

The  priest  of  Shoreswood'' — he  could  rem 

And  pray  you,  of  your  grace,  provide 

The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train : 

For  me,  and  mine,  a  trusty  guide. 

But  then,  no  spearman  in  the  haU 

I  have  not  ridden  m  Scotland  since 

WiU  sooner  swear,  or  stab,  or  brawl. 

James  back'd  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 
Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit. 

Friar  John  of  TiUmouth  were  the  man 

5f"BIiffiesome  bi-offier' at  the  can. 

Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 

A  welcome  guest  in  hall  and  bower. 

Then  did  I  march  witli  Surrey's  power. 

He  knows  each  castle,  town,  and  tower. 

What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  tower." — * 

In  wliich  the  wine  and  ale  is  good. 

'Twixt  Newcastle  and  Holy-Rood. 

XIX. 

But  that  good  man,  as  ill  befalls. 

"  For  such-like  need,  my  lord,  I  trow, 

Hatli  seldom  left  our  castle  walls, 

Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow  ; 

Since,  on  the  vigd  of  St.  Bede, 

For  here  be  some  have  prick'd  as  far. 

In  evil  hour,  he  cross'd  the  Tweed, 

On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar ; 

To  teach  Dame  Alison  her  creed. 

Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 
And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale ; 

Old  Bughtrig  found  liim  witli  his  wife ; 

And  John,  an  efiemy  to  strife. 

Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods, 

Sans  frock  and  hood,  fled  for  liis  hfe. 

And  given  them  hght  to  set  then-  hoods." — ' 

Tlie  jealous  churl  hath  deejily  swore. 

That,  if  again  he  venture  o'er, 

XX. 

He  shall  shrieve  penitent  no  more. 

"  Now,  m  good  sooth,"  Lord  Marmion  cried, 

Little  he  loves  such  risks,  I  know ; 

"  Were  I  in  warlike  wise  to  ride. 

Yet,  in  yom-  guard,  perchance  will  go." 

A  better  guard  I  would  not  lack. 

Than  yom-  stout  forayers  at  my  back ; 

XXIL 

But,  as  in  form  of  peace  I  go. 

Young  Selby,  at  the  fair  hall-boai'd, 

A  friendly  messenger,  to  know. 

Carved  to  Ids  uncle  and  tljat  lord. 

Wliy  tln-ough  all  Scotland,  near  and  far. 

And  reverently  took  up  the  word. 

Their  Kmg  is  mustering  troops  for  war. 

"  I\jnd  uncle,  woe  were  we  each  one, 

The  sight  of  plundering  Border  spears 

If  harm  should  hap  to  brother  John, 

Mglit  justify  suspicious  fears. 

He  is  a  man  of  mirthful  speeeli. 

And  deadly  feud,  or  thirst  of  spoil. 

Can  many  a  game  and  gambol  teach : 

Break  out  in  some  miseemly  broil : 

Fidl  well  at  tables  can  he  play. 

A  herald  were  my  fitting  guide ; 

And  sweep  at  bowls  the  stake  away. 

'  MS. — "  She'll  stoo|)  ajain  when  lireil  her  wing." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

s  See  Appenilix,  Note  N. 

4  Ibiil.  Note  P. 

02 


SCOTT'S  POKTICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I, 


None  can  !i  lustier  carol  bawl, 

And  warms  itself  against  his  nose,* 

Tho  net'ill'iillest  among  us  all, 

Kens  he,  or  care.s,  which  way  he  goes." — * 

When  time  hanurs  heavy  in  the  hall. 

Ami  snow  coim-s  thick  at  Cliristmaa  tide, 

XXV. 

Ami  wo  cull  ntitiicr  hunt,  nor  riile 

"Gramercy!"  quoth  Lord  Marmion, 

A  foray  on  the  Scottiiili  side. 

"  Full  loth  were  I,  that  Friar  Jolin, 

Thf  viPwM  revenge  of  Ihightrig  rude, 

'i'hat  vonerabU-  man,  for  me. 

Way  end  in  worse  tiuui  loss  of  hood. 

Were  ])laced  in  fiar  or  jfijiardy. 

Let  Friar  Jolin,  in  sjifety,  still 

If  this  Pjune  Palmer  will  me  lead 

In  chimney-corner  snore  his  fill, 

From  hence  to  IIoly-Kood, 

Roast  hissing  crabs,  or  flagons  swill : 

Like  his  good  saint,  I'll  pay  his  meed. 

Last  night,  to  Norhiun  there  came  one, 

Instead  of  cockle-shell,  or  l/cad. 

Will  better  guide  Lord  Marniion." — 

With  angels  fair  and  good. 

"  Xcphew,"  quoth  Heron,  "  by  my  fay, 

I  love  such  holy  nunblers ;  still 

Well  hast  thou  spoke  ;  say  forth  thy  say." 

They  know  to  charm  a  weary  hill, 

With  song,  romance,  or  lay : 

XXIII. 

Some  jovial  tale,  or  glee,  or  jest, 

"  Here  is  a  holy  Pidiner  come. 

From  Salem  firsF,  aiid  last  from  Rome; 

Some  lying  legend,  at  the  least, 

lliey  bring  to  cheer  the  way." — 

One,  that  hath  kiss'd  the  blessed  tomb, 

And  visited  each  holy  sliriue, 

XXVL 

In  Araby  and  Palestme  ; 

"  Ah !  noble  sir,"  young  Selby  said, 

On  hills  of  Armenie  hath  been, 

And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid. 

Where  Noah's  ark  may  yet  be  seen ; 

"This  man  knows  much,  perchance  e'en  more 

By  that  Red  Sea,  too,  hath  he  trod, 

Tlian  he  could  learn  by  holy  lore. 

^Miich  parted  at  the  prophet's  rod ; 

Still  to  himself  he's  muttering. 

In  Sinai's  wilderness  he  saw 

And  sluinks  as  at  some  unseen  thing. 

The  Mount,  where  Israel  heard  the  law 

Last  night  we  Usten'd  at  his  cell ; 

'Mid  thunder-dint,  and  flashing  levin. 

Strange  sounds  we  heard,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 

And  shadows,  mists,  and  darkness,  given. 

He  murmur'd  on  till  morn,  howe'er 

He  shows  Saint  James's  cockle-shell, 

No  living  mortal  could  be  near. 

Of  fair  ilontserrat,  too,  can  tell ; 

Sometimes  I  thought  I  heard  it  plain. 

And  of  that  Grot  where  Olives  nod,' 

As  other  voices  spoke  again. 

Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 

I  cannot  tell — I  like  it  not — 

From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Friar  John  hatii  told  us  it  is  wrote. 

Saint  Rosalie"  retired  to  God.' 

No  conscience  clear,  and  void  of  wrong, 

Can  rest  awake,  and  pray  so  long. 

XXIV. 

Himself  still  sleeps  before  liis  beads 

"  To  stout  Saint  George  of  Norwich  merry, 

Have  mark'd  ten  aves,  and  two  creeds." — • 

Saint  Thomas,  too,  of  Canterbury, 

Cuthbert  of  Durham  and  Saint  Bede, 

XXVII. 

For  his  sins'  pardon  hath  he  pray'd. 

— "  Let  pass,"  quotli  Marmion ;  "  l-y  my  fay, 

He  knows  the  passes  of  the  North, 

This  man  shall  guide  me  on  my  way, 

And  seeks  for  shrines  beyond  tlie  Forth ; 

Although  the  great  arch-fiend  and  he 

Little  he  cats,  and  long  will  wake. 

Had  sworn  themselves  of  company. 

And  drinks  but  of  the  stream  or  lake. 

So  please  you,  gentle  youth,  to  call 

Tlii.s  were  a  guide  o'er  moor  and  dale ; 

This  Pabner'  to  the  Castle-hall." 

But,  when  otir  .John  hath  quafF'd  liis  ale, 

Tlie  summon'd  Palmer  came  in  place ; 

As  liltle  as  the  wuid  that  blows, 

His  sable  cowl  o'erhung  his  face  ; 

'  MS.—"  And  of  tlie  olive's  shailed  cell." 

we  think,  are  of  this  description  ;  and  this  commemoration  «i< 

"■  MS.—"  Retired  to  God  St.  Rosalie." 

Sir  Hugh  Heron's  troopers,  who 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

'  Have  drunk  the  monks  of  Si.  Bothan's  ale,'  &c. 

*  MS. — "  And  with  mellieglin  warm'd  his  nose. 

As  little  as,"  S:c. 

The  long  account  of  Friar  iohn,  though  not  without  merit, 

'  "This  poem  has  faults  of  loo  great  magnitude  to  be  passed 

offends  in  the  same  sort,  nor  can  we  easily  conceive,  how  my 

without  notice.     There  is  a  demising  lowness  and  vulgarity  in 

one  could  venture,  in  a  serious  poem,  to  speak  of 

aome  passages,   which  we  think  must  be  offensive  to  every 

reader  of  delicacy,  and  which  are  not,  for  the  most  jiart,  re- 

And  warms  ilnelf  nrriiiiisl  his  nose.'  " — Jepfrey. 

•eemcd  by  any  vigor  or  jpicturesquc  cflect.    The  venison  paities. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  R.                       "  Ibid.  Note  S. 

I 


CANTO  I. 


MARMION. 


93 


111  his  black  mantle  was  lie  clad, 
With  Peter's  keys,  in  cloth  of  red, 

On  his  broad  shoulders  wrought ; 
The  scallop  shell  his  cap  did  deck ; 
The  crucifix  around  his  neck 

Was  iVoni  Loretto  brought ; 
His  sandals  were  with  travel  tore, 
Staff,  budget,  bottle,  scrip,  he  wore ; 
The  faded  palm-branch  in  his  hand 
Show'd  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land.' 

xxvni. 

When  as  the  Palmer  came  in  hall. 

Nor  lord,  nor  knight,  was  there  more  tall. 

Or  had  a  statelier  step  withal. 

Or  look'd  more  high  and  keen ; 
For  no  saluting  did  he  wait. 
But  strode  across  the  hall  of  state. 
And  fronted  Marmion  where  he  sate,' 

As  he  liis  peer  had  been. 
But  liis  gaunt  frame  was  worn  with  toil ; 
His  cheek  was  sunk,  alas  the  while ! 
And  when  he  struggled  at  a  smile. 

His  eye  look'd  haggard  wild : 
Poor  wretch  !  the  mother  that  him  bare, 
If  she  had  been  iii  presence  there. 
In  his  wan  face,  and  sun-burn'd  hair, 

She  had  not  known  her  child. 
Danger,  long  travel,  want,  or  woe. 
Soon  cliange  the  form  that  best  we  know — 
For  deadly  fear  can  time  outgo. 

And  blanch  at  once  the  hair ; 
Hard  toil  can  roughen  form  and  face,' 
And  want  can  quench  the  eye's  bright  grace, 
Nor  d^es  old  age  a  wrinkle  trace 

More  deeply  tlian  despair. 
Happy  wTionrnohe  oFTTiese  befall,* 
But  this  poor  Palmer  knew  them  alL 

XXIX. 
Lord  Marmion  then  his  boon  did  ask ; 
The  Palmer  took  on  him  the  task. 
So  he  would  march  with  morning  tide,' 
To  Scottish  court  to  be  his  guide. 
"  But  I  have  solemn  vows  to  pay. 
And  may  not  linger  by  the  way. 

To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound. 
Within  the  ocean-cave  to  pray. 
Where  good  Saint  Rule  liis  holy  lay, 


1  "  The  first  presentment  of  the  mysterious  Palmer  is  lauda- 
ble."— Jeffrey. 

2  MS. — "  And  near  Ijord  Marmion  took  his  seat." 
'  MS. — "  Hard  toil  can  alter  Ibrm  and  face, 

roughen  youthful  grace. 
And  want  can  \  quench  ) 


/rou: 

can<  ijue 

'  dim 


the  eves  of  grace." 


<MS.- 
»MS.- 


-"  Happy  whom  none  such  zcocs-befall." 
-"  So  he  would  ride  with  morning  tide." 


From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day. 

Sung  to  the  billows'  sound ;' 
Thence  to  Saint  Fillan's  blessed  well. 
Whose  spring  can  phrensied  dreams  dispel. 

And  the  crazed  brain  restore :' 
Saint  Mary  grant,  that  cave  or  spring 
Could  back  to  peace  my  bosom  brmg. 

Or  bid  it  tlirob  no  more  1" 

XXX. 
And  now  the  midnight  draught  of  sleep, 
Where  wine  and  spices  richly  steep, 
In  massive  bowl  of  silver  deep. 

The  page  presents  on  knee. 
Lord  Marmion  drank  a  fair  good  rest. 
The  Captain  pledged  liis  noble  guest. 
The  cup  went  through  among  the  rest,* 

Who  drain'd  it  merrily ; 
Alone  the  Palmer  pass'd  it  by. 
Though  Selby  press'd  him  courteously. 
This  was  a  sign  the  feast  was  o'er ; 
It  hush'd  the  merry  wassel  roar,' 

The  minstrels  ceased  to  sound. 
Soon  in  the  castle  naught  was  heard, 
But  the  slow  footstep  of  the  guiird. 

Pacing  his  sober  round. 

XXXL 
With  early  dawn  Lord  Marmion  rose : 
And  first  the  chapel  doors  unclose  ; 
Then,  after  morning  rites  were  done 
(A  hasty  mass  from  Fiiar  John)," 
And   knight   and   squire   had   broke   their 

fixst, 
On  rich  substantial  repast, 
Lord  Marmion's  bugles  blew  to  horse  : 
Then  came  the  stirrup-cup  in  course : 
Between  the  Bai'on  and  his  host, 
No  point  of  co\u"tesy  was  lost : 
High  thanks  were  by  Lord  Marmion  paid, 
Solemn  excuse  the  Captain  made, 
Till,  filing  from  the  gate,  had  pass'd 
That  noble  train,  their  Lord  the  last. 
Then  loudly  rung  the  trumpet  call; 
Thunder'd  the  cannon  from  the  waU, 

And  shook  the  Scottish  shore ; 
Around  the  castle  eddied  slow. 
Volumes  of  smoke  as  white  as  snow, 

And  hid  its  turrets  hoar ; 


"  See  Appendix,  Note  T.  '  Ihid.  Note  tJ. 

6  MS. — "  The  cup  pass'd  round  among  the  rest." 

s  MS. — "  Soon  died  the  nieny  wassel  roar." 

1"  "  In  Catholic  countries,  in  order  to  reconcile  the  pleasures 
of  the  great  with  tlie  ol)servai]ces  of  religion,  it  was  common, 
when  a  party  was  bent  for  the  cluiso.  to  celebrate  mass,  ahrtdged 
and  maimed  of  its  rites,  called  a  lumting-mass,  the  brevity  of 
«^lich  was  designed  to  correspond  witii  the  impatience  of  ths 
aiMlience. "—/Vo^c  to  "  Tkc  .Ibbut."     .Vao  Edit 


94 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  11. 


Till  they  roll'd  fi)rth  upoa  the  air,' 
And  met  the  river  breezes  tliere, 
Wliich  gave  nguin  the  prospect  fiiir. 


m  a  V 


m  I  0  II, 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 


TO  THE 
REV.  JOUN  MARRIOTT,  A.M. 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
The  scenes  arc  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Wliere  flouri^^li'd  once  a  forest  fair," 
"Wlicn  these  waste  gleus  with  copse  were  hncd, 
And  peopled  with  the  hart  and  hind. 
Yon  Tliorn — perchance  whose  prickly  spears 
Have  fenced  liim  for  three  hundred  years, 
Wliile  fell  around  his  green  compeers — 
Ton  lonely  Thorn,  would  he  could  tell 
The  changes  of  his  parent  dell,' 
Since  he,  so  gray  and  stubborn  now. 
Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sapUug  bough ; 
Woidd  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade 
A  thousand  mingletl  branches  made ; 
How  broad  the  shadows  of  the  oak, 
How  clung  the  rowan*  to  the  rock, 
And  tlirough  the  foliage  show'd  his  head, 
With  narrow  leaves  and  berries  red ; 
What  pines  on  every  mountain  sprung. 
O'er  every  dell  what  birches  hung, 
In  every  breeze  what  aspens  shook, 
What  jdders  shaded  every  brook ! 

"  Here,  in  my  sliade,"  metliinks  he'd  say, 
"  Tlie  mighty  stag  at  noon-tide  lay : 
The  wolf  I've  seen,  a  fiercer  game 
(The  neighboring  dingle  bears  liis  name). 
With  lurchuig  step  around  me  prowl. 
And  stop,  against  tlie  mcjon  to  howl ; 
The  mountain-boar,  on  battle  set. 
His  tusks  upon  my  stem  would  whet ; 

>  MS.—"  Slow  they  roU'd  forth  apon  the  air." 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

3  "The  second  epistle  opens  again  with  'chance  and  change;' 
hat  it  cannot  he  denied  that  the  mode  in  which  it  is  introdnced 
ia  new  and  fioctical.  The  comparison  of  Ettrick  Forest,  now 
oi>en  and  naked,  with  the  state  in  which  it  once  was — covered 
with  wood,  the  favorite  resort  of  the  royal  hunt,  and  the  refuge 
of  daring  ontlaws — leads  the  poet  to  imagine  an  ancient  thorn 
gifted  with  the  |)0wcrs  of  rea«on,  and  relating  the  varions 
•cenes  which  it  has  witncs.scd  during  a  pf-riod  of  three  hundred 
years.  A  melancholy  train  of  fancy  is  naturally  encouraged 
hy  the  idea." — Monthly  Rcvica. 


Wliile  doc,  and  roe,  ami  red-deer  good, 

Have  l>iundcd  by,  through  gay  green-wood. 

Then  lift,  from  Ni-wurk'.-^'  riven  tower, 

Sallied  a  Scottish  moniu-cii's  jK)wer: 

A  thou.simd  vas.<<al8  muster'd  round. 

With  liiirse,  and  liawk,  and  hurn,  and  hoimd ; 

And  I  might  see  tliu  youth  intent, 

fluard  every  pass  witlj  crossbow  bent; 

And  thnuigh  the  brake  llie  rangers  stalk, 

And  falf'ners  hold  tlie  ready  hawk; 

And  forester."*,  in  green-wood  trim, 

Lead  in  tlie  leash  the  gazeliounds  grim, 

Attentive,  as  tlie  bratchet's*  bay 

From  the  dark  ctivert  drove  the  prey, 

To  .slip  tlicin  as  he  broke  away. 

The  startled  quarry  bounds  amain, 

As  fast  the  gallant  greyhuiuids  strain ; 

Wliistles  the  arrow  from  the  Ixjw, 

Answers  the  hartjucbuss  below ; 

While  all  tlie  rocking  hiUs  reply. 

To  hoof-clang,  hound,  and  hunter's  cry, 

And  bugles  ringing  lightsomely." 

Of  such  proud  huntings,  many  tales 
Yet  Unger  in  our  lonely  dales. 
Up  pathless  Ettrick  and  on  Yarrow, 
^\^lere  erst  the  outlaw  drew  liis  arrow.' 
But  not  more  blithe  than  silvan  cotirt, 
Than  Ave  have  been  at  humbler  sport ; 
Tliough  small  our  pomp,  and  mean  our  game. 
Our  mirth,  dear  Marriott,  was  the  .s.ame. 
Remembcr'st  thou  my  greyhoimils  true  1 
O'er  holt  or  liill  there  never  flew, 
From  slip  or  leash  there  never  sprang, 
^lore  fleet  of  foot,  or  sure  of  fang. 
Nor  dull,  between  each  merry  chase, 
Pass'd  by  the  mtermitted  space ; 
For  we  had  fair  resoiu-ce  in  store. 
In  Classic  and  in  Gotliic  lore : 
We  mark'd  each  memoi'able  scene. 
And  held  poetic  talk  between ; 
Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along. 
But  had  its  legend  or  its  song. 
All  sdcnt  now — for  now  are  still 
Tliy  bowers,  untenanted  13owhill !' 
No  longer,  from  thy  mountains  dun, 

*  Monntain-ash. 

MS. — "  How  broail  the  ash  his  shadows  flung, 
How  to  the  rock  the  rowan  clung." 

6  See  Notes  to  the  Lay  of  tlie  Last  Minstrel. 

8  Slowhonnd. 

'  The  Tale  of  the  Outlaw  Murray,  who  held  ont  Newark 
Castle  and  Ettrick  Forest  against  the  King,  may  be  found  in 
the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i.  In  the  Macfarlane  MS.,  among 
other  causes  of  James  the  Fifth's  charter  to  the  hurgh  of  Sel- 
kirk, is  mentioned,  that  the  citizens  assisted  him  to  sujipres* 
this  dangerous  outlaw. 

8  A  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Bucclench  on  the  Yarrow,  in  Et- 
trick Forest.     See  Notes  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrol 


CANTO  I. 


MARMION. 


9L 


The  yeoman  hears  the  -well-known  gun, 
And  while  his  honest  heart  glows  warm, 
At  thought  of  liis  paternal  farm, 
Round  to  his  mates  a  brimmer  fills, 
And  drinks,  «  The  Chieftam  of  the  Hills !" 
No  fairy  forms,  m  Yarrow's  bowers. 
Trip  o'er  the  walks,  or  tend  the  flowers, 
Fan-  as  the  elves  whom  Janet  saw 
By  moonlight  dance  on  Carterhaugh ; 
No  youthful  Baron's  left  to  grace 
The  Forest-Sheriff's  lonely  chase, 
And  ape,  in  manly  step  and  tone, 
The  majesty  of  Oberon  ;' 
And  she  is  gone,  whose  lovely  face 
Is  but  her  least  and  lowest  grace  -^ 
Though  if  to  Sylphid  Queen  'twere  given. 
To  show  our  earth  the  charms  of  Heaven, 
She  could  not  ghde  along  the  air. 
With  form  more  hght,  or  face  more  fair. 
No  more  the  widow's  deafen'd  ear 
Grows  quick  that  lady's  step  to  hear; 
At  noontide  she  expects  her  not. 
Nor  busies  her  to  trim  the  cot ; 
Pensive  she  turns  her  humming  wheel, 
Or  pensive  cooks  hea"  orphans'  meal ; 
Tet  blesses,  ere  she  deals  their  bread. 
The  gentle  hand  by  which  they're  fed. 

From  Yair, — which  hills  so  closely  bind, 
Scarce  can  the  Tweed  his  passage  find, 
Tliough  much  he  fret,  and  chafe,  and  toil, 
Till  all  his  eddying  currents  boil, — 
Her  long-descended  lord'  is  gone. 
And  loft  us  by  the  stream  alone. 
And  much  I  miss  those  sportive  boys,* 
Coinpanions  of  my  mountain  joys,     '""" 
Just  at  the  age  'twixt  boy  and  youth. 
When  thought  is  speech,  and  speech  is  truth. 
Close  to  my  side,  with  what  delight 
They  press'd  to  hear  of  Wallace  wight, 
When,  pointing  to  his  airy  mound, 
I  call'd  his  ramparts  holy  ground !' 
Kindled  their  brows  to  hear  me  speak ; 
And  I  have  smiled,  to  feel  my  cheek, 
Despite  the  difference  of  our  years, 
Retinn  again  the  glow  of  theirs. 
Ah^appy  boys !  auch  feehngs  piu'e, 
jffi^wUl  not,  cannot,  long  endure ; 

Mr.  Marriott  was  governor  to  the  yonng  nobleman  here 
al  ided  to,  George  Henry,  Lord  Scott,  son  to  Cliarles,  Earl  of 
Biikeith  (afterwards  Duke  of  Buccleuch  and  Queensberry), 
aB-l  who  died  early  in  1808. — See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii. 
pp.  59-61. 

»  The  four  ne.-5t  lines  on  Harriet,  Countess  of  Dalkeith,  af- 
terwards Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  were  not  in  the  original  MS. 

3  The  late  Alexander  Pringle,  Esq.,  of  Whytbank — whose 
beautiful  seat  of  the  Yair  stands  on  the  Tweed,  about  two 
-niles  below  Ashestiel,  the  then  residence  of  the  poet. 

4  The  sons  of  3Ir.  Pringle  of  Whytbank. 


Condemn'd  to  stem  the  world's  rude  tide. 

You  may  not  Unger  by  the  side ; 

For  Fate  shall  tltrust  you  from  the  shore, 

And  Passion  ply  the  sail  and  oar.* 

Yet  cherish  the  remembrancestiU, 

Ut  tlie  lone  mounraln  and  the  rill; 

For  trust,  dear  boys,  the  time  will  come, 

When  fiercer  transport  shall  Vje  dumb, 

And  you  wiU  tlmik  right  frequently, 

But,  well  I  hope,  without  a  sigh, 

On  the  li-ee  hours  that  we  have  spent 

Together,  on  the  brown  hill's  bent. 

When,  musing  on  companions  gone. 
We  doubly  feel  ourselves  alone, 
Sometlnng,  my  friend,  we  yet  may  gain ; 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  pain : 
It  sootEes  the  love  ot  lonely  rest, 
Deep  in  each  gentler  heart  impress' d. 
'Tis  silent  amid  worldly  toils. 
And  stifled  soon  by  mental  broils , 
But,  in  a  bosom  thus  prepared. 
Its  still  small  voice  is  often  heard, 
Wliispering  a  mmgled  sentmient, 
'Twixt  resignation  and  content. 
Oft  in  my  mind  such  thoughts  awake. 
By  lone  St  Mary's  silent  lake  -^ 
Thou  know'st  it  well, — nor   fen,  nor 

sedge. 
Pollute  the  pure  lake's  crystal  edge  ; 
Abrupt  and  sheer,  the  mountains  sink 
At  once  upon  the  level  brink ; 
And  just  a  trace  of  silver  sand* 
Marks  where  the  water  meets  the  land. 
Far  in  the  mirror,  bright  and  blue. 
Each  hill's  huge  outline  you  may  view  ;• 
Shaggy  with  heath,  but  lonely  bare, 
Nor  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  brake,  is  there. 
Save  where,  of  land,  yon  slender  line 
Bears  thwart  the  lake  the  scatter'd  pine. 
Yet  even  tliis  nakedness  has  power. 
And  aids  the  feeUng  of  the  hour : 
Nor  thicket,  dell,  nor  copse  you  spy, 
Wliere  hving  tiling  conceal'd  might  lie ; 
Nor  point,  retiring,  hides  a  dell, 
''iVTiere   swain,   or   woodman  lone,   might 

dwell; 
There's  nothing  left  to  fancy's  guess, 

6  There  is,  on  a  high  mountainous  ridge  above  the  farm  o( 
Ashestiel,  a  fosse  called  Wallace's  Trench. 

6  MS. — "  And  youth  shall  ply  the  sail  and  oar." 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  W, 

8  MS.—"  At  once  upon  the   \  *''''"*  I  brink  ; 

'  silver  * 

And  just  a  line  of  pebbly  sand." 

9  MS. — "  Far  traced  upon  the  lake  yon  view 

The  hills'   \  ''"^"^  I  sides  and  sombre  hne." 
'  bare  ' 


96 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  Z. 


You  8ce  tliiit  nil  is  loiu'liiu'ss: 

And  silfiiro  jiiils — tlumgh  tlio  steep  hills 

Send  to  the  hike  ii  thou.snnd  rills; 

In  siiiiiinfr  fide,  so  8oft  they  weep, 

The  found  but  lulls  the  eilT  jmleep; 

Your  horse's  hiH)f-treiid  sounds  too  rude, 

So  stilly  is  the  PoUtude. 

Nuught  living  meets  the  eye  or  car, 
But  well  I  ween  the  dead  are  near; 
For  though,  in  feudal  strife,  a  foe 
Hiith  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low,' 
Yet  still,  beneath  the  hallowM  soil, 
The  peasant  rests  hini  from  his  toil. 
And,  dying,  bids*  his  bones  be  laid. 
Where  erst  lus  simple  fathers  pray'd. 

If  age  had  tamed  the  passions'  strife,' 
And  fate  had  cut  my  ties  to  life, 
Here,  have  I  thought,  'twere  sweet  to  dwell, 
And  rear  again  the  chaplain's  cell. 
Like  that  sjuiie  peaceful  hermit;ige, 
TSTiere  Milton  long'd  to  spend  his  age.' 
'Twere  sweet  to  mark  the  settuig  day, 
On  Bourhope's  lonely  top  decay ; 
And,^as  it  Hunt  and  feeble  died 
On  the  broad  lake,  and  mountain's  side, 
To  say,  "  Thus  pleasures  fade  away ; 
Youth,  talents,  beauty,  thus  docay. 
And  leave  us  dark,  forlorn,  and  gray ;" 
Tlien  gaze  on  Dryhope's  ruined  tower, 
And  think  on  Yarrow's  faded  Flower : 
And  when  that  mountain-sound  I  heard, 
Which  bids  us  be  for  storm  prepared, 
The  distant  rustling  of  his  wings. 
As  up  his  force  the  Tempest  brings, 
'Twere  sweet,  ere  yet  liis  terrors  rave, 
To  sit  upon  the  Wizard's  grave ; 
Tliat  Wizard  Priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust 
From  company  of  holy  dust  ;* 
On  which  no  sunbeam  ever  shines — 
(So  superstition's  creed  divines) — 
Tlience  view  the  lake,  with  sullen  roar, 
Henve  her  broad  billDWS  to  the  shore ; 
And  mark  the  wild-swans  movmt  the  gale. 
Spread  wide  through  mist  their  snowy  sail,' 
And  ever  .stof)p  again  to  lave 
Tlieir  bosoms  on  the  surging  wave ; 
Tlien,  when  against  the  drivuig  liail 
No  longer  might  my  plaid  avail, 

I  Hff  Appendix,  Note  X. 

i  •'  A  few  of  the  linea  wliich  follow  breathe  as  true  a  spirit 
of  pca-ie  and  repose,  as  even  the  simple  strains  of  onr  vener- 
ibli!  Walton." — Monthly  Rcviea. 

5  "  And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  ont  the  peaceful  hermitage. 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell. 
Where  I  may  sit  and  riphtly  spell 
f)f  every  star  that  heaven  doth  show. 


Buck  to  my  lonely  home  retire. 

And  liglit  my  lamj),  mid  trim  my  fire; 

There  pmder  o'er  some  mystic  lay, 

Till  the  wild  tale  had  all  its  sw.iy,* 

And,  in  the  bit  tern's  di>tant  shriek, 

1  heard  unearthly  voices  speak, 

And  thought  tilt!  Wizard  I'riest  was  como, 

To  claim  again  his  ancient  home ! 

And  bade  my  busy  fancy  range. 

To  frame  hi'ii  fitting  shajte  anil  strange, 

Till  from  the  task  my  brow  1  elear'd,' 

And  smiled  to  think  that  I  had  fear'd. 

But  chief,  'twere  sweet  to  think  such  life 
(Tliough  but  escape  from  fortune's  strife), 
Something  most  matchless  good  and  wise, 
A  great  and  grateful  sacrifice ; 
And  deem  each  hour  to  musing  given, 
Anstep  upon  Hie  road  to  Tiea vea 

I    Yet  him,  wliose  heart  is  ill  at  case, 

puch  peaceful  solitudes  displeiise: 

lie  love.s  to  drown  his  bosom's  jar 

Kmid  the  elemental  war : 

And  my  black  Palmer's  choice  had  been 

Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene, 

Like  that  which  frowns  r<jimd  dark  Loch- 

skene.* 
There  eagles  scream  from  isle  to  shore ; 
Down  all  the  rocks  the  torrents  roar  ; 
O'er  the  black  waves  incessant  driven, 
Dark  mists  infect  the  siunmer  heaven ; 
Through  the  rude  barriers  of  the  lake, 
Away  its  hurrymg  waters  break, 
Faster  and  whiter  dash  and  curl. 
Till  down  yon  <lark  abyss  they  hurl. 
Rises  the  fog-smoke  white  a.s  snow, 
Thunders  the  viewless  stream  below, 
Diving,  as  if  condenm'd  to  lave 
Some  demon's  subterranean  cav,. 
Who,  prison'd  by  enchanter's  spell, 
Shakes  the  dark  rock  with  groan  and  yelL 
And  well  that  Palmer's  form  and  mien 
Had  suited  with  the  .stormy  scene. 
Just  on  the  edge,  straining  his  kcai 
To  view  the  bottom  of  the  den, 
Wliere  deep,  deep  down,  and  far  within. 
Toils  with  the  rocks  the  roaring  linn ; 
Then,  i.ssuing  forth  one  foamy  wave. 
And  wheeUng  roimd  the  Giant's  Grave, 

And  every  herh  that  sips  the  dew  ; 

Till  old  cxperieiiee  do  attain 

To  something  like  proplielic  strain." 

//  Pemerost, 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

•'  MS.—"  Spread  Ihroiigh  broad  mist  their  snowy  sail." 
»  MS.—"  Till//i7icy  wHd  had  all  her  sway." 
T  MS.—"  Till  from  the  task  my  brain  I  elear'd." 
s  See  Ap|)cndix,  Note  Z. 


CANTO  II.                                            MARMION.                                                      &7 

White  as  the  snowy  charger's  tail, 

Rear'd  o'er  the  foaming  spray ; 

Drives  down  the  pass  of  Moffatdale. 

And  one  would  stiU  adjust  her  veil. 

Disorder'd  by  the  summer  gale. 

Marriott,  thy  harp,  on  Isis  strung, 

Perchance  lest  some  more  worldly  eye 

To  many  a  Border  theme  has  rung :' 

Her  dedicated  charms  might  spy ; 

Then  hst  to  me,  and  thou  shalt  know 

Perchance,  because  such  action  graced  - 
Her  fair  turn'd  arm  and  slender  waist.  / 

Of  this  mysterious  Man  of  "Woe. 

Light  was  each  simple  bosom  there, 

Save  two,  who  ill  might  pleasure  share, — 

The  AbbesSj^  and  the  Novice  Clare. 

ill  a  r  in  i  0  n . 

..—<-«—«—              '-—   '•"•"•  ""."^--M)""^ '—->»' 

in.                         1 

The  Abbess  was  of  noble  blood. 

CANTO  SECOND. 

But  eaily  took  tlie  veil  and  hood. 
Ere  upon  fife  she  cast  a  look. 

E^t   ffionbent. 

Or  knew  the  world  tliat  she  forsook. 

Fau-  too  she  was,  and  kind  had  been 

I. 

As  she  was  fair,  but  ne'er  had  seen 

The  breeze,  wliich  swept  away  the  smoke, 

For  her  a  timid  lover  sigh. 

Roun<l  Norham  Castle  roll'd, 

Nor  knew  the  influence  of  her  eye. 

Wlien  all  the  loud  artillery  spoke, 

Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name, 

With  liglitniiig-flash  and  thunder-stroke, 

Combmed  with  vanity  and  shame ; 

As  Marmion  left  the  Hold. 

Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  all 

It  curl'd  not  Tweed  alone,  that  breeze, 

Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall : 

For,  far  upon  Northumbrian  seas. 

The  deadUest  sin  her  mind  could  reach. 

It  freshly  blew,  and  strong, 

"Was  of  monastic  rule  the  breach'; 

VV  here,  from  liigh  Wliitby's  cloister'd  pile,' 

And  her  ambition's  highest  aim 

Bound  to  St.  Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle,* 

To  emulate  Saint  Hilda's  fame. 

It  bore  a  bark  along. 

For  this  she  gave  her  ample  dower,* 

Upon  the  gale  she  stoop'd  her  side, 

To  raise  the  convent's  eastern  tower ; 

And  bounded  o'er  the  swelling  tide, 

For  this,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 

As  she  were  dancing  home  ; 

She  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint. 

Tlie  merry  seamen  laugh'd  to  see 

And  gave  the  reUc-shi-ine  of  cost 

Their  gallant  ship  so  lustily 

With  ivory  and  gems  emboss'd. 

Furrow  the  green  sea-foam. 

The  poor  her  Convent's  bounty  bleat, 

Much  joy'd  they  in  their  honor'd  freight ; 

The  pilgrim  in  its  halls  foimd  rest. 

For,  on  the  deck,  in  chair  of  state. 

The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda  placed. 

I"V. 

With  five  lair  nuns,  tTie  galley  graced- 

Black  was  her  garb,  her  rigid  rule 

Reform'd  on  Benedictme  school ; 

II. 

Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  form  was  spare ; 

'Twas  sweet  to  see  these  holy  maids. 

"Vigils,  and  penitence  austere. 

Like  birds  escaped  to  green-wood  shades. 

Had  early  quench'd  the  fight  of  youth. 

Tlieir  first  flight  from  the  cage. 

But  gentle  was  the  dame,  in  sooth ; 

How  timid,  and  how  cmuous  too. 

Though  vain  of  her  religious  sway, 

For  all  to  them  was  strange  and  new, 

She  loved  to  see  her  maids  obey. 

And  all  the  common  sights  they  view. 

Yet  notlmig  stern  was  she  in  cell. 

Their  wonderment  engage. 

And  the  nuns  loved  their  Abbess  welL 

One  eyed  the  slu-ouds  and  swelling  sail. 

Sad  was  this  voyage  to  the  dame ; 

With  many  a  benedicite; 

Summon'd  to  LincUsfarne,  she  came. 

One  at  the  rippling  surge  grew  pale. 

There,  with  Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  old. 

And  would  for  terror  pray; 

And  Tynemouth's  Prioress,  to  hold 

Tlien  shriek'd,  because  the  sea-dog,  nigh. 

A  chapter  of  Saint  Benedict, 

His  round  black  head,  and  sparkling  eye, 

For  inquisition  stern  -'uid  strict, 

1  See  varions  ballads  by  Mr.  Marriott,  in  the  4th  vol.  of  the 

*  MS. — ''    rwaa  she  that  gave  her  ample  dowei 

Border  Minstrelsy. 

'Twas  she,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint. 

a  See  Appomlix,  Note2  A.             '  Ibid,  Note  2  B. 
13 

Who  deck'd  the  chapel  of  llie  saiut  " 

98 


SCOTl'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II 


\ 


On  two  apostated  fmin  tlie  faith, 
Aiid,  ifneod  wm',  to  doom  to  diutli. 

V. 
Naught  say  I  liere  of  Sister  CLire, 
Save  tliis,  tlmt  alio  was  young  luid  fair ; 
As  ye\  a  i»  >vice  uuprofess'd, 
Lovt'ly  iuid  gentle,  but  dlstress'd. 
She  w:is  betroth'd  to  cue  uow  dead, 
Or  worse,  wlio  luid  ilishonor'd  lied. 
Her  kiasrnan  binle  her  give  her  liund 
To  one,  wlio  loved  her  for  her  huid : 
Herself,  almost  heart-broken  uow, 
Was  bent  to  take  the  vestal  vow, 
And  sliroud,  within  Saint  Hilda's  gloom, 
Her  blasted  hopes  and  wither'd  bloom. 

VI. 

She  sate  upon  the  galley's  prow, 
And  seem'd  to  mark  the  waves  below  ; 
Nay,  seem'd,  so  Hx'd  her  look  and  eye, 
To  count  them  as  they  glided  by. 
She  saw  them  not — 'twas  seeming  all — 
Far  other  scenes  her  thoughts  recall, — 
A  sun-scorch'd  desert,  waste  and  bare, 
Nor  waves,  nor  breezes  murmur'd  there ; 
There  saw  she,  where  some  careless  hand 
O'er  a  dead  corpse  had  heap'd  the  sand, 
To  hide  it  till  the  jackals  come. 

To  tear  it  from  the  scanty  tomb. 

See  what  a  woful  look  was  given, 
Ah  she  raised  up  her  eyes  to  heayen  1 

VIL 

Lovely,  and  gentle,  and  distress' d — 
Tliese  charms  miglit  tame  the  tiercest  breast : 
Harpers  have  sung,  and  poets  told, 
Tliat  he,  in  fury  uncontroird, 
The  shaggy  monarch  of  the  wood, 
Before  a  virgin,  fair  and  good, 
'  Hath  pacified  his  savage  mood. 
But  passions  in  the  human  frame. 
Oft  put  tlie  hon's  rage  to  shame ; 
And  jealousy,  by  dark  intrigue. 
With  sordid  avarice  in  league, 
Had  practised  with  their  bowl  and  knife. 
Against  the  mourner's  harmless  Ufe. 
This  crime  was  charged  'gamst  those  who  liy 
Prison'd  in  Cuthberfs  islet  gray. 

VIIL 
And  now  the  vessel  skirts  the  strand 
Of  mountainous  Northumberhmd ; 
Towns,  tf)wers,  and  halls,  successive  rise. 
And  catch  the  nuns'  deUghted  eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth  soon  behind  them  Lay, 
And  T\niemouth's  priory  and  bay  ; 
They  niark'd,  amid  her  trees,  the  hall 


Of  lofty  Siaton-Di'luval; 

They  saw  tiie  Blytlie  and  Wimsbeck  flooda 

Rush  to  the  sea  through  sounding  woods ; 

They  pass'd  the  tower  of  Widderington,' 

Mother  of  numy  a  vaUant  son ; 

At  Coquet-wlo  their  beads  they  tell 

To  the  good  Siiint  who  own'd  the  cell; 

Then  ilid  the  Able  attention  chum, 

And  Warkworth,  proud  of  Percy's  name ; 

And  next,  tlu-y  crossd  themselves,  to  hear 

The  whitening  breakers  sound  so  near, 

Wiere,  boiling  through  the  rocks,  they  roar. 

On  Dunstanborough's  cavern'd  slHjre ; 

Thy  tower,  proud   Bamborough,  uiark'd   they 

there, 
King  Ida's  castle,  huge  and  square. 
From  its  tall  rock  look  giimly  down, 
And  on  the  swelling  ocean  frown ; 
Tlien  from  the  coast  they  bore  away, 
And  reach'd  the  Holy  Ishmd's  bay. 

IX. 

Tlie  tide  did  now  its  flood-mark  gain. 
And  girdled  in  the  Saijit's  domain : 
For,  with  the  flow  and  ebb,  its  style 
Varies  from  continent  to  isle ; 
Dry-shod,  o'er  sands,  twice  every  day, 
The  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  find  way ; 
Twice  every  day,  the  waves  efface, 
Of  staves  and  sandall'd  feet  the  trace. 
As  to  the  port  the  galley  flew. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  to  view 
The  Castle  with  its  battled  walls, 
The  ancient  Monastery's  halls, 
A  solemn,  huge,  and  dark-red  pile, 
Placed  on  the  margin  of  tlie  isle. 

X. 

In  Saxon  strength  that  Abbey  frown'd. 
With  massive  arches  broad  and  round, 

That  rose  alternate,  row  and  row, 

On  ponderous  columns,  short  and  low, 
Built  ere  the  art  was  known. 

By  pointed  aisle  and  shafted  stalk, 

Tlie  arcades  of  an  alley'd  walk 
To  emulate  in  stone. 
On  the  deep  walls,  the  heathen  Dane 
Had  pour'd  his  impious  rage  in  vain ; 
And  needful  was  such  strength  to  these. 
Exposed  to  the  tempestuous  seas. 
Scourged  by  the  wind's  eternal  sway. 
Open  to  rovers  fierce  as  they, 
Which  could  twelve  hundred  years  withstand 
Winds,  waves,  and  northern  pirates'  hand. 
Not  but  that  portions  of  the  pile, 
Rebuilded  in  a  later  style. 

See  tlie  notes  on  Chcty  Chase.—TE&CY'a  Rcliguct 


anto  ir. 


MARMION. 


99 


Show'd  wliere  the  spoiler's  hand  had  been ; 
Not  but  the  wasting  sea-breeze  keen 
Had  worn  the  pillar's  carving  quaint, 
And  moulder'd  in  liis  niche  the  saint, 
And  rounded,  with  consuming  power, 
The  pointed  angles  of  each  tower ; 
Yet  still  entu-e  the  Abbey  stood, 
Like  veteran,  worn,  but  imsubdued. 

XI. 

Soon  as  they  near'd  his  turrets  strong, 
The  maidens  raised  Saint  Hilda's  song, 
And  with  the  sea-wave  and  the  wind, 
Tlieir  voices,  sweetly  shrill,  combined, 

And  made  harmonious  close ; 
Then,  answering  from  the  sandy  shore, 
Half-drown'd  amid  the  breakers'  roar, 

According  chorus  rose : 
Down  to  the  haven  of  the  Isle, 
The  monks  and  nmis  in  order  file, 
From  Cuthbert's  cloisters  grim ; 
Banner,  and  cross,  and  rehcs  there. 
To  meet  Saint  Hilda's  maids,  they  bare ; 
And,  as  they  caught  the  sovmds  on  air. 

They  echoed  back  the  hymn. 
The  islanders,  in  joyous  mood, 
Rush'd  emulously  thi-ough  the  ilood, 

To  hale  the  bark  to  land ; 
Conspicuous  by  her  veil  and  hood, 
Signmg  the  cross,  the  Abbess  stood. 
And  bless'd  them  with  her  hand. 

XII. 

Suppose  we  now  the  welcome  said. 
Suppose  the  Convent  banquet  made : 

AU  through  the  holy  dome. 
Through  cloister,  aisle,  and  gallery, 
Wherever  vestal  maid  might  pry, 
Nor  risk  to  meet  imhalloVd  eye. 

The  stranger  sisters  roam : 
TiU  fell  the  evening  damp  with  dew, 
And  the  sharp  sea-breeze  coldly  blew. 
For  there,  even  summer  night  is  chill. 
Then,  having  stray'd  and  gazed  their  fill, 

They  closed  aroimd  the  fii-e ; 
And  all,  in  turn,  essay'd  to  paint 
The  rival  merits  of  their  saint, 

A  theme  that  ne'er  can  tire 
A  holy  maid ;  for,  be  it  known. 
That  their  saint's  honor  is  their  own 


^ 


XIII. 

Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told. 
How  to  their  house  tlu-ee  Barons  bold 

Must  menial  service  do ;' 
Wlule  horns  blow  out  a  note  of  shame. 


•  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 


«  Ibid.  Note  2  D. 


And  monks  cry,  "  Fye  upon  your  name  1 
In  wrath,  for  loss  of  silvan  game. 

Saint  Hilda's  priest  ye  slew." — 
"  This,  on  Ascension-day,  each  year. 
While  laboring  on  om-  harbor-pier. 
Must  Herbert,  Bruce,  and  Percy  hear." 
They  told,  how  in  their  convent-cell 
A  Saxon  princess  once  did  dwell. 

The  lovely  Edelfled  ■," 
And  how,  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 
Was  changed  hito  a  coU  of  stone, 

WTien  holy  Hilda  pray'd ; 
Tliemselves,  within  their  holy  bound, 
Their  stony  folds  had  often  found. 
They  told,  how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail. 
As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail,' 
And,  sinldng  down,  with  flutterings  faint 
They  do  theii"  homage  to  the  saint. 

XIV. 
Nor  did  Saint  Cuthbert's  daughters  fail, 
To  vie  with  these  in  holy  tale ; 
His  bodj^s  resting-place,  of  old. 
How  oft  their  patron  changed,  they  told  ;* 
How,  when  the  rude  Dane  burn'd  their  pilti, 
The  monks  fled  forth  from  Holy  Isle  ; 
O'er  northern  mountain,  marsh,  and  moor. 
From  sea  to  sea,  from  shore  to  shore. 
Seven  years  Saint  Cuthbert's  corpse  they  hora 

They  rested  them  in  fair  Melrose ; 
But  though,  alive,  he  loved  it  well. 

Not  there  his  relics  might  repose ; 
For,  wondrous  tale  to  tell ! 

In  his  stone-coiEn  forth  he  rides,  • 

A  ponderous  bark  for  river  tides, 

Yet  light  as  gossamer  it  gUdes, 
Downward  to  Tilmouth  cell. 
Nor  long  was  his  abiding  there. 
For  southward  did  the  saint  repair ; 
Chester-le-Street,  and  Rippon,  saw 
His  holy  corpse,  ere  Wardilaw 

Hail'd  him  with  joy  and  fear ;    ■ 
And,  after  many  wanderings  past. 
He  chose  his  lordly  seat  at  last, 
Wliere  liis  cathedral,  huge  and  v-ast. 

Looks  down  upon  the  Wear : 
Tliere,  deep  in  Diu-ham's  Gothic  shade, 
His  rehcs  are  in  secret  laid ; 

But  none  may  know  the  place. 
Save  of  his  holiest  servants  tliree. 
Deep  sworn  to  solemn  secrecy. 

Who  share  that  wondrous  grace. 

XV. 

Who  may  his  miracles  declare ! 

Even  Scotland's  damitless  king,  and  heir 


I      s  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 


4  Ibid.  Note  2  F 


]U0                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  n. 

(Altbougli  with  them  tliey  led 

Some  vague  tradition  go, 

njJwf;;ians,  wild  ha  t)ce:iii's  yalc, 

Few  only,  siive  the  Ablxit,  knew 

And  Lodons  kiiights,  all  slieathcd  in  niail. 

Where  the  place  hiy  ;  and  still  more  few 

And  the  bold  men  of  Teviotdale), 

Were  those,  who  had  from  liim  t)ie  clew 

Befure  his  standard  flcil.' 

'J'o  that  droad  vault  to  g»). 

'Twas  he,  to  vindicate  liis  leij^i. 

Victim  ;uid  e.\ecutioni'r 

Edged  Alfred's  falcliion  on  tlie  Djinc, 

Were  blindfold  when  transported  there. 

And  turn'd  the  Conqueror  hack  a^^ain,* 

In  low  dark  rounds  the  arfli<^  hung, 

Wlan,  with  his  Nornuui  howyer  biuid, 

From  the  rude  n^k  the  side  walls  sprung; 

He  aime  to  wa^ste  Nortluunberhuid. 

nie  gravestones  rudely  sculptured  o'er. 

Half  sunk  in  earth,  by  time  half  wore. 

XVI. 

Were  all  the  pavement  of  the  floor ; 

But  fain  Saint  Hilda's  nuns  -would  learn 

The  mildew-drops  fell  one  by  one. 

If,  on  a  rock,  by  Lindisfarne, 

With  tmkling  pliish,  upon  the  stone. 

Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 

A  cresset,"  iji  an  Iroii  chain,' 

The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name  :* 

Wliich  served  to  light  this  drear  domain. 

Such  tales  had  Wiitby's  fishers  told, 

With  damp  and  darkness  seem'd  to  strive. 

Antl  said  tliey  miijlit  liis  shape  behold, 

1  As  if  it  scarce  might  keep  alive ; 

And  hoar  his  anvil  sound  ; 

And  yet  it  dimly  served  to  show 

A  deaden'd  clang, — a  huge  tUm  form. 

The  awfid  conclave  met  below. 

Seen  but,  nnd  heard,  when  gathering  storm* 

And  night  were  closing  round. 

XIX. 

But  tliis,  03  tale  of  idle  fame, 

There,  met  to  doom  in  secrecy. 

The  nuns  of  Lindisfarne  disclain. 

Were  placed  the  heads  of  C(jnvent3  three ; 

All  servants  of  Saint  Benedict, 

XVIL 

The  statutes  of  whose  order  strict 

While  round  the  fire  sucli  legends  go. 

On  iron  table  lay  ;' 

Far  different  was  the  scene  of  woe, 

In  long  black  dress,  on  seats  of  stone, 

Wliere,  in  a  secret  aisle  beneath. 

Behind  were  these  three  judges  shown 

Council  was  lield  of  hfe  and  death. 

By  the  pale  cresset's  ray : 

It  was  more  dark  and  lone  that  vault, 

The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda's,  there. 

Than  the  worst  dungeon  cell  : 

Sat  for  a  space  with  visage  bare, 

Old  Colwulf  built  it,  for  liis  fault. 

Until  to  hide  her  bosom's  swell, 

In  penitence  to  dwell, 

And  tear-drops  tliat  for  pity  fell. 

W  hen  he,  for  cowl  and  beads,  laid  down 

She  closely  drew  her  veil : 

Tlie  Saxon  battle-axe  and  crown. 

Yon  shrouded  figure,  as  I  guess. 

This  den,  whicli,  chilling  every  sense 

By  her  proud  mien  and  flowing  dress. 

Of  feeling,  hearing,  sight, 

Is  Tynemouth's  haughty  Prioress,' 

"VVa-t  call'd  the  Vault  of  Penitence, 

And  she  with  awe  looks  pale: 

Excluding  air  and  light, 

And  he,  that  Ancient  Man,  whose  sight 

Was,  by  the  prelate  Sexlielm,  made 

Has  long  been  quench'd  by  age's  night, 

A  place  of  burial  for  such  dead. 

Upon  whose  wrinkled  brow  alone. 

As,  having  died  in  mortal  sin. 

Nor  ruth,  nor  mercy's  trace,  is  shown, 

Might  not  be  laid  the  church  witliin. 

Whose  look  is  hard  and  stern, — 

'Twas  now  a  place  of  punisloment ; 

Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  is  his  style  ; 

"Whence  if  so  loud  a  shriek  were  sent. 

For  sanctity  calld,  tlirough  the  isle. 

Aa  reach'd  the  upper  air, 

The  Saint  of  Lmdisfarne. 

Tlie  hearers  bless'd  themselves,  and  said. 

Tlie  spirits  of  the  sinful  dead 

XX. 

Bemoan'd  their  torments  there. 

Before  tljem  stood  a  guilty  pair. 

But  though  an  equal  fate  they  share, 

xvni. 

Yet  one  alone  deserves  our  care. 

But  though,  in  the  monastic  pile, 

Her  sex  a  page's  dress  behed ; 

Did  of  tliia  penitential  aisle 

The  cloak  and  doublet  loosely  tied, 

«  Spc  Appendix,  Note 2 G.  »  tbid.  NoU>2n.  >  Ibid.NoteSI. 

'  MS. — "  Snspemled  by  an  iron  chain. 

•  MS. — ■•  Seen  on/tj  tchen  the  gathering  storm." 

A  cresset  sliow'il  this   H"''   J  domain." 

See  Appendix.  Note  2  K. 

(  ('rear  > 

*  Antique  chandelier. 

8  MS.—"  On  stony  table  lay."     '  See  Apjiendii,  Note  3  U 

CANTO  n. 


MARMION. 


101 


Obsc'ircd  her  charms,  but  coulJ  not  hide. 

Her  cap  down  o'er  her  tace  she  drew; 
And,  on  her  doublet  breast, 

She  tried  to  hide  the  badge  of  blue, 
Lord  Marmion's  ftilcon  crest. 
But,  at  tlie  Prioress'  command, 
A  Monk  undid  the  silken  band. 

That  tied  her  tresses  fair. 
And  raised  the  bonnet  from  her  head, 
And  down  her  slender  form  thej  spread, 

In  ringlets  rich  and  rare. 
Constance  de  Beverley  they  know. 
Sister  profess'd  of  Fontevraud, 
Whom  tlie  church  nmnber'd  witli  the  dead, 
For  broken  vows,  and  convent  fled. 

XXI. 

When  thus  her  face  was  given  to  view 

(Although  so  palHd  was  her  hue, 

It  did  a  ghastly  contrast  bear 

To  those  bright  ringlets  glistering  fair). 

Her  look  composed,  and  steady  eye. 

Bespoke  a  matchless  constancy ; 

And  there  she  stood  so  calm  and  pale, 

Tliat,  but  her  breatliing  did  not  fail, 

And  motion  slight  of  eye  and  head. 

And  of  her  bosom,  warranted 

That  neither  sense  nor  pulse  she  lacks. 

You  might  have  thought  a  form  of  wax, 

Wrought  to  the  very  hfe,  was  there ; 

So  stiU  she  was,  so  pale,  so  fair.* 

XXII. 

Her  comrade  was  a  sordid  soul. 

Such  as  does  murder  for  a  meed ; 
Who,  but  of  fear,  knows  no  control. 
Because  his  conscience,  sear'd  and  foul, 

Feels  not  the  import  of  liis  deed ; 
One,  whose  brute-feeling  ne'er  aspires' 
Beyond  his  own  more  brute  desires. 

1  "  The  picture  of  Constance  before  her  judges,  though  more 
labored  than  that  of  tlie  voyage  of  the  Lady  Abbess,  is  not, 
to  our  taste,  so  pleasing  ;  though  it  has  beauty  of  a  kind  fully 
as  popular." — Jkffrey. 

"  1  sent  for  '  Marmion,'  because  it  occurred  to  me  there 
might  be  a  resemblance  between  part  of  '  Parisina,'  and  a  sim- 
ilar scene  in  the  second  canto  of  '  Marmion.'  I  fear  there  is, 
though  I  never  thought  of  it  before,  and  could  hardly  with  to 
imitate  that  which  is  inimitable.  1  wish  you  would  ask  i\Ir. 
Gifford  whether  I  ouglit  to  say  any  thing  upon  it.  I  had  com- 
pleted tlie  story  on  the  passage  from  Gibbon,  which  indeed 
leads  to  a  like  scene  naturally,  without  a  thought  of  the  kind  ; 
but  it  comes  upon  me  not  very  comfortably." — Lord  Byron 
to  Mr.  Mtirray,  Feb.  3,  1816. — Compare : 

"...  Parisina's  fatal  charms 
Again  attracted  every  eye — 
Would  she  thus  liear  him  doom'd  to  die? 
She  stood,  I  said,  all  pale  and  still, 
The  living  cause  of  Hugo's  ill ; 
Her  eyes  unmoved,  but  full  and  wide. 


Such  tools  the  Tempter  ever  needs. 

To  do  the  savagest  of  deeds ; 

For  them  no  vision'd  terrors  daunt, 

Their  niglits  no  fancied  spectres  liaunt, 

One  fear  with  them,  of  all  most  base,  • 

Tlie  fear  of  death, — alone  finds  place. 

Tliis  wretch  was  clad  in  frock  and  cowl. 

And  shamed  not  loud  to  moan  and  howl. 

His  body  on  the  floor  to  dash, 

And  crouch,  like  hound  beneath  the  lash; 

Wliile  his  mute  partner,  standing  near, 

Waited  her  doom  without  a  tear. 

XXIII. 
Yet  well  the  luckless  wretch  might  shrie^ 
Well  might  her  paleness  terror  speak ! 
For  there  were  seen  in  that  dark  wall, 
Two  niches,  narrow,  deep,  and  tall ; 
Who  enters  at  such  grisly  door. 
Shall  ne'er,  I  ween,  find  exit  more. 
In  each  a  slender  meal  was  laid, 
Of  roots,  of  water,  and  of  bread : 
By  each,  in  Benedictine  dress. 
Two  liaggard  monks  stood  motionless ; 
Who,  holding  high  a  blazing  torch, 
Show'd  the  grim  entrance  of  the  porch : 
Reflecting  back  the  smoky  beam, 
Tlie  dark-red  walls  and  arches  gleam. 
Hewn  stones  and  cement  were  display'd. 
And  building  tools  in  order  laid. 

XXIV. 
Tliese  executioners  were  chose. 
As  men  who  were  with  mankind  foes. 
And  with  despite  and  envy  fired. 
Into  the  cloister  had  retu-ed  ; 

Or  who,  in  desperate  doubt  of  grace. 
Strove,  by  deep  penance,  to  efface 

Of  some  foul  crime  the  stain  ; 
For,  as  the  vassals  of  her  will. 

Not  once  had  turii'd  to  either  side — 

Nor  once  did  those  sweet  eyelids  close, 

Or  shade  the  glance  o'er  which  they  rose, 

But  round  their  orbs  of  deepest  blue 

The  circling  white  dilated  grew — 

And  there  with  glassy  gaze  she  stood 

As  ice  were  in  her  curdled  blood  ; 

But  every  now  and  then  a  tear 
So  large  and  slowly  gatber'd  slid 
From  the  long  dark  fringe  of  that  fair  lid. 

It  was  a  thing  to  see,  not  bear  ! 

And  those  who  saw,  it  did  surprise, 

Such  drops  could  fall  from  liuman  eyes. 

To  speak  she  thought — the  imperfect  -iota 

Was  choked  within  her  swelling  throat, 

Yet  seem'd  in  that  low  hollow  groan 

Her  whole  heart  gushing  in  the  tone." 

Byron's  IVorlcs,  vol.  x.  p.  171. 
2  In  some  recent  editions  this  word    had  been    erroneously 
printed  "  inspires."     The  MS.  has  the  correct  hue, 
"  One  whose  brute-feeling  ne'er  aspires  " 


i 

102                                       SCOTT'S  POETIC  AT.  ^V01lKS.                              canto  ii 

Such  men  the  Cliiirdi  solectcJ  still, 

XXVIL 

As  eitlier  jovM  in  Jiuiig  ill, 

"  I  sj)e:flw  not  to  unjdure  your  grace,* 

Or  thought  more  grace  to  gain. 

Well  kiiow  I  for  one  nunutc's  s])ace 

1    If,  in  her  cau-e,  tliL'y  wrestled  down 

Suive.s.'iles.s  might  I  sue  : 

i    Feelings  their  nature  stnAe  to  own. 

Nor  do  1  speak  your  prayers  to  gain; 

Bv  strange    device  were  they  brought 

For  if  a  death  of  hngeruig  pain. 

there. 

To  cleanse  my  sin.'*,  be  peiutnie  vahi, 

Tliey  knew  not  lu.w,  nor  km  \v  not  where. 

Vain  are  your  musses  too. — 

I  listen'd  to  a  traitor's  tale. 

XXV. 

I  left  the  convent  and  the  veil ; 

And  now  tliat  blind  old  Abbot  rose, 

For  three  long  years  1  bow'd  my  pride. 

To  speak  the  Chapter's  doom, 

A  horse-boy  in  Im  train  to  ride ; 

On  those  the  w:dl  was  to  enclose, 

And  well  my  folly's  meed  lie  gave, 

Alive,  within  the  tomb ;' 

Who  forfeited,  t(j  be  his  slave, 

But  stoppM,  because  that  woful  Maid, 

All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave. — 

CJathering  her  powers,  to  speak  essay "d. 

He  saw  young  Clara's  face  more  fair, 

Twice  she  essay'd,  and  twice  in  vain ; 

He  knew  her  of  broad  Linds  the  heir. 

Her  accents  might  no  utterance  gain ; 

Forgot  hi.s  vows,  his  faith  foreswore. 

Naught  but  imperfect  muimurs  slip 

And  Constance  was  beloved  no  more. — 

From  her  convulsed  and  quivering  hp ; 

'Tis  an  old  tale,  and  often  told ; 

'Twixt  each  attempt  all  was  so  still. 

But  did  my  fate  and  wish  agree, 

You  seem'd  to  hear  a  distant  rill — 

Ne'er  had  been  read,  m  story  old. 

'Twas  ocean's  swells  and  falls  ; 

Of  maiden  true  betray'd  for  gold, 

For  though  this  vault  of  sin  and  fear 

That  loved,  or  was  avenged,  like  me  I 

Was  to  the  sounding  surge  so  near, 

A  tempest  there  you  scarce  could  hear. 

XXVIII. 

So  massive  were  the  walls. 

"The  King  approved  his  favorite's  aim  ; 

In  vain  a  rival  barr'd  his  claun. 

XXVL 

Whose  fate  with  Clare's  was  plight. 

At  length,  an  effort  sent  apart 

For  he  attaints  that  rival's  fame 

Tlie  blood  that  curdled  to  her  heart. 

With  treason's  charge — and  on  they  came, 

And  hght  came  to  her  eye. 

In  mortal  lists  to  fight. 

And  color  dawn'd  upon  her  cheek, 

Their  oaths  are  said. 

A  hectic  and  a  flutter'd  streak," 

Tlieir  prayers  are  pray'd, 

Like  that  left  on  the  Cheviot  peak. 

Their  lances  in  the  rest  are  laid 

By  Autunm's  stormy  sky ; 

They  meet  in  mortal  shock ; 

And  when  lier  silence  broke  at  length, 

And,  hark !  the  throng,  with  thundering  cry, 

Still  as  she  spoke  she  gatlier'd  strength. 

Shout '  Slarmion,  Marmion !  to  the  sky, 

And  crm'd  herself  to  bear.' 

De  Wilton  to  the  block !' 

It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see 

♦  Say  ye,  who  preach  Heaven  shall  decide* 

Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 

\  When  in  the  lists  two  champions  ride, 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair.* 

Say,  was  Heaven's  justice  here  ? 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain  ; 

'  .MS.—"  A  feeble  and  a  flutter'd  streak. 

For  if  my  [lenance  be  in  vain, 

Like  that  with  wliicli  the  mornings  break 

Your  prayers  I  cannot  want. 

In  Autumn's  sober  sky." 

Full  well  I  knew  the  church's  doom. 

5  "  Mr.  S.  has  judiciously  combined  the  horrors  of  the  pun- 

What  time  I  left  a  convent's,  gloom, 

isliment  with  a  very  bcaatiful  picture  of  the  oflender,  so  as  to 

To  fly  with  him  I  loved  ; 

heighten  the  interest  which  the  situation  itself  must  necessarily 

And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave — 

axcite ;    and  the  struggle  of  Constance  to  8|>eak,  before  the 

I  forfeited,  to  be  a  slave, 

fatal  sentence,  is  finely  painted." — Monthly  JCcvieio. 

All  here,  ami  all  beyond  the  grave. 

*  MS. — "  And  mann'd  herself  to  bear. 

And  faithless  hath  he  proved  ; 

It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see 

He  saw  another's  face  more  fair. 

Such  high  resolve  and  constancy. 

He  saw  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair  ; 

And  Constance  loved  no  more — 

7",.'ie  Summer's  dew  her  accents  fell, 

Loved  her  no  more,  who,  once  Heaven's  bride, 

But  dreadful  was  her  t.ile  to  Iril." 

Now  a  sconi'd  menial  by  his  side. 

»  MS. — "  I  speak  not  now  to  sue  for  grace, 

Had  wander'd  Europe  o'er." 

For  well  I  know  one  minnle's  space 

•  MS. — "  Say,  ye  who  preach  the  heavens  decide 

Ydur  mercy  sci  rce  would  grant 

When  in  the  lists  the  warriors  ride  ' 

I 


CANTO  II. 


MARMION. 


103 


WTien,  lojal  in  his  love  and  faith, 
Wilton  found  overthrow  or  death, 

Beneath  a  traitor's  spear  ? 
How  false  the  charge,  how  true  he  feU, 
This  guilty  jmcket  best  can  teU." — 
Then  drew  a  packet  from  her  breast. 
Paused,  gather'd  voice,  and  spoke  the  rest 

XXIX. 

"  Still  was  false  Marmion's  bridal  staid ; 
To  Whitby's  convent  fled  the  maid. 

The  hated  match  to  shim. 
'  Ho !  shifts  she  thus  V  King  Hemy  cried, 
'  Sir  Marmion,  she  shall  be  thy  bride, 

If  she  were  sworn  a  nun.' 
One  way  remain'd — the  King's  command 
Sent  Marmion  to  the  Scottish  land : 
I  Unger'd  here,  and  rescue  plann'd 

For  Clara  and  for  me  : 
This  caitiif  Monk,  for  gold,  did  swear, 
He  would  to  Whitby's  shrine  repair, 
And,  by  liis  drugs,  my  rival  fair 

A  saint  in  heaven  should  be. 
But  ill  the  dastard  kept  his  oath, 
Wliose  cowardice  has  undone  us  both. 

XXX. 

■'  And  now  my  tongue  the  secret  tells, 
Not  that  remorse  my  bosom  swells, 
But  to  assure  my  soul  that  none 
Shall  ever  wed  with  Marmion.* 
Had  fortune  my  last  hope  betray'd, 
This  packet,  to  the  King  convey'd. 
Had  gi Ten  him  to  the  headsman's  stroke, 
Although  my  heart  that  mstant  broke. — 
Now,  men  of  death,  work  forth  your  will. 
For  I  can  suffer,  and  be  still ; 
And  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast. 
It  is  but  Death  who  comes  at  last. 

XXXI. 
"  Yet  dread  me,  from  my  living  tomb, 
Ye  vassal  slaves  of  bloody  Rome  ! 
K  Marmion's  late  remorse  should  wake, 
Full  soon  such  vengeance  will  he  take, 
That  you  shall  wish  the  liery  Dane 
Had  rather  been  your  guest  again. 
Beliind,  a  darker  horn-  ascends ! 
The  altars  quake,  the  crosier  bends. 
The  ire  of  a  despotic  Kang  , 

Rides  forth  upon  destruction's  wing ; 
Then  shall  these  vaults,  so  strong  and  deep. 
Burst  open  to  the  sea-winds'  sweep ; 

1  The  MS.  adds — "  His  schemes  rcveal'd,  his  honor  gone." 
s  MS. — "  And,  witless  of  priests'  cruelty." 

'  MS.—"  Stared  up  \  =^'1'"'"=     (  from  her  head." 
I  uncurling  i 

*  See  Note  2  M  on  Stanza  xxv.  ante,  p.  102. 


Some  traveller  then  shall  find  my  bones 
Whitening  amid  disjointed  stones, 
And,  ignorant  of  priests'  cruelty," 
Marvel  such  relices  here  should  be." 

XXXII. 

Fix'd  was  her  look,  and  stern  her  air : 
Back  from  her  shoulders  stream'd  her  hair, 
The  locks  that  wont  her  brow  to  shade. 
Stared  up  erectly  from  her  head ;' 
Her  figure  seem'd  to  rise  more  high ; 
Her  voice,  despair's  wild  energy 
Had  given  a  tone  of  prophecy. 
AppaU'd  the  astonish'd  conclave  sate ; 
With  stupid  eyes,  the  men  of  fate 
Gazed  on  the  light  inspired  form, 
Ajid  hsten'd  for  the  avenging  storm; 
The  judges  felt  the  victim's  dread  ; 
No  hand  was  moved,  no  word  was  said, 
Till  thus  the  Abbot's  doom  was  given. 
Raising  his  sightless  balls  to  heaven : — 
"  Sister,  let  thy  sorrows  cease ; 
Sinful  brother,  part  in  peace  I"* 

From  that  dire  dungeon,  place  of  doom. 
Of  execution  too,  and  tomb. 

Paced  forth  the  judges  three ; 
Sorrow  it  were,  and  shame,  to  tell 
The  butcher-work  that  there  befell, 
"VYlieu  they  had  ghded  from  the  ceU 
Of  sin  and  misery. 

xxxni. 

An  himdred  winding  steps  convey 
That  conclave  to  the  upper  day  f 
But,  ere  they  breathed  the  fresher  air. 
They  heard  the  shriekings  of  despair 

And  many  a  stifled  groan  : 
With  speed  their  upward  way  they  take 
(Such  speed  as  age  and  fear  can  make). 
And  cross'd  themselves  for  terror's  sake, 

As  hurrymg,  tottering  on : 
Even  in  the  vesper's  heavenly  tone,* 
They  seem'd  to  hear  a  dying  groan. 
And  bade  the  passing  knell  to  toU 
For  welfare  of  a  parting  soul. 
Slow  o'er  the  midnight  wave  it  swimg, 
Northumbrian  rocks  in  answer  rung ; 
To  Warkworth  cell  the  echoes  roll'd. 
His  beads  the  wakeful  hermit  told. 
The  Bamborough  peasant  raised  his  head. 
But  slept  ere  half  a  prayer  he  said ; 
So  far  was  heard  the  mighty  knell. 
The  stag  sprung  up  on  Cheviot  Fell, 

6  MS. — "  From  that  dark  penance  vault  to  day." 
*  MS. — "  That  night  amid  the  vesper's  swell, 

Thes'  thought  they  heard  Constantia's  yell, 
And  bade  the  mighty  bell  to  toll. 
For  welfare  of  a  passing  soul," 


104                                      SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                            canto  hi. 

Sprciiil  his  broad  uostriU  to  the  wind, 

To  thy  kind  jmlgmcnt  seem'd  excuse 

Lbitod  before,  lu-iiJe,  behind, 

For  miuiy  mi  error  of  the  muse, 

Then  couch 'd  him  down  beside  the  hind, 

Oft  hiust  thou  said,  "  If,  still  mis-spent. 

And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern, 

Tiiine  hours  to  poetry  are  lent,* 

To  hc;ir  that  soimd  so  dull  and  stern.' 

do,  luid  to  tame  thy  wandering  course, 

liualT  from  the  fountain  at  the  source  ; 

Approach  those  maaters,  o'er  wliose  tomb 

Immortal  laurels  ever  bloom  : 

i\\  a  V  m  ion. 

Instructive  of  the  feebler  bard, 

Still  from  tlie  grave  their  voice  is  heard ; 
From  them,  and  from  the  palh.s  they  sliow'd. 

INTRODUCTIOX  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 

Choose  lionor'd  guide  and  jiructi.sed  road ; 
Nor  ramble  on  through  brake  and  maze, 

TO 

With  harpers  rude  of  barbarous  days. 

WILLIAM  ERSKINE,   ESa.« 

"  Or  deem'st  thou  not  our  later  time* 

AshcslUI,  Ettrick  Forest. 

Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  rhyme  ? 

Like  April  morning  clouds,  that  pass, 

Hast  thou  no  elegiac  verse 

With  varying  shadow,  o'er  the  grass, 

For  Brunswick's  venerable  hearse  ! 

And  imitate,  on  field  and  furrow. 

What !  not  a  line,  a  tear,  a  sigh. 

Life's  cliecker'd  scene  of  joy  and  sorrow ; 

When  valor  bleeds  for  liberty  i — 

Like  streamlet  of  the  mountain  north. 

Oil,  hero  of  that  glorious  time. 

Now  in  a  torrent  racing  forth, 

■WHien,  with  unriv.iU'il  light  sublime, — 

Now  wimling  slow  its  silver  train, 

Though  martial  Austria,  and  though  all 

And  almost  slumbering  on  the  pliiin ; 

Tlie  might  of  Russia,  and  the  Gaul, 

Like  breezes  of  the  autumn  day, 

Tliougli  baniicd  Europe  stood  her  foes, — 

Whose  voice  inconstant  dies  away, 

Tlie  star  of  Brandcnburgh  arose  I 

And  ever  swells  again  as  fast, 

Thou  couldst  not  live  to  see  her  beam 

When  the  ear  deems  its  murmur  past ; 

Forever  quencli'd  in  Jena's  stream. 

Thus  various,  my  romantic  tlieme 

Lamented  Chief! — it  was  not  given 

Flits,  winds,  or  sinks,  a  morning  dream. 

To  thee  to  change  the  doom  of  Heaven, 

Yet  pleased,  our  eye  pursues  the  trace 

And  crush  that  dragon  in  its  birth. 

Of  Li^ht  and  Shade's  inconstant  race ; 

Predestined  scourge  of  guilty  earth. 
Lamented  Chief  1 — not  thine  the  power, 

rieased,  views  the  rivulet  afar. 

Weaving  its  maze  irregular ; 

To  save  in  that  presumptuous  liour. 

And  pleased,  we  listen  as  the  breeze 

T\nien  Prussia  hurried  to  the  field. 

Heaves  its  wild  sigh  through  Autumn  trees ; 

And  snatch'd  the  spear,  but  left  the  shield ! 

Then,  wild  as  cloud,  or  stream,  or  gale, 

Valor  and  skill  'twas  tliiue  to  trj , 

Flow  CD,  flow  unconfined,  my  Tale ! 

And,  tried  in  vain,  'twas  thine  to  die. 

Ill  had  it  seem'd  thy  silver  hair 

Need  I  to  thee,  dear  Erskine,  tell 

The  last,  the  bitterest  pang  to  share, 

I  love  the  license  all  too  well. 

For  princedoms  reft,  and  scutcheons  riven, 

In  sounds  now  lowly,  and  now  strong. 

And  birtlirights  to  usurpers  given ; 

To  raise  the  desultory  song  ? — * 

Thy  land's,  thy  cliildren's  wrongs  to  feel. 

Oft,  when  'mid  such  capricious  chime, 

And  witness  woes  tliou  couldst  not  heal  1 

Some  transient  fit  of  lofty  rhyme 

On  thee  relenting  Hoaveii  bestows 

>  "The  found  of  the  knell  that  was  rung  for  the  parting  sonl 

Hay  Donaldson,  to  which  Sir  Walter  £  colt  contributed  ier» 

of  tliis  victim  of  seduction,  is  described  with  great  force  and 

ral  paragra|)hs. — Ed. 

Bolemnity."— Jeffrey. 

s  MS. — "  Wi''.  lound  now  lowly,  and  now  higher, 

Irregular  to  wake  the  lyre." 

"  The  whole  of  thw  trial  and  doom  presents  a  hi^h-wrought 

4  MS.—"  Thine  hours  to  thriftless  rhyme  are  lent." 

■cene  of  horror,  which,  at  the  clo*c,  rises  almost  to  loo  great  a 

'  MS. — "  Dost  thon  not  deem  our  later  d::; 

pitch."— Seota  Afag.,  March,  1808. 

Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  lay  1 

>  William  Erskine,   Esq.,  advocate,   SherifT-deiJUte  of  the 

Hast  thou  no  elegiac  tone 

Orkneys,  became  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  .Session  by  the  title 

To  join  that  univcrial  moan. 

of  Lord  Kinnedder,  and  died  at  Eilinhnrgh  in  August,  1822. 

Which  mingled  with  ibe  battle's  yell. 

He  had  been  from  early  youth  the  most  intimate  of  the  Poet's 

Where  venerable  Brunswick  fell  ? — 

friends,  and  his  chief  confidant  and  adviser  as  to  all   literary 

What !  not  a  verse,  a  tear,  a  sigh. 

ma't/!r».     S'ee  a  notice  of  his  life  and  character  by  the  late  Mr. 

When  valor  bleeds  for  liberty  1" 

CANTO  III. 


MARMION. 


105 


For  houor'd  life  an  honor'd  close ;' 

And  when  i-evolves,  in  time's  sui'e  change, 

The  hour  of  Germany's  revenge, 

W  lien,  breathing  fury  for  her  sake, 

Some  new  Ai-miuius  shall  awake, 

Her  champion,  ere  he  strike,  shall  come 

To  whet  his  sword  on  BRU^'swICK's  tomb.* 

"  Or  of  the  Red-Cross  hero'  teach, 
Dauntless  in  dimgeon  as  on  breach : 
Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore. 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar : 
Alike  to  him  the  war  that  calls 
Its  votaries  to  the  sliatter'd  walls, 
Which  the  gi-im  Turk,  besmear'd  with  blood. 
Against  the  Invincible  made  good ; 
Or  that,  whose  thimdering  voice  could  wake 
The  silence  of  the  polar  lake, 
"WHien  stubborn  Russ,  and  metal'd  Swede, 
On  the  warp'd  wave  their  death-game  play'd ; 
Or  that,  where  Vengeance  and  Affright 
Howl'd  round  the  father  of  the  fight. 
Who  snatch" d,  on  Alexandiia's  sand. 
The  conqueror's  wi'eath,  with  dying  hand.* 

"  Or,  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine. 
Restore  the  ancient  tragic  line, 
And  emulate  the  notes  that  -v.-i-uns: 
From  the  wild  harp,  which  silent  hung 
By  silver  Avon's  holy  shore, 
Till  twice  an  hundred  yeai-s  roll'd  o'er ; 
Wlien  she,  the  bold  Enchantress,*  came. 
With  fearless  hand  and  heart  on  flame  1 
From  the  pale  willow  snatch'd  the  treasure. 
And  swept  it  with  a  kindi-ed  measm-e, 
TiU  Avon  swans,  while  rung  the  gi'ove 
With  Montfort's  hate  and  Basil's  love, 

1  MS. — "  For  honor'd  life  an  honor'd  close — 
The  boon  which  falling  heroes  crave, 
A  soldier's  deatli,  a  warrior's  grave. 
Or  if,  with  more  exulting  swell, 
Of  coni|uering  chiefs  thou  lov'st  to  tell, 
Give  to  the  harp  an  unheard  strain, 
And  sing  the  triumphs  of  the  main — 
Of  him  the  Red-Cross  hero  teach. 
Dauntless  on  Acre's  bloody  breach, 
And,  scorner  of  tyrannic  power. 
As  dauntless  in  the  Temple's  tower : 
Alike  to  him,  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar. 
The  general's  eye,  the  pilot's  art, 
The  soldier's  arm,  the  sailor's  heart. 
Or  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine,"  &c. 
s  "  Scott  seems  to  have  communicated  fragments  of  the  poem 
/ery  freely  during  the  whole  of  its  progress.     As  early  as  the 
22d  February,  1807,  I  find  Mrs.  Hayman  acknowledging,  in 
the  name  of  the  Princess  of  Wales,  the  receipt  of  a  copy  of  the 
Introduction  to  Canto  III.,  in  which  occure  the  tribute  to  her 
royal   highness's   heroic   father,    mortally   wounded   the  year 
'before  at  Jena — a  tribute  so  grateful  to  her  feelings  that  she 
herself  shortly  after  sent  the  poet  an  elegant  silver  vase  as  a 
14 


Awakening  at  the  ins.pu-ed  strain, 
Deem'd  their  own  Shakspeare  hved  again." 

Thy  friendsliip  thus  thy  judgment  wronging. 
With  praises  not  to  me  belongmg, 
Li  task  more  meet  for  mightiest  powers, 
Wouldst  thou  engage  my  thriftless  hours. 
But  say,  my  Erskine,  hast  thou  weigh'd 
That  secret  power  by  all  obey'd, 
Which  warps  not  less  the  passive  mind. 
Its  source  conceal'd  or  undefined ; 
Whether  an  impulse,  that  has  birth 
Soon  as  the  infant  wakes  on  earth. 
One  with  om-  feelings  and  our  powers. 
And  rather  part  of  us  than  ours ; 
Or  whether  fitlier  term'd  the  sway 
Of  habit,  form'd  in  early  day  ? 
Howe'er  derived,  its  force  confest 
Rules  with  despotic  sway  the  breast, 
And  drags  us  on  by  viewless  chain, 
While  taste  and  reason  plead  in  vain.* 
Look  east,  and  ask  the  Belgian  why, 
Beneath  Butavia's  sultry  sky. 
He  seeks  not  eager  to  inhale 
The  freshness  of  the  moimtain  gale. 
Content  to  rear  his  whiten'd  wall 
Beside  the  dank  and  dull  canal  ? 
He'll  say,  from  youth  he  loved  to  see 
The  white  sail  ghding  by  the  tree. 
Or  see  yon  weatherbeaten  hind, 
Whose  sluggish  herds  before  him  wind. 
Whose  tatter'd  plaid  and  rugged  cheek 
His  northern  clime  and  kindred  speak  ; 
Through  England's  laughing  meads  he  goes. 
And  England's  wealth  around  him  flows ; 
Ask,  if  it  would  content  liim  well. 
At  ease  in  those  gay  plains  to  dwell, 

memorial  of  her  thankfulness.     And  about  the  same  time  the 
Marchioness  of  Abercorn  expresses  the  delight  with  which  both 
she  and  her  lord  had  read  the  generous  verses  on  Pitt  and  Fox 
in  another  of  those  epistles." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  9 
2  Sir  Sidney  Smith. 
*  Sir  Ralph  Abercromby. 
6  Joanna  Baillie. 

6  "  As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his  breath, 
Receives  the  lurking  principle  of  death  ; 
The  young  disease,  that  must  subdue  at  length. 
Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens  with  his  strengths 
So,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame, 
The  Mind's  disease,  its  RuHNG  Passion,  came  ; 
Each  vital  humor  which  should  feed  the  whole, 
Soon  flows  to  this,  in  body  and  in  soul 
Whatever  warms  the  heart,  or  fills  the  head, 
As  the  mind  opens,  and  its  functions  spread, 
Imagination  plies  her  dangerous  art. 
And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 

"  Nature  its  mother.  Habit  is  its  nurse  ; 
Wit,  Spirit,  Faculties,  hut  make  it  worse  ; 
Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power; 
As  Heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour,"  &c- 
Popk's  Essay  on  Man. — Ed 


100 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III. 


"VMicre  lietlgc-rows  sijreacl  a  verdant  screen, 
And  spiles  and  forests  intervene, 
And  the  neat  cottage  peeps  between  ? 
No !  not  for  these  will  he  exchange 
His  dark  Lochaber's  bouiKllcss  rjinge : 
Not  for  fair  Devon's  meads  forsake    , 
Eennevis  gray,  and  Garry's  lake. 

ITius  wliile  I  ape  the  measiu-e  wild 
Of  tales  that  charni'd  me  yet  a  child, 
Rude  though  they  be,  still  with  the  chime 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time ; 
And  feelings,  roused  in  life's  first  day, 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 
nien  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tmvcr, 
Which  charm'd  my  fancy's  wakening  hour.' 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along. 
To  claim,  perchance,  heroic  song ; 
Though  sigh'd  no  groves  in  svunmer  gale, 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale ; 
Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 
Claim'd  homage  fi'om  a  shepherd's  reed ; 
Yet  was  poetic  unpulse  given. 
By  the  green  hill  and  cle:u'  blue  heaven. 
It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 
Wliere  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled ; 
But  ever  imd  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveUest  green ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew," 
And  honeysuckle  loved  to  crawl 
Up  the  low  crag  and  ruin'd  wall. 
I  deem'd  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  its  round  survey'd ; 
And  still  I  thought  that  shatter'd  tower' 
The  mightiest  work  of  human  power : 
And  marvell'd  as  the  aged  hind 
With  some  strange  tale  bewitch'd  my  mind. 
Of  forayers,  who,  with  headlong  force, 
Down  fi-om  that  strength  had  spurr'd  theii'  horse, 
Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 
Far  in  the  distant  Cheviots  blue, 
And,  home  returning,  fill'd  the  liall 
With  revel,  wassel-rout,  and  brawl.* 
Methought  that  still  with  trump  and  clang, 
Tlie  gateway's  broken  arches  rang ; 
Methought  grim  features,  seam'd  with  scars, 
Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bai-s, 

■■  MS. — "  The  lonely  hill,  the  rocky  tower, 

That  caoglit  attention's  wakening  hour." 
MS. — "  Recesses  where  the  woodbine  grew." 
3  Smailholm   Tower,   in    Berwickshire,   the    scene  of  the 
^utlior's  infancy,  is  situated  ahout  two  miles  from  Dryburgh 
\.hbey. 
<  The  two  next  couplets  are  not  in  the  MS. 
MS. — "  While  still  with  mimic  hosts  of  shells, 
Again  ray  sport  the  combat  tells — 
Onward  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 
The  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before." 


And  ever,  by  the  winter  hearth. 

Old  tales  I  heard  of  woe  or  mirth. 

Of  lovers'  slights,  of  ladies'  channs, 

Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms  : 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold ; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight. 

When,  pouruig  from  their  Highland  lieight, 

Tlie  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway, 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 

While  stretch'd  at  lengtJi  upon  the  floor,* 

Again  I  fought  each  combat  o'er. 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid. 

The  mimic  ranks  of  war  display'd ; 

And  onward  still  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 

And.  still  the  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before.' 

Still,  with  vam  fondness,  could  I  trace, 
Anew,  each  kuid  familiar  face, 
That  brighten'd  at  our  evening  fire  ! 
From  the  thatch'd  mansion's  gray-hair'd  Sire,' 
Wise  ^''ithout  learning,  plain  and  good. 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood  ; 
Whose  eye,  in  age,  quick,  clear,  and  keen, 
Show'd  what  m  youth  its  glance  had  been ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought, 
Content  with  equity  uiibought  f 
To  him  the  venerable  Priest, 
Our  frequent  and  famUiar  guest, 
"Wliose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  Siiint ;° 
Alas !  whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  .and  timeless  joke : 
For  I  was  wavAvard,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-will'd  imp,  a  grandame's  child ; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest. 
Was  still  endm-ed,  beloved,  cai'css'd. 

For  me,  thus  nurtm-ed,  dost  thou  ask 
Tlie  classic  poet's  well-conn'd  task  ? 
Nay,  Erskine,  nay — On  th(i  wUd  hiU 
Let  the  wild  heath-bell  flourish  still ; 
Cherish  the  tulip,  prune  the  vine. 
But  freely  let  the  woodbine  twine. 
And  leave  uiitrhiuii'd  the  eglantine : 
Nay,  my  friend,  nay — Since  oft  thy  praise 
Hath  given  fresh  vigor  to  my  lays ; 
Since  oft  thy  judgment  could  refine 

<!  See  notes  on  The  Eve  of  St.  John. 

'  Robert  Scott  of  Samlyknows,  the  grandfather  of  the  Poet. 

*  Upon  revising  the  I'oem,  it  seems  proper  to  mention  that 
the  lines, 

"  Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought. 
Content  with  erjuity  nnbought:" 
have  been  unconsciously  borrowed  from  a  passage  In  Dryden's 
beautiful  epistle  to  John  Driden  of  Chesterton. — 1808.     J\,'ol.f. 
to  Sfcond  Edit. 

0  MS. — "  The  student,  gentleman,  and  saint." 

The  reverend  gentleman  alluded  to  was  Mr.  John  Martin 


CANTO  III. 


MARMION. 


107 


My  flatten'd  thought,  oi"  cumbrous  line ; 
Still  kind,  as  is  thy  wont,  attend, 
And  in  tlie  minstrel  spare  the  friend. 
Though  wild  as  cloud,  as  stream,  as  gale, 
Flow  forth,  flow  unrestrain'd,  my  T.ile  1 


HI  a  r  in  i  0  n 


CANTO   THIRD. 


5E!)e  35§osteI,  or  Knn, 


The  livelong  day  Lord  Marmion  rode : 
The  mountain  path  the  Palmer  show'd, 
By  glen  and  streamlet  winded  still. 
Where  stunted  birches  hid  the  rill, 
rhey  might  not  choose  the  lowland  road, 
For  the  Merse  forayers  were  abroad. 
Who,  fired  with  hate  and  thirst  of  prey, 
Had  scarcely  fad'd  to  bar  their  way. 
Oft  on  the  tratnpling  band,  from  crown 
Of  some  tail  cUff,  the  deer  look'd  down ; 
On  wing  of  jet,  from  his  repose 
In  the  deep  heath,  the  black-cock  rose ; 
Sprung  from  the  gorse  the  timid  roe, 
Nor  waited  for  the  bending  bow ; 
And  when  the  stony  path  began. 
By  wliich  the  naked  peak  they  wan, 
Up  flew  the  snowy  ptarmigan. 
The  noon  had  long  been  pass'd  before 
Tliey  gain'd  the  height  of  Lammermoor  ;* 
Thence  winding  down  the  northern  way, 
Before  them,  at  the  close  of  day. 
Old  Gifford's  towers  and  hamlet  lay.' 

IL 

No  summons  calls  them  to  the  tower, 

To  spend  the  hospitable  hour. 

To  Scotland's  canijD  the  Lord  was  gone ; 

His  cautious  dame,  in  bower  alone, 

Dreaded  her  castle  to  unclose. 

So  late,  to  unknown  friends  or  foes. 
On  through  tlie  hamlet  as  they  paced, 
Before  a  porch,  whose  front  was  graced 
With  bush  and  flagon  trimly  placed. 
Lord  Marmion  drew  his  rein : 


minister  of  Mertoun,  in  which  parish  Smailholm  Tower  is  sit- 
nated. 

X  MS. — "  They  miglit  not  choose  the  easier  road. 
For  many  a  fora.ver  was  abroad." 

"  See  Notes  to  "  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor."      Waverley 
Novels,  vob.  xiii.  and  xiv 


The  village  inn  seem'd  large,  though  rude  •,* 
Its  cheerfid  fire  and  hearty  food 
Might  well  reheve  his  train. 
Down  from  their  seats  the  horsemen  sprung, 
With  jingUng  spurs  the  court-yard  rung : 
They  bind  their  horses  to  the  stall, 
For  forage,  food,  and  firing  call. 
And  various  clamor  fills  the  hall : 
Weighing  the  labor  with  the  cost, 
Toils  everywhere  the  bustling  host. 

in. 

Soon,  by  the  chimney's  merry  blaze. 
Through  the  rude  hostel  might  you  gaze ; 
Might  see,  where,  in  dark  nook  aloof, 
The  rafters  of  the  sooty  roof 

Bore  wealth  of  winter  cheer ; 
Of  sea-fowl  dried,  and  solands  store. 
And  gammons  of  the  tusky  boar. 

And  savory  haunch  of  deer. 
The  cliimney  arch  projected  wide ; 
Above,  aroimd  it,  and  beside. 

Were  tools  for  housewives'  hand ; 
Nor  wanted,  in  that  martial  day. 
The  im}3lements  of  Scottish  fray, 

The  buckler,  lance,  and  brand. 
Beneath  its  shade,  the  place  of  state, 
On  oaken  settle  Marmion  sate. 
And  view'd  arouud  the  blazing  hearth. 
His  followers  mix  in  noisy  mirth ; 
Wliom  with  brown  ale,  in  jolly  tide. 
From  ancient  vessels  ranged  aside, 
Full  actively  their  host  suppUed. 

IV. 

Theirs  was  the  glee  of  martial  breast, 
And  laughter  thehs  at  little  jest ; 
And  oft  Lord  Marmion  deign'd  to  aid. 
And  mingle  in  the  mirth  they  made ; 
For  though,  with  men  of  high  degree, 
The  proudest  of  the  proud  was  he, 
Yet,  train'd  in  camps,  he  knew  the  art 
To  win  the  soldier's  hardy  heart. 
They  love  a  captain  to  obey, 
Boisterous  as  March,  yet  fresh  as  May ; 
With  open  hand,  and  brow  as  free, 
Lover  of  wine  and  minstrelsy  ; 
Ever  the  first  to  scale  a  tower,        ^k 
As  ventiurous  in  a  lady's  bower : — ^W 
Such  buxom  chief  shall  lead  his  host 
From  India's  fires  to  Zembla's  frost. 


s  The  village  of  GifFord  lies  about  four  miles  from  Hadding- 
ton :  close  to  it  is  Yester  House,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis  of 
Tweeddale,  and  a  little  farther  up  the  stream,  which  descends 
from  the  hills  of  Lammermoor,  are  the  remains  of  the  old  cas- 
tle of  the  family. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N 


108                                      SCOTT'S.  POETICAL  WORKS.                            canto  iii. 

V. 

Now  must  I  venture,  as  I  may. 

Resting  upon  his  pilgrim  staff, 

To  sitig  his  favorite  roundelay." 

Right  opixisite  the  Pjilmer  stootl; 

His  thill  durk  visiige  seen  but  half, 

IX. 

Half  hidden  by  his  hood. 

A  mellow  voice  Fitz-Eustace  had. 

Still  fix'd  on  Marmion  wiis  his  look. 

Tiie  !ur  he  chose  was  wild  and  sad ; 

Which  he,  who  ill  such  gaze  could  brook, 

Such  have  I  heard,  in  Scottish  land, 

Strove  by  a  frowai  to  quell ; 

Rise  from  the  busy  harvest  band. 

But  not  fur  that,  though  more  than  once 

When  falls  before  the  mountaineer, 

Full  met  their  stern  encountering  glance, 

On  Lowland  plains,  the  ripen'd  ear. 

llie  Palmer's  visage  fell. 

Now  one  shrill  voice  the  notes  prolong, 

Now  a  wild  chorus  swells  the  song : 

VI. 

Oft  have  I  listen'd,  and  stood  still, 

By  fits  less  frequent  from  the  crowd 

As  it  came  soften'd  up  the  hill, 

"Was  heard  the  burst  of  laughter  loud ; 

And  decm'd  it  the  lament  of  men 

For  stUl,  as  squire  and  archer  stared 

Who  languish'd  for  their  native  glen ; 

On  that  dark  face  and  matted  beard, 

And  thought  how  sad  would  be  such  sound 

Their  glee  and  game  declined. 

On  Susquehanna's  swampy  gi-oimd, 

AH  gazed  at  length  in  silence  drear, 

Kentucky's  wood-encumber'd  brake, 

Unbroke,  save  when  in  comrade's  ear 

Or  wild  Ontario's  boundless  lake. 

Some  yeoman,  wondering  in  his  fear, 

Where  heart-sick  exiles,  in  the  strain, 

Thus  whisper'd  forth  liis  mind  : — 

Recail'd  fair  Scotland's  hills  again  1 

"  Saint  Mary !  saw'st  thou  e'er  such  sight  ? 

Ill  >w  pale  his  cheek,  his  eye  how  bright, 

X. 

"Whene'er  the  firebrand's  fickle  light 

Sonfl. 

Glances  beneath  his  cowl ! 

VV  here  shall  the  lover  rest, 

Full  on  our  Lord  he  sets  his  eye ; 

"Wliom  the  fates  sever 

For  his  best  palfrc}',  would  not  I 

From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 

Endure  that  sullen  scowl." 

Parted  forever  ? 

Where  through  groves  deep  and  high, 

VIL 

Soimds  the  far  billow, 

But  Marmion,  as  to  chase  the  awe 

Where  early  violets  die, 

"^Hiich  thus  had  quell'd  then-  hearts,  who 

Under  the  willow. 

S3,*W 

Tlie  ever-varying  fire-light  show 

CHORUS. 

Tliat  figure  stern  and  face  of  woe. 

Eleu  loro,  &c.    Soft  shall  be  his  pillo-w. 

Xow  call'd  upon  a  squire : — 

"  Fitz-Eustace,  know'st  thou  not  some  lay, 

There,  tlirough  the  summer  day. 

To  speed  the  lingering  night  away  ? 

Cool  streams  are  laving ; 

"We  slumber  by  the  fire." — 

There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving; 

VIII. 

Tliere,  thy  rest  slialt  thou  take. 

"  So  please  you,"  thus  the  youth  rejoin'd, 

Parted  forever. 

"  Our  choicest  minstrel's  left  behind. 

Never  again  to  wake, 

Ill  may  we  hope  to  please  your  ear. 

Never,  0  never ! 

Accust(jm'd  Coa^tant's  strains  to  hear. 

Tlie  harp  full  deftly  can  he  strike. 

CUOEU8. 

And  w  A  the  lover's  lute  alike ; 

Meu  loro,  <tc.    Never,  0  never  1 

To  deaWaiiit  Valentine,  no  thrush 

XL 

W  here  shall  the  traitor  rest. 

He  the  deceiver, 
"Wlio  could  win  maiden's  breast. 

Ruin  and  leave  her  ? 
In  the  lost  battle. 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 
"Wliere  mingles  war's  rattle 

Sings  Uvelier  from  a  spring-tide  bush, 
No  nightingale  her  love-lorn  tune 

More  sweetly  warbles  to  the  moon. 
"Woe  to  the  cause,  whate'er  it  be. 
Detains  from  us  his  melody, 
Lavi.-h'd  on  rocks,  and  billows  stern. 
Or  duller  monks  of  Lindisfarne. 

*  MS — "  Full  met  tlieir  eyes'  encountering  glance." 

With  groans  of  the  dying. 

CANTO  III.                                            MARMION.                                                       109 

CHOEUS. 

XIV. 

Eleu  lore,  etc.     There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Marmion,  whose  steady  heart  and  eye 

Ne'er  changed  m  worst  extremity ; 

Her  wing  sliall  the  eagle  flap 

Marmion,  whose  soul  could  scantly  brook, 

O'er  the  false-hearted ; 

Even  from  his  Kuig,  a  haughty  look  ;" 

His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap, 

Whose  accent  of  command  coutroU'd, 

Ere  life  be  parted. 

In  camps,  the  boldest  of  tlie  bold — 

Shame  and  dishonor  sit 

Thought,  look,  and  utterance  fail'd  him  now, 

By  his  grave  ever  ; 

Fall'n  was  liis  glance,  and  flush'd  his  brow : 

Blessing  sliall  hallow  it, — 

For  eitlier  in  the  tone. 

Never,  0  never ! 

Or  something  in  the  Palmer's  look, 

So  fuU  upon  his  conscieiice  strook. 

CHORUS. 

Tliat  answer  he  found  none. 

Mai  loro,  &,c.    Never,  0  nerer  1 

Thus  oft  it  liaps,  that  when  within 

They  shrink  at  sense  of  secret  sin, 

XII. 

A  feather  daunts  the  brave  ; 

It  ceased,  the  melancholy  sound; 
And  silence  sunk  on  all  aroiuid. 

A  fool's  wild  speech  confounds  the  wise, 

And  proudest  princes  veil  their  eyes 

The  air  was  sad ;  but  sadder  still 

Before  their  meanest  slave. 

It  fell  on  Marmion's  ear. 

And  plain'd  as  if  disgrace  and  ill. 

XV. 

And  shameful  death,  were  near. 

Well  might  he  falter ! — ;B^^is  aid 

He  drew  his  mantle  past  his  face. 

Was  Constance  Beverley  betrayed. 

Between  it  and  the  band. 

Not  that  he  au2'ur'd  of  tlie  dodffir 

And  rested  with  liis  head  a  space. 

Wliich  on  the  Uving  closed  the  tomb : 

Reclining  on  his  hand. 

But,  tired  to  hear  the  desperate  maid' 

His  tlioughts  I  scan  not ;  but  I  ween. 

Tlireaten  by  turns,  beseech,  upbraid ; 

That  could  tli'eii'  nnport  have  been  seen, 

And  wroth,  because  in  wild  despair,* 

Tlie  meanest  groom  in  all  the  hall, 

She  practised  on  the  life  of  Clare ; 

That  e  er  tied  courser  to  a  stall, 

Its  fugitive  the  Cluu-ch  he  gave. 

Would   scarce   have   wish'd   to   be    their 

Though  not  a  victim,  buTaTsTave  ; 

pi-ey, 

And  deem'd  restraint  in  convent  strange 

For  Lutterward  and  Fontenaye. 

Would  hide  her  wrongs,  and  her  revenge. 

Himself,  proud  Henry's  favorite  peer, 

XIII. 

Held  Romish  thunders  idle  fear. 

High  minds,  of  native  pride  and  force, 

Secure  his  pardon  he  might  hold. 

Most  deeply  feel  thy  pangs,  Ilemor^e ! 
Fear,  for  their  scourge,  mean  villains  have. 

For  some  slight  mulct  of  penance-gold. 

Thus  judging,  he  gave  secret  way. 

Tliou  art  the  torturer  of  the  brave  ! 

Wlien  the  stern  priests  surprised  their  pre«, 

Yet  fatal  strength  they  boast  to  steel 

His  train  but  deem'd  the  favorite  page 

Then-  minds  to  bear  the  wounds  they  feel. 

Was  left  behind,  to  spare  liis  age  ; 

Even  wliile  they  writhe  beneath  the  smart 

Or  other  if  they  deem'd,  none  dared 

Of  civil  conflict  in  tlie  heart. 

To  mutter  what  he  thought  and  heard:                 * 

For  soon  Lord  Marmion  raised  his  head, 

Woe  to  the  vassal  who  durst  pry 

And,  smiling,  to  P'itz-Eustace  said — 

Into  Lord  Marmion's  privacy  ! 

"  Is  it  not  strange,  that,  as  ye  sung. 

Seem'd  in  mine  ear  a  death-peal  rung, 

XVL 

Such  as  in  nunneries  thev  toll           *" 

His  conscience  slept — he  deem'd  her  well. 
And  safe  secured  in  distant  cell ; 

For  some  Jepartmg  sister's  soul  ? 

Say,  what  may  this  portend?" — 

But,  waken'd  by  her  favorite  lay,       X 
And  tliat  strange  Palmer's  boding  say. 

Tlien  first  the  Palmer  silence  broke 

(The  livelong  day  lie  liad  not  spoke), 

Tliat  fell  so  ominous  and  drear, 

"  The  death  of  a  dear  friend."^ 

FuU  on  the  object  of  his  fear, 

*  S^e  Appendix,  Note  2  O. 

Even  from  his  King,  a  scornful  look." 

•  MS. — "  Marmion,  whose  pride  )        ,.            ,       , 
,,-         .        , .         ,     J  conW  never  brook, 
Wiiose  haughty  soul      1 

5  MS. — "  But  tired  to  hear  l\\efuriovs  maid." 

*  MS. — "  Incensed,  because  in  wild  despair." 

110                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi 

To  ml  remorse's  venom'd  throes, 

Full  often  learn  the  art  t«  know 

Dark  tales  of  cooveut-vi'iigeiince  rose ; 

Of  future  weal,  or  future  woe, 

And  Constance,  late  betray 'd  and  sconi'd, 

By  word,  or  sign,  or  star ; 

All  lovely  on  his  soul  return'd ; 

Yet  might  a  knight  his  fortune  hear, 

Lovely  as  when,  at  treacherous  cull. 

If,  knight-like,  he  desj)ises  fciir, 

She  left  her  convent's  peaceful  wall. 

Not  far  from  hence  ; — if  fathers  old 

Oriinson'd  with  Blianu".  with  tenur  nuitc, 

Aright  our  hamlet  legend  tohl." — 

Dreailinjj  alike  escjipe,  pursuit, 

These  broken  words  the  menials  move 

'I'ill  love,  victorious  o'er  alarms. 

(For  marvels  still  the  vulgar  love), 

Hid  fears  and  blushes  in  his  arms. 

And,  Marniion  giving  license  cold. 

His  tale  the  host  thus  gladly  told: — 

XVIL 

"  Alas !"  he  thought,  "  how  changed  that  mien ! 

XIX. 

How  changed  these  timid  looks  nave  been,' 

rte  Jliost's  die. 

Since  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise, 

"  A  Clerk  could  tell  wliat  years  have  flown 

Have  steel'd  lier  brow,  and  arm'd  her  eyes ! 

Since  Alexander  fiU'd  our  throne 

Is'o  more  of  virgin  terror  speaks 

(Tliird  monarch  of  that  wjirlike  name), 

Tlie  blood  that  mantles  in  her  cheeks  ; 

And  eke  the  time  when  here  he  came 

Fierce,  and  unfeminine,  are  there, 

To  seek  Sir  Hugo,  then  oiu-  lord : 

riirensy  for  joy,  for  grief  despair ; 

A  braver  never  drew  a  sword  ; 

And  I  the  cause — for  whom  were  given 

A  wiser  never,  at  the  hour 

Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven ! — 

Of  midnight,  spoke  the  word  of  power : 

Would,"  thought  he,  as  the  picture  grows. 

The  same,  whom  ancient  records  call 

"  I  on  its  stalk  had  left  the  rose  ! 

Tlie  founder  of  the  Goblin-Hall.' 

Oh,  why  should  man's  success  remove 

I  woidd,  Sir  Knight,  your  longer  stay 

'   Tlie  very  charms  that  wake  Ids  love  ! — 

Gave  you  that  cavern  to  survey. 

Her  convent's  peaceful  solitude 

Of  lofty  roof,  and  ample  size, 

Is  now  a  prison  harsh  and  rude ; 

Beneath  the  castle  deep  it  lies : 

And,  pent  witliin  the  narrow  cell. 

To  hew  the  living  rock  profound, 

How  will  her  spirit  chafe  and  swell ! 

The  floor  to  pave,  the  arch  to  round. 

How  brook  the  stern  monastic  laws ! 

Tliere  never  toil'd  a  mortal  arm. 

The  penance  how — and  I  the  cause ! — 

It  all  was  wrought  by  word  and  charm ; 

"\'igil  and  scourge — perchance  even  worse  !" — 

And  I  have  heard  my  grandsire  say, 

And  twice  he  rose  to  cry,  "  To  horse  !" — 

Tliat  the  wild  clamor  and  affray 

And  twice  liis  Sovereign's  mandate  came, 

Of  those  dread  artisans  of  hell. 

T,ike  damp  upon  a  kindling  fl:irae  ; 

Wlio  labor'd  imder  Hugo's  spell. 

And  twice  he  thought,  "  Gave  I  not  charge 

Sounded  as  loud  as  ocean's  war, 

She  should  be  safe,  though  not  at  large  ! 

Among  the-cavems  of  Dunbar. 

They  durst  not,  for  their  island,  slired 

One  golden  ringlet  from  her  head." 

XX. 

"  The  King  Lord  Gifford's  castle  sought, 

XVIIL 

Deep  laboring  with  uncertain  thought ; 

/   While  thus  in  Marmion's  bosom  strove 

Even  then  he  muster'd  all  his  host. 

Repentance  and  reviving  love, 

To  meet  upon  the  western  coast : 

Like  wliirlwinds,  whose  contending  sway 

For  Xorse  and  Danisli  galleys  phed 

I've  seen  Loch  Venuachar  obey, 

Their  oars  within  the  frith  of  Clyde. 

Tlieir  Host  the  Palmer's  speech  had  heard, 

Tliere  floated  Haco's  banner  trim,* 

And,  talkative,  took  up  the  word : 

Above  Xorweyan  warriors  grim,* 

"  Ay,  reverend  Pilgrim,  you,  who  stray 

Savage  of  heart,  and  large  of  limb ; 

From  Scotland's  simple  land  away,' 

Tlireatening  both  continent  and  isle, 

To  visit  realms  afar, 

Bute,  Arran,  Cunninghame,  and  Kvle. 

:  The  MS.  reaiU  :— 

How  will  her  ardent  spirit  swell, 

"  Since  fiercer  pas^ons  vn\d  and  high, 

And  chafe  within  the  narrow  cell  !" 

Have  fla.ih'd  her  cheek  with  deeper  dye. 

5  MS. — "  From  tliiit  plain  simple  land  away.' 

And  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disgubie, 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 

Have  steel'd  her  brow,  and  ami'd  her  eyes, 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q,. 

And  I  the  cause — for  whom  were  given 

<•  MS. — "  There  floated  Haco's  banner  grim 

Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven  ! — 

O'er  fierce  of  heart  and  large  of  limb. 

OAIITO  III. 


MARMION. 


Ill 


Lord  Gifford,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 

Heard  Alexander's  bugle  sound, 

And  tarried  not  his  garb  to  change. 

But,  in  his  wizard  habit  strange,' 

Came  forth, — a  quaint  and  fearful  sight ; 

His  mantle  hned  with  fox-skins  white ; 

His  high  and  wrinkled  forehead  bore 

A  pointed  cap,  such  as  of  yore 

Clerks  say  that  Pharaoh's  Magi  wore : 

His  shoes  were  mai-k'd  with  cross  and  spell. 

Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle  f 

His  zone,  of  virgia  parchment  thin. 

Or,  as  some  tell,  of  dead  man's  skin, 

Bore  many  a  planetary  sign, 

Combust,  and  retrograde,  and  trine ;' 

And  in  his  hand  he  held  prepared, 

A  naked  sword  without  a  guard. 

XXI. 
"  Dire  dealings  with  the  fiendish  race 
Had  mark'd  strange  hnes  upon  his  face ; 
Yigil  and  fast  had  worn  him  grim. 
His  eyesight  dazzled  seem'd  and  dim, 
As  one  unused  to  upper  day ; 
Even  his  own  menials  with  dismay 
Beheld,  Sir  Knight,  the  grisly  Sire, 
In  his  unwonted  wUd  attire ; 
Unwonted,  for  traditions  run, 
He  seldom  thus  beheld  the  sun. — 
'  I  know,'  he  said — ^his  voice  was  hoarse, 
And  broken  seem'd  its  hollow  force, — 
'  I  know  the  cause,  although  imtold, 
"Wliy  the  King  seeks  his  vassal's  hold : 
Vainly  from  me  my  Uege  would  know 
His  kingdom's  future  weal  or  woe ; 
But  yet,  if  strong  his  arm  and  heart, 
His  courage  may  do  more  than  art. 

XXII. 

" '  Of  middle  air  the  demons  proud. 
Who  ride  upon  the  rackmg  cloud. 
Can  read,  in  fix'd  or  wandering  star, 
The  issue  of  events  afar ; 
But  stUl  their  sullen  aid  withhold, 
Save  when  by  mightier  force  controll'd. 
Such  late  I  summon'd  to  my  hall ; 
And  though  so  potent  was  the  call. 
That  scarce  the  deepest  nook  of  hell 
I  deem'd  a  refuge  from  the  speU, 
Yet,  obstinate  m  silence  still. 
The  haughty  demon  mocks  my  skUl. 
But  thou — who  little  know'st  thy  might, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R.  =  Ibid.  Note  2  S. 

2  MS. — "  Bare  many  a  cliaracter  and  sign, 

Of  planets  retrograde  and  trine." 
<  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 
»  MS  — "  With  untaught  valor  mayst  compel 

What  is  denied  to  magic  spell." 


As  born  upon  that  blessed  night^ 

When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan, 

Proclaim'd  hell's  empire  overthrown, — 

With  untaught  valor  shalt  compel 

Response  denied  to  magic  spell.' — ' 

'  Gramercy,'  quoth  out  Monarch  free, 

'  Place  liim  but  front  to  fi-ont  with  me. 

And,  bv  this  good  and  honor'd  brand. 

The  gift  of  Cceur-de-Lion's  hand, 

Soothly  I  swear,  that,  tide  what  tide. 

The  demon  shall  a  buffet  bide.' — * 

His  bearing  bold  the  wizard  view'd. 

And  thus,  well  pleased,  his  speech  renew'd : — • 

'  There  spoke  the  blood  of  Malcolm ! — mark : 

Forth,  pacing  hence,  at  midnight  dark. 

The  rampart  seek,  whose  circhng  crown'' 

Crests  the  ascent  of  yonder  down : 

A  southern  entrance  shalt  thou  find ; 

There  halt,  and  there  thy  bugle  wind. 

And  trust  tliine  elfin  foe  to  see,       i 

In  guise  of  thy  worst  enemy :  • 

Couch  then  thy  lance,  and  spur  thy  steed — 

Upon  him  !  and  Saint  George  to  speed ! 

If  he  go  down,  thou  soon  shalt  know 

"Wliate'er  these  airy  sprites  can  show  \  — 

If  thy  heart  fail  thee  m  the  strife, 

I  am  no  warrant  for  thy  hfe.' 

XXIII. 

"  Soon  as  the  midnight  bcU  did  ring. 

Alone,  and  arm'd,  forth  rode  the  King 

To  that  old  camp's  deserted  round  :* 

Sh  Knight,  you  well  might  mark  the  mound. 

Left  hand  the  town, — the  Pictish  race, 

The  trench,  long  since,  in  blood  did  trace ; 

The  moor  around  is  brown  and  bare, 

Tlie  space  within  is  green  and  fair. 

Tlie  spot  our  village  chikben  know. 

For  there  the  earliest  wild  flowers  grow ; 

But  woe  betide  the  wandermg  wight. 

That  treads  its  circle  in  the  night ! 

The  breadth  across,  a  bowshot  clear, 

Gives  ample  space  for  full  career : 

Opposed  to  the  four  pomts  of  heaven. 

By  four  deep  gaps  are  entrance  given. 

The  southernmost  oiu-  Monarch  past,' 

Halted,  and  blew  a  gallant  blast ; 

And  on  the  north,  within  the  ring, 

Appear'd  the  form  of  England's  King, 

Who  then,  a  thoiisand  leagues  afar. 

In  Palestine  waged  holy  war : 

Yet  arms  like  England's  did  he  wield. 


6  MS 

7  MS 


'  Bicker  and  buffet  he  shall  bide." 
'  Seek  \  *^^  '  "!''  S  """""P  ''■'"'''' 


old: 


as  a  crown. 


I  yon  )        (  trench  that    ' 
6  MS. — "  Alone,  and  arm'd,  rode  forth  the  King 
To  that  encampment's  haunted  round  " 
'  MS. — "  The  southern  gate  our  Monarch  past." 


112                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  in. 

Alike  the  leoparils  in  the  sliiuld, 

llie  Elfin  Warrior  doth  wield. 

Alike  liis  Syriiin  courser's  friuno, 

Upm  the  brown  hill's  breast  ,* 

The  riderV  Uii;^tli  of  limb  the  wiine: 

And  nmny  a  kni;,'ht  hath  j)r<iveil  his  chanco 

L<>ii:^  aftt-rwards  tliil  Scotland  know, 

In  the  chiirniM  ring  to  break  a  lance. 

Fell  Edward'  was  lier  deadliest  foo. 

But  all  have  foully  sped  ; 

Save  two,  as  Icgcn<ls  tell,  and  they 

XXIV. 

Were  Wallace  wight,  iind  Gilbert  Hay. — 

"  The  vision  made  our  Monarch  start, 

Gentles,  my  tale  ia  said." 

Hut  soon  he  niann'd  his  noble  heart. 

And  in  the  Itrst  career  they  ran, 

XXVI. 

The  Klfin  Knight  fell,  horse  and  man; 

Tlie  quaighs*  were  deep,  the  liquor  strong. 

Yet  did  a  splinter  t>f  his  lance 

And  on  the  tale  the  yeoman-throng 

Through  Alexander's  visor  glance. 

Had  male  a  comment  sage  and  long, 

And  razed  the  skin — a  puny  wound. 

But  Marmion  gave  a  sign  : 

The  King,  light  leaping  to  the  ground, 

And,  with  their  lord,  the  squires  retire; 

AVith  naked  blade  his  phiuitom  foe 

The  rest,  aroiuid  the  hostel  fire. 

Compell'd  the  future  war  to  show. 

'Ilieir  drowsy  limbs  recline; 

Of  Largs  he  s;iw  the  glorious  plain. 

For  pillow,  underneath  each  head. 

Where  still  gigantic,  bones  remain, 

The  quiver  and  the  targe  were  hiid. 

Memorial  of  the  Danish  war  ; 

Deep  slumbering  on  the  hostel  flfX)r,* 

Himself  1^  saw,  amid  the  field. 

Oppress'd  with  toil  and  ale,  they  snore : 

On  high  his  brandish'd  war-a.xe  wield, 

The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change. 

And  -strike  proud  Hacu  from  his  car, 

llirew  on  the  group  its  shadows  strange. 

While  all  around  the  shadowy  Kings 

Denmark's  grim  ravens  cower'd  their  wings. 

XXVII. 

'Tis  said,  that,  in  that  awful  night, 

Apart,  and  nestling  in  the  hay 

Remoter  visions  met  his  sight. 

Of  a  waste  loft,  Fitz- Eustace  lay ; 

Foreshowing  future  conquests  far,' 

Scarce,  by  the  pale  moonlight,  were  seen 

When  our  sons'  sons  wage  northern  war ; 

The  foUiings  of  his  mantle  green : 

A  royal  city,  tower  and  spire, 

Lightly  he  dreamt,  as  youth  will  dream, 

Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fire. 

Of  sport  by  thicket,  or  by  stream. 

And  shouting  crews  her  navy  bore, 

Of  hawk  or  hound,  of  ring  or  glove, 

Triumphant  to  the  victor  shore.^ 

Or,  lighter  yet,  of  lady's  love. 

Such  signs  may  learned  clerks  explain. 

A  cautious  tread  his  slundier  broke. 

They  pass  the  wit  of  simple  swain. 

And,  close  beside  him,  when  he  woke. 

In  moonbeam  half,  luid  half  in  gloom, 

XXV. 

Stood  a  tall  form,  with  nodding  plume ; 

"  The  joyful  King  turn'd  home  again, 

But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew. 

Headed  his  host,  and  quell'd  the  Dane ; 

His  master  Mariuion's  voice  lie  knew.* 

But  yearly,  when  return'd  the  night 

Of  his  strange  combat  with  the  sprite. 

XXVIIL 

His  wound  must  bleed  and  smart ; 

♦  — "  Fitz-Eustace  !  rise,  I  cannot  rest ; 

Lord  Gifford  then  would  gibing  say, 

Yon  churl's  wild  legend  haunts  my  breast, 

(     '  Bold  as  ye  were,  my  liege,  ye  pay 
•          Tlie  penance  of  your  start.' 

And  graver  thoughts  have  chafed  my  mood : 

The  air  must  cool  my  feverish  blood ; 

X«ing  since,  beneath  Dunfermline's  nave, 

And  fain  wouM  I  ride  forth,  to  see 

King  Alexander  fills  his  grave, 

The  scene  of  elfin  chivalry. 

Our  Lady  give  him  rest  1 

Arise,  and  saddle  me  my  steed ;' 

Yet  still  the  kuightly  spear  and  shield 

And,  gentle  Eustace,  take  good  heed 

1  Edward  I.,  nimanied  Longshanks. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

>  MS.—"  To  be  falfill'd  in  times  afar. 

»  A  wooden  cup,  composed  of  staves  hooped  together. 

When  onr  son.s'  sons  wage  northern  war  ; 

•  MS. — "  Deep  slumliering  on  the  floor  of  clay. 

A  royal  city's  lowers  and  spires 

Opprcs.i'<l  with  toil  and  ale,  they  lay  , 

Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fires. 

The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change. 

And  shouting  crews  her  navj  l)orp. 

Threw  on  them  lights  and  shadows  strange." 

Triumphant,  from  the  vaiiquish'd  shore." 

'  MS. — "  But,  ere  hii  dagger  Knstace  drew, 

'  For  an  account  of  the  expedition  lo  Copenliagen  in  1801, 

Jl  i<|>oke — Lor.!  Marinion's  voice  he  knew  " 

•ee  Soutlicy's  Life  of  Nelson,  diap.  vii. 

•  MS.—"  Come  down  and  saddle  me  my  Bleed," 

UANTO  IV.                                               MARMION.                                                        113 

Thou  dost  not  rouse  these  drowsy  slaves ; 

The  foot-tramp  of  a  flying  steed, 

I  would  not,  that  the  prating  knaves 

Come  town- ward  rtishing  on ; 

Had  cause  for  saying,  o'er  their  ale, 

First,  dead,  as  if  on  turf  it  trode, 

That  I  could  credit  such  a  tale." — 

Then,  clattering,  on  the  village  road, — 

Tlien  softly  down  the  steps  they  slid, 

In  other  pace  than  forth  he  yode,' 

Eustace  the  stable  door  undid, 

Return'd  Lord  Marmion. 

And,  darkling,  Marmion's  steed  array'd, 

Down  hastily  he  sprung  from  selle, 

'  "While,  whispermg,  thus  the  Baron  said : — 

And,  in  Ids  ha<te,  wellnigh  he  fell ; 

To  the  squire's  hand  the  rein  lie  threw, 

XXI  !<■ 

And  spoke  no  word  as  he  witlidrew : 

"  Didst  never,  good  my  youth,  hear  tell, 

But  yet  the  moonlight  did  betray, 

That  on  the  hour  when  I  was  born. 

The  falcon-crest  was  soil'd  with  clay ; 

Saint  George,  who  graced  my  su'e's  chapeUe,  \ 
Down  from  liis  steed  of  marble  fell,                  ' 

And  plainly  might  Fitz-Eustacc  see. 

By  stains  upon  the  charger's  knee, 

A  weary  wiglit  torlorn  ? 

And  liis  left  side,  that  on  the  moor 

Tlie  flattering  chaphuns  all  agree. 

He  had  not  kept  his  footmg  sure. 

The  champion  left  his  steed  to  me. 

Long  musuig  on  these  wondrous  signs, 

I  would,  the  omen's  truth  to  show, 

At  length  to  rest  the  squire  reclines, 

Tliat  I  could  meet  this  Elfin  Foe !' 

Broken  and  short ;  for  still,  between, 

Blithe  would  I  battle,  for  the  right 

"Would  dreams  of  terror  intervene: 

To  ask  one  question  at  the  sprite  : — 

Eustace  did  ne'er  so  blithely  mark 

Vain  thought !  for  elves,  if  elves  there  be,  %^ 

The  first  notes  of  the  morning  lark. 

An  empty  race,  by  fount  or  sea, 

To  dashing  waters  dance  and  sing,' 

Or  round  the  green  oak  wheel  their  rin».'* 

Thus  speaking,  he  his  steed  bestrode, 

And  from  the  hostel  slowly  rode. 

in  a  r  m  1 0  n . 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustacc  follow'd  him  abroad. 
And  mark'd  hun  pace  the  village  road. 
And  listen'd  to  his  horse's  tramp, 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CAXTO  FOURTH. 

Till,  by  the  lessening  sound, 
He  judged  that  of  the  Pictish  camp 
Lord  Marmion  sought  the  roimd. 

TO 
JAMES    SKENE,  EStt.* 

Ashesticl,  Ettrick  ForcsL 

"Wonder  it  seem'd,  in  the  squire's  eyes, 

As  ancient  minstrel  sagely  said, 

That  one,  so  wary  held,  and  wise, — 

"  WTiere  is  the  life  which  late  we  led !" 

Of  whom  'twas  said,  he  scarce  received 

That  Motley  clown  in  Arden  wood, 

For  gospel,  what  the  church  believed, —    "" 

"UHiom  humorous  Jacques  with  envy  view'd. 

Should,  stirr'd  by  idle  tale, 

Not  even  that  clown  could  amplify, 

Ride  forth  i!i  silence  of  the  night, 

On  tills  trite  text,  so  long  as  I. 

As  hoping  half  to  meet  a  sprite, 

Eleven  years  we  now  may  tell. 

AiTay'd  in  plate  and  mail. 

Since  we  have  known  each  otlier  well ; 

For  httle  did  Fitz-Eustace  know. 

Since,  riding  side  by  side,  our  hand 

That  passions,  in  contending  flow,  >«. 

First  drew  the  voluntary  brand  ;' 

Unfix  the  strongest  mind ; 

And  sure,  through  many  a  varied  scene. 

Wearied  frfim  doubt  to  doubt  to  flee, 

LTnkindness  never  came  between. 

"We  welcome  fond  credulity, 

Away  these  winged  years  have  flown. 

Guide  confident,  though  bUnd- 

To  join  the  mass  of  ages  gone ; 

And  though  deep  mark'd,  Uke  all  below. 

XXXL 

"With  checkefd  shades  of  joy  and  woe; 

Little  for  this  Fitz-Eustace  cared, 

Though  thou  o'er  realms  and  seas  hast  ranged. 

But,  patient,  waited  till  he  heard. 

Mark'd  cities  lost,  and  empires  changed, 

At  distance,  prick'd  to  utmost  speed, 

"While  here,  at  home,  my  narrower  ken 

1  MS. — "  I  would,  to  prove  the  omen  ri^ht, 

<  James  Skene,  Esq.,  ofRubisl.nw,  Aberdeenshire,  was  Cor- 

Thai 1  could  meet  this  Elfin  Knight!" 

net  in  the  Royal  Edinliur^h  Li^'ht  Horse  Volunteert  ,  and  Sir 

'  MS. — "  Dance  to  thp  wild  waves'  murmuring." 

Walter    cott  was  du.Triermastpr  of  the  same  corps. 

»  Yode,  used  by  old  poets  for  went 
15 

G  M3. — "  Uusheath'd  the  voluntary  brand." 

J 

lU 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


1 


"•  Somewhat  of  mnancrs  saw,  jtnd  men ; 
Thoiigli  viirjiiig  'wijJios,  liopes,  mi  J  fears, 
P'over'tl  the  jirogre.-is  of  these  ycftrn. 
Yet  now,  tlays,  week.*,  luid  iiutntlis,  but  Heoiu 
The  recollection  of  ai  ilreaiii, 
So  still  we  i,'Iiile  ilowu  to  the  sea 
Of  fathoiiile^  eternity. 

Even  now  it  seurnly  seems  a  day, 
Since  first  I  tuned  this  idle  lay; 
A  task  so  often  thrown  aside, 
When  leisure  graver  cares  denie<i. 
'I'liat  now,  November's  drear}'  gale, 
"Wliose  voice  inspired  my  opening  tale, 
Tliat  same  November  gale  once  more 
Whirls  the  dry  leaves  on  Yarrow  shore. 
Tlieir  vcx'd  bouglis  streaming  to  the  sky, 
Once  more  our  naked  birches  sigh. 
And  Blackliouse  heights,  and  Ettrick  Pen, 
Have  donn'd  their  wintry  shrouds  again : 
And  mountiiin  dark,  and  flooded  mead,* 
Bid  us  for.'^ake  the  banks  of  Tweed. 
Earlier  than  wont  along  the  sky, 
Mi.x'd  with  the  rack,  the  snow  mists  fly ; 
Tlie  shepherd,  who  in  sunmier  sun. 
Had  something  of  our  envy  won. 
As  thou  with  pencil,  I  with  pen, 
The  features  traced  of  hill  and  glen; — "* 
He  who,  outstretch'd  the  livelong  day, 
At  ease  among  the  heath-flowers  lay, 
View'd  the  light  clouds  with  vacant  look. 
Or  slumber'd  o'er  his  tatter'd  book, 
Or  idly  busied  him  to  guide 
His  angle  o'er  the  Icsson'd  tide ; — 
At  midnight  now,  the  snowy  plain 
Finds  sterner  labor  for  the  swain. 

Wlien  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun,* 
Through  heavy  vapors  dark  and  dun ; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  diy  and  warm, 
Hears,  half  asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain, 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane ; 
Tlie  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox. 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  nxjks, 
Are  warnings  wliich  the  shepherd  ask 
To  dismal  and  to  dangerous  task. 

1  MS. — "  And  noon-tide  mist,  and  flooded  mead." 

» Various   illustrationa  of    the   Poetry   and   Novels   of   Sir 

Waller   Pcolt,  from   designs  by  >!r.  Skene,  have  since   been 

poblished. 

•  MS. — "  When  red  hath  set  the  evening  sun, 

And  loud  winds  speak  the  storm  begun." 
«  MS.— "Till  thickly  drives  the  flaky  snow, 

Anil  forth  the  har<!y  swain  must  go, 
While,  with  dejected  look  and  whine,"  Sec. 

•  MS. — "  The  fro7.en  blast  that  sweeiw  the  fells.' 

•  MS. — "  Mis  cottage  window  beams  a  star, — 


Oft  ho  looks  ftjrth,  and  liopcs,  in  vain, 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain  ; 
Till,  dark  al>ive,  and  white  below,* 
Decided  drives  tin-  fhiky  siiow. 
And  forth  the  liardy  swain  must  go. 
T^ing,  with  di-jfcted  look  and  whine. 
To  leave  tlie  hearth  his  dogs  repine  ; 
Whistling  and  clieering  them  to  aid, 
Aronu'l  his  back  he  wreathes  the  plaid: 
His  fliiek  he  gathers,  and  lie  guiilcs. 
To  open  downs,  and  mountain-sides. 
Where  fiercest  though  tlie  tempest  blow, 
,  Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 
Tlic  blast,  that  wliistles  o'er  the  fells,* 
Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles; 
Oft  he  looks  back,  while  streaming  far. 
His  cottage  window  seems  a  star, — * 
Loses  its  feeble  gleam, — and  then 
Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again. 
And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep, 
Drives   through   the   gloom  his   lagging 

.         sheep. 
Iffails  liis  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 
Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale : 
His  paflis,  his  lantlmarks,  all  unknown. 
Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own. 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 
The  morn  may  find  the  stifTen'd  swain  :^ 
Tlie  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale. 
His  orphans  raise  their  feeble  wail ; 
And,  close  beside  liim,  in  the  snow. 
Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  woe, 
Couches  upon  his  master's  breast,* 
And  hcks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest. 

Who  envies  now  the  shepherd's  lot, 
His  healthy  fare,  his  rural  cot. 
His  summer  couch  by  greenwood  tree, 
His  rustic  kirn's'  loud  revelry. 
His  native  hill-notes,  tuned  on  high, 
To  Marion  of  the  blithesome  eye  ;" 
-  His  crook,  his  scrip,  his  oaten  reed 
And  all  Arcadia's  golden  creed  ? 

Changes  not  so  with  us,  my  Skene, 
Of  human  life  the  varying  scene  ! 
Our  youthful  sutumer  oft  we  see" 

Bnt  Foon  he  loses  it, — and  then 

Turns  patient  to  his  task  again." 
'  MS. — "  The  mom  shall  find  the  stiflen'd  swain  " 

Ills  widow  sees,  at  morning  pale. 

His  children  rise,  and  raise  their  wail." 
Compare  the  celebrated  description  of  a  man  perishing  in  ttia 
snow,  in  Thomson's  rt'i'ntfr.— See  Appendix,  Note  2  V 
s  MS. — "  Conrhcs  npon  hit  frozen  breast." 
0  The  Scottish  Harvest-home. 

10  MS. — "  His  native  wihl-notes'  melodf , 

To  Marion's  blithely  blinking  eye." 

11  MS  — "  Oor  youthful  summer  oft  we  see 


CAXTO  IV. 


MARMION. 


115 


Dance  by  on  wings  of  game  and  glee, 

While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 

Against  the  winter  of  om-  age : 

As  he,  the  ancient  Chief  of  Troj, 

Sis  manliood  spent  in  peace  and  joy  ; 

But  Grecian  fires,  and  loud  alarms, 

Call'd  ancient  Priam  forth  to  arms.' 

Then  happy  those,  since  each  must  drain  \ 

His  share  of  pleasure,  share  of  pain, —       ' 

Then  hapjDy  those,  beloved  of  Heaven, 

To  whom  the  mingled  cup  is  given  • 

Wliose  lenient  sorrows  find  relief. 

Whose  joys  are  chasteu'd  by  their  grief. 

And  such  a  lot,  my  Skene,  was  tliiue. 

When  thou  of  late,  wert  doom'd  to  twine, — 

Just  when  thy  bridal  hoiu"  was  by, — 

The  cypress  with  the  myrtle  tie. 

Just  on  thy  bride  her  Sire  had  smiled,'' 

And  bless'd  the  union  of  his  child. 

When  love  must  change  its  joyous  cheer, 

And  wipe  affection's  filial  tear. 

Nor  did  the  actions  next  his  end,^ 

Speak  more  the  father  than  the  friend  : 

Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes^  paid 

The  tribute  to  his  Minstrel's  shade  ; 

The  tale  of  friendship  scarce  was  told, 

Ere  the  narrator's  heart  was  cold — 

Far  may  we  search  before  we  find 

A  heart  so  manly  and  so  kind  ! 

But  not  around  his  honor'd  urn. 

Shall  friends  alone  and  kindred  mourn  ; 

The  thousand  eyes  liis  care  had  dried, 

Pour  at  his  name  a  bitter  tide ; 

And  frequent  falls  the  grateful  dew, 

For  benefits  the  world  ne'er  knew. 

If  mortal  charity  dare  claim 

The  Almighty's  attributed  name. 

Inscribe  above  liis  mouldering  clay, 

"  The  widow's  sliield,  the  orphan's  stay." 

Nor,  though  it  wake  thy  sorrow,  deem 

My  verse  intrudes  on  this  sad  theme ; 

For  sacred  was  the  pen  that  wrote, 

"  Tliy  father's  friend  forget  thou  not ;" 

And  grateful  title  may  I  plead,' 

For  many  a  kindly  word  and  deed. 

Dance  by  on  wings  of  mirth  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
To  crush  the  winter  of  our  age." 
1  MP.—"  Call'd  forth  his  feeble  age  to  arras." 
'  MS. — "  Scarce  on  thy  liride  her  sire  had  smiled." 

*  MS. — "  But  even  the  actions  ne.xt  his  end. 

Spoke  the  fond  sire  and  faithful  friend." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W. 

6  MS. — "  And  nearer  title  may  I  plead." 

*  MS. — "  Our  thonghts  in  social  silence  too." 

7  Camp  was  a  favorite  dog  of  the  Poet's,  a  bull-terrier  of  ex- 
traordinary sagacity.  He  is  introduced  in  Raeburu'a  portrait 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  now  at  Dalkeith  Palace.— Ed. 

s  MS. — "  Till  oft  orr  voice  suppress'd  the  fend." 


To  bring  my  tribute  to  his  grave  : — 
'Tis  httle— but  'tis  all  I  have. 

To  thee,  perchance,  this  rambling  strain 
Recalls  om-  simimer  walks  again  • 
Wlien,  doing  naught, — and,  to  speak  true, 
Not  anxious  to  find  aught  to  do, — 
The  wild  imbomaded  hills  we  ranged, 
WhUe  oft  our  talk  its  topic  changed. 
And,  desultory  as  om"  way. 
Ranged,  unconfined,  from  grave  to  gay. 
Even  when  it  flagg'd,  as  oft  will  chance, 
No  eSbrt  made  to  break  its  trance, 
We  could  right  pleasantly  pursue 
Oiu"  sports  in  social  silence  too;' 
Thou  gravely  laboring  to  portray 
The  bhghted  oak's  fantastic  spray ; 
I  spelhng  o'er,  with  much  dehght, 
The  legend  of  that  antique  knight, 
Tirante  by  name,  yclep'd  theJWMtfi. 
At  cither's  feet  a  trusty  squire, 
Pandour  and  Camp,''  with  eyes  of  fire, 
Jealous,  each  other's  motions  view'd. 
And  scarce  suppress'd  theu*  ancient  feud-' 
The  laverock  whistled  from  the  cloud ; 
The  stream  was  lively,  but  not  loud ; 
From  the  white  thorn  the  May-flower  shed 
Its  dewy  fragrance  round  our  head  : 
Not  Ariel  Uved  more  merrUy 
Under  the  blossom'd  bough,  than  we. 

And  blithesome  nights,  too,  have  been  ours, 
When  Winter  stript  the  summer's  bowers. 
Careless  we  heard,  what  now  I  heai',® 
The  wild  blast  sighing  deep  and  drear. 
When  fires  were  bright,  and  lamps  beam'd 

gay. 

And  ladies  tuned  the  lovely  lay ; 
And  he  was  held  a  laggard  soul. 
Who  shumi'd  to  quaff  the  sparkling  bowL 
Then  he,  whose  absence  we  deplore," 
Who  breathes  the  gales  of  Devon's  shore, 
Tlie  longer  miss'd,  bewail'd  the  more  ; 

And  thou,  and  I,  and  dear-loved  R ," 

And  one  whose  name  I  may  not  say," — 


«  MS. — "  IVken  light  we  heard  what  now  I  hear." 

10  Colin  Mackenzie,  Esq.,  of  Portmore,  one  of  the  Princijia 
Clerks  of  Session  at  Edinburgh,  and  through  life  an  intimate 
friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  died  on  10th  September,  1830.— Ed. 

11  Sir  William  Rae  of  St.  Catharine's,  Bart.,  subsequently 
Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland,  was  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  volunteer  corps  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  belonged  ;  and 
he,  the  Poet,  Mr.  Skene,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  and  a  few  other 
friends,  had  formed  themselves  into  a  little  semi-military  club, 
the  meetings  of  which  were  held  at  their  family  supper-tab! es 
in  rotation. — Ed. 

1-  The  gentleman  whose  name  the  Poet  "  might  not  saj," 
was  the  late  Sir  William  Forbes,  of  Pitsligo,  Bart.,  son  of  vha 
author  of  the  Life  of  Beattie,  and  brotJiep-in-law  of  Mr.  Sken» 


IJG 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


For  not  Mimosa's  teuJer  tree 

Shrinks  .sooner  from  the  toui}i  Uuin  he, — 

In  merry  chorus  well  fomhined, 

With  liiu^'hter  drowiiM  the  whistling  wind. 

Mirtli  was  witliin;  and  Cure  witliout 

Miijht  gnaw  iier  nails  to  lioar  our  kIiouL 

Not  but  amid  the  buxom  scene 

Some  grave  discourse  might  intervene — 

Of  tl»    giMxl  liorse  that  l>ore  bin)  bent, 

Ili-i  sliouldt  r.  h<Hif,  and  arching  crest: 

For,  like  mad  Tom's,'  our  chiefest  care, 

Was  liorse  to  ride,  and  weapon  wear. 

S\ich  nights  we've  liad ;  anil,  though  the  game' 

Of  manhood  be  more  sober  tame, 

And  though  tlic  field-day,  or  the  drill, 

Su'm  less  important  now — yet  still 

Such  may  we  hope  to  share  again. 

The  sprightly  tluuight  insjiires  my  strain! 

And  mark,  how,  like  a  horsiinan  true, 

Lord  Murmion's  march  I  thus  renew. 


ill  a  r  in  ion. 


CANTO  KOUKTIL 


8r!)e  Camp. 
I. 

EusT.tcE,  I  said,  did  blithely  mark 
Tlie  first  noted  of  the  merry  lark. 
Tlie  lark  sang  shrill,  the  cock  he  crew, 
And  loudly  Marniion's  bugles  blew, 
And  with  their  light  and  lively  call, 
Brought  groom  and  yeoman  to  the  stall 
Whistling  they  came,  and  free  of  heart, 

But  soon  their  mood  was  changed  ; 
~*   Complaint  was  heard  on  every  part. 

Of  something  disarranged. 
Some  claraor'd  loud  for  armor  lost ; 
Some  brawl'd  and  wrangled  with  the  host; 
"  By  Beckct's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  I  fear,' 
Tliat  some  false  Scot  has  stolen  my  spear !" — 
Young  Blount,  Lord  Marmion's  second  squire 
Found  his  steed  wet  with  sweat  and  mire  ; 
Although  the  rated  horse-boy  sware, 
Last  night  he  drcss'd  him  sleek  and  fair. 
W^hile  chafed  the  impatient  squire  hke  thunder, 
Old  Hubert  shouts,  in  fear  and  wonder, — 
"  Help,  gentle  Blount !  help,  comrades  all  1 
Bevis  lies  dying  in  his  stall : 
To  Marmion  who  Uie  jilight  dare  tell, 

iirough  life  an  intim.ite,  and  latterly  a  generoiu  friead  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott— died  S-ttli  October,  1828.— Ed. 

1  l?ee  King  Lear. 

'  MS. — "  Sntih  nigliLs  we've  had  ;  and  thoagh  our  game 
Advance  of  years  may  something  Ume." 


Of  the  good  steed  he  loves  so  well  I" 
(Japing  for  fear  and  ruth,  they  saw 
The  charger  panting  on  his  straw  ;* 
Till  one,  who  would  setim  wisest,  cried,-^ 
"  What  else  but  evil  could  betide, 
With  that  cursc'd  Talnier  for  our  guide  t 
BettiT  we  had  through  mire  and  bush 
Ueen  huitern-led  by  Friar  Kii'h."* 

IF. 

Fitz-Eustaco,  who  the  cause  but  gucss'd, 

Nor  wholly  underst(M)d, 
Ilis  comrades'  clamuruus  plaints  supprcss'd  ; 

He  knew  Lord  Marmion's  m(x>d. 
Him,  ere  he  i.ssued  forth,  he  sought, 
And  found  de(;p  plunged  in  ghxjmy  Uiought, 

And  did  his  tale  display 
Sim|)ly  as  if  he  knew  of  naught 
To  cause  such  disarray. 
Lord  Marmion  gave  attention  cold. 
Nor  marvell'd  at  the  wonders  told, — 
l';Lss"(i  them  iis  accidents  of  course. 
And  bade  his  clarions  sound  to  horse. 

HI. 
Young  Henry  Blount,  meanwhile,  the  coet 
Had  reckon'd  with  their  Scotti.sh  host; 
And,  iis  the  charge  he  cast  and  jiaid, 
"  111  thou  deserv'st  thy  hire,"  lie  said  ; 
"  Dost  see,  thou  knave,  my  horse's  plight  f 
'  Fairies  have  rirlden  him  all  the  night, 

And  hift  him  in  a  foam  ! 
I  trust  that  soon  a  conjuring  band, 
With  English  cross,  and  blazing  brand,* 
Shall  drive  the  devils  from  this  land. 

To  their  infernal  home : 
For  in  this  haunted  den,  I  trow. 
All  night  they  trample  to  ami  fro." — 
Tlie  laughing  host  look'd  on  the  hire, — 
"  GraiinTcy,  gentle  southern  squire, 
And  if  thou  comest  among  the  rest. 
With  Scottish  broadsword  to  be  blest. 
Sharp  be  the  brand,  and  sure  the  blow. 
And  short  the  pang  to  undergo." 
Here  stay'd  their  talk, — for  Marmion 
Gave  now  the  signal  to  set  on. 
The  Palmer  showing  forth  the  way. 
They  journey'd  all  the  morning  day.^ 

IV. 
Tlie  green-.sward  way  was  smootli  and  good, 
Through  Ihimbie's  and  through  Saltoun'a  wood 
A  forest  glade,  wi  icii,  varying  still, 

•  MS. — •'  By  necket'-s  bones,"  oiied  one,  "  f  sweai." 

*  MS. — "  TliL-  {;ooil  horse  panting  on  the  straw." 
'  See  A|i|ienilix,  Note  2  X. 

8  MS. — •'  With  hloo'ly  rro«i  and  fiery  brand." 
'  MS. — "  Tliey  journey'd  till  the  middle  dar. 


CANTO  IV.                                             MARMION.                                                       117 

Here  gave  a  view  of  dale  and  hill. 

In  painted  tabards,  proudly  showing 

There  narrower  closed,  till  over  head 

Gules,  Argent,  Or,  and  Azure  glowing, 

A  vaulted  screen  the  branches  made. 

Attentlant  on  a  Kiiig-at-arnis, 

"  A  pleasant  path,"  Fitz-Eustace  said  ; 

Whose  hand  the  armorial  truncheon  held. 

"  Such  as  where  errant-knights  might  sei3 

That  feudal  strife  had  often  quell'd, 

Adventures  of  high  cliivalry  ; 

When  wildest  its  alarms. 

Might  meet  some  damsel  flying  fiist, 

With  hair  unbound,  and  looks  aghast ; 

VIL 

And  smooth  and  level  course  were  here, 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age ; 

In  her  defence  to  break  a  spear. 

In  aspect  manly,  grave,  and  sage, 

Here,  too,  are  twilight  nooks  and  dells ; 

As  on  Kuig's  errand  come  ; 

And  oft,  in  such,  the  story  tells, 

But  in  the  glances  of  liis  eye. 

The  damsel  kind,  from  danger  freed, 

A  penetrating,  keen,  and  sly 

Did  grateful  pay  her  champions  meed." 

Expression  found  its  home ; 

He  spoke  to  cheer  Lord  Marmion's  mind: 

The  flash  of  that  sathic  rage, 

Perchance  to  show  liis  lore  design'd ; 

Wliich,  bursting  on  the  early  stage, 

For  Eustace  much  had  pored 

Branded  the  vices  of  the  age. 

Upon  a  huge  romantic  tome,' 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Rome.* 

In  the  hall  window  of  liis  home, 

On  milk-wliite  palfrey  forth  he  paced ; 

Imprinted  at  the  antique  dome    1 
Of  Caxton,  or  De  Worde."         ' 

His  cap  of  maintenance  was  graced 

With  the  proud  heron-plume 

Therefore  he  spoke, — but  spoke  in  vain, 

From  his  steed's  shoulder,  loin,  and  breast, 

For  Marmion  answer'd  naught  again. 

Silk  housings  swept  the  ground. 

With  Scotland's  arms,  device,  and  crest. 

V. 

Embroider'd  round  and  round. 

Now  sudden,  distant  trumpets  shrill. 

Tlie  double  tressm-e  might  you  see, 

In  notes  prolong'd  by  wood  and  hill, 

First  by  Achaius  borne, 

Were  heard  to  echo  far ; 

The  tliistle  and  the  fleur-de-lis, 

Each  ready  archer  grasp'd  his  bow, 

And  gallant  unicorn.* 

But  by  the  flourish  soon  they  know, 

So  bright  the  Iving's  armorial  coat, 

They  breathed  no  point  of  war. 

Tliat  scarce  tlie  dazzled  eye  could  note. 

Yet  cautious,  as  in  foeman's  land, 

In  living  colors,  blazon'd  brave, 

Lord  Marmion's  order  speeds  the  band. 

The  Lion,  which  his  title  gave. 

Some  opener  ground  to  gain ; 

A  train,  which  well  beseem'd  liis  state. 

And  scarce  a  furlong  had  they  rode, 

But  all  unarm'd,  around  liim  wait. 

When  thinner  trees,  receding,  show'd 

Still  is  thy  name  in  high  account, 

A  Uttle  woodland  plain. 

And  still  thy  verse  has  charms. 

Just  in  that  advantageous  glade, 
The  halting  troop  a  line  had  made, 

Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 

jjord  Lion  Jijng-at-arms  !* 

As  forth  from  the  opposing  shade 

Issued  a  gaUant  train. 

VIIL 

Down  from  his  horse  did  Marmion  spring. 

Vt 

Soon  as  he  saw  the  Lion-King ; 

'First  came  the  trumpets,  at  whose  clang 

For  well  the  stately  Baron  knew 

So  late  the  forest  echoes  rang ; 

To  liim  such  courtesy  was  due. 

On  prancing  steeds  they  forward  press'd, 

Whom  royal  James  himself  had  crown' d. 

IWith  scarlet  mantle,  azure  vest; 

And  on  his  temples  placed  the  round 

Each  at  his  trump  a  banner  wore. 

Of  Scotland's  ancient  diadem  ; 

Which  Scotland's  royal  scutcheon'  bore  : 

And  wet  liis  brow  with  haUow'd  wine, 
And  on  Ms  finger  given  to  shine 

Heralds  and  pm-suivants,  by  name 

Bute,  Islay,  Marchmount,  Rothsay,  r!R,me, 

The  emblematic  gem. 

1  MS. — "  Upon  a  Hack  and  ponderous  tome." 

"scarlet  tabards  ;"  and  in  line  12th,  "blazoned  trnncheon  " 

a  William  Caxton,  the  earliest  English  printer,  was  born  il 

*  MS.—"  The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage. 

Kent,  A.  D.  1412,  and  died  in  1491.     Wynlien  de  Worde  wa.. 

Which,  bursting  from  the  early  stage, 

his  next  successor  in  the  production  of  those 

Lash'd  the  coarse  vices  of  tlie  age,"  &c. 

"  Rare  volumes,  dark  with  tarnish'd  gold," 

'  MS. — "  Silver  unicorn."     This,  and  the  seven  precediiui 

which  are  now  the  delight  of  bibliomaniacs. 

lines,  are  interpolated  in  the  blank  page  of  the  MS 

'  The  MS.  has  "  Scotland's  royal  Lion"  here  ;  in  line  9th, 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

118 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV, 


lluir  lautunl  greetings  duly  mnde, 

'riu:  Lion  thus  liis  in»-ssii|^e  saiil : — 

"Though  ScKtlumrs  Kin;;  hath  deeply  swnre' 

N'c'er  to  knit  faith  with  Henry  more, 

Atul  .strictly  hath  forbid  resort 

I'roiu  Eughiiid  to  his  royal  court ; 

Yet,  for  he  knows  Lord  Mnrmion's  naniu, 

And  honors  nnich  his  warlike  fjune, 

My  liege  hath  deeni'd  it  shunie,  aiul  lack 

Of  courtesy,  to  turn  him  back  ; 

And.  by  his  order,  I,  your  guide, 

Must  lodging  tit  anil  fair  provide. 

Till  finds  King  James  meet  time  to  see 

The  flower  of  English  chivalry." 

IX. 
Thougli  inly  chafed  at  this  delay, 
Lord  Marniion  bears  it  as  he  may. 
The  Palmer,  liis  mysterious  guide, 
Beholding  thus  his  place  supplied, 

Sought  U)  take  leave  in  vain : 
Strict  was  the  Lion-King's  command, 
Tliat  none,  who  rode  in  Marmion's  band. 

Should  sever  from  the  train  ; 
"  England  has  here  enow  of  .«pies 
In  Lady  Heron's  witching  eyes :" 
To  Marchmourit  thu.^,  apart,  he  said. 
Rut  fair  pretext  to  Marmion  made. 
The  right  hand  path  they  now  decline, 
And  trace  against  the  stream  the  Tync. 


At  length  up  that  wild  dale  they  wind. 

Where  Crichtoun  Castle"  crowns  the  bank ; 
For  there  the  Lion's  care  assign'd 

A  lodging  meet  for  Marmion's  rank. 
That  Castle  rises  on  the  steep 

Of  the  green  vale  of  Tyne : 
And  far  beneath,  where  slow  they  creep. 
From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep, 
Where  alders  moist,  and  willows  weep. 

You  hear  her  streams  repine.' 
The  towers  in  different  ages  rose ; 
Their  various  arcldtecture  shows 

The  builders'  various  hands ; 
A  mighty  mass,  that  could  oppose,* 
Wlien  dcadhcst  hatred  fired  its  foes. 

The  vengeful  Douglas  bands. 

XL 
Chrichtoun  1  though  now  thy  miry  court 
But  pens  the  lazy  steer  and  sheep, 

'  MS. — "  The  Lion-King  his  menage  said  : — 

'  My  liege  hath  deep  and  deadly  swore,'  "  &o. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z  ;  and,  for  a  fuller  description  of 
Crichton  Castle,  see  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  1.57. 

3  MS. — "  Her  lazy  streams  repine." 


Thy  turrets  rude,  and  totter'd  Keep, 
Have  been  the  iiiin.-trel's  loved  reiwrt. 
Oft  have  I  traced,  within  thy  fort, 

<  )r  mouldering  whieUL*  the  mystic  sense, 

Scutcheon-*  of  honor,  or  pretence, 
Quiirter'd  in  old  armorial  .-^ort, 

Rcmuina  of  rude  magnificence. 
Nor  wholly  yet  had  time  defaced 

Tiiy  lordly  gallery  fair; 
Nor  yet  the  stony  cord  unbraced, 
Whose  twisted  knots,  with  roses  laced. 

Adorn  thy  ruin'il  stsiir. 
Still  rises  imimpair'd  bdow. 
The  court-yard's  graceful  portico ; 
Above  its  cornice,  row  and  row 

Of  fmr  hewn  facets  richly  show 
Tlieir  pointed  diamond  form, 

Though  there  but  houseless  aittle  go, 
To  shield  them  from  the  storm. 

And,  shuddering,  still  may  we  explore, 
Where  oft  whilom  were  captives  pent, 

Tlte  darlcne.ss  of  thy  Ma.ssy  More  ;* 
Or,  from  thy  gra.-^s-grown  battlcnien^ 
May  trace,  in  imdulating  line, 
The  sluggish  mazes  of  the  Tyne. 

XIL 
Another  aspect  Chrichtoun  show'd, 
As  through  its  portal  MarmioT  r'xte , 
But  yet  'twas  melancholy  ctat^ 
Received  him  at  the  outer  gate ; 
For  none  were  in  the  Castle  then, 
But  women,  bc>ys,  or  aged  men. 
With  eyes  acarce  dried,  the  sorrowing  daTUb, 
To  welcome  nt)l)le  Marniion,  came ; 
Her  fion,  a  stripling  twelve  years  old, 
Proffer'd  the  Baron's  rein  to  hold ; 
For  each  man  that  could  draw  a  sword 
Had  myrch'd  that  morning  Avith  their  lord. 
Earl  Adam  Hepburn, — he  who  died 
On  Flodden,  by  Itis  sovereign's  side.^ 
Long  may  liis  Lady  look  in  vain  ! 
She  ne'er  shall  see  his  gallant  (rain,* 
Come  sweeping  back  through  Cricbtoim-Deaa 
'Twas  a  brave  race,  before  the  name 
Of  hated  Bothwell  stain'd  their  fame. 

XIIL 
And  here  two  days  did  Marmion  rest, 

With  every  rite  that  honor  claim.s. 
Attended  as  the  King's  own  guest ; — 

Such  the  command  of  Royal  James, 

*  MS. — "  But  the  huge  mass  conld  well  oppose." 
<•  MS. — "  Of  many  a  mouldering  shield  the  ier«e." 
'  The  |)it,  or  prison  vault. — .See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 
6  Ms. — "  Well  might  his  gentle  Lady  mourn, 

Doom'd  ne'er  to  see  bur  Lord's  return." 


CANTO  IV. 


MARMION. 


119 


I 


"WTio  marsliall'd.  tlien  his  land's  array, 

Upon  the  Borough-moor  that  lay. 

Perchance  he  would  not  foeman's  eye 

Upon  his  gathering  host  should  pry, 

Till  full  prepared  was  every  band 

To  march  against  the  Enghsh  land. 

Here  -vrhile  they  dwelt,  did  Lindesay's  wit 

Oft  cheer  the  Baron's  moodier  fit ; 

And,  in  his  tiu-n,  he  knew  to  prize 

Lord  Marmion's  powerful  mind,  and  wise  • — 

Train'd  in  the  lore  of  Rome  and  Greece, 

And  policies  of  war  and  peace.' 

XIV. 
It  chanced,  as  fell  the  second  night, 

That  on  the  battlements  they  walk'd. 
And,  by  the  slowly-fading  light, 

Of  vaiying  topics  talked ; 
And,  unaware,  the  Herald-bard^ 
Said,  Marmion  might  his  toil  have  spared, 

In  travelling  so  far ; 
For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given 

Against  the  Enghsh  war  ;' 
And,  closer  question'd,  thus  he  told 
A  tale,  which  chi-onicles  of  old 
In  Scottish  story  have  enroU'd : — 

XV. 

Sir  ^SJabiti  Sfntiesas's  STale. 
"  Of  aU  the  palaces  so  fair,* 

Built  for  the  roval  dwelling. 
In  Scotland,  far  beyond  compare 

1  MS. — "  Nor  less  the  Herald  Monarch  knew 
The  Baron's  powers  to  value  true — 
Hence  confidence  between  thera  grew." 


a  MS. — "  Then  fell  from  Lindesay,  unware, 

That  Marmion  misht  )  ,  .   ,  .  ,, 

-,       .  .  ,      °  ,,  J  hi3  labor  spare.  ' 

Marmion  might  well  J 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

4  "  In  some  places,  Mr.  Scott's  love  of  variety  has  betrayed 
him  into  strange  imitations.  This  is  evidently  formed  on  the 
school  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins, — 

'  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,'  "  &c. 

Jeffrey. 

5  In  Scotland  there  are  aboat  twenty  palaces,  castles,  and 
remains,  or  sites  of  such, 

"  Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years" 
had  their  royal  home. 

"  Linlithgow,  distinguished  by  the  combined  strength  and 
beauty  of  its  situation,  must  have  been  early  selected  as  a 
royal  residence.  David,  who  bought  the  title  of  saint  by  his 
liberality  to  the  Church,  refers  several  of  his  charters  to  his 
town  of  Linlithgow  ;  and  in  that  of  Holyrood  expressly  be- 
stows on  the  new  monastery  all  the  skins  of  the  rams,  ewes, 
and  lambs,  belonging  to  his  castle  of  LinUtcu,  which  shall 
die  during  the  year.  .  .  .  The  convenience  afforded  for  the 
sport  of  falconry,  which  was  so  great  a  favorite  during  the 
feudal  ages,  was  probably  one  cause  of  the  attachment  of  the 


Linhthgow  is  excelhng  ;*  . 
And  in  its  park  in  jovial  Jime, 
How  sweet  the  merry  linnet's  time, 

How  blithe  the  blackbird's  lay ! 
The  wUd-buck-bells°  from  ferny  brake, 
The  coot  dives  merry  on  the  lake, 
The  saddest  heart  might  pleasure  take 

To  see  all  natiu-e  gay. 
But  June  is  to  our  Sovereign  dear 
The  heaviest  month  in  aU  the  year : 
Too  well  his  cause  of  grief  you  know 
June  saw  his  father's  overtlirow.' 
Woe  to  tlie  traitors,  who  could  bring 
The  princely  boy  against  his  King ! 
Still  in  his  conscience  burns  the  sting. 
In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 
King  James's  Jime  is  ever  spent.* 

XVL 
"When  last  this  ruthful  month  waa 

come. 
And  in  Linhthgow's  holy  dome 

The  King,  as  wont,  was  praying ; 
While,  for  his  royal  fatlier's  soid. 
The  chanters  sung,  the  bells  did  toll, 

The  Bishop  mass  was  saying — 
For  now  the  year  brought  round  again' 
The  day  the  luckless  khig  was  slain — 
In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  knelt, 
With  sackcloth-shirt,  and  iron  belt, 

And  eyes  with  sorrow  streaming ; 
Arotmd  him  in  their  stalls  of  state. 
The  Tliistle's  Knight  Companions  sate, 

ancient  Scottish  monarchs  to  Linlithgow  and  its  fine  lake. 
The  sport  of  hunting  was  also  followed  with  success  In  tlie 
neighborhood,  from  which  circumstance  it  probably  arises  that 
the  ancient  arms  of  the  city  represent  a  black  greyhound  bitch 
tied  to  a  tree.  .  .  .  The  situation  of  Liiilitligow  Palace  is 
eminently  beautiful.  It  stands  on  a  promontory  of  some 
elevation,  which  advances  almost  into  the  midst  of  the  lake. 
The  form  is  that  of  a  square  court,  composed  of  buildings  of 
four  stories  high,  with  towers  at  the  angles.  The  fronts  within 
the  square,  and  the  windows,  are  highly  ornamented,  and  the 
size  of  tlie  rooms,  as  well  as  the  width  and  character  of  the 
staircases,  are  upon  a  magnificent  scale.  One  banquet-room 
is  ninety-four  feet  long,  thirty  feet  wide,  and  thirty-three  feet 
liigh,  with  a  gallery  for  music.  The  king's  wardrobe  or 
dressing-room,  looking  to  the  west,  projects  over  the  walls,  so 
as  to  have  a  delicious  prospect  on  three  sides,  and  is  one  of  the 
mcst  enviable  boudoirs  we  have  ever  seen." — Sir  Walter 
Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  382,  &c. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 

8  MS. — "  In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 

And  penances  his  Junes  are  spent." 

5  MS. — "  For  now  the  year  brought  round  again 

The  very  day  that  he  )  ,  . 

The  day  that  the  third  James  S 

In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  kneels, 

Aud  folded  hands  )    ,  ,       ,      ^    ,    .. 

,     ,  ,       ,  ,         ,  >  show  what  he  feeu  •' 

And  hands  sore  clasped  ) 


120 


SCO'IT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTC  IV 


Tlif  ir  banncra  oVr  tliom  bcaniiiiy. 
I  too  wius  there,  anJ,  sooth  to  tell, 
Bfiii-afoiul  with  tho  jani,'lin},'  knell, 
W'jLS  wati'hiiig  wluTi-  tlio  suiilK'am«  fell, 

Throuj,'h  the  staiiiM  caHcineiit  gloaming ; 
But,  while  I  iiiarkM  what  next  hefell, 
It  eeem'd  a-s  I  were  dreatiiinj,'. 
Stepj/il  from  tho  crowil  u  glu^tly  wight, 
In  azuro  gown,  with  citu-ture  white; 
Ilia  forehead  bald,  his  head  was  bare, 
Down  hung  at  K  iijjth  hia  yellow  hjiir. — 
Now,  mock  nic  not,  when,  ginnl  my  Lord, 
I  pledge  to  you  my  knightly  word, 
'Hiat,  when  I  «iw  Ills  placid  grace, 
lILs  «iinplo  majesty  of  face, 
His  aolenm  bearing,  and  liis  pace 

So  stately  gliding  on, — 
Secm'd  to  me  ne'er  did  limner  paint 
So  jd^t  an  image  of  the  Saint, 
^Vho  propp'd  the  Virgin  m  her  faint, — 
The  loved  Apostle  John  1 

XVIL 
"He  stcpp'd  before  the  Monarch's  chair. 
And  stood  with  rustic  plainness  there, 

And  httlc  reverence  made ; 
Nor  head  nor  body,  bow'd  nor  bent, 
But  on  the  desk  his  arm  he  leant, 

And  words  like  these  he  said, 
In  a  low  voice,  but  never  tone' 
So   thrill'd  through  vein,  and  nerve,  and 

bone : — 
'  My  mother  sent  me  from  afar, 
Sir  King,  to  warn  thee  not  to  war, — 
Woe  waits  on  tliine  array ; 
■^  If  war  thou  wilt,  of  woman  fair,' 
Her  -witcliing  wiles  and  wanton  snare, 
James  Stuart,  doubly  wani'd,  beware : 
God  keep  thee  aa  he  may  !' 

llie  wondering  Monarch  scera'd  to  seek 

For  answer,  and  found  none ; 
And  when  he  raised  liis  head  to  speak, 
The  monitor  was  gone. 
The  Marshal  and  myself  had  cast 
To  stop  him  as  he  outward  pass'd ; 
But,  lighter  than  the  whirlwind's  blast, 

He  vanish'd  from  our  eyes. 
Like  sunbeam  on  the  billow  cast. 
That  glances  but,  and  dies." 


»  MS. — "  In  a  low  voice^hnt  every  tone 

Thrill'd  throagh  the  listener's  vein  and  bone." 

5  MS.—"  And  if  to  yiai  thou  needs  wilt  fare 

Of  wanton  wiles  and  woman's  )  .„__  ,, 
Of  woman's  wiles  and  wanton  i 

»  MS. — "  Bnt  events,  since  I  cross'd  the  Tweed, 
Have  andermined  my  skeptic  creed." 


XV  III. 
Wliilo  Lindesay  told  his  marvel  strange. 
The  twilight  wa.s  w)  pale, 
-•  He  inark'd  not  Mannion'a  color  change, 
While  listening  to  the  talc ; 
But,  after  a  suspen  led  pause, 
n»e  Baron  spoke  : — "  Of  Nature's  laws 

So  stmtig  I  lield  the  force. 
That  never  t^uperhuman  cause 
Could  e'er  control  their  eourac. 
And,  three  days  since,  liad  judged  your  aim 
Was  but  to  make  your  guest  your  game ; 
But  I  have  seen,  since  past  the  Tweed,' 
What  much  has  changed  my  skeptic  creed. 
And  made  me  credit  aught." — He  staid, 
And  secm'd  to  wish  his  words  unsaid  : 
But,  by  that  strong  emotion  press'd, 
Wliich  prompts  us  to  unload  our  breast. 

Even  when  discovery's  pain. 
To  Lindesay  did  at  length  luifold 
Tlic  tale  his  village  host  had  told. 

At  GifTord,  to  his  train. 
Naught  of  the  Palmer  says  he  there,      y 
And  naught  of  Constance,  or  of  Chire  ;  ^ 

Tlie  thoughts  which  broke  his  sleej),  he  seema 
To  mention  but  as  feverish  dreams. 

XIX. 

"  In  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  I  spread 
My  burning  limbs,  and  couch'd  my  head: 

Fantastic  thoughts  return'd ; 
And,  by  their  wild  dominion  led. 

My  heart  within  me  buru'd.* 
So  sore  was  the  delirious  goad, 
I  took  my  steed,  and  forth  I  rode 
And,  as  the  moon  shone  bright  and  cold. 
Soon  reach'd  the  camp  upon  the  wold. 
Th(j  southcni  entrance  I  pass'd  tlirough. 
And  halted,  and  my  bugle  blew. 
Methought  an  answer  met  my  ear, — 
Yet  was  the  blast  so  low  and  drear,* 
So  hollow,  and  so  faintly  blown. 
It  might  be  echo  of  my  own. 

XX. 

"  TIius  judging,  for  a  little  space 
I  Usten'd,  ere  I  left  the  place ; 

But  scarce  could  trust  my  eyes, 
Nor  yet  can  think  they  served  me  true, 

*  MS.—"  In  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  I  laid 

My  burning  limbs,  and  throbbing  head" 
Fantastic  thoughts  return'd  ; 

led. 
And,  by  their  wild  dominion  < 


e  lea, 
1 }  sway'd. 


My  heart  within  me  bnm'd." 
6  MS. — "  And  yet  it  was  so  slow  ana  drear." 


W: 


CANTO  IV. 


MARMION. 


121 


Wlien  sud('  jn  in  the  ring  I  view, 
[a  form  distinct  of  sliape  and  hue, 

A  mounted  champion  rise. — 
I've  fought,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day,* 
In  single  fight,  and  mLx'd  affray, 
And  ever,  I  myself  may  say, 

Have  borne  me  as  a  knight ; 
But  when  this  unexpected  foe 
Soem'd  startmg  from  the  gulf  below, — 
[  care  not  though  tlie  truth  I  show, — 

I  tremble  1  with  atfriglit ; 
And  as  I  p'rced  m  rest  my  spear, 
My  hand  so  shook  with  very  fear, 

I  scarce  could  couch  it  right. 

XXL 

"  TVliy  n*^  ^  i  my  tongue  the  issue  teU  ! 
We  ra*-.  our  course, — my  charger  fell ; — 
Whfit  could  he  'gainst  the  shock  of  hell  ? — 

I  roU'd  upon  the  plain. 
High  o'er  my  head,  with  threatening  hand, 
The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand, — ^ 

Yet  did  the  worst  remam : 
My  dazzled  eyes  I  upward  cast, — 
Not  opening  hell  itself  could  blast 

Their  sight  like  what  I  saw ! 
Full  on  his  face  the  moonbeam  strook, — 
A  face  could  never  be  mistook ! 
I  knew  the  stern  vindictive  look, 

And  held  my  breath  for  awe. 
I  saw  the  face  of  one  who,  fled* 
To  foreign  climes,  has  long  been  dead, — 

I  well  believe  the  last ; 
For  ne'er,  from  visor  raised,  did  stare 
A  human  warrior,  with  a  glare 

So  gi'unly  and  so  ghast. 
Tlirice  o'er  my  head  he  shook  the  blade  : 
But  when  to  good  Saint  George  I  pray'd  -^ 
(The  first  time  e'er  I  ask'd  his  aid). 

He  plunged  it  in  the  sheath ; 
And,  on  his  courser  mounting  light, 
He  seem'd  to  vanish  from  my  sight : 
The  moonbeam  droop'd,  and  deepest  night 

Sunk  down  upon  the  heath. — 
'Twere  long  to  tell  what  cause  I  have 

To  know  his  face,  that  met  me  there, 
Call'd  by  his  hatred  from  the  grave. 

To  cumber  upper  ak : 

>  MS. — "  I've  been,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day. 

In  oombat  single,  or  melee." 
3  MS. — "  The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand, — 
Yet  doth  the  worst  remain  : 
My  reeling  eyes  I  upward  cast, — 
But  opening  hell  could  never  blast 
Their  sight,  like  what  I  saw." 
'  MS. — "  I  knew  the  face  of  one  long  dead, 

Or  who  to  foreign  climes  hatli  fled  .  .  . 


16 


Dead  or  ahve,  good  cause  had  he 
To  be  my  mortal  enemy." 

XXIL 

Marvell'd  Sir  David  of  the  Mount ; 
Then,  learn'd  in  story,  'gan  recoimt 

Such  chance  had  happ'd  of  old. 
When  once,  near  Norham,  there  did  fight 
A  spectre  fell  of  fiendish  might. 
In  likeness  of  a  Scottish  knight. 

With  Brian  Bulmer  bold. 
And  train'd  him  nigh  to  disallow 
Tlie  aid  of  liis  baptismal  vow. 
"  And  such  a  phantom  too,  'tis  said, 
With  Highland  broadsword,  targe,  and  i)laid, 

And  fingers,  red  with  gore. 
Is  seen  in  Eotliieniurcus  glade. 
Or  where  the  sable  pine-trees  shade 
Dark  Tomantoul,  and  Auclmaslaid, 

Dromouchty,  or  Glenmore.* 
And  yet,  whate'er  such  legends  say, 
Of  warlike  demon,  ghost,  or  iay, 

On  moimtain,  moor,  or  plain. 
Spotless  in  faith,  in  bosom  bold,' 
True  son  of  chivalry  should  hold, 

Those  midnight  terrors  vain ; 
For  seldom  have  such  spirits  power 
To  harm,  save  in  the  evil  hour. 
When  guilt  we  meditate  within," 
Or  harbor  unrepented  sin." — 
Lord  Marmion  turn'd  him  half  aside, 
And  twice  to  clear  liis  voice  he  tried, 

Tlien  press'd  Sir  David's  hand, — 
But  naught,  at  length,  in  answer  said ; 
And  here  their  farther  converse  staid, 

Each  ordering  that  his  band 
Should  bowne  them  with  the  rising  day. 
To  Scotland's  camp  to  take  their  way. — 

Such  was  the  King's  command. 

XXIIL 
Early  they  took  Dun-Edin's  road. 
And  I  could  trace  each  step  they  trode : 
Ilill,  brook,  nor  dell,  nor  rock,  nor  stone. 
Lies  on  the  path  to  me  unknown. 
Much  might  it  boast  of  storied  lore  ; 
But,  passing  such  digression  o'er, 
Sufiice  it  that  the  route  was  laid 

I  knew  the  face  of  one  who,  fled 
To  foreign  climes,  or  long  since  dead— 
I  well  may  judge  the  last." 

*  See  the  traditions  concerning  Bulmer,  and  the  spectro 
called  Lhamdearg,  or  Bloody-hand,  in  a  uote  on  canto  iii. 
Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

s  MS. — "  Of  spotless  faith,  and  bosom  bold." 

0  MS. — "  When  mortals  meditate  within 
Fresh  guilt  or  unrepented  sin." 


■^ 


1-22 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


Across  tlio  furzy  hills  of  Briiid. 
llii'v  pas.-i'(l  tlie  ylfii  and  scanty  rill, 
And  cliuib'd  the  opposing  bunk,  until 
They  gain'd  the  top  of  Bluckf<jrd  Hill. 

XXIV. 

Blackford !  on  whoso  uncultured  breast, 

Among  the  broom,  and  thorn,  and  whin, 
A  truant  boy,  I  souyht  the  nest, 
Or  listed,  as  I  hiy  at  rest, 

Whde  rose,  on  breezes  thin, 
The  nmrmur  of  the  city  crowd, 
And,  from  his  steeple  jangling  loud, 

Saint  Giles's  mingling  dhi. 
Now,  from  the  summit  to  the  plain, 
Waves  all  the  hill  with  yellow  grain ; 

And  o'er  the  landscape  as  I  look, 
Nauglit  do  I  sec  unchanged  remain. 

Save  the  rude  cliffs  and  chiming  brook. 
To  me  they  make  a  heavy  moan. 
Of  early  friendships  past  and  gone. 

XXV. 

But  difTorent  far  the  change  has  been,* 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 
Of  Blackford,  saw  that  martial  scene 

Upon  the  bent  so  brown: 
Tliousand  pavilions,  white  as  snow, 
Spread  all  the  Borough-moor  below,' 

Upland,  and  dale,  and  down : — 
A  thousand  did  I  say  ?    I  ween,' 
Tliousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
Tliat  checker'd  all  the  heath  between 

Tlie  streamlet  and  the  town ; 
In  crossing  ranks  extending  far, 
Forming  a  camp  irregular  •* 
Oft  giving  way,  where  still  there  stood 
Some  rehcs  of  the  old  oak  wood, 
Tliat  darkly  huge  did  intervene. 
And  tamed  the  glaring  white  with  green : 
In  these  extended  lines  there  lay 
A  martial  kingdom's  vast  array. 

XXVI. 
For  from  Hebudes,  dark  with  rain, 
To  eastern  Lodon's  fertile  plain, 
And  from  the  southern  Rcdswire  edge, 
To  farthest  Rosse's  rocky  ledge  ; 

»  MS. — "  But,  oil  !  far  different  change  has  been 
Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 
Of  Blaokford-hill,  upon  the  scene 
Of  Scotland's  war  look'd  d-  i\n." 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

*  MS. — "  A  thonsand  said  the  verse?  I  ween, 

Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen. 
That  whiten'd  all  the  heath  hetween." 

*  Here  ends  the  stanza  in  the  MS. 

*  Seven  colverins  so  called,  cast  by  one  Borthwick. 


From  west  to^east,  from  north  to  south, 
Scothiiiil  sent  all  her  warriors  fctrtlu 
31iu°niion  n;ight  lieur  the  mingled  hiuil 
Of  myriads  up  the  mountaiii  come: 
The  horses'  tramp,  and  tingling  clank, 
Where  chiefs  revicw'd  tlieir  vassal  rank, 

And  charger's  shrilling  neigh ; 
Anrl  see  the  sliifthig  lines  advance. 
While  frequent  flash'd,  from  shield  and  Luice, 

The  sun's  reflected  ray. 

XXVII. 
Tliin  curling  m  the  morning  air, 
Tlie  wreaths  of  failing  smoke  declare 
To  embers  now  the  brantU  decay'd. 
Where  the  night-watch  tJieir  fires  had  nmde. 
Tliey  saw,  slow  rolling  on  the  plain, 
Full  many  a  baggage-cart  and  wain. 
And  din;  artillery's  clumsy  car, 
By  sluggish  oxen  tugg'd  to  wiir ; 
And  there  were  Bortliwick's  Sisters  Seven," 
And  culverins  which  France  had  given, 
ni-omen'd  gift !  the  guns  remain 
The  conqueror's  spoil  on  Flodden  plain. 

XXVIII. 
Nor  mark'd  they  less,  where  in  the  air 
A  thousand  streamers  flaunted  fair ; 

Various  in  shape,  device,  and  hue. 

Green,  sanguine,  purple,  red,  and  blue, 
Broad,  narrow,  swallow-tail'd,  and  square, 
Scroll,  pennon,  peusil,  bandrol,"  there 

O'er  the  pavilions  flew.' 
Highest  and  midmost,  was  descried 
Tlie  royal  banner  floating  wide ; 

ITie  staff,  a  pine-tree,  strong  and  straight,' 
Pitch'd  deeply  in  a  massive  stone. 
Which  still  in  memory  is  shown. 

Yet  bent  beneath  the  standard's  weight 
Whene'er  the  western  wind  unioll'd. 

With  toil,  the  huge  and  cumbrous  fold, 
And  gave  to  view  the  dazzling  field, 
Wliere,  in  proud  Scotland's  royal  sliicld. 

The  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  gold.' 

XXIX. 

Lord  Marmion  view'd  the  landscape  bright,—  " 
He  view'd  it  with  a  chief's  delight,— 

•  Each  of  these  feudal  ensigns  intimated  the  different  rank  oi 
those  entitled  to  display  them. 
'  See  Apjiendix,  Note  3  F. 
8  MS. — "  The  standard  staff,  a  monntain  pine, 
Pitch'd  in  a  hnge  memorial  stone. 
That  still  in  n'.onumcut  is  shown." 
«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G. 

'"  MS. — ••  Lord  Marmion's  large  dark  eye  flash'd  ligtit. 
It  kindled  with  a  chief's  delight, 
Forglow'd  with  martial  joy  his  heart. 
As  upon  battle-<lay." 


I 


tJANTO  IV. 


MARMION. 


123 


Until  within  liim  burn'd  Ms  heart, 

And  lightning  from  his  eye  did  part, 
As  on  the  battle-day ; 

Such  glance  did  falcon  never  dart. 
When  stooping  on  his  prey. 
"  Oh !  well,  Lord-Lion,  hast  thou  said, 
Thy  King  from  warfare  to  dissuade 

Were  but  a  vain  essay : 
For,  by  Saint  George,  were  that  host  mine, 
Not  power  infernal  nor  divine. 
Should  ouce  to  peace  my  soul  incline. 
Till  I  had  dimm'd  their  armor's  shine 

In  glorious  battle-fray !" 
Answer"d  the  Bard,  of  milder  mood :    *• 
"  Fair  is  the  sight, — and  yet  'twere  good. 

That  kings  would  think  withal, 
Wlien  peace  and  wealth  their  land  has  bless'd, 
'Tis  better  to  sit  still  at  rest,' 

Than  rise,  perchance  to  fall." 

XXX. 

Still  on  the  spot  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 

For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survey'd. 
When  sated  with  the  martial  show 
That  peopled  all  the  plain  below. 
The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go, 
And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 

With  gloomy  splendor  red ; 
For  on  the  smoke-wreaths,  huge  and  slow, 
That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow, 
The  morning  beams  were  shed, 
And  tmged  them  with  a  lustre  proud, 
Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-cloud. 

Such  dusky  gi-andeur  clothed  the  height, 

Wliere  the  huge  Castle  holds  its  state, 
And  all  the  steep  slope  down, 

"Wliose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky. 

Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 
Mine  own  romantic  town  !* 

But  northward  far,  with  pm-er  blaze, 

On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays. 

And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kiss'd. 

It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 

Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw ; 

Here  Preston-Bay  and  Berwick-Law: 
And,  broad  between  them  roll'd, 

The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 

Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  float. 
Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 

Fitz-Eustace'  heart  felt  closely  pent ; 


1  MS.—"  'Tis  better  sitting  still  at  rest, 
Tlian  rising  but  to  fall  ; 
"nd  while  these  words  they  did  exchange, 
They  reached  the  camp's  extremest  range.'' 
The  Poet  apjiears  to  liuve  struLk   bis  pen  ibrougb  tlie  two 
jnes  in  italics,  on  conceiving  the  miigiiificent  picture  which  re- 
')laces  them  in  the  text. 
s  MS  — "  Dun-Edin's  towers  and  town." 


As  if  to  give  liis  rapture  vent,  ^ 

The  spm-  he-  to  his  charger  lent, 

And  raised  liis  bridle  hand. 
And,  making  demi- volte  in  aii. 
Cried,  "  Where's  the  coward  that  would  not  aara 

To  fight  for  such  a  land !" 
The  Lindesay  smiled  his  joy  to  see ;' 
Nor  Marmion's  frown  rej^ress'd  his  glee. 

XXXL 

Thus  while  they  look'd  a  flourish  proud. 
Where  mingled  trump  and  clarion  loud, 

And  fife,  and  kettle-drum. 
And  sackbut  deep,  and  psaltery. 
And  war-pipe  with  discordant  cry, 
And  cymbal  clattering  to  the  sky, 
Making  wild  music  bold  and  high, 

Did  up  the  mountain  come  ; 
The  whilst  the  bells,  with  distant  chime, 
Merrily  toll'd  the  hour  of  prune. 
And  thus  the  Lindesay  spoke  :* 
"  Thus  clamor  still  the  war-notes  when 
The  king  to  mass  his  way  has  ta'en. 
Or  to  St.  Katharine's  of  Sienne,^ 

Or  Chapel  of  Saint  Rocque. 
To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame  ;' 
But  me  remind  of  peacefid  ganie, 

Wben  blither  was  their  cheer, 
Thi-ilUug  in  Falkland-woods  the  air, 
In  signal  none  his  steed  should  spare. 
But  strive  wliich  foremost  might  repair 

To  the  downfall  of  the  deer. 

XXXIL 

"  Nor  less,"  he  said, — "  when  looking  forth, 
I  view  yon  Empress  of  the  North 

Sit  on  her  hilly  tlnone ; 
Her  palace's  imperial  bowers, 
Her  castle,  proof  to  hostile  powers, 
Her  stately  halls  and  holy  towers — "^ 

Nor  less,"  he  said,  "  I  moan. 
To  tlunk  what  woe  mischance  may  bring, 
And  how  these  merry  bells  may  ring 
The  death-dirge  of  our  gallant  king ; 

Or  Avith  the  larum  call 
The  burghers  forth  to  watch  and  ward, 
'Gainst  southern  sack  and  fires  to  guard 

Dun-Edin's  leaguer'd  wall. — 
But  not  for  my  presaging  thought. 
Dream  conquest  sure,  or  cheaply^bought  !* 

3  MS. — "  The  Lion  smiled  his  joy  to  see." 

4  MS. — "  And  thus  the  Lion  spoke." 
6  MS. — "  Or  to  our  Lady's  of  Sienne." 
s  MS. — "  To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame, 

To  me  of  mood  more  mild  and  tame — 
Blither  would  be  their  cheer." 
'  MS. — "  Her  stately /ajjcs  and  holy  towers." 
8  MS. — "  Dream  of  a  conquest  cheaply  bought  " 


I 


124 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


Lord  Jlarinion,  I  say  nay : 
'God  is  tlio  yiiider  of  the  lit;ld, 
lie  breaks  the  champiDii's  tpeur  and  shiclu, — 

Hut  tliou  tliysclf  sliult  .siy. 
Wlicii  joiiis  yiiii  lutst  in  ilcadly  stowro, 
Tliat  Enijhuid's  dames  must  weep  in  bower, 

Her  monks  the  deatli-maiw  sing;' 
For  never  saw'st  tliou  such  a  jK)wer 

Led  on  by  sucli  a  Kin^^." — 
And  now,  down  winding  to  tlie  jtlain. 
The  barriers  of  the  caiiip  tliey  gain. 

And  there  they  made  a  stay. — 
There  stays  the  Min.trel,  till  lie  fling 
His  hand  o'er  cverj'  Border  string, 
And  fit  liis  harp  the  pomp  to  sing, 
Of  Scotland's  ancient  Court  and  King, 

In  the  succeeding  hiy. 


ill  a  r  III  ion. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FIFTH.' 


TO 
GEORGE  ELLIS,   ESa.3 

Edinburgh. 
"Wncx  dark  December  glooms  the  day, 
And  takes  our  autumn  joys  away ; 
"Ulien  short  and  scant  the  sunbeam  throws, 
Upon  the  weary  waste  of  snows, 
A  cold  and  profitless  regard, 
Like  patron  on  a  needy  bard  ; 
When  silvan  occupation's  done. 
And  o'er  the  chimney  rests  the  gun, 
And  hang,  in  idle  trophy,  near. 
The  game-pouch,  fishing-rod,  and  spear ; 
T^^len  wiry  terrier,  rough  and  Lrrim, 
And  greyhound,  with  his  length  of  limb, 
And  pointer,  now  employ'd  no  more. 
Cumber  our  parlor's  narrow  floor ; 
When  in  his  stall  the  impatient  .steed 
Is  long  condemn'd  to  rest  and  feed  ; 
"Wlien  from  our  snow-encircled  home. 
Scarce  cares  the  hardiest  step  to  roam. 
Since  path  is  none,  save  that  to  brmg 

I  M-!. — "  Tlirir  monks  diad  masses  sing." 

s  "  Tlicse  Introductory  Epistles,  though  excellent  in  them- 
selves, are  in  fact  only  interruptions  to  the  fable,  and  accord- 
ingly, nine  readers  out  of  ten  have  perused  them  separately, 
either  before,  or  after  the  poem.  In  short,  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  the  Minstrel,  who,  though  the  f.nst,  is  the  most 
charming  of  all  minstrels,  is  by  no  means  compensated  by  the 
idea  of  an  acthor  shorn  of  his  picturesijue  heanl,  and  writing 
letters  to  his  intimate  friends." — Gkorgk  Ellis. 

3  This  accomplished  gentleman,  the  well-known  coadjutor 
of  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr.  Frere  in  the  "  Antijacobin,"  and  edi- 
Vor  of  "  Specimens  of  Ancient  English  Romances,"  &c.,  died 


Tltc  needful  water  from  the  spring; 

AVlieii  wrinkled  news  j)age,  tiirice  conn'd  o'er, 

Beguiles  the  dreary  hour  no  more, 

And  darkling  ])(ilitiiian,  cross'd, 

Invciglis  against  the  lingering  post, 

And  luiswering  housewife  sore  complains 

of  cjirriers'  snow-impeded  wains; 

AVhi'U  such  the  country  cheer,  I  come, 

Well  pleiusud,  to  .seek  our  city  home ; 

For  converse,  and  for  lK)oks,  to  change 

The  Ff)rest'8  melancholy  range, 

And  Welcome,  with  n^ncw'd  delight, 

The  bu.sy  day  and  social  night. 

Not  here  need  my  desponding  rhyme 
Lament  the  raviiges  of  time, 
As  erst  by  Newark's  riven  towers. 
And  Ettrick  .strijjp'il  of  forest  bowers.* 
True, — Caleilonia's  Queen  is  changed,* 
Since  on  her  dusky  summit  ranged, 
Within  its  steepy  hmits  pent, 
By  bulwark,  line,  and  battlement. 
And  flanking  towers,  and  laky  flood, 
Guarded  and  giirrison'd  she  stood. 
Denying  entrance  or  resort. 
Save  at  each  tall  embattled  port: 
Above  whose  arch,  suspended,  hung 
Portcullis  spiked  with  iron  prong. 
That  long  is  gone, — but  not  so  long, 
Since,  early  closed,  and  opening  late, 
Jealous  revolved  the  studded  gate. 
Whose  ta-sk,  from  eve  to  morning  tide, 
A  wicket  churlishly  .supplied. 
Stem  then,  and  steel-girt  was  thy  brow, 
Dun-Edin !  O,  how  alter'd  now, 
When  safe  amid  thy  mountain  court 
Thou  sil'st,  like  Empress  at  lier  sport. 
And  liberal,  imconfined  and  free. 
Flinging  tliy  white  arms  to  the  sea," 
For  thy  dark  cloud,  with  umber'd  lower, 
Tliat  hung  o'er  cliff,  and  hike,  and  tower, 
Thou  gleam'st  against  the  western  ray 
Ten  thousand  lines  of  brighter  day. 

Not  she,  the  Championess  of  old. 
In  Spenser's  magic  tale  enroll'd. 
She  for  the  charmed  spear  renown'd 

10th  Ai)ril,  1815,  aged  70  years  ;  being  succeeded  in  his  estatei 
by  his  brother  Charles  Ellis,  Esq.,  created,  in  1827,  Lord  Sea 
ford.— Ed. 

*  i^ve  Introduction  to  canto  ii. 

*  >"ee  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

*  Since  writing  this  line,  I  find  I  have  inadvertently  borrow 
ed  it  almost  verbatim,  though  with  somewhat  a  different  mean 
iiig,  from  a  chorns  in  "  Caractacus  ;" 

"  Dritain  heard  'he  descant  bold, 

Hhe  flung  her  while  arms  o'er  tne  (lea, 
Proud  in  her  leafy  bosom  to  enfold 
The  freight  of  harmony." 


CANTO  V.                                               MARMION.                                                       125 

Wliich  forced  each  knight  to  kiss  the  ground, — 

Destined  in  every  age  to  be 

Not  she  more  changed,  when,  placed  at  rest, 

Refuge  of  hijured  royalty; 

Wliat  time  she  was  Malbecco's  guest,' 

Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose, 

She  gave  to  flow  her  maiden  vest ; 

To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose,' 

When  from  the  corslet's  grasp  relieved, 

Till  late,  with  wonder,  grief,  and  awe. 

Free  to  the  sight  lier  bosom  heaved ; 

Great  Bourbon's  rehcs,  sad  she  saw.^ 

Sweet  was  her  blue  eye's  modest  smile, 

Erst  hidden  by  the  aventayle  ; 

Truce  to  these  thoughts ! — for,  as  they  iise, 

And  down  her  shoulders  graceful  roU'd 

How  gladly  I  avert  mine  eyes, 

Her  locks  profuse,  of  paly  gold. 

Bodings,  or  true  or  false,  to  change, 

They  who  whilom,  in  midnight  fight, 

For  Fiction's  fair  romantic  range. 

Had  marvell'd  at  her  matchless  might, 

Or  for  tradition's  dubious  light, 

No  less  her  maiden  charms  approved, 

That  hovers  'twixt  the  day  and  night : 

But  looking  liked,  and  likuig  h)ved.' 

DazzUng  alternately  and  dim, 

The  siglit  could  jealous  pangs  beguile. 

Her  wavering  lamp  I'd  rather  trim. 

And  charm  Malbecco's  cares  a  while ; 

Knights,  squires,  and  lovely  dames  to  see, 

And  he,  the  wandering  Squire  of  Damea, 

Creation  of  my  fantasy. 

Forgot  his  Columbella's  claims, 

Than  gaze  abroad  on  reeky  fen,* 

And  passion,  erst  unknown,  could  gain 

And  make  of  mists  mvaduig  men. 

The  breast  of  blunt  Sir  Satyrane ; 

Who  loves  not  more  the  night  of  June 

Nor  durst  light  Paridel  advance, 

Than  dull  December's  gloomy  noon  ? 

Bold  as  he  was,  a  looser  glance. 

The  moonlight  than  the  fog  of  frost  ? 

She  charm'd,  at  once,  and  tamed  the  heart, 

And  can  we  say,  wliich  cheats  the  most  t 

Licomparable  Britomarte ! 

-> ^ 

But  who  shall  teach  my  harp  to  gain 

So  thou,  fair  city  !  disarray'd 

A  sound  of  the  romantic  strain. 

Of  battled  wall,  and  rampart's  aid. 

Wliose  Anglo-Norman  tones  whilere 

As  stately  seem'st,  but  lovelier  far 

Could  win  tlie  royal  Henry's  ear,* 

Than  in  that  panoply  of  war. 

Famed  Beauclerc  call'd,  for  that  he  loved 

Nor  deem  that  from  thy  fenceless  throne 

The  minstrel,  and  his  lay  approved  ? 

Strength  and  security  are  flown  ; 

Who  shall  these  lingering  notes  redeem. 

Still,  as  of  yore,  Queen  of  the  North  1 

Decaying  on  Oblivion's  stream ; 

Still  canst  thou  send  thy  cliildren  forth. 

Such  notes  as  from  the  Breton  tongue 

Ne'er  readier  at  alarm-bell's  call 

Marie  translated,  Blondel  sung  ? — ■ 

Thy  burghers  rose  to  man  thy  wall. 

0  !  born,  Time's  ravage  to  repair. 

Than  now,  in  danger,  shall  be  tliine, 

And  make  the  dying  Muse  thy  care , 

Thy  dauntless  voluntary  line  ; 

Wlio,  when  his  scythe  her  hoary  foe 

For  fosse  and  turret  proud  to  stand. 

Was  poising  for  the  final  blow, 

Tlieir  breasts  the  bulwarks  of  the  land- 

The  weapon  from  his  hand  could  wring. 

Tliy  thousands,  train'd  to  martial  toil. 

And  break  l^is  glass,  and  shear  liis  wing, 

Full  red  would  stain  their  native  soil, 

And  bid,  reviving  in  his  strain. 

Ere  from  thy  mural  crown  there  fell 

The  gentle  poet  five  again ; 

The  slightest  knosp,  or  pinnacle. 

Thou,  who  canst  give  to  lightest  lay 

And  if  it  come, — as  come  it  may, 

An  unpedantic  moral  gay. 

Dun-Edin  !  that  eventful  day, — 

Nor  less  the  dullest  theme  bid  flit 

Renown'd  for  hospitable  deed. 

On  wings  of  unexpected  wit ; 

That  virtue  much  with  heaven  may  plead. 

In  letters  as  in  life  approved 

In  patriarchal  times  whose  care 

Example  honor'd,  and  beloved, — 

Descending  angels  deign'd  to  share ; 

Dear  Ellis  1  to  the  bard  impart 

Tliat  claim  may  wrestle  blessings  down 

A  lesson  of  thy  magic  art. 

On  those  who  fight  for  The  Good  Town, 

To  win  at  once  the  head  and  heart, — 

'  See  "  Tlie  Fairy  Queen,"  book  iii.  canto  ix. 

he  remained  until  August,  1799.    When  again  driven  from  lilg 

2  "  For  every  one  her  liked,  and  every  one  her  loved." 

country  by  the  Revolution  of  July,  18.30,  the  same  unfortunate 

SPKNSUR   a.a  atone 

Prince,  with  all  the  immediate  members  of  liis  family,  sought 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  1. 

refuge  once  more  in  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Stuarts,  and  r» 
raained  there  until  18tii  September,  1833. 

*  In  January,  1796,  the  exiled  Count  d'Artoia,  afterwards 

'  MS. — "  Than  gaze  out  on  the  foggy  fen  " 

Char'es  X.  of  France,  took  up  his  residence  in  HoIjTOod,  where 

t  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

120                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS.                               canto  v. 

At  onco  to  charm,  instruct  and  mend, 

Upon  tlie  Southern  band  to  stare. 

My  guide,  my  pattern,  and  my  friend !' 

And  envy  with  their  wonder  rose, 

To  see  such  well  appointed  foes  ; 

Sucli  minstrel  lesson  to  bestow 

Such  lengtli  of  .sliafls,  such  niiglity  bows,* 

Be  long  tliy  pleasing  Vnsk, — but,  0 ! 

So  huge,  that  nuiiiy  simply  thought. 

No  more  by  thy  example  teaclj, 

But  for  a  vaunt  »\\c\\  weajions  wrougiit; 

— AVliat  few  can  practi-^e,  all  can  prencli, — 

Ami  little  deem'd  tluir  force  to  feel. 

With  even  patience  to  endure 

Through  luiks  of  mail  imd  plates  of  steel. 

Lingering  di.sease,  imd  painful  cure. 

When  rattling  upon  Flodden  vulc. 

^Vnd  Ixiast  aflliction's  pangs  subdued 

The  cloth-yard  arrows  flew  Uko  hail' 

By  mild  and  manly  fortitude. 

Enough,  the  lesson  lias  been  given: 

IT. 

Forbid  the  repetition,  llcavcn! 

Nor  less  did  Marmion's  skilful  view 

Glance  every  line  and  squadron  through ; 

Come  listen,  then !  for  thou  hast  known, 

And  much  he  niarvcU'd  one  small  land 

And  loved  the  Miustrel's  varying  tone. 

Could  marshal  forth  such  various  band: 

Wlio,  like  Ms  Border  sires  of  old. 

For  men-at-arms  were  here. 

Waked  a  wild  measure  rude  and  bold, 

Heavily  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate. 

Till  Windsor's  oaks,  and  Ascot  plain. 

Like  iron  towers  for  strength  and  weight, 

With  wonder  heard  the  northern  strain.' 

On  Flemish  steeds  of  bone  and  height, 

Come  hsten !  bold  in  thy  applause. 

With  battle-axe  and  spear. 

The  Bard  sliall  scorn  pedantic  laws ; 

Young  knights  and  squires,  a  lighter  train, 

And,  as  the  ancient  art  could  stain 

Practised  their  chargers  on  the  plain,' 

Achievements  on  the  storied  pane, 

By  aid  of  leg,  of  hand,  and  rein. 

Irreguliirly  traced  and  plaun'd. 

Each  warlike  feat  to  show, 

But  yet  so  glowing  and  so  grand, — 

To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gain, 

So  shall  he  strive,  in  changeful  hue, 

And  high  curvctt,  that  not  in  vain 

Field,  feast,  and  combat  to  renew. 

Tlic  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 

And  loves,  and  arms,  and  harpers'  glee, 

On  foeman's  casque  below .^ 

And  all  the  pomp  of  chivah-y. 

He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 

March  arm'd,  on  foot,  with  faces  bare,* 
For  visor  they  wore  none, 

ill  a  r  in  i  0  n . 

Nor  waving  plume,  nor  crest  of  knight ; 

But  buniish'd  were  their  corslets  bright, 

Tlieir  brigantines,  and  gorgets  light. 
Like  very  silver  shone. 

CANTO  FIFTn. 

Long  pikes  they  had  for  standing  fight, 
Two-handed  swords  they  wore. 

Srt)e  €:ourt. 

And  many  wielded  mace  of  weight,* 

L 

And  bucklers  bright  they  bore. 

The  train  has  left  the  liills  of  Braid ; 

III. 

The  barrier  guard  have  open  made 

On  foot  the  yeoman  too,  but  dress'd 

(So  Lindesay  bade)  tlie  pahsade, 

In  Iiis  steel-jack,  a  swarthy  vest, 

That  closed  the  tented  ground ; 

With  iron  quilted  well ; 

Their  men  the  warders  backward  drew. 

Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 

And  carried  pikes  as  they  rode  through, 

His  forty  days'  provision  bore. 

Into  its  am]  lie  bound.' 

As  feudal  statutes  telL 

Fast  ran  the  Scottish  warriors  there, 

His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear," 

1  "  Come  then,  my  friend,  my  genins,  come  along, 

And  Marmion  with  his  train  rode  throogh, 

Oh  master  of  the  poet  and  the  song  !" 

Across  its  ample  hound." 

Pope  to  Bolinghroke. 

*  .MS.—"  So  long  their  shafts,  so  large  their  bows." 

2  At  Sunning-hill,  Mr.  Ellis's  seat,  near  Windsor,  part  of  the 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L.. 

(iist  two  cantos  of  .Marmion  were  written. 

B  MS. — "  There  urg-cd  their  chargers  on  the  plain." 

•MS. — "The  barrier  guard  the  I.ion  knew, 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  M.                  «  Ibid.  Note  3  N 

Advanced  their  pikes,  and  soon  withdrew 

»  .MP.—"  And  malls  did  many  \  )^"''''  l  of  weight. 

The  slender  palisades  and  few 

(  bear     ) 

Tliat  closed  the  tented  gronnd  ; 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  3  0. 

I 


CAUTO  V                                               MARMIOK                                                      12Y 

A  crossbow  there,  a  hagbut  here, 

V. 

A  dagger-knife,  and  brand. 

Next,  Marmion  mark'd  the  Celtic  race, 

Sober  he  seem'd,  and  sad  of  cheer, 

Of  different  language,  form,  and  face, 

As  loth  to  leave  his  cottage  dear, 

A  various  race  of  man ; 

And  march  to  foreign  strand ; 

Just  then  the  Chiefs  their  tribes  array'd. 

Or  musing,  who  would  guide  his  steer. 

And  wUd  and  garish  semblance  made. 

To  tm  the  fliUow  land. 

The  checkered  trews,  and  belted  plaid, 

Yet  deem  not  in  his  thoughtful  eye 

And  varying  notes  the  war-pipes  bray'd. 

Did  aught  of  dastard  terror  lie  ; 

To  every  varymg  clan ; 

More  dreadful  far  his  ire 

Wild  tlu-ough  their  red  or  sable  hair 

Than  thehs,  who,  scorning  danger's  name. 

Look'd  out  their  eyes  with  savage  stare,' 

In  eager  mood  to  battle  came, 

On  Marmion  as  he  pass'd ; 

Their  valor  hke  hght  straw  on  flame, 

Their  legs  above  the  knee  were  bare ; 

A  fierce  but  fading  fire. 

Then-  frame  was  sinewy,  short,  and  spare, 

And  harden'd  to  tlie  blast ; 

IV. 

Of  taller  race,  the  chiefs  they  ovra 

Not  so  the  Borderer : — bred  to  war, 

Were  by  the  eagle's  plumage  known. 
The  hunted  red-deer's  undress'd  hide 

He  knew  the  battle's  din  afar, 

And  joy'd  to  hear  it  swell. 

Their  hau-y  buskhis  well  supplied ; 

His  peaceful  day  was  slotliful  ease ; 

The  graceful  bonnet  deck'd  their  head : 

Nor  harp,  nor  pipe,  his  ear  could  please 

Back  from  their  shoulders  hung  the  plaid 

Like  the  loud  slogan  yell. 

A  broadsword  of  unwieldy  length. 

On  active  steed,  with  lance  and  blade, 

A  dagger  proved  for  edge  and  strength. 

The  light-arm'd  pricker  plied  his  trade, — 

A  studded  targe  they  wore. 

Let  nobles  fight  for  fame  ; 

And  quivers,  bows,  and  shafts, — but,  0 ! 

Let  vassals  follow  where  they  lead. 

Short  was  the  shaft,  and  weak  the  bow, 

Burghers  to  guard  theu-  townships  bleed. 

To  that  which  England  bore. 

But  war's  the  Borderer's  game. 

TJic  Isles-men  carried  at  their  backs 

Then-  gain,  their  glory,  their  delight, 

The  ancient  Danish  battle-axe. 

To  sleep  the  day,  maraud  the  night, 

They  raised  a  wild  and  wondering  cry, 

O'er  mountain,  moss,  and  moor ; 

As  with  liis  guide  rode  Marmion  by. 

Joyful  to  fight  thpy  took  their  way, 

Loud  were  their  clamoring  tongues,  as  when 

Scarce  caring  who  might  win  the  day, 

The  clanging  sea-fowl  leaves  the  fen. 

Their  booty  was  secure. 

And,  with  their  cries  discordant  mix'd, 

These,  as  Lord  Marmion's  train  pass'd  by, 

Grumbled  and  yeU'd  the  pipes  betwixt. 

Look'd  on  at  first  with  careless  eye. 

Nor   marvell'd   aught,   well   taught   to 

VI. 

know 

Thus  through  the  Scottish  camp  they  pass'd, 

The  form  and  force  of  Enghsh  bow. 

And  reach'd  the  City  gate  at  last. 

But  when  they  saw  the  Lord  array'd 

Where  all  around,  a  wakeful  guard, 

In  splendid  arms  and  rich  brocade. 

Arm'd  burghers  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 

Each  Borderer  to  liis  kmsman  said, — 

Well  had  they  cause  of  jealous  fear, 

"  Hist,  Ringan !  seest  thou  there  ! 

When  lay  encamp'd,  in  field  so  near, 

Canst  guess  wMch  road  they'll  homeward 

The  Borderer  and  the  Mountaineer. 

ride  ? — 

As  tluough  the  busthng  streets  they  go, 

0 !  could  we  but  on  Border  side. 

All  was  ahve  with  martial  show  : 

By  Eusedale  glen,  or  Liddell's  tide, 

At  every  turn,  with  dinning  clang. 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair ! 

The  armorer's  anvil  clash'd  and  rang : 

Tliat  fangless  Lion,  too,  their  guide, 

Or  toil'd  the  swarthy  smith,  to  wheel 

Might  chance  to  lose  liis  gUstering  hide ;' 

Tlie  bar  that  arms  the  charger's  heel ; 

Browu  MaudUn,  of  that  doublet  pied, 

Or  axe,  or  falchion,  to  the  side 

Could  make  a  kirtle  rare." 

Of  jarring  grindstone  was  applied. 

MS.—"  Hist,  Ringan !  seest  thon  there ! 

The  fangless  Lion,  too,  his  guide, 

Canst  guess  what  homeward  road  they  take — 

Might  chance  to  lose  his  glittering  hide." 

By  Ensedale  glen,  or  Yethoim  lake? 

O  !  could  we  but  by  bush  or  brake 

2  MS.—"  Wild  from  their  red  Rnd  swarthy  ha» 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair  1                                                j 

Look'd  through  their  eyes  with  savage  start 

128 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


V!\:;r,  p-riiom,  and  squire,  with  hurry  in!»  pace, 

And  flinty  is  her  heart,  can  view 

Tlii> 'i^li  -triict,  mil  lane,  niiil  inarkct-pluce, 

To  battle!  march  a  l(*ver  true — 

Hore  liiiioe,  or  ca<qiu',  or  sword  ; 

Can  hear,  perchance,  his  bust  udicu, 

Willie  l)iir;,'lKrs  with  important  face, 

Nor  own  her  share  of  pain. 

Dt'soribr'l  each  iii'wcoine  lonl. 

Disciiss'J  hi;*  limago,  told  his  name, 

VHI. 

Ili-i  following;,'  and  lii-«  warlike  faine. 

Tlirough  this  nii.x'd  crow<l  of  glee  and  ga 

Till'  Linn  led  t<j  lodj^ini,'  uwvt, 

The  King  to  greet  Lord  Marniion  c;imc. 

Whii-li  iiif^li  o'crlook'd  tlie  crowded  street; 

"W'liile,  reveivnt,  all  made  room. 

Tliiri-  must  tin-  Baron  rest. 

An  eiL-jy  task  it  was,  I  trow, 

Till  psu-^t  the  hour  <if  vesper  tide. 

King  James's  manly  form  to  know; 

And  then  to  Holy-Rood  must  ride, — 

Although,  liis  courtesy  to  show. 

Such  was  till'  King's  behest. 

lie  doff'd,  to  Marniion  bending  low, 

M.'aiiwhile  the  Lion's  care  as-si^ia 

His  broider'd  cap  and  jilume. 

A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines, 

For  royal  was  his  garb  and  mien, 

To  Marniion  and  his  train  ;' 

His  cloak,  of  crimson  velvet  jiiled. 

And  when  the  appointed  hour  succecda, 

Trimm'd  with  the  fur  of  martin  wild; 

The  Baron  dons  his  peaceful  weeds. 

His  vest  of  changeful  satin  sheen, 

And  following  Lindesay  as  he  leads, 

Tlie  dazzled  eye  beguiled  ; 

llie  palacc-ludls  they  y.'iin. 

His  gorgeous  collar  hung  adown, 

Wrought  with  the  badge  of  Switland's  crown,' 

VIL 

Tlio  tiiistle  brave,  of  old  renown; 

Old  IIoly-Rood  rung  merrily, 

His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right,* 

That  night,  with  wasscll,  mirth,  and  glee: 

Descended  from  a  baldric  bright ; 

King  James  within  her  princely  bower. 

"White  were  his  buskins,  on  the  heel 

Feasted  the  Chiefs  of  Scotland's  power. 

His  spurs  inlaid  of  gold  and  steel; 

Summnn'd  to  spend  the  parting  hour; 

His  bonnet,  all  of  crimson  fair. 

For  he  hud  charged,  that  his  array 

Was  button'd  with  a  ruby  rare : 

Should  southward  march  by  break  of  day. 

And  Marmion  deem'd  he  ne'er  had  seen 

Well  loved  that  splendid  monarch  aye 

A  prince  of  such  a  noble  mien. 

Hie  banquet  aud  the  song, 

By  day  the  tourney,  and  by  night 

IX.      • 

Tlie  merry  dance,  tr.accd  fast  and  light. 

The  Monarch's  form  was  middle  size ; 

The  maskers  quaint,  the  pageant  bright, 

For  feat  of  strength,  or  exercise, 

The  revel  loud  and  long. 

Shaped  in  proportion  fair; 

lliis  feast  outshone  hid  banquets  past ; 

And  hazel  was  his  eagle  eye, 

It  was  his  blithest — and  his  last. 

And  auburn  of  the  dai-kcst  dye 

The  dazzling  lamps,  from  gallery  gay, 

His  short  cui  I'li  beard  and  hair. 

C';L*t  on  the  Court  a  dancing  ray ; 

Light  was  his  footstep  in  the  dance, 

Here  to  the  harp  did  minstrels  sing; 

And  firm  his  stirrup  in  the  lists; 

There  ladies  touch'd  a  softer  string; 

And,  oh  !  he  had  that  merry  glance, 

With  long-eard  cap,  and  motley  vest, 

That  seldom  lady's  heart  resists. 

llie  licensed  fool  retail'd  his  jest; 

Lightly  from  fair  to  fair  he  flew. 

Ilis  ma'gic  tricks  the  juggler  plied ; 

And  loved  to  plead,  lament,  and  sue  ;— 

At  dice  and  draughts  the  gallants  vied; 

Suit  lightly  won,  and  short-lived  p.-iin, 

While  some,  in  close  recess  apart, 

For  monarchs  seldom  sigh  in  v;un. 

Courted  th.c  ladies  of  their  heart, 

I  said  he  joy'd  in  b.onquet  bower ; 

N<>«:  courted  them  in  ^ain; 

But,  'mid  Ilis  mirth,  'twas  often  strange, 

For  often,  in  the  parting  hour. 

llow  suddenly  his  cheer  would  change, 

Victorious  L^jve  asserts  his  power 

His  look  o'ercast  and  lower, 

O'er  coldness  and  dLsdam ; 

If  in  a  sudden  turn,  he  felt 

1  Fnlloteintr — Fcu'lal   rrt.iincn. — Tins   wonl,   ny  the  way, 

«  MS.—"  His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right. 

naJt  been,  since  the  Author  oF  Marmion  uwd  it,  and  thought  it 

Descended  from  a  baldric  bright. 

called   Tor  explanation,  completely  a/loptcd  into  English,  and 

And  dangled  at  \m  knee: 

esiiecially  into  I'ariiaraentary  parlance. — Ed. 

While  were  his  buskins  ;  from  their  heel 

»  See  Ap|>end:x,  Note  3  P. 

His  spurs  inlaid    J    „     , , 

„     r   ..   ,            }  of  go  d  and  steel 

His  fretted  spurs  \       *> 

MS.—  '  Bearing  the  badge  or  Scotland's  crown." 

Were  jingling  merrily." 

CANTO  "V. 


MARMION. 


129 


The  pressure  of  his  iron  belt, 
Tliat  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain. 
In  memory  of  his  father  slain.' 
Even  so  't-was  strange  how,  evermore, 
Soon  as  the  passing  pang  was  o'er. 
Forward  he  rush'd,  with  double  glee, 
Into  the  stream  of  revelry : 
Thus,  dim-seen  object  of  affright 
Startles  the  courser  in  his  flight, 
And  lialf  he  halts,  half  springs  aside ; 
But  feels  the  quickening  spur  applied, 
And,  straining  on  the  tighten'd  rein. 
Scours  doubly  swift  o'er  hill  and  plain. 

X. 
O'er  James's  heart,  the  courtiers  say. 
Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife  held  sway  :^ 

To  Scotland's  Court  she  came. 
To  be  a  hostage  for  her  lord, 
Who  Cessford's  gallant  heart  had  gored, 
And  with  the  King  to  make  accord, 

Had  sent  his  lovely  dame. 
Nor  to  that  lady  free  alone 
Did  the  gay  King  allegiance  own ; 

For  the  fair  Queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove, 
And  charged  liim,  as  her  knight  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance ; 
And  strike  tlu-ee  strokes  with  Scottish  brand,' 
And  march  three  miles  on  Southron  land. 
And  bid  the  banners  of  his  band 

In  English  breezes  dance. 
And  thus,  for  France's  Queen  he  drest 
His  manly  limbs  in  mailed  vest ; 
And  thus  admitted  English  fair 
His  inmost  counsels  still  to  share ; 
And  thus,  for  both,  he  madly  plann'd 
The  ruin  of  liimself  and  land  ! 

And  yet,  the  sooth  to  tell. 
Nor  England's  fair,  nor  France's  Queen,^ 
Were  worth  one  pearl-drop,  bright  and  sheen. 

From  Margaret's  eye  tliat  fell, — 
His  own  Queen  Margaret,  who,  in  Lithgow's 

bower, 
All  lonely  sat,  and  wept  the  weary  hour. 

XL 

The  Queen  sits  lone  in  Lithgow  pile, 

And  weeps  the  weary  day, 
The  war  against  her  native  soil, 

1  See  Ai)pendix,  Note  3  Q,. 

a  Ibid.  Note  3  R.  =  Ibid.  Note  3  S. 

*  MS. — "  Nor  France's  Queen,  nor  England's  fair, 
Were  wortli  one  pearl-drop,  passing  rare, 
From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell." 
»  The  MS.  has  only— 

"  For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 
Her  wimpled  hood  and  gorget's  pride  : 
17 


Her  Monarch's  risk  in  battle  broil : — 
And  in  gay  Holy-Rood,  the  wliile, 
Dame  Heron  rises  with  a  smile 

Upon  the  harp  to  play. 
Fair  was  her  rounded  arm,  as  o'er 

The  strings  her  fingers  flew ; 
And  as  .she  toucli'd  and  tuned  them  all. 
Ever  her  bosom's  rise  and  fall 

Was  plainer  given  to  view ; 
For,  aU  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 
Her  wimple,  and  her  hood  untied.^ 
And  fii"st  she  pitch'd  her  voice  to  sing, 
Tlien  glanced  her  dark  eye  on  the  King, 
And  then  around  the  silent  rmg ; 
And  laugh'd,  and  blush'd,  and  oft  did  say 
Her  pretty  oath,  by  Yea,  and  Nay, 
She  could  not,  would  not,  durst  not  play ' 
At  length,  upon  the  harp,  with  glee, 
Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 
A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rung, 
Wliile  thus  the  wily  lady  simg : — 

xn. 

LOCHINVAR.*^ 

0,  young  Locliinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best , 
And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons  had 

none. 
He  rode  all  unarm'd,  and  he  rode  aU  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopp'd  not  for  stone. 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  wa.s 

none ; 
But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late : 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  EUen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  enter'd  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bridesmen,  and  kinsmen,  and  brotliers,  and 

all; 
Tlien  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 
(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word), 
"  0  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 
Or  to  dance  at  om-  bridal,  yoimg  Lord  Lochinvar  ?" — 

"  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ; — 

And  on  the  righted  harp  with  glee, 
Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 
A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rang, 
While  thus  her  voice  attendant  sang." 

6  The  ballad  of  Lochinvar  is  in  a  very  slight  degree  founded 
on  a  ballad  called  "  Katharine  Janfarie,"  which  may  be  found 
in  the  "  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  vol.  iii. 


130 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


CANTO  V 


Love  swells  like  tlio  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its 

lie  whisper'd  praises  in  her  car. 

ti.k— » 

Ill  lou.l  uppliiuse  the  courtiers  vied; 

And  now  luitT  come,  witb  this  lost  love  of  niiiio, 

And  hidii'H  wink'd,  luul  spoke  aside. 

To  Itiul  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 

The  witching  diiiuo  to  Marmion  threw 

Tluro  iirt>  miiideiis  in  Siotlund  mure  K)vely  by  fiir, 

A  glance,  where  seein'd  to  nign 

That  would  gladly  bo  bride  to  the  young  Lochin- 

Tlie  pride  that  claiinH  applau.ses  due, 

var." 

And  of  her  royal  conquust  too. 

A  real  or  feign'd  di'^lain : 

Tin-  l>ridi>  kiss'd  the  goblet,  the  knight  ttx)k  it  up. 

Familiar  was  the  look,  mid  told, 

lie  quiiff'd  otf  the  wine,  and  he  tlirew  down  the 

Marmion  and  she  were  friends  of  old. 

cup. 

Tlio  King  observed  their  meeting  eyes, 

She  luuk'd  dovra  to  blush,  niid  she  hxik'd  up  to 

With  sometliing  like  disjileased  surprise; 

sigh, 

For  nionarchs  ill  Cim  rivals  brook, 

With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

Even  in  a  word,  or  smile,  or  look. 

Ho  t(K)k  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 

Straiglit  took  he  forth  the  parcliment  broad, 

"  Now  tread  we  a  measiu-e !"'  said  young  Lochin- 

Which  Marmion'.s  high  commi-sion  show'd  : 

var. 

"  Oiu-  Borders  sack'd  by  many  a  raid. 

Our  pcaeeful  liege-nn-n  robb'd,"  he  said: 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

"  On  day  of  truce  our  Warden  slaiii. 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  gjdliard  did  grace ; 

Stout  Barton  kill'd,  his  vassals  ta'en — 

\Sniilc  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did 

Unworthy  were  we  liere  to  reign. 

fume, 

Should  these  for  vengeance  cry  in  vain ; 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 

Our  full  defiance,  hate,  and  scorn, 

))lume ; 

Our  herald  has  to  Henry  borne." 

And  the  bride-maidens  whisper'd,  "  'Twere  better 

by  far, 

XIV. 

To  liave  match'd  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Loch- 

He  paused,  and  led  where  Douglas  stood. 

invar." 

And  with  stern  eye  the  pageant  view'd  : 

I  mean  tliat  Douglas,  sixth  of  yore, 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 

Who  coronet  of  Angus  bore, 

When  they  reach'd  the  h;dJ-door,  and  the  chaiger 

And,  when  his  blood  and  heart  were  hign,' 

stood  near ; 

Did  the  third  James  in  camp  defy. 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 

And  all  his  minions  led  to  die 

So  light  to  the  eadiUe  before  her  he  sprung ! 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat : 

"  She  is  won !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and 

Princes  and  favorites  long  grew  tame, 

scaur ; 

And  trembled  at  the  homely  name 

Tliey'U  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quotli  young 

Of  Arcliibald  Bcll-the-Cat ;' 

Locliinvar. 

The  same  who  left  the  dusky  vale 

Of  Hermitage  in  Liddisdale, 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Neth- 

Its  dungeons,  and  its  towers. 

erby  clan ; 

Where  Butliwell's  turrets  brave  the  air, 

Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and 

And  Bothwell  bank  is  blooming  fair, 

they  ran : 

To  fix  his  princely  bowers. 

Tliere  was  racing  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie  Lee, 

Though  iKJW,  in  age,  he  had  laid  down 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 

His  armor  for  the  peaceful  gown. 

So  daritig  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

And  for  a  staff  his  brand. 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Locliin- 

Yet often  would  fla'^h  forth  the  fire. 

var  '. 

That  couUl,  in  youtli,  a  monarch's  ire 

And  minion's  pride  withstand; 

XllL 

And  even  that  day,  at  covmcil  board. 

The  Monarch  o'er  the  siren  himg 

Unapt  to  soothe  his  sovereign's  mood. 

And  beat  the  measure  as  she  sung ; 

Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood. 

And,  pressing  closer,  and  more  near, 

And  chafed  liis  royal  lord.* 

>  See  the  novel  of  Redganntlct,  for  a  detailed  picture  orsome 

King  James's  minions  led  to  die. 

of  the  extraonlinary  phenomena  of  the  spring-tide*  in  the  Sol- 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat." 

v\y  Frith. 

'  BcIl-lkc-Cal,  gee  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

'  M?. — "  And  whon  his  blood  and  heart  were  high. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U. 

CANTO  V. 


MARMION. 


131 


XV. 

His  giant-form,  like  ruin'd  tower, 
Tkougb  faH'n  its  muscles'  brawny  vaunt. 
Huge-boned,  and  tall,  and  grim,  and  gaunt, 

Seem'd  o'er  the  gaudy  scene  to  lower : 
His  locks  and  beard  in  silver  grew ; 
His  eyebrows  kept  their  sable  hue. 
Near  Douglas  when  the  Monarch  stood, 
His  bitter  sj^eech  he  thus  pursued : 
"  Lord  Marmion,  since  these  letters  say 
That  in  the  North  you  needs  must  stay, 

WhUe  shghtest  hopes  of  peace  remain, 
Uncourteous  speech  it  were,  and  stern, 
To  say — Retm-n  to  Lindisfarne, 

Until  my  herald  come  again. — 
Tlien  rest  you  in  Tantallon  Hold ;' 
Your  host  shall  be  the  Douglas  bold, — 
A  cliief  unlike  his  sires  of  old. 
He  wears  then-  motto  on  his  blade,'' 
Their  blazon  o'er  his  towers  display'd ; 
Yet  loves  his  sovereign  to  oppose. 
More  than  to  face  his  country's  foes. 

And,  I  bethink  me,  by  St.  Stephen, 

But  e'en  this  mo^p  to  me  was  given' 
A  prize,  the  first  fruits  of  the  war, 
Ta'en  by  a  galley  from  Dunbar, 

A  bevy  of  the  maids  of  Heaven. 
Under  your  guard,  these  holy  maids 
Shall  safe  return  to  cloister  shades, 
And,  while  they  at  Tantallon  stay. 
Requiem  for  Cocliran's  soul  may  say." 
And,  with  the  slaughter'd  favorite's  namo. 
Across  the  Monai-ch's  brow  there  came 
\.  cloud  of  ire  remorse,  and  shame. 

XVI. 
In  answer  naught  could  Angus  speak ; 
His  proud  heart  swell'd  wellnigh  to  break : 
He  turn'd  aside,  and  down  his  cheek 

A  bm-ning  tear  there  stole. 
His  hand  the  Monarch  sudden  took, 
That  sight  his  kind  heart  could  not  brook : 

"  Now,  by  the  Bruce's  soul,* 
Angus,  my  hasty  sjDeech  forgive  ! 
For  sure  as  doth  his  spirit  hve, 
As  he  said  of  the  Douglas  old, 

I  well  may  say  of  you, — 
That  never  king  did  subject  hold, 
In  speech  more  free,  in  war  more  bold, 
More  tender  and  more  true  :^ 
Forgive  me,  Douglas,  once  again." 
And,  while  the  King  his  hand  did  strain, 
The  old  man's  tears  fell  down  like  rain, 

1  See  Apptndix,  Note  3  V. 
-  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

•  MS. — "  But  yester  morn  was  hither  driven." 

*  The  next  two  lines  are  not  in  the  original  MS. 


To  seize  the  moment  Marmion  tried, 
And  whisper'd  to  the  King  aside : 
"  Oh  1  let  such  tears  unwonted  plead 
For  respite  short  from  dubious  deed ! 
A  cliild  wiU  weep  a  bramble's  smart, 
A  maid  to  see  her  sparrow  part,' 
A  stripling  for  a  womim's  heart : 
But  woe  awaits  a  country,  when 
She  sees  the  tears  of  bearded  men. 
Then,  oh !  what  omen,  dark  and  high, 
When  Douglas  wets  his  manly  eye !" 

XVIL 

Displeased  was  James,  that  stranger  vieVd 

And  tamper'd  with  his  changing  mood. 

"  Laugh  those  that  can,  weep  those  that  may," 

Thus  did  the  fiery  Monarch  say, 

"  Soutliward  I  march  by  break  of  day ; 

And  if  witliin  Tantallon  strong. 

The  good  Lord  Marmion  tarries  long. 

Perchance  our  meeting  next  may  faU 

At  Tamworth,  in  his  castle-hall." — 

The  haughty  Marmion  felt  the  tatmt. 

And  answer'd,  grave,  the  royal  vaunt : 

"  Much  honor "d  were  my  humble  home. 

If  in  its  halls  King  James  should  come ; 

But  Nottingham  has  archers  good. 

And  Yorkshire  men  are  stern  of  mood; 

Northumbrian  prickers  wild  and  rude. 

On  Derby  Hills  tlie  paths  are  steep ; 

In  Ouse  and  Tyne  the  fords  are  deep ; 

And  many  a  banner  will  be  torn. 

And  many  a  knight  to  earth  be  borne, 

And  many  a  sheaf  of  arrows  spent. 

Ere  Scotland's  I&ig  shall  cross  the  Trent : 

Yet  pause,  brave  Prince,  wliile  yet  you  may  !"— 

The  Monarch  hghtly  turn'd  away. 

And  to  his  nobles  loud  did  call, — 

"  Lords,  to  the  dance, — a  hall !  a  haU  !"^ 

Himself  liis  cloak  and  sword  flung  by. 

And  led  Dame  Heron  gallantly ; 

And  minstrels,  at  the  royal  order. 

Rung  out — "  Blue  Bonnets  o'er  the  Border." 

XVIIL 

Leave  we  these  revels  now,  to  tell 
Wliat  to  Saint  Hilda's  maids  befell, 
Whose  gaUey,  as  they  sail'd  again 
To  Wliitby,  by  a  Scot  was  ta'ea 
Now  at  Dun-Edin  did  they  bide, 
Till  James  should  of  then-  fate  decide ; 

And  soon,  by  liis  command. 
Were  gently  summon'd  to  prepare 

5  "  O,  Dowglas !  Dowglas ! 
Tendlr  and  trew." 

The  HotUate. 
«  MS. — "  A  maid  to  see  her  love  depart." 
'  The  ancient  cry  to  make  room  (or  a  dance  or  pageant 


132 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


To  journey  under  Miu'mion's  aure, 
As  escort  honor'd,  safe,  and  fair, 

Ag^iiiii  to  Eiiirlisli  liiiid. 
Ilie  AblH'.-w  told  lier  chaplet  o'l-r, 
Nor  knew  which  saint  she  sliould  implore  ; 
For,  Avhen  t^he  thoiii,'ht  nf  Coustjuicc,  sore 

She  fcar'd  I^ord  )Iannion'.-<  iiumhI. 
And  judt^e  what  Clara  must  have  felt  I 
'I'lic  sword,  that  huii','  in  Marniion's  belt, 

Had  drunk  I)e  Wiltnn's  bU>od. 
Unvittiiiu'ly.  Kinjj  James  had  given, 

Aa  guard  to  Wliitby's  shades, 
TIio  man  most  dreaded  under  Heaven 

By  these  defenceless  maids : 
Yet  wluit  petition  could  avail. 
Or  who  would  listen  to  the  tale 
Of  woman,  prisoner,  and  nun, 
'Mid  bustle  of  a  war  begun  ? 
They  deem'd  it  hopeless  to  avoid 
The  convoy  of  their  dangerous  guide. 

XIX. 

Tlieir  lodging,  so  the  King  assign'd, 
To  Marmion's,  as  their  guardian,  join'd ; 
And  tlius  it  fell,  that,  passing  nigh, 
The  Palmer  caugiit  the  Abbess'  eye, 

Who  wam'd  him  by  a  scroll. 
She  had  a  secret  to  reveal. 
That  much  concern'd  the  Cliurch's  weal. 

And  health  of  sinner's  soul ; 
And,  with  deep  charge  of  secrecy, 

Slie  named  a  place  to  meet, 
Within  an  open  balcony, 
That  hung  from  dizzy  pitch,  and  high. 

Above  the  stately  street : 
To  which,  as  common  to  each  home, 
At  night  they  might  in  secret  come. 

XX. 

At  night,  in  secret,  there  they  came, 
Tlic  Palmer  and  the  holy  Dame. 
The  moon  among  the  clouds  rose  high. 
And  all  the  city  hum  was  by. 
Upon  the  street,  where  late  before 
Did  din  of  war  and  warriors  roar, 

You  might  have  heard  a  pebble  fall, 
A  beetle  hum,  a  cricket  sing, 
An  owlet  flap  his  boding  wing 

On  Giles's  steeple  tall. 
Tlie  antique  buildings,  climbing  high, 
Wiose  Gothic  frontlets  sought  the  sky. 

Were  here  wrapt  deep  in  shade ; 


I  "  There  are  pa-ssages  in  wliicli  the  flatnen  and  tedioosneas 
f/tlie  narrative  h  relieved  l>y  no  sort  of  beauty  nor  elegance  of 
diction,  and  which  form  an  cxlraonlinary  contrast  with  the 
more  animated  and  finiKhol  |>oriions  of  the  poem.  VVe  Khali 
v>t  atfiict  our  readers  with  more  tlian  one  s|iecimcn  of  tlii£  fall- 


Tliere     on     tlnir    brows     tin-     nioonlu'am 

broki'. 
'llirotigh  the  faint  wreaths  of  silvery  buioke, 
And  on  the  aisL-nionts  j)lay'd. 
And  other  light  was  none  to  see. 

Save  torches  gliding  far. 
Before  some  chieftain  of  degree, 
Who  left  the  royal  revelry, 
'I'o  b<»wne  liini  for  the  war. — 
A  solenui  scene  the  Abbess  cliosc  ; 
A  solemn  hour,  her  secret  to  disclose. 

XXI. 

"  0,  holy  Palmer  I"  she  began, — 
"  For  sure  he  must  be  sainted  man. 
Whose  blessed  feet  have  trod  the  ground 
Where  the  Redeemer's  tomb  is  found, — 
For  his  dear  Clmrch's  sake,  my  tale 
Attend,  nor  deem  of  litrht  avail, 
Though  I  nnist  sjteak  of  worldly  love, — 
How  vain  to  those  who  wed  above  ! — 
De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd' 
Clara  de  Clare,  of  Gloster's  blood ; 
(Idle  it  were  of  Wliitby's  dame. 
To  say  of  that  same  blood  I  came) ; 
And  once,  when  jealous  rage  was  high, 
Lord  Marmion  said  despiteously, 
Wilton  was  traitor  in  his  heart, 
And  had  made  league  with  Martin  Swart,* 
Wien  he  came  here  on  Simnel's  part ; 
And  only  cowardice  did  restrain 
His  rebel  aid  on  Stokefield's  plain, — 
And  down  he  threw  his  glove  : — the  thing 
Was  tried,  as  wont,  before  the  King; 
Where  frankly  did  De  Wilton  own, 
That  Swart  in  Gueldres  he  had  known ; 
And  that  between  them  then  there  went 
Some  scroll  of  courteous  compliment. 
For  this  he  to  his  castle  sent ; 
But  when  his  messenger  return'd, 
Judge  how  De  Wilton's  fury  bum'd ! 
For  in  his  packet  there  was  laid 
Letters  that  claim'd  disloyal  aid, 
And  proved  King  Henry's  cause  betray'd. 
His  fame,  thus  bliglited,  in  the  field 
He  strove  to  clear,  by  spear  and  sliield ; — 
To  clear  his  fame,  in  vain  he  strove, 
For  wondrous  are  His  ways  above  ! 
Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved ; 
Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved  ;* 
Else  how  c(juld  guiltless  champion  quail, 
Or  how  the  blessed  ordeal  fail  ? 


ing  off.  We  select  it  from  the  Abbeiw's  explanation  to  De 
Wilton  : — '  De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd,'  &c.  (and 
twenty-two  following  lines)." — Jeffrey. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

2  Ibid.  Note  3  Y. 


I 


«ANTO  V. 


MARMION. 


133 


XXII. 

Traced  quaint  and  varying  character. 

"  His  squire,  t\  iio  now  De  Wilton  saw 

Perchance  you  may  a  marvel  deem, 

As  recreant  doom'd  to  suffer  law, 

That  Marmion's  paramour 

Repentant,  owti'd  in  vain. 

(For  such  vile  thing  she  was)  should  scheme 

That,  wliile  he  had  the  scrolls  in  care, 

Her  lover's  nuptial  hour  ; 

A  stranger  maiden,  passing  fair, 

But  o'er  him  thus  she  hoped  to  gain. 

Had  drench'd  him  with  a  beverage  rare  : 

As  privy  to  his  honor's  stain. 

His  words  no  faith  could  gain. 

Illimitable  power : 

With  Clare  alone  he  credence  won, 

For  this  she  secretly  retaiu'd 

Who,  ratlier  than  wed  Marmion, 

Each  proof  that  might  the  plot  reveal. 

Did  to  Saint  Hilda's  shrine  repair. 

Instructions  with  his  hand  and  seal ; 

t     To  give  our  house  her  livings  fair 

And  thus  Saint  Hilda  deign'd, 

And  die  a  vestal  vot'ress  there. 

Tlu-ough  simier's  perfidy  impure. 

The  impulse  from  the  earth  was  given, 

Her  house's  glory  to  secure. 

But  bent  her  to  the  paths  of  heaven. 

And  Clare's  immortal  weal. 

A  purer  heart,  a  lovelier  maid, 

N"e'er  shelter'd  her  in  Whitby's  shade, 

XXIV. 

Fo,  not  since  Saxon  Edelfled ; 

"  'Twere  long,  and  needless,  here  to  tell, 

Only  one  trace  of  earthly  strain. 

How  to  my  hand  these  papers  fell ; 

That  for  her  lover's  loss 

With  me  they  must  not  stay. 

She  cherishes  a  sorrow  vain, 

Saint  Hilda  keep  her  Abbess  true ! 

And  murmurs  at  the  cross. — ■ 

Wlio  knows  what  outrage  he  might  do, 

And  then  her  heritage ; — it  goes 

VV  tiile  journeying  by  the  way  ? — 

Along  the  banks  of  Tame  ; 

0,  blessed  Saint,  if  e'er  again 

Deep  fields  of  grain  the  reaper  mows. 

I  ventm-ous  leave  thy  calm  domain. 

In  meadows  rich  the  heifer  lows, 

To  travel  or  by  land  or  main, 

The  falconer  and  huntsman  knows 

Deep  penance  may  I  pay  ! — 

Its  woodlands  for  the  game. 

Now,  saintly  Palmer,  mark  my  prayer : 

Shame  were  it  to  Saint  Hilda  dear. 

I  give  this  packet  to  thy  care. 

And  I,  her  humble  vot'ress  here, 

For  thee  to  stop  they  will  not  dare ; 

Should  do  a  deadly  sin, 

And  0 !  with  cautious  speed. 

Her  temple  spoil'd  before  mine  eyes, 

To  Wolsey's  hand  the  papers  bring. 

If  this  false  Marmion  such  a  prize 

That  he  may  show  them  to  the  king : 

By  my  consent  should  win ; 

And,  for  thy  well-carn'd  meed, 

Yet  hath  our  boisterous  monarch  sworn 

Thou  holy  man,  at  Whitby's  shrine 

That  Clare  shall  from  our  house  be  torn ; 

A  weekly  mass  shall  still  be  thine. 

And  grievous  cause  have  I  to  fear, 

W[\\\e  priests  can  sing  and  read. — 

Such  mandate  doth  Lord  Marmion  bear. 

Wliat  ail'st  thou?— Speak  !"— For  as  he  took 

The  charge,  a  strong  emotion  shook 

XXIII. 

His  frame  ;  and,  ere  reply. 

"  Now,  prisoner,  helpless,  and  betray'd 

They  heard  a  faint,  yet  shrilly  tone. 

To  evil  power,  I  claim  thine  aid. 

Like  distant  clarion  feebly  blown, 

By  every  step  that  thou  hast  trod 

That  on  the  breeze  did  die ; 

To  holy  shrine  and  grotto  dim. 

And  loud  the  Abbess  shi-iek'd  in  fear. 

By  every  martyr's  tortured  limb, 

"  Saint  Withold,  save  us  ! — What  is  here ! 

By  angel,  saint,  and  seraphim. 

Look  at  yon  City  Cross ! 

And  by  the  Church  of  God ! 

See  on  its  battled  tower  appeal- 

For  mark : — Wlien  Wilton  was  betray'd, 

Phantoms,  that  scutcheons  seem  to  rear, 

And  with  his  squire  forged  letters  laid. 

And  blazon'd  banners  toss !" — 

She  was,  alas !  that  suiful  maid, 

By  whom  the  deed  was  done, — 

XXV. 

0  !  shame  and  horror  to  be  said ! — 

Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone,' 

She  was  a  perjured  nun ! 

Rose  on  a  tiu-ret  octagon ; 

No  clerk  in  all  the  land,  like  her, 

(But  now  is  razed  that  monument 

1  MS. — "Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone. 

On  its  destroyer's  drowsy  )  j^^^j  |_ 

Rose  on  a  turret  hexagon  : 

Upon  its  base  destroj'er's  ' 

(Dust  unto  dust,  lead  unto  lead. 

The  Minstrel's  malison  is  said.") 

134 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


"W'lienee  royal  oilict  nuig, 

Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye  ; 

And  voice  of  SctjthuiJ's  law  was  sent 

De  Wiltou,  erst  of  Aberley, 

In  ^'Itiriinis  tninipet-clunj^. 

The  self  same  thundering  voice  did  say. — • 

0 !  be  liis  tomb  at*  lead  to  lead, 

Hut  thi-n  another  spoke: 

I'ptii  its  dull  destroyer's  head  ! — 

"  Thy  fatid  sunmums  1  deny. 

A  nunstrd'a  malL-uui'  is  saiil.') — 

And  thine  infernal  Lord  <lefy. 

Tlieii  on  its  battlements  tlu-y  saw 

Ap|)eiding  me  to  Him  on  high, 

A  vision,  passing  Nature's  hiw, 

Who  burst  the  sinner's  yoke." 

Strange,  wild,  and  dimly  ^'^•l•n  ; 

At  tliat  dread  accent,  with  a  scream. 

Fii,'ures  tluit  seeuiM  to  ri.se  and  die, 

Parted  the  j)ageant  like  a  dreiun, 

(iiblwr  and  sign,  adviuice  and  fly, 

Tlie  sununoner  was  gone. 

AVhilo  naught  coiitirni'd  could  ear  or  eye 

Prone  on  her  face  the  Abbess  fell. 

Di.-icern  of  sound  or  niieiu 

And  fast,  and  fast,  her  beads  ilid  tell ; 

Yet  darkly  did  it  seem,  as  there 

Her  nuns  came,  startled  by  the  yell. 

Heralds  and  Pursuivants  prepare. 

And  found  her  there  alone. 

"With  truujpet  sound  and  blazon  fair, 

She  mark'il  not,  at  the  scene  aghast. 

A  summons  to  proclaim; 

What  time,  or  how,  the  Palmer  pass'd. 

But  indistinct  the  pageant  proud, 

As  fancy  forms  of  midnight  cloud. 

XXV IL 

When  flings  the  moon  upon  her  shroud 

Sliift  we  the  scene. — The  camp  doth  move, 

A  wavering  tinge  of  flame  ; 

Duu-Edin's  streets  are  empty  now. 

It  flits,  expands,  and  shifts,  till  loud. 

Save  when,  for  weal  of  those  they  love. 

From  midmost  of  the  spectre  crowd, 

To  pray  the  jirayir,  aini  vow  the  vow, 

This  awful  summons  came : — * 

Tlie  tottering  child,  the  anxious  fau", 

The  gray-hair'd  sire,  with  pious  care, 

XXVI. 

To  chapels  and  to  .'^hrincs  repair — 

"  Prince,  prelate,  potentate,  and  peer, 

Where  is  the  Palmer  now  ?  and  where 

Whose  names  I  now  shall  call, 

The  Abbess,  Marmion,  and  Clare  ? — 

Scottish,  or  foreigner,  give  car; 

Bold  Douglas !  to  Tantallou  fair 

Subjects  of  him  who  sent  me  here, 

They  journey  in  thy  charge : 

At  liis  tribunal  to  appear. 

Lord  Marmion  rode  on  his  right  hand. 

I  sunmion  one  and  all : 

Tlie  Palmer  still  w;is  with  the  biuid ; 

I  cite  you  by  each  deadly  sin, 

Angus,  like  Lindesay,  did  command, 

That  e'er  hath  soil'd  your  hearts  within : 

Tliat  nuns  should  roam  at  large. 

I  cite  you  by  each  brutal  lust. 

But  in  that  Palmer's  alter'd  mien 

Tliat  e'er  defiled  your  earthly  dust, — 

A  wondrous  change  might  now  be  oeen, 

By  wrath,  by  pride,  by  fear,* 

Freely  he  spoke  of  war. 

By  each  o'enuastering  p;\ssion's  tone. 

Of  marvels  wrought  by  single  haofl, 

By  the  dark  grave,  and  dying  groan ! 

When  lifted  for  a  native  land ; 

\\'lien  forty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone,* 

A  lid  still  look'd  liigli,  as  if  he  planu'< 

I  cite  you,  at  your  Monarch's  throne, 

Some  desperate  deed  afar. 

To  answer  and  appear." 

His  courser  would  he  feed  and  strokft 

Tlien  thimder'd  forth  a  roll  of  names : 

And,  tucking  up  his  sable  frocke, 

Tlie  first  was  tliine,  unhappy  James ! 

Would  first  liis  mettle  bold  provoke, 

Then  all  thy  nobles  canie ; 

Then  sooth  or  quell  his  pride. 

Crawford,  Glencairn,  Montrose,  Argyle, 

Old  Hubert  said,  tliat  never  one 

Ross,  Bothwell,  Forbes,  Lenno.x,  Lyle, — 

He  saw,  except  Lorfl  Marmion, 

Why  sliould  I  tell  their  separate  style ; 

A  steed  so  fairly  ride. 

Each  cliief  of  birth  and  fame, 

Of  Lowland,  Highland,  Border,  Isle, 

XXVIIL 

Fore-doom'd  to  Flodden's  caruixge  pile, 

Some  half-hour's  march  beliind,  there  cam*. 

Was  cited  there  by  name ; 

By  Eustace  govern'd  fair. 

And  Marmion,  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 

A  troop  escorting  Hilda's  Dame, 

I  «.  •.  Curse. 

«  MS.—"  Ere  twenty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone, 

Before  the  mi-rhty  Morarcli's  throne, 
I  cite  you  to  appear." 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z.                      >  Ibid.  Not«  4  A. 

♦  MS.—"  Bv  wrath,  by  frand,  by  fear." 

«  MS.—"  In  thundering  tone  the  voice  did  say." 

CANTO  V.                                               MARMION.                                                      135 

With  all  her  nuns  and  Clare. 

Commanding,  that,  beneath  his  care. 

No  audience  had  Lord  Manuion  sought; 

Without  delay,  you  shall  repair 

Ever  he  fear'd  to  aggi-avate 

To  yom:  good  kinsman.  Lord  Fitz-Clare." 

Clara  de  Clare's  suspicious  hate ; 

And  safer  'twas,  he  thought, 

XXX. 

To  wait  till,  from  the  nuns  removed, 

The  startled  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd ; 

The  influence  of  kinsmen  loved, 

But  she,  at  whom  the  blow  was  akn'd, 

And  suit  by  Henry's  self  approved, 

Grew  pale  as  death,  and  cold  as  lead, — 

Her  slow  consent  had  wrought. 

She  deejn'd  she  heard  her  death-dcom  read. 

His  was  no  flickering  flame,  that  dies 

"  Cheer  thee,  my  child !"  the  Abbess  said, 

Unless  when  fami'd  by  looks  and  sighs, 

"  They  dare  not  tear  thee  from  my  hand. 

And  hghted  oft  at  lady's  eyes ; 

To  ride  alone  with  armed  band." — 

He  long'd  to  stretch  liis  wide  command 

"  Nay,  holy  mother,  nay," 

O'er  luckless  Clara's  ample  land : 

Fitz-Eustace  said,  "  the  lovely  Clare 

Besides,  when  Wilton  with  him  vied. 

Will  be  in  Lady  Angus'  care. 

Although  the  pang  of  humbled  pride 

In  Scotland  while  we  stay ; 

The  place  of  jealousy  supplied, 

And,  when  we  move,  an  easy  ride 

Yet  conquest  by  that  meanness  won 

Will  bring  us  to  the  English  side, 

He  almost  loath'd  to  tluiik  upon, 

Female  attendance  to  provide 

Led  liim,  at  times,  to  hate  the  cause. 

Befitting  Gloster's  heir : 

Which  made  liim  burst  thi-ough  honor's  laws. 

Nor  thinks  nor  dreams  my  noble  lord. 

If  e'er  he  lov'd,  'twas  her  alone,            •„ 

By  slightest  look,  or  act,  or  word. 

Who  died  within  that  vault  of  stone. 

To  harass  Lady  Clare. 

Her  faithful  guardian  he  will  be. 

XXDC 

Nor  sue  for  shghtest  courtesy 

And  now,  when  close  at  hand  they  saw 

That  e'en  to  stranger  falls. 

North  Berwick's  town,  and  lofty  Law,' 

Till  he  shall  place  her,  safe  and  free. 

Fitz-Eustace  bade  them  pause  a  while. 

Witliin  her  kinsman's  halls." 

Before  a  venerable  pile,^ 

He  spoke,  and  blush'd  with  earnest  grace ; 

Whose  tm-rets  view'd,  afar, 

His  faith  was  painted  on  his  face, 

The  lofty  Bass,  the  Lambie  Me," 

And  Clare's  worst  fear  reUeved. 

The  ocean's  peace  or  wai*. 

The  Lady  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd 

At  toUing  of  a  bell,  forth  came 

On  Henry,  and  the  Douglas  blamed. 

The  convent's  venerable  Dame, 

Entreated,  tlu'eaten'd,  grieved ; 

And  pray'd  Saint  Hilda's  Abbess  rest 

To  martyr,  saint,  and  prophet  pray'd, 

With  her,  a  loved  and  honor'd  guest, 

Against  Lord  Marmion  inveigh' d, 

Till  Douglas  should  a  bark  prepare 

And  caU'd  the  Prioress  to  aid. 

To  waft  her  back  to  Whitby  fair. 

To  curse  with  canille,  bell,  and,book. 

Glad  was  the  Abbess,  you  may  guess. 

And  thank'd  the  Scottish  Prioress- 

"  The  Douglas,  and  the  King,"  she  said. 

And  tedious  were  to  tell,  I  ween. 

"  In  their  commands  will  be  obey'd ; 

The  courteous  speech  that  pass'd  between. 

Grieve  not,  nor  dream  that  harm  can  fall 

O'erjoy'd  the  nuns  their  palfreys  leave ; 

The  maiden  in  Tantallou  hall." 

Bjit  when  fair  Clai-a  did  intend, 

Like  them,  from  horseback  to  descend. 

XXXL 

Fitz-Eustace  said, — "  I  grieve. 

The  Abbess,  seemg  strife  was  vain, 

Fair  lady,  grieve  e'en  from  my  heart, 

Assumed  her  wonted  state  again, — 

Such  gentle  company  to  part ; — 

For  much  of  state  she  had, — 

Tlimk  not  discourtesy. 

Composed  her  veil,  and  raised  her  head. 

But  lords'  commands  must  be  obey'd ; 

And — "Bid,"  in  solemn  voice  she  said. 

And  Marmion  and  the  Douglas  said. 

"  Thy  master,  bold  and  bad. 

That  you  must  wend  with  me. 

The  records  of  liis  house  turn  o'er, 

Lord  Marmion  hath  a  letter  broad, 

And,  when  he  shall  there  written  see, 

Which  to  the  Scottish  Earl  he  show'd, 

That  one  of  his  own  ancestry 

*  MS. — "  North  Berwick's  town,  and  conic  Law." 

near  North  Berwick,  of  which  there  are  still  some  remaini.    It 

was  founded  by  Duncan,  Earl  of  Fife,  in  1216. 

'The  convent  alluded  to  is  a  foundation  of  Cistertian  nnns, 

3  MS.—"  The  lofty  Bass,  tlie  Lamb's  green  isle  " 

136 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


Drove  tlie  inouks  forth  of  Coventry,' 
Bill  liiin  liis  fate  explore  1 

rraticini^  in  prido  of  earthly  trust, 

His  churgor  hurl'd  lam  to  tlio  dust, 

Anil,  by  a  base  plebeian  thrust, 
III'  iliuil  his  band  before. 

Odd  judij^o  'twixt  Marniion  and  uie ; 

He  is  a  Clilcf  of  high  degree, 
And  T  a  |)oor  recluse: 

Yet  oft,  in  holy  writ,  wo  see 

Even  sueh  weak  minister  as  me 
May  the  i)j)prc.*sor  bruise  : 

I'lir  tlius,  inspired,  did  Judith  slay 
Hie  mighty  in  his  sin. 

And  Jacl  thus,  and  Deborali" 

Here  hasty  Blount  broke  in : 
" Fitz-Eustace,  we  must  march  our  band: 
St.  Anton  fire  thee !  wilt  thou  stand 
All  day,  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand, 

To  hear  the  Lady  preach  ? 
By  tliis  good  light !  if  thus  we  stay, 
Lord  Marraion,  for  our  fond  delay, 

AVill  sharper  sermon  teach. 
Come,  d'on  thy  cap,  and  momit  thy  horse ; 
Tlie  Dame  must  patience  take  perforce." — 

XXXIL 
"  Submit  we  then  to  force,"  said  Claie, 
"  But  let  this  barbarous  lord  despair 

His  purposed  aim  to  whi ; 
Let  him  take  living,  land,  and  life ; 
But  to  be  Marmlon's  wedded  wife 

In  me  were  deadly  sin : 
And  if  it  be  the  King's  decree. 
That  I  must  find  no  sanctuary, 
In  that  inviolable  dome," 
Wliere  even  a  homicide  might  come, 

And  safely  rest  his  head. 
Though  at  its  open  portals  stood, 
Tliirsting  lo  pour  forth  blood  for  blood, 

The  kitisnion  of  tlie  dead  ; 
Vet  one  asylum  is  my  own 

Against  the  dreaded  hour; 
A  low,  a  sQent,  and  a  lone, 

AVTiere  kings  have  little  power. 
One  victim  is  before  me  there. — 


1  Sec  Appendix,  Note  4  B. 

-  This  line,  nece««ary  to  I  lie  rhyme,  is  now  for  the  first  time 
rcstorcil  from  the  .MS.  It  mnst  have  been  omitted  by  an  over- 
sight in  the  original  printing. — Ed. 

'  For  the  origin  of  Marmion'.i  visit  to  Tantallon  Castle,  in 
the  Poem,  see  J.ife  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  17. 

*  "  Daring  the  regency  (snbseqnent  to  the  death  of  James 
V.)  the  Dowager  Cincen  Regent,  Mary  of  Guise,  became  desi- 
rous of  putting  a  French  garrL«on  into  Tant.illon,  as  she  liad 
into  Dunb.ir  and  Inchkeith,  in  order  the  better  to  bridle  the 
lonl:<  and  barons,  who  inclined  to  the  reformed  f:iith,  and  to 
secure  by  citadels  the  sea-coast  of  the  Frith  of  Forth.  For 
this  purpose,  the  Regent,  to  use  the  phra.se  of  the  lime,  '  dealed 


Mother,  your  blessing,  and  in  prayer 
Itemember  your  unlmppy  Chtre !" 
Loud  weeps  tlie  Abbes.s,  and  bestows 

Kind  bk-bsings  many  a' one: 
Weeping  luid  wailing  loud  arose, 
Kound  patient  Clare,  tiie  clamorous  woes 

Of  every  simiile  nun. 
His  eyes  the  gentle  Eustace  dried. 
And  scarce  rude  Blount  (lie  sight  could  bide. 

Then  took  the  squire  her  rein. 
And  gently  led  away  her  steed, 
And,  by  each  courteous  word  and  deed. 

To  cheer  her  strove  in  vain. 

XXXIIL 

But  scant  three  miles  the  band  had  rode, 

When  o'er  a  height  they  pass'd. 
And,  sudden,  close  before  them  show'd 

His  towers,  Tantallon  vast ;' 
Broad,  massive,  high,  and  stretching  far, 
And  held  mipregnable  in  war. 
On  a  projecting  rock  they  rose. 
And  round  three  sides  the  ocean  flows, 
Tlie  fourth  did  battled  walls  enclose, 

And  double  mound  and  fosse.* 
By  narrow  drawbridge,  outworks  strong. 
Through  studded  gates,  an  entrance  long, 

To  the  main  court  they  cross. 
It  was  a  wide  and  stately  square : 
Around  were  lodgings,  fit  and  fair. 

And  towers  of  various  form, 
Wliich  on  the  court  projected  far. 
And  broke  its  lines  quadrangular. 
Here  was  square  keep,  there  turret  high. 
Or  pinnacle  that  sought  the  sky, 
"WHiencc  oft  the  Warder  could  descry 

The  gathering  ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 
Here  did  they  rest. — The  princely  care 
Of  Douglas,  why  should  I  declare. 
Or  say  they  met  reception  fair  ? 

Or  why  the  tidings  say, 
Wlilch,  varying,  to  Tantallon  came, 
By  hurrying  posts  or  fleeter  fame, 

With  ever-varying  day  ? 

witli'  the  (then)  Earl  of  Angus  for  his  consent  to  the  propose* 
measure.  He  occupied  himself,  while  she  was  sppnking,  ir 
feeding  a  falcon  which  sat  upon  his  wrist,  and  only  replied  bj 
addressing  the  bird,  but  leaving  the  Q,uecn  to  make  the  appli 
cation,  '  The  devil  is  in  this  greedy  gled — she  will  never  be 
fou.'  But  when  the  Uueen,  wilhonl  appearing  to  notice  thii 
hint,  continued  to  press  her  obnoxious  request,  Angus  rephed, 
in  the  true  spirit  of  a  feudal  noble,  '  Yes,  Madam,  the  castle  is 
j-ours :  God  forbid  else.  But  by  the  mi^ht  oi  God,  Madam!' 
such  was  his  usual  oath,  '  I  must  be  your  Captain  and  Keeper 
for  you,  and  I  will  keep  it  as  well  as  any  you  can  place 
there.'"  —  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Minccllancous  Frost 
Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  430. 


CANTO  VI.                                               MARMION.                                                         137 

And,  first  they  heard  King  James  had  won 

Even,  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 

Etall,  and  Wark,  and  Ford ;  and  then, 

At  lol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain;'' 

Tliat  Norhara  Castle  strong  was  ta'en. 

High  on  the  beach  liis  galleys  drew. 

At  that  sore  marvell'd  Marmion ; 

And  feasted  all  lus  pirate  crew ; 

And  Douglas  hoped  his  Monarch's  liand 

Then  in  his  low  and  pine-built  hall. 

Would  soon  subdue  Northumberland: 

Where  shields  and  axes  deck'd  the  wall ; 

But  whisper'd  news  there  came, 

They  gorged  upon  the  half-dress'd  steer  ; 

Tliat,  wliile  his  host  inactive  lay, 

Caroused  in  seas  of  sable  beer ; 

And  melted  by  degrees  away, 

While  round,  in  brutal  jest,  were  thrown 

King  James  was  dallying  off  the  day 

The  half-gnaw'd  rib,  and  marrow-bone : 

With  Heron's  wily  dame. 

Or  listen'd  all,  in  grim  delight, 

Such  acts  to  Clu-onicles  I  yield ; 

While  Scalds  yell'd  out  the  joys  of  fight. 

Go  seek  them  there,  and  see ; 

TTien  forth,  in  phi-ensy,  would  they  liie, 

Mine  is  a  talc  of  Flodden  Field, 

T^Hiile  wildly-loose  their  red  locks  fly. 

And  not  a  history. — 

And  dancing  round  the  blazing  pile. 

At  length  they  heard  the  Scottish  host 

They  make  such  barbarous  mirth  the  while, 

On  that  high  ridge  had  made  their  post. 

As  best  might  to  the  mind  recall 

Which  frowns  o'er  Millfield  Phxin ; 

The  boisterous  joys  of  Odm's  haU 

And  that  brave  Surrey  many  a  band 

Had  gather'd  in  the  Southern  land. 

And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 

And  march'd  into  Northumberland, 

Loved  when  the  year  its  course  had  roU'd, 

And  camp  at  Wooler  ta'en. 

And  brought  blithe  Clu-istmas  back  again, 

Marmion,  hke  charger  in  the  stall, 

With  all  liis  hospitable  train. 

That  hears,  without,  the  trumpet-call. 

Domestic  and  religious  rite 

Began  to  chafe,  and  swear : — 

Gave  honor  to  the  holy  night ; 

"  A  sorry  tiling  to  hide  my  head 

On  Christmas  eve  the  bells  were  rimg ; 

In  castle,  like  a  fearful  maid. 

On  Christmas  eve  the  mass  was  sung : 

When  such  a  field  is  near ! 

That  only  night  in  all  the  year. 

Needs  must  I  see  tliis  battle-day : 

Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear.' 

Death  to  my  fame  if  such  a  fray 

The  damsel  donn'd  her  kiitle  sheen; 

Were  fought,  and  Marmion  away  ! 

The  hall  was  dress'd  witli  holy  green ; 

The  Douglas,  too,  I  wot  not  why, 

Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry-men  go, 

Hath  bated  of  his  courtesy  : 

To  gather  in  the  misletoe. 

No  longer  in  his  halls  I'll  stay." 

Tlien  oj)en'd  wide  the  Baron's  hall 

Then  bade  his  band  they  should  array 

To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all; 

For  march  agamst  the  dawning  day. 

Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside. 

And  Ceremony  doff' d  his  pride. 
The  heu",  with  roses  in  his  shoea, 

That  night  might  village  partner  choose ; 

ill  arm  ion. 

The  Lord,  uuderogating,  share 

The  vulgar  game  of  "  post  and  pair." 

All  hail'd    with  uncoutroll'd  dolI"*lit 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SIXTH. 

And  general  voice,  the  happj-  night. 

That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  croAvn, 
Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

TO 
RICHARD  HEBER,   ESa. 

Tlie  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied. 

Went  roarmg  up  the  chimney  wide ; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face. 

Mertoun-House^  Christmas. 

Heap  on  more  wood ! — the  wind  is  chill ; 

Scrubb'd  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace 

But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will. 

Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 

We'U  keep  our  Chi-istmas  merry  still. 

No  mark  to  part  the  sqnu-e  and  lord. 

Each  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born  year 

Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn. 

Tlie  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer : 

By  old  blue-coated  serving-man ; 

>  Mertonn-House,  the  seat  of  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden, 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  C. 

E  beautifully  situated  on  the  Tweed,  about  two  miles  below 

Orvburgh  Abbey. 

18                                                                      ' 

3  Ibid.  Note  4  D 

138 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


Tlien  tlie  ^in»  Ixmr's  head  frow^n'd  on  high, 

Crested  witli  bjiys  mid  roscinary. 

Well  can  the  j,'reon  garb'd  raiii,'er  tell, 

How,  wlu'ii,  and  wliore,  the  niou-tter  fell ; 

What  d»i<,'s  lK>f(tro  his  death  ho  tore, 

And  all  the  l>aitiiig  of  the  Vxiar.' 

Tlio  wassel  round,  in  tjood  brown  l)owln, 

Garnish'd  with  rihlxMH,  blithely  trowU. 

There  the  hiij,'e  cirloin  reek'd ;  hard  by 

Phini-p«)rri.li,'e  stood,  and  Christniiut  pie; 

Nor  fail'd  old  Scotland  to  produce, 

At  such  hii,'h  tide,  her  savory  {joose. 

Tlien  came  the  merry  mo-skers  in, 

And  carols  roar'd,  with  blithesome  din ; 

If  uninelndinus  was  the  song. 

It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 

Wlio  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 

Traces  of  ancient  mystery  ;' 

White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 

And  smutted  clieeks  the  visors  made ; 

But,  0 !  what  maskers,  richly  dight. 

Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light ! 

England  was  merry  England,  when 

Old  CTiristmas  brought  his  sports  again. 

'Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest  ale ; 

'Twas  Cliristmas  told  the  merriest  tale ; 

A  Christinas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 

ITie  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Still  linger,  in  our  northern  clime. 
Some  remnants  of  the  good  old  time ; 
And  still,  within  our  valleys  here. 
We  hold  the  kindred  title  dear. 
Even  when,  perchance,  its  far-fetch'd  claim 
To  Southron  ear  sounds  empty  name ; 
For  course  of  blood,  oiu'  proverbs  deem, 
Is  warmer  than  the  mountain-stream.' 
And  thus,  mj  Cliristmas  still  I  hold 
Where  my  great -grandsire  came  of  old. 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair,* 
And  reverend  apostolic  air — 
Tlie  feast  and  holy-tide  to  share, 
And  mi.K  sobriety  with  wine. 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine: 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after  time 

'  MS. — "  And  all  the  hnnting  of  the  boar. 

Then  ronnd  the  merry  wa.«sel-bowl, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithe  did  trowl. 
And  the  large  sirloin  steam'd  on  high, 
Plum-porridge,  hare,  and  savory  pie." 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 

3  "  Blood  is  warmer  than  water," — a  proverb  meant  to  vin- 
dicate onr  family  predilections. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  F. 

6  MS. — "  In  these  fair  halls,  with  merry  cheer, 
Is  bid  larewell  the  dying  year." 

*  "  A  lady  of  noble  German  descent,  born  Conntcss  Harriet 
Bruhl  of  Martinskirchen,  married  to  H.  St-ott,  Esq.  of  Harden 
{jioy  Lord  Polwarthj,  the  aathor's  relative  and  much-valaed 


E'er  to  be  hitch'd  into  a  rhyme. 
T\\c  sim|)Iu  sire  could  only  boast. 
That  he  was  loyal  to  lii.s  cost; 
The  banish'd  race  of  kingf*  revered, 
And  last  his  land, — but  kept  liis  beard. 

In  these  dear  hulls,  where  welcome  kind* 
Is  with  fair  liberty  combined; 
Where  cordial  friendship  tcives  the  hand, 
AikI  flies  constraint  the  magic  wand 
Of  the  fair  dame  that  rules  the  land.* 
Little  we  heed  the  tempest  drear. 
While  music,  niirtK  and  .stK'ial  cheer. 
Speed  on  their  wings  the  pa.ssing  year. 
And  Mertoun's  halls  are  fair  c'l-n  now, 
When  not  a  leaf  is  on  the  bough. 
Tweed  loves  them  well,  and  turas  again, 
As  loath  to  h'iivc  the  sweet  domain. 
And  holds  his  mirror  to  her  face, 
And  clips  her  with  a  close  embrace : — 
Gladly  as  he,  we  sock  the  dome, 
And  as  reluctant  turn  us  home. 

How  just  that,  at  this  time  of  glee. 
My  thoughts  should,  Heber,  turn  to  thee ! 
For  many  a  merry  hour  we've  Puown, 
And  heard  the  chimes  of  midniglfs  tone 
Cease,  then,  my  friend !  a  moment  cease> 
And  leave  these  classic  tomes  in  peace  1 
Of  Roman  and  of  Grecian  lore, 
Sure  mortal  brain  can  hold  no  more. 
Tliese  ancients,  as  isoU  Bluli'  might  say, 
"  Were  pretty  fellows  in  their  day  ;"* 
But  time  and  tide  o'er  all  prevail — 
On  Christmas  eve  a  Cliristmas  tale — 
Of  wonder  and  of  war — "  Profane ! 
Wliat !  leave  the  li  ifty  Lati.-\n  strain. 
Her  stately  prose,  her  verse's  charms, 
To  hear  the  clash  of  rusty  arms : 
In  Fairy  Land  or  Limbo  lo-it. 
To  jostle  conjurer  and  gho-.t. 
Goblin  and  witch !" — Nay  Heber  dear, 
Before  you  touch  my  clui:  ^er,  hear : 
Though  Leyden  aid.s,  alas '  no  more. 
My  cause  with  many-lan^'i-xged  lore,* 

friend  almost  from  infancy." — Ktrlc\-  Minstrelsy,  yo\.  it. 
p.  59. 
1  The  MS.  adds  :— "  As  boasts  olo  Shallow  to  Sir  John." 

8  "  Hannibal  was  a  pretty  fellow,  sir — ^  ve.-y  pretty  fellow 
in  his  day." — Old  Bachelor. 

9  MS. — "  With  all  his  many-languaged  lo-e.' 

John  Leydep  M.  D.,  who  had  been  of  great  scrice  to  Sil 
Walter  Scott  in  the  ,ircparalion  of  the  borde.-  Minstrelsy, 
sailed  for  India  in  April,  1803,  and  died  at  Ja.-a  ;l  August 
1811,  before  completing  his  36tli  year. 

"  Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more! 
His  brief  and  bright  career  is  o'er. 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains  ; 
Claench'd  is  his  lamo  of  viried  lore. 


CANTO  VI.                                              MARMION.                                                     139 

This  may  I  say : — iii  realms  of  death 

Since  'twixt  them  fii-st  the  strife  begun, 

Ulj^ssea  meets  Alcides'  wraith; 

And  neit|ier  yet  has  lost  nor  won. 

jEneas,  upon  Tlu-acia's  shore, 

And  oft  the  Conjurer's  words  will  make 

The  ghost  of  murder'd  Polydore ; 

Tlie  stubborn  Demon  groan  and  quake ; 

For  omens,  we  in  Livy  cross, 

And  oft  the  bands  of  iron  break. 

At  every  turn,  locutus  Bos. 

Or  bursts  one  lock,  that  still  amain, 

As  gi'ave  and  duly  sj)eaks  that  ox, 

Fast  as  'tis  open'd,  shuts  again. 

As  if  he  told  the  price  of  stocks ; 

That  magic  strife  within  the  tomb, 

Or  held,  in  Rome  republican, 

May  last  until  tlie  day  of  doom, 

The  place  of  comniou-couucilman. 

Unless  the  adept  shall  learn  to  teU 

The  very  word  that  clench'd  the  spell. 

All  nations  have  their  omens  drear, 

Wlien  Franch'mont  lock'd  the  treasure  celL 

Their  legends  wild  of  woe  and  fear. 

An  hundred  years  are  pass'd  and  gone, 

To  Cambria  look — the  peasant  see, 

And  scarce  three  letters  has  lie  won. 

Bethuik  liim  of  Glendowerdy, 

And  shun  "  the  sphit's  Blasted  Tree."' 

Such  general  super.stition  may 

The  Highlander,  whose  red  claymore 

Excuse  for  old  Pitscottie  say ; 

The  battle  tm-n'd  on  Maida's  shore, 

Wliose  gossip  history  has  given 

Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  j^ale, 

My  song  the  messenger  from  Heaven," 

If  ask'd  to  teU  a  fairy  tale  ■? 

That  warn'd,  in  Lithgow,  Scotland's  King, 

He  fears  the  vengefid  Elfin  King, 

Nor  less  the  infernal  summoning  -^ 

"Who  leaves  that  day  liis  grassy  ring : 

May  pass  the  Monk  of  Durham's  tale, 

Invisible  to  human  ken, 

Whose  demon  fought  in  Gothic  mail ; 

He  walks  a.mong  the  sons  of  men. 

May  pardon  plead  for  Fordun  grave, 

Who  told  of  Giftbrd's  Gobhn-Cave. 

Didst  e'er,  dear  Heber,  pass  along' 

But  why  such  instances  to  you, 

Beneath  the  towers  of  Franchemont, 

Who,  in  an  mstant,  can  renew 

Wliich,  like  an  eagle's  nest  in  air, 

Your  treasured  hoards  of  various  lore, 

Hang  o'er  the  stream  and  hamlet  fair  ?* 

And  fm-nish  twenty  thousand  more  ? 

Deep  in  then-  vaults,  the  peasants  say, 

Hoards,  not   hke   theirs   whose   volumes 

A  mighty  treasure  buried  lay. 

rest 

Amass  d  through  rapine  and  through  wrong 

Like  treasm-es  in  the  Franch'mont  chest, 

By  the  last  Lord  of  Franchemont.* 

Wlule  gripple  owners  stiU  refuse 

The  iron  chest  is  bolted  hard. 

To  others  what  thev  cannot  use  ; 

A  huntsman  sits,  its  constant  guard  ; 

Give  them  the  priest's  whole  century, 

Arotmd  his  neck  his  horn  is  hung, 

They  shaU  not  spell  you  letters  three ; 

His  hanger  in  his  belt  is  slung ; 

Their  pleasure  ui  the  books  the  same 

Before  his  feet  his  blood-hounds  lie  : 

The  magpie  takes  in  pilfer'd  gem. 

An  'twere  not  for  his  gloomy  eye, 

Tliy  voliunes,  open  as  thy  heart. 

Wliose  withering  glance  no  heart  can  brook. 

Delight,  amusement,  science,  art. 

As  true  a  liuntsman  dotli  he  look. 

To  every  ear  and  eye  impart ; 

As  bugle  e'er  in  brake  did  sound, 

Yet  who  of  all  who  thus  employ  them. 

Or  ever  halloo'd  to  a  hound. 

Can  like  the  owner's  self  enjoy  them  ? — 

To  chase  the  fiend,  and  win  the  prize, 

But,  hark !  I  hear  the  distant  drmn ! 

In  that  same  dmigeon  ever  tries 

The  day  of  Flodden  Field  is  come. — 

An  aged  necromantic  priest ; 

Adieu,  dear  Heber  !  life  and  health. 

It  is  an  hundred  years  at  least, 

And  store  of  hterary  wealth. 

That  loved  the  hght  of  song  to  pour: 

3  This  paragraph  appears  interpolated  on  the  blank  pijge  of 

A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

the  MS. 

Heis  Leyden's  cold  remains  !" 

■•  MS. — "  Which,  high  in  air,  like  eagle's  nest, 

I^ord  of  the.  Isles,  Canto  IV.  post. 

Hang  from  the  dizzy  mountain's  breast." 

See  a  notice  of  his  life  in  the  Author's  Miscellaneous  Prose 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  4  I. 

Works. 

6  Ibid.  Note  3  B. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  G. 

7  Ibid.  Note  4  A.    The  four  lines  which  follow  a»e  not  in 

a  Ibid.  Note  4  H. 

the  MS. 

1 

140                                        SCOTT'S  POKTH'AI,  W()I:KS.                               canto  \x 

Bulwark,  and  hartizim,  and  line, 

i\\  a  r  III  ion. 

And  bii-stion,  towt-r,  and  vantage -coign; 

Above  the  booming  oceau  leant 

The  far-projecting  iMittlement ; 
The  billows  biirKt,  in  i  caseleHS  flow, 
I' j)on  the  precipice  bidow. 

CAvr»>  hixTii. 

Wlicre'er  Tantallon  faced  the  land. 

rt)f    iiattlr. 

(rate-work",  and  walls,  were  strongly  maRn'd; 

I. 

No  need  ui>on  the  sea-girt  side; 

WmtK  i,Teat  ttvcnts  wcro  on  the  pJc, 

Tlie  stecj>y  r<K'k,  and  frantic  tide, 

Aii'l  oath  hour  hrou;,'ht  a  varying  talc, 

Approa<'h  of  human  step  denied  ; 

Anil  the  iloinfanor,  diaiiffi'd  and  cold, 

And  thus  these  lines  and  ramparts  rude, 

Of  I)«>u«laj>.  frettod  Marniioii  IxiKl, 

Were  left  in  deepest  solitude. 

And,  liko  llw  impatient  steed  of  war, 

lie  inutf 'd  the  battle  from  afar  ; 

11  r. 

And  hojK?s  wore  none,  tlmt  back  again, 

And,  for  thoy  were  so  lonely,  Clare 

Ib-rald  ."hoidd  come  from  Teroucnnc, 

Would  to  tliese  battlements  repair, 

Wluro  Kii^'land'a  Kintf  in  leaguer  Liy, 

And  muse  upon  her  sorrows  there. 

H.'fore  decisive  battle-day ; 

And  list  the  sea-bird's  cry ; 

Whilst  these  thuigs  were,  the  mournful  Clare 

Or  slow,  like  n(Mintide  ghost,  would  glide 

Did  in  the  Dame's  devotions  share: 

Along  the  dark-gray  bulwark's  side, 

For  the  go<xi  Cuuutcs.s  ceaseless  pray'd 

And  ever  on  the  heaving  tide 

To  Heaven  and  Saints,  her  sons  to  lud. 

Look  down  with  weary  eye. 

And,  with  short  interval,  did  psiss 

Oft  did  the  cliff  and  swelling  main. 

From  prayer  to  book,  from  book  to  mass, 

Recall  the  thoughts  of  Whitby's  fane, — 

And  all  in  liigh  Barunial  pride, — 

A  homo  she  ne'er  might  see  again ; 

A  life  Iwith  dull  and  dignified  ; 

For  she  had  laid  adown. 

Yet  as  Lord  Marmion  nothing  press'd 

So  Doughis  bade,  the  hood  and  veil. 

T'         '    !  intervals  of  re.^t. 

And  frontlet  of  the  cloister  pale. 

i  ^            I'lara  well  could  bear 

And  Benedictine  gown : 

T\ic  formal  state,  the  lengtlien'd  prayer, 

It  -were  unseemly  sight,  he  said, 

Tlidugh  deare^'t  to  her  wounded  heart 

A  novice  out  of  convent  shade. — 

The  hours  that  she  might  spend  apart. 

Now  her  bright  lf>cks,  with  sunny  glow, 

Again  adorn'il  her  brow  of  snow ; 

II. 

Her  mantle  rich,  whose  borders,  round, 

I  said,  Tantallon's  dizzy  steep 

A  deep  and  fretted  broidery  bound. 

Hung  o'er  the  margin  of  the  deep. 

In  golden  foldings  sought  the  ground ; 

M:iny  a  rude  tower  and  rampart  there 

Of  holy  oniament,  alone 

!;•  pcUd  the  insult  of  the  air. 

Rcmain'd  a  cross  with  ruby  stone ; 

Whicli,  when  the  tempest  vex'd  the  sky, 

And  often  did  she  look 

H:ilf  breeze,  half  spray,  came  whistling  by. 

On  that  which  in  her  hand  she  bore, 

Alxtve  the  rest,  a  turret  square 

With  velvet  bound,  and  broider'd  o'er, 

Did  o'er  it«  Gotliic  entrance  bear, 

Her  breviary  book. 

'                 ire  rude,  a  stony  sliield  ; 

In  such  a  ])lace,  so  lone,  so  grim. 

i ,.     ...      ly  Heart  was  in  the  Field, 

At  dawniing  pale,  or  twilight  dim. 

And  in  the  chief  three  mullets  stood, 

It  fearful  would  have  been 

111.'  r  _'iiizance  fif  Douglas  blood. 

To  meet  a  form  so  richly  dress'd,' 

llw  tiirr.t  lield  a  narrow  stair,' 

With  book  in  hand,  and  cross  on  breast, 

Whicli,  mounted,  gave  you  access  where 

And  such  a  woeful  mien. 

A  parapet's  emlwittled  row 

Fitz-Eustace,  loitering  with  liis  bow, 

Did  seaward  round  the  castle  go. 

To  practice  on  the  gull  and  crow. 

Sometimes  in  dizzy  steps  descending. 

Saw  her,  at  distance,  gliding  slow. 

Sometimes  in  narrow  circuit  bending, 

And  did  by  Mary  swear, — 

Sometimes  in  platform  broad  extending, 

;  Some  love-lorn  Fay  she  might  have  been, 

Its  varying  circle  did  combine 

j  Or,  in  Romance,  some  spell-bound  Queen 

•  MS. — "  Thp  tower  rontain'ii  a  narrow  »lair. 

»  MS. — "  To  meet  a  form  ko  fair,  and  dress'd 

And  gave  an  open  accc«»  where." 

In  antiqnc  robes,  with  cross  on  breaiit." 

CANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


141 


For  ne'er,  in  work-day  -world,  was  seen 
A  form  so  witching  fair.' 

IV. 

Once  walking  thus,  at  evening  tide, 

It  cliancecl  a  gliding  sail  she  spied. 

And,  sigliing,  thought — "  The  Abbess,  there. 

Perchance,  does  to  her  home  repair ; 

Her  peaceful  rule,  where  Duty,  free. 

Walks  hand  iu  liand  with  Charity ; 

Where  oft  Devotion's  tranced  glow 

Can  sucli  a  glimpse  of  heaven  bestow, 

Tliat  the  enraptured  sisters  see 

High  vision  and  deep  mystery  ; 

Tlie  very  form  of  Hilda  fair. 

Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air. 

And  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer.* 

0 !  wherefore,  to  my  duUer  eye. 

Did  stiU  the  Saint  her  form  deny ! 

Was  it,  that,  sear'd  by  sinful  scorn. 

My  heart  could  neither  melt  nor  burn  ? 

Or  he  my  warm  affections  low. 

With  hun  that  taught  them  first  to  glow? 

Yet,  gentle  Abbess,  weU  I  knew. 

To  pay  thy  kindness  grateful  due. 

And  well  could  brook  the  mild  command, 

That  ruled  thy  simple  maiden  band. 

How  different  now  !  condemn'd  to  bide 

My  doom  fi'om  this  dark  tyrant's  pride. — 

But  Marmion  has  to  learn,  ere  long, 

That  constant  mind,  and  hate  of  wrong. 

Descended  to  a  feeble  girl. 

From  Red  De  Clare,  stout  Gloster's  Earl: 

Of  such  a  stem,  a  sapliag  weak,^ 

He  ne'er  shall  bend,  although  he  break. 


"  But  see  ! — what  makes  this  armor  here  ?"' — 

For  in  her  path  there  lay 
Targe,  corslet,  helm ; — -she  view'd  them  near. — 
"  The  breast-plate  pierced ! — Ay,  much  I  fear. 
Weak  fence  wert  thou  'gainst  foeman's  spear. 
That  hath  made  fatal  entrance  here. 

As  these  dark  blood-gouts  say. — 
Thus  Wilton  ! — Oh !  not  corslet's  ward, 
Not  truth,  as  diamond  ^Jure  and  hard. 
Could  be  thy  manly  bosom's  guard. 

On  yon  disastrous  day  !" —  \ 

She  raised  her  eyes  in  mournful  mood,— 
WiLTOx  himself  before  her  stood !  ) 

1  MS. — "  A  form  so  sad  and  fair." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  K. 

3  IMS. — "  Of  such  astern,  or  branch,  5     '""^    >  weak, 

(      so      ) 

He  ne'er  shall  bend  me,  though  he  break." 
*  MS. — "  By  many  a  short  caress  delay'd." 
8  "  Wlien  the  surprise  at  meeting  a  lover  rescued  from  the 
dead  is  considered,  the  attvi  "ricture  will  not  be  thought  over- 


It  might  have  seem'd  his  passing  ghost, 

For  every  youthful  grace  was  lost ; 

And  joy  unwonted,  and  surprise. 

Gave  their  strange  wildness  to  his  eyes. — 

Expect  not,  noble  dames  and  lords, 

That  I  can  tell  sucli  scene  in  words : 

Wliat  skilful  hmner  e'er  \\'ould  choose 

To  paint  the  rainbow's  varying  hues, 

Unless  to  mortal  it  were  given 

To  dip  his  brush  in  dyes  of  heaven  ? 

Far  less  can  my  weak  line  declare 

Each  clianging  passion's  shade  ; 
Brightening  to  rapture  from  despair, 
Sorrow,  surprise,  and  pity  there. 
And  joy,  with  her  angelic  air, 
And  hope,  that  paints  the  future  fair. 

Their  varying  hues  display'd : 
Each  o'er  its  rival's  ground  extending. 
Alternate  conquering,  shifting,  blending. 
Till  all,  fatigued,  the  conflict  yield. 
And  mighty  Love  retams  the  field. 
Shortly  I  tell  what  then  he  said. 
By  many  a  tender  word  delay'd,* 
And  modest  blush,  and  biu'sting  sigh, 
And  question  kind,  and  fond  reply  : — 

VI. 
me  ffjfilton's  ?IJistor)).^ 
"  Forget  we  that  disastrous  day. 
When  senseless  in  the  lists  I  lay. 

Thence  dragg'd, — but  how  I  cannot  know, 
For  sense  and  recollection  fled, — 

I  found  me  on  a  pallet  low. 

Within  my  ancient  beadsman's  shed." 

Austin, — remember"st  thou,  my  Clare, 
How  thou  didst  blush,  when  the  old  man. 
When  first  our  infant  love  began. 

Said  we'  would  make  a  matchless  pair  ?•  ■ 
Menials,  and  friends,  and  kinsmen  fled 
From  the  degraded  traitor's  bed, — '' 
He  only  held  my  burning  head. 
And  tended  me  for  many  a  day, 
"VSIiile  wotmds  and  fever  held  their  sway. 
But  far  more  needful  was  his  care. 
When  sense  return'd  to  wake  despair ; 

For  I  did  tear  the  closing  woimd, 

And  dash  me  frantic  on  the  ground. 
If  e'er  I  heard  the  name  of  Clare. 
At  length  to  calmer  reason  brought. 
Much  by  his  kind  attendance  wrought, 

charged  with  coloring  ;  and  yet  the  painter  is  so  fatigued  with 
his  exertion,  that  he  has  finally  thrown  away  the  brush,  and 
is  contented  witli  merely  chalking  out  the  intervening  adven- 
tures of  De  Wilton,  witliout  bestowing  on  them  any  colors  at 
all." — Critical  Review. 


6  MS. 

7  MS.—"  The  banish'd  traitor's 


Where  an  old  beadsman  held  my  head.' 

humble  , 
lowly 


(  humble  ) 
I    lowly    \ 


bed 


U2                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vk 

With  him  I  hift  mr  luitivo  Htraitil, 

.\tiil,  |.a>.sing  from  a  piistcni  door, 

Aii.l,  ill  u  |>aItiior'8  wcodn  urriiyM, 

Wo  mot,  and  'coiuitor'd  liami  to  hand, — 

My  luitoti  niiiuu  luiU  furiu  t>t  niuulu, 

He  foil  on  Gilford  moor. 

I               .  M  iimiiy  u  huul ; 

For  the  death  stroke  my  brainl  1  drew 

N                   liTil  of  nuik  luul  birth. 

(0  then  my  helmed  head  he  knew, 

Hut  iniiigtvil  with  the  iln-jjn  of  eiirtli. 

'I'ho  Palmer's  cowl  was  gone), 

Ofi    "                1  lay  riaxiii  fcar'il, 

Tlieii  had  three  inilios  <if  my  blade 

\\  111  11  1               -It,  luiii  tli'oj>ly  hr<MMl 

'I'he  heavy  debt  of  vengeance  paid, — 

On  (Inrk  revenge,  oud  deeds  of  blood, 

My  hand  the  thouglit  of  Austin  staid;' 

Or  V  ■  '         ■      ■    iiK'H  ii|irtur"d. 

I  left  liiiii  there  alone. — 

My  fri.                   .11  loll  .-ilk,  luid  saiid, 

0  good  old  man  !  even  from  llie  grave 

God  would  remove  him  MK>n : 

Thy  spirit  could  thy  mjwtor  save : 

And,  while  iijxni  his  dyinj^  bed, 

If  I  had  slain  my  foemiui,  ne'er 

Ho  l>»';,'g'(l  i>f  me  u  bttou — 

Had  Whitby's  Abbess,  iji  her  fear. 

If  o'er  my  deadliest  enemy 

''■  Given  to  my  hand  this  packet  dear. 

Bon<'!ith  my  brand  tiluiuld  conquer'd  lie, 

Of  power  to  cloiir  my  injured  fame. 

Even  then  my  nitrfv  should  awidwo. 

And  vindicate  Do  Wilton's  name. — 

And  upure  liia  life  for  Austin's  sukc. 

rerchancc  you  heard  the  Abbos.s  tell 

Of  the  strange  luigeantry  of  Hell, 

VIL 

That  })roke  our  secret  speech — 

"  Still  restless  as  a  second  Cnin, 

It  rose  from  the  inforntd  shade, 

To  Scotland  next  my  route  was  ta'en: 

Or  featly  was  some  juggle  phiy'd, 

Full  Will  thi'  paths  I  know. 

A  talc  of  peace  to  teach. 

Fame  of  my  fate  made  various  sound. 

Apjieal  to  Heaven  I  judged  was  best. 

Tliat  death  in  pilgrimage  I  found, 

Wlicn  my  mime  came  among  the  rest. 

Tliat  I  had  {wrisli'd  of  my  wound, — 

Xone  cared  which  tale  was  true : 

IX. 

And  hving  oye  could  never  guess 

"  Now  here,  witliin  Tantallon  Hold, 

Do  Wilton  in  his  Palmer's  dre^s; 

To  Doughis  late  my  tale  I  told, 

Yor  now  that  .s;ible  slough  is  slied, 

To  whom  my  house  wjis  known  of  old. 

And  trimm'd  my  slinggy  beard  and  head. 

Won  by  my  proofs,  his  falchion  bright 

I  scjircoly  know  me  in  the  glass. 

Tliisevc  anew  .shall  dub  me  knight. 

A  chance  most  wondrous  did  provide. 

Tlie.se  were  the  arms  that  once  did  turn 

That  I  should  be  that  Baron's  guide — 

The  tide  of  fight  on  Otterburne, 

I  will  not  name  his  name ! — 

And  Harry  Hotspur  forced  to  yield, 

Vongounco  to  God  alone  belongs ; 

Wlion  the  Dead  Doughis  A-on  the  field.' 
These  Angus  gave — liis  armorer's  care, 

But,  wIkiiT  thiirtrbn  ilU  my"  fPTOngs, 

My  blofxl  is  hquid  flame  1 

Ere  morn  shall  every  breach  repair  ; 

And  ne'er  the  time  shall  I  forget, 

For  naught,  he  said,  wa.s  in  his  halls, 

When,  in  a  Scottish  hostel  set, 

But  ancient  armor  on  the  walls, 

Dark  looks  we  did  exchange  : 

And  aged  chargers  in  the  stalls. 

Wliat  were  his  thoughts  I  cannot  tell ; 

And  women,  ])riests,  and  gray-hair'd  men; 

But  in  my  Uxsom  muster'd  Hell 

Tlic  rest  were  all  in  Twi.sel  glen.' 

Its  plans  of  dark  revenge. 

And  now  I  watch  my  armor  here, 

By  law  of  arms,  till  midnight's  near; 

VIIL 

Then,  once  again  a  belted  knight, 

"  A  word  of  vulgar  nugury. 

tSeek  Surrey's  camp  with  dawn  of  light. 

Tliat  broke  from  mo,  I  s«irce  knew  why, 

Brought  on  a  vilijige  tale  ; 

X. 

Which  wrought  upon  his  mooily  sprite. 

"  Tliere  soon  again  we  meet,  my  Clare  1 

And  sent  him  armed  forth  by  night. 

This  Baron  means  to  guide  thee  there : 

I  borrow'd  steed  and  mail. 

Douglas  reveres  his  King's  command. 

And  weapons,  from  Ills  sleeping  band ; 

Else  would  he  take  thee  from  his  band. 

MS. — "  Bat  thooght  of  Aunlin  ulaicl  my  hand, 

«  See  the  ballad  of  Otterboome,  In  the  Border  Minstrelsy, 

And  in  the  ulipalh  I  planned  the  brand, 

vol.  i.  p.  345. 

I  left  him  thor*  alone. — 

3  Whori.'  James  encamped   before  taking  post  on  Floddcn. 

O  good  old  man  I  rvm  from  the  crave, 

Tlie  MS.  has— 

Thy  spirit  could  De  Wilton  Mvr." 

"  The  re.st  were  all  on  Flodden  plain." 

I 


CANTO  VI.                                             MARMION.                                                       143 

And  there  thy  kinsman,  Surrey,  too, 

He  wore  a  cap  and  shirt  of  mail ; 

"Will  give  De  Wilton  justice  due. 

And  Ican'd  liis  large  and  wrinkled  hand 

Now  meeter  far  for  martial  broil, 

Upon  the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 

Fu-jner  my  limbs,  and  strung  by  toil. 

"Wliich  wont  of  yore  in  battle  fray. 

Once  more" — "  0  Wilton !  must  we  then 

His  foeman's  limbs  to  shred  away. 

Risk  new-found  happiness  again. 

As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray.' 

IVust  fate  of  arms  ouce  more  ? 

He  seem'd  as,  from  the  tombs  around 

And  is  there  not  an  humble  glen. 

Rising  at  judgment-day. 

^Vliere  we,  content  and  poor. 

Some  giant  Douglas  may  be  found 

Might  build  a  cottage  in  the  shade, 

In  all  liis  old  array ; 

A  shepherd  thou,  and  I  to  aid 

So  pale  his  face,  so  huge  his  limb, 

Thy  task  on  dale  and  moor? — 

So  old  his  arms,  his  look  so  grim. 

That  reddeiiiug  brow  ! — too  well  I  know, 

Kot  even  thy  Clare  can  peace  bestow, 

XII. 

Whde  falsehood  stains  thy  name : 

Tlicn  at  the  altar  Wilton  kneels. 

Go  then  to  light !  Clare  bids  thee  go  ! 

And  Clare  the  spurs  bound  on  his  heels ; 

Clare  can  a  warrior's  feeUngs  know, 

And  think  what  next  he  must  have  felt, 

And  weep  a  warrior's  shame ; 

At  buckhng  of  the  falchion  belt  1 

Can  Red  Earl  Gilbert's  spirit  feel. 

And  judge  how  Clara  changed  her  hue, 

Buckle  the  spurs  upon  thy  heel, 

VV  liile  fastenmg  to  her  lover's  side 

And  belt  thee  with  thy  brand  of  steel, 

A  fi'iend,  which,  though  m  danger  tried, 

And  send  thee  forth  to  fame !" 

He  once  had  foimd  untrue  ! 

Then  Douglas  struck  liim  with  liis  blade : 

XL 

"  Saint  Michael  and  Saint  Andrew  aid, 

That  night,  upon  the  rocks  and  bay. 

I  dub  thee  knight. 

The  midnight  moon-be:im  slmnbering  lay, 

Arise,  Sir  Ralph,  De  Wilton's  heir ! 

And  pom-'d  its  silver  hght,  and  pure. 

For  King,  for  Church,  for  Lady  fair, 

Through  loop-hole,  and  through  embrasure. 

See  that  thou  fight."—* 

Upon  Tantallou  tower  and  hall ; 

And  Bishop  Gawain,  as  he  rose. 

But  chief  where  arched  windows  wide 

Said —  "  Wilton !  grieve  not  for  thy  woes, 

Illuminate  the  chapel's  pride. 

Disgrace,  and  trouble ; 

The  sober  glances  fall. 

For  He,  who  honor  best  bestows, 

Much  was  there  need ;  though  seam'd  with  scars. 

May  give  thee  double." — 

Two  veterans  of  the  Douglas'  wars. 

De  Wilton  sobb'd,  for  sob  he  must — 

Tliough  two  gray  priests  were  there. 

"  Where'er  I  meet  a  Douglas,  trust 

And  each  a  blazing  torch  held  high. 

That  Douglas  is  my  brother  !" — 

You  could  not  by  their  blaze  descry* 

"Nay,  nav,"  old  Angus  said,  "not  so; 

The  chapel's  carving  fair. 

To  Surrey's  camp  thou  now  must  go. 

Amid  that  dim  and  smoky  light. 

Thy  wrongs  no  longer  smother. 

Checkering  the  silver  moonshine  bright. 

I  have  two  sons  in  yonder  field  ; 

A  bishop  by  the  altar  stood,^ 

And,  if  thou  meet'st  them  tmder  shield, 

A  noble  lord  of  Douglas  blood. 

Upon  them  bravely — do  thy  worst ; 

With  mitre  sheen,  and  rocquet  wliite. 

And  foul  fall  him  that  blenches  first !" 

Yet  show'd  his  meek  and  thoughtful  eye 

But  httle  pride  of  prelacy  ; 

XIIL 

More  pleased  that,  in  a  barbarous  age, 

Not  far  advanced  was  morning  day, 

He  gave  rude  Scotland  A^irgU's  page. 

When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array 

Than  that  beneath  his  rule  he  held 

To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride  ; 

The  bishopric  of  fair  Dnnkeld. 

He  had  safe  conduct  for  his  band, 

Beside  liim  ancient  Angus  stood, 

Beneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand. 

Doff 'd  his  furr'd  gown,  and  sable  hood : 

And  Douglas  gave  a  guide : 

O'er  his  huge  form  and  visage  pale, 

The  ancient  Earl,  with  stately  grace, 

1  MS.—"  You  might  not  by  their  shine  descry." 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  4  L. 

a  Tlie  well-known  Gawain  Douglas,  Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  son 

of  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat,  Earl  of  Angus.     He  was  author  of 

4  "  The  following  (five  lines)  are  a  sort  of  mongrel   between 

a  Scottish  metrical  version  of  the  jEneid,  and  of  many  other 

the  school  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  and  the  later  one  of  Mr 

poetical  pieces  of  great  merit.     He  had  not  at  this  period  at- 

Wordsworth." — Jeffrey. 

ttuned  the  mitre. 

144 


crorrS  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAVXO  YL 


Won!. I  rinra  fm  luT  palfroy  plncc, 
All  I  ulii-|><  r  <l  ill  uii  uikUt  toiio, 
••  Lt'l  t)ie  Irnwk  stiHip,  hU  |>r.\  it  fldwn." — 
'! '      •  •■   nx  out  the  «u«tlc  ilrcw,' 

i  -itojijul  t«)  \>u\  n<li«-u : — 
-  Iliimtfh  atiiiifthii));  I  iiii:,'lit  pliiin,"  ho  (uiiJ, 


\V lulf  I'l  'riuitttllwi*  i«werii  1  ntiiid  ; 

1'     ■  '  '       from  your  \iuu\, 

.ic  my  hiiiiii." — 
But  IXtugliu  round  liiin  drew  Wm  cloak, 
y  '  '     '  '  iiid  thus  lie  .s[)i>ke: — 

-,  uud  lj4i\v»T.s,  shall  still 
Be  o|x'ii,  at  my  Sovereign's  will, 
"  '  "         '      ':  •-.  howe'cr 

peer." 
My  cju>*tleA  arc  my  King's  aluuo, 
Fruin  turret  to  fnuiKlMtinn  stone — 
Tlif  iiaiid  of  l)i>u;4l:is  is  his  own; 
And  never  aludl  in  friendly  grasp 
The  luuid  of  such  as  Marmiou  clasp." — 

XIV. 
Burn'd  Miirmion's  swaitliy  check  like  fire, 
And  sluHjk  liis  very  frame  for  ire, 

And—"  This  to  me  !"  he  said, — 
"An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
SucJi  iiand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head ! 
And,  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  Peer, 
He,  who  does  England's  niessiigc  here, 
Although  the  mciinest  in  her  state, 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate: 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, 
Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near 
(Xay,  never  look  upon  your  lord, 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword), 

I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied  ! 
And  if  thou  said'st  I  un\  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here. 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near 

Lord    •  !.o;i  h:ut  lied!"—* 

On  the  J —      ..  ek  the  flu.^h  of  rage 
O'crcaine  the  a»beu  hue  of  age : 
Fierce  ho  lirnke  forth, — "And  dar'st  thou  then 
To  Ix'ard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

Tlic  Douglas  in  hi*  hall } 
And  hope-t  thou  hence  unsc4ithed  to  go? 
No,  by  Saint  Rride  of  Botliwell,  no  ? 
Up  drawbridge,  grwrnis — what,  Warder,  ho  1 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." — * 

I  M.S. — "  The  train  the  portal  iirch  paa'd  throogh." 
»  M.S.—"  Unmeet  they  be  to  harbor  here." 
'  -V.".— "  TbIm!  Dougla",  thon  ha»l  lied." 
♦  See  Appcndii,  Note  4  M. 


I»rd  Marmion  turn'd — well  was  his  need. 
Anil  diLsli'd  the  rowels  in  liis  steed, 
J..ike  arrow  throu;<li  the  arclnvjiy  sprung, 
The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung : 
To  pas."*  ihctv  wa*  such  wjinty  ruum, 
nio  bar.s,  lie  .  1  hisplumo, 

XV. 
The  Btcod  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 
Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise  ; 
Nor  lighter  does  the  swaUow  skim 
Along  the  smofjth  lake's  level  brim : 
And  when  Lord  .Marmion  rcaeli'd  his  band, 
He  halts,  iUid  turns  witli  eleiiehed  liand, 
And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours, 
And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  tlie  towers. 
"  Hor.<e  1    hor.se  '.'    the   Douglas  cried,  "  uud 

chase  1" 
But  .«cH»n  he  rein'd  his  fury's  pace: 
"  A  royal  messenger  he  came, 
Though  most  unworthy  of  the  name, — 
A  letter  forged  !  Saint  Jude  to  speed  1 
Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed  !' 
At  first  in  heart  it  liked  rnc  ill, 
Wlieii  the  King  praised  his  clerkly  skilL 
Tluuiks  to  Saint  Bothan,  eon  of  mine,* 
Save  Gawain,  ne'er  coidd  pen  a  line : 
So  swore  I,  and  I  swear  it  stiU, 
Let  my  boy-bi.shop  fret  his  fill. — 
Saint  Mary  mend  my  fiery  mood  ! 
Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas  blood, 
I  thought  to  slay  liim  where  he  stood. 
'Tis  pity  of  him  too,"  he  cried  : 
"  Bold  can  he  speak,  and  fairly  ride, 
I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." 
With  this  his  mandate  he  recalls, 
And  slowly  seeks  his  castle  haUs. 

XVL 

The  day  in  Marmion's  journey  wore ; 
Yet,  ere  his  passion's  gust  was  o'er, 
They  cross'd  the  heights  of  Stanrig-moor 
His  troop  more  closely  there  he  scann'd, 
And  miss'd  the  Palmer  from  the  band. — 
"  Palmer  or  not,"  young  Blount  did  say, 
"  He  parted  at  the  peep  of  day ; 
Good  sooth,  it  was  in  strange  aiTay." — 
"  In  what  array  ? "  said  Marmion,  quick. 
"  My  Lord,  I  ill  can  spell  the  trick ; 
But  all  night  long,  with  clink  and  bang, 
Close  to  my  couch  did  hammers  clang; 
At  dawn  the  falling  drawbridge  rang, 
And  from  a  loop-hole  while  I  peep, 

&  See  Appendix.  Note  4  N. 

•  MS. — "  Thanks  to  Saint  Bothan,  son  of  mine 
Could  never  pen  a  written  line, 
So  Bwp.ir  I,  and  I  Bwear  it  still. 
Let  Orothcr  Gawain  fret  his  fill  " 


CANTO  VI.                                              MARMION.                                                        145 

Old  Bell-the-Cat  came  from  the  Keep, 

xvm. 

Wrapp'd  in  a  gown  of  sables  fair, 

Stung  with  these  thoughts,  he  urged  to  speed 

As  fearful  of  tlie  morning  air  ; 

His  troop,  and  reacli'd,  at  eve,  the  Tweed, 

Beneath,  wlien  that  was  blown  aside, 

Wlierc  Leimel's  convent"  closed  their  march 

A  rusty  shirt  of  mail  I  spied, 

(There  now  is  left  but  one  frail  arch. 

By  Arcliibald  won  in  bloody  work, 

Yet  moimi  tliou  not  its  cells ; 

Against  the  Saracen  and  Turk  : 

Our  time  a  fair  exchange  lias  made ; 

Last  night  it  hung  not  in  the  hall ; 

Hard  by,  in  hospitable  shade, 

I  tliouglit  some  marvel  would  befall. 

A  reverend  pilgrim  dwells. 

And  next  I  saw  them  saddled  lead 

Well  worth  the  whole  Bernard  ine  brood. 

Old  Cheviot  forth,  the  Earl's  best  steed ; 

That  e'er  wore  sandal,  frock,  or  hood.) 

A  matcliless  horse,  though  something  old, 

Yet  did  Saint  Bernard's  Abbot  there 

Prompt  in  his  paces,  cool  and  bold. 

Give  Marmion  entertainment  fair, 

I  heard  the  Sheriff  Sholto  say. 

And  lodging  for  liis  train  and  Clare.' 

Tlie  Earl  did  much  the  Master'  pray 

Next  morn  the  Baron  climb'd  the  towor. 

To  use  him  on  the  battle-day  ; 

To  view  afar  the  Scottish  power. 

But  he  preferr'd" — "  Nay,  Henry,  cease  ! 

Encamp'd  on  Flodden  edge  ; 

Thou  sworn  liorse-courser,  hold  thy  peace. — 

The  white  pavilions  made  a  show. 

Eustace,  thou  bear'st  a  brain — I  pray, 

Like  remnants  of  the  whiter  snow, 

What  did  Blount  see  at  break  of  day  ?"— 

Along  tlie  dusky  ridge. 

Long  Marmion  look'd : — at  length  his  eye 

XYII. 

Unusual  movement  might  descry 

■'  In  brief,  my  lord,  we  both  descried 

Amid  the  shifting  hues : 

(For  then  I  stood  by  Henry's  side) 

The  Scottish  host  drawn  out  appears, 

The  Palmer  mount,  and  outwards  ride, 

For,  flashing  on  the  hedge  of  spears 

Upon  the  Earl's  own  favorite  steed  : 

The  eastern  sunbeam  shines. 

All  sheathed  he  was  in  armor  bright. 

Their  front  now  deepening,  now  extending; 

And  much  resembled  that  same  Ivnight, 

Their  flank  inclining,  wheehng,  bending. 

Subdued  by  you  in  Cotswold  fight : 

Now  drawing  back,  and  now  descending, 

Lord  Angus  wish'd  him  speed." — 

The  skilful  Marmion  well  could  know. 

The  instant  that  Fitz-Eustace  spoke, 

They  watch'd  the  motions  of  some  foe. 

A  sudden  light  on  Marmion  broke  ; — 

Who  traversed  on  tlie  plain  below. 

"  Ah  I  dastard  fool,  to  reason  lost !" 

He  mutter'd ;  "  'twas  nor  fay  nor  ghost 

XIX. 

I  met  upon  the  moonlight  wold. 

Even  so  it  was.     From  Flodden  ridge 

But  living  man  of  earthly  mould. — 

Tlie  Scots  beheld  the  Eughsh  host 

0  dotage  blind  and  gross ! 

Leave  Barmore-wood,  their  evening  post. 

Had  I  but  fought  as  wont,  one  thrust 

And  heedful  watch'd  them  as  they  cross'd 

Had  laid  De  Wilton  m  the  dust. 

Tlie  TUl  by  Twisel  Bridge.* 

My  path  no  more  to  cross. — 

High  sight  it  is,  and  haughty,  while 

How  stand  we  now  ? — lie  told  his  tale 

They  dive  into  the  deep  defile ; 

To  Douglas ;  and  with  some  avail ; 

Beneath  the  cavern'd  clifi  they  fall, 

'Twas  therefore  gloom'd  his  rugged  brow. — 

Beneath  the  castle's  airy  wall. 

Will  Surrey  dare  to  entertain. 

By  rock,  by  oak,  by  hawthorn-tree. 

'Gainst  Marmion,  charge  disproved  and  vain  ? 

Troop  after  troop  are  disappearing ; 

Small  risk  of  that,  I  trow. 

IVoop  after  troop  their  banners  rearing, 

Yet  Clare's  sharp  questions  must  I  shun ; 

Upon  the  eastern  bank  you  see. 

Must  separate  Constance  from  the  Nun — 

Still  pouring  down  the  rocky  den. 

0,  what  a  tangled  web  wc  weave. 

Where  flows  the  sullen  Till, 

When  first  we  practise  to  deceive ! 

And  rising  from  the  dim-wood  glen. 

A  Palmer  too ! — no  wonder  why 

Standards  on  standards,  men  on  men. 

I  felt  rebuked  beneath  his  eye  : 

In  slow  succession  still. 

I  might  have  known  there  was  but  one. 

And  sweeping  o'er  the  Gothic  arch. 

Whose  look  could  quell  Lord  Marmion." 

And  pressing  on,  in  ceaseless  march. 

>  His  eldest  son,  the  Master  of  Angus. 

and  even  transcends  itself.     It  is  impossible  to  do  him  justice 

a  See  AppendLx,  Note  4  O. 

by  making  extracts,  when  all  is  equally  attractive." — Monthlg 

s  "  From   this  period   to  the  conclnsion  of  the  poem,  Mr. 

Review. 

Scott's  genius,  so  long  overclouded,  bursts  forth  in  full  lustre, 
19 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  P. 

140                                        SCO'lTS  I'OETR'AL  WORKS.                               canto  vi 

T       •     ■                  ^11. 

'l'i>  i<ce  fair  Enghmd's  sttmdards  fly." 

Tlui-                                       lupft  rliuijj, 

"Stint  in  tliv  prate,"  ipioth  Blmmt,  ••  thou'dst 

TVwol !  thy  rock'*  deep  cclu>  nuij; ; 

l«.-t," 

\                                          ■    iiixl  riiiik, 

And  li-<tfn  In  our  lords  biliL'.st." — * 

-" mm  ilrank. 

Witli  kindling  brow  L'ird  ilarmion  said, — 

T\\y  luiwthoni  gliidv,  wluoli  now  wo  soo 

"  This  instiuit  be  our  band  array 'u  ; 

III                  !  ■  lil(«>m  no  IiivIhIiIv', 

llie  river  must  l>e  (juickly  cross'd. 

Ila^:  : :.    in  iiuuiy  «ui  luco  iU  doom, 

That  wo  may  join  Lord  Surrey's  host. 

To  give  llio  inivrrliiiig  culunuu  UMm. 

If  fight  King  James, — as  well  I  trust, 

lliat  fight  ho  will,  and  fi-ht  he  must, — 

XX. 

The  la<ly  Claro  bohin<l  our  lines 

And  why  tttnnda  Scothuul  idly  now, 

Shall  tiirry  wlule  the  battle  joins." 

Dark  KliKldon!  on  tliy  airy  brow, 

Since  Knjjlaud  gaiiiA  Uio  pa-ts  the  while, 

XXI L 

And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile  ? 

riim.«clf  he  swift  on  horseback  threw, 

What  chocks  the  fiery  soul  of  .James! 

Scarce  to  the  Abbot  ba<le  adieu; 

Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  diunea 

Far  less  would  listen  to  liis  prayer, 

Inactive  on  his  steed. 

To  leave  behind  the  helpless  Clare. 

And  pees  between  lam  and  liis  land, 

Down  to  the  T^veed  his  band  he  drew, 

lietwecn  him  luid  Tweed's  southern  strand^ 

And  muttcr'd  as  the  flood  they  view, 

His  luwt  L<jrd  Surrey  lead  ? 

"  The  jjhe.isant  in  the  falcon's  claw. 

What  'vailfl  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand ! 

He  .'scarce  will  yield  to  please  a  daw  : 

— 0,  X)ou:jla.«,  for  thy  leading  wand  1 

Lord  Angus  may  tl'c  Abbot  awe. 

Fierce  lijuidolph,  for  thy  speed ! 

So  Clare  .shall  bide  with  me." 

0  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight, 

Tlien  on  that  dangerous  fonl,  and  deep. 

Or  well-skill'd  Bruce,  to  rule  the  fight. 

Wliere  to  the  Tweed  Leafs  eddies  creep,* 

And  cry — "  Saint  Andrew  and  our  right  I" 

He  ventured  desperately : 

Another  sight  had  seen  that  morn. 

And  not  a  moment  will  he  bide. 

From  Fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn. 

Till  .squire,  or  groom,  before  him  ride 

An<l  FicKlden  had  been  Bimuockbourue  ! 

Headmost  of  all  he  stems  the  tide. 

Tlie  precious  hour  has  pass'd  in  vain. 

And  sten;  s  it  gallantly. 

And  Kn^hmd's  host  luus  galn'd  the  plain; 

Eustace  helc  Clare  upon  her  horse. 

Wlieeling  their  march,  fuid  circling  still, 

Old  Huber '  led  her  rein. 

Around  the  base  of  FloddcD  liilL 

Stoutly  they  braved  the  current's  course. 

And,  though  far  downward  driven   per 

XXL 

force, 

fire  yet  the  bands  met  ilarmion's  eye,' 

The  southern  bank  they  gain ; 

Fit/.-En«tace  shouted  loud  and  hi^h. 

Behind  them  straggling  came  to  shore, 

"  Hark !  hark  1  my  lord,  an  EnglLsh  drum  ! 

As  best  they  might,  the  train : 

And  see  ascending  squadrons  come 

Each  o'er  Ids  head  his  yew-bow  bore. 

Between  Tweed's  river  and  the  hill. 

A  caution  not  in  vain  : 

Ffjot,  horse,  and  cannon  : — hap  what  hap, 

Deep  need  that  day  that  every  string. 

My  basnet  to  a  prentice  cap. 

By  wet  unharm'd,  should  sharply  ring. 

Lord  Surrey's  o'er  the  Till ! — 

A  moment  then  Lord  Marmion  stay'd. 

Yet  more  !  yet  more  ! — how  far  array 'a 

And  breathed  his  steed,  his  men  array'd, 

Tlicy  file  from  out  the  hawthorn  sliade. 

nien  forward  moved  his  band. 

And  sweep  st*  gallant  by  !' 

Until,  Lord  Surrey's  rear-guard  won. 

With  all  their  baiuiers  bravely  spread, 

He  halted  by  a  Cross  of  Stone, 

And  all  their  armor  flashing  high. 

Tliat,  OD  a  hillock  staniling  lone, 

Saint  George  might  waken  from  the  dead. 

Did  all  the  field  commimd. 

1  M.'*.— "  Ere  firrt  thry  met  Lord  Marmioa'i  eye." 

And, 

»  MS. — "  And  all  go  iwccpinj  by." 

'  Stint  in  thy  jiratc,'  quoth  Blount,   'thou'dtt  Ifst, 

>  "  Tlie  •p<!c<7hc«  of  Hquire  nioant  are  a  great  deal  too  un- 

And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest.' 

^|j<he<l  for  a  noble  yootli  aapirin;;  to  knighthood.     On  two 

Neither  can  we  be  brought  to  admire  the  simple  dignity  of  Sn 

3rcaiions,  to  •ixM-'ify  no  more,  be  addxcaKi  his  brother  squire 

Ungh  the  Heron,  who  thus  cncooragcth  bis  nephew, — 

In  thcM  cacophonoai  line*, — 

'  By  my  fay. 

'  St.  Anton  fir  f  thee  f  will  tlioo  rtand 

Well  hajit  thou  spoke — s:iy  forth  thy  say.'  " — JErFRrr. 

All  day  with  bonnet  in  ihjr  hand  :' 

«  MS.—"  Where  to  the  Twp.mI  Leat's  tributes  creep." 

CANTO  VI.                                            MARMION.                                                       147 

XXIII. 

But,  parting  like  a  thunderbolt. 

Hence  iiiiglit  they  see  the  full  array 

First  in  the  vanguard  made  a  halt, 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray  ;' 

Wliere  such  a  sliout  there  rose 

Theu-  marsliall'd  lines  stretch'd  east  and  -west," 

Of  "  Marmion  !  Marmion !"  that  the  cry 

And  fronted  north  and  south, 

Up  Flodden  mountain  shriUing  high, 

Ami  cUstaut  salutation  pass'd 

Startled  the  Scottish  foes. 

From  the  loud  cannon  mouth ; 

Not  in  the  close  successive  rattle. 

XXV. 

That  breathes  the  voice  of  modern  battle, 

Blount  and  Fitz-Eustace  rested  still 

But  slow  and  far  between. — 

With  Lady  Clare  upon  the  hill ! 

The  hillock  gain'd.  Lord  Marmion  staid ; 

On  wliich  (for  far  the  day  was  spent) 

"  Here,  by  tliis  Cross,"  he  gently  said, 

The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent. 

"  You  well  may  view  the  scene. 

The  cry  they  heard,  its  meaning  knew. 

Here  shalt  thou  tarry,  lovely  Clare : 

Could  plain  their  distant  comrades  view : 

0  !  think  of  Maruiion  in  thy  prayer  ! 

Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say. 

Thou  wilt  not  ? — well, — no  less  my  care 

"  Unworthy  office  here  to  stay ! 

Shall,  watchful,  for  thy  weal  prepare. — 

No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day. — 

You,  Blount  and  Eustace,  are  her  guard, 

But  see  !  look  up — on  Flodden  bent 

With  ten  pick'd  archers  of  my  train  ; 

Tlie  Scottish  foe  has  fired  his  tent." 

"With  England  if  the  day  go  liai-d, 

And  sudden,  as  he  spoke. 

To  Berwick  speed  amain. — 

From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  liiU," 

But  if  we  conquer,  cruel  maid. 

All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till 

My  spoils  shall  at  your  feet  be  laid, 

Was  wreathed  in  sable  smoke. 

When  here  we  meet  again." 

Volumed  and  fast,  and  rolUng  far. 

He  waited  not  for  answer  there. 

ITie  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war, 

And  would  not  mark  the  maid's  despair,' 

As  down  the  hill  they  broke 

Nor  heed  the  discontented  look 

Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone. 

From  either  squire ;  but  spurr'd  amain, 

Announced  their  march ;  their  tread  alone 

And,  dashing  through  the  battle  plain, 

At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown. 

His  way  to  Surrey  took. 

At  times  a  stifled  hum, 

"Told  England,  from  his  mountain-throne 

XXIV. 

King  James  did  rushing  come. — 

<' The  good  Lord  Marmion,  by  my  life  ! 

Scarce  could  they  hear,  or  see  their  foes. 

Welcome  to  danger's  hour ! — 

Until  at  weapon-point  they  close. — ^ 

Short  greeting  serves  in  time  of  strife  : — 

They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust, 

Thus  have  I  ranged  my  power : 

With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust ; 

Myself  will  rule  this  central  host. 

And  such  a  yell  was  there. 

Stout  Stanley  fronts  their  right. 

Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 

My  sons  command  the  vaward  post. 

As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth. 

With  Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight  ;* 

And  fiends  in  upper  air ;' 

Lord  Dacre,  with  his  horsemen  light, 

0  life  and  death  were  in  the  shout. 

Shall  be  in  rear-ward  of  the  fight. 

Recoil  and  rally,  charge  and  rout. 

And  succor  those  that  need  it  most. 

And  triumph  and  despair. 

Now,  gallant  Marmion,  well  I  know, 

Long  look'd  the  anxious  squires ;  their  eye 

Would  gladly  to  the  vanguard  go ! 

Could  in  the  darkness  naught  descry. 

Edmund,  the  Admnal,  Tunstall  there. 

With  thee  their  charge  will  bUthely  share ; 

XXVL 

There  fight  thine  own  retainers  too. 

At  length  the  freshenmg  western  blast 

Beneath  De  Burg,  thy  steward  true." — ^ 

Aside  the  shroud  of  battle  cast ; 

"  Thanks,  noble  Surrey !"  Marmion  said. 

And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears' 

Nor  farther  greeting  there  he  paid ; 

Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears ; 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  4  Q,. 

the  days  of  Homer  to  those  of  Mr.  Sonthey,  there  is  none,  in 

'  MS. — "  Their  lines  were  formM,  stretch'd  east  and  west." 

onr  opinion,  at  all  comparable,  for  interest  and  animation,— 

s  MS. — "  Nor  mark'd  the  lady's  neep  despair, 

for  breadth  of  drawing  and  magnificence  of  effect, — with  tlii 

Nor  heeded  discontented  looli." 

of  Mr,  Scott's." — Jeffrey. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  R. 

"  Tills  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

'  MS.-—"  Beneatli  thy  seneschal,  Fitz-Hugh." 

6  The  next  three  lines  are  not  in  the  .MS. 

"  Of  all  the  poetica'  battles  which  have  been  fought,  from 

e  MS.—"  And  first  tlie  broken  ridge  of  Boeare  " 

L 


148                                      SCOn-S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi. 

Aud  ill  tlio  ajituke  tin-  peiuiMW  fluw, 

I  gidlop  to  the  host." 

A*  iu  the  nturiu  the  whitu  Aoa-iiiuw. 

Antl  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain. 

Tl               '    ■    '           !     l.iii;^  liriwd  lUul  far, 

I'ollow'd  by  all  the  iinher  train. 

'1  i                                         If  wiir, 

The  fury  youth,  with  desjierate  cluirge, 

And  plumed  crotfta  of  cluLrtmiiA  brnvu, 

Made,  for  a  xpaee,  an  upeiiing  large, — 

KI                               ii|><>ii  tlic  wuvo  ; 

Tlie  ri'seued  banner  r>).-»e, — 

ii't  the V  M'f  : 

But  darkly  elosed  the  war  amund, 

\\"i\>-  ra'.-i'il  tlie  battle  on  the  plain  ; 

Like  puiu-true,  nxjted  from  the  ground,* 

S|                              ■      •  ■  ;,,„,,  fli,^I,\l  ainaiu; 

It  sunk  among  the  foe.-*. 

1  ■           ^             ,1           .-,lil  like  ruiii; 

Then  Eustace  mounted  t<K> : — yet  staid 

CreaU  ro«c>,  uiid  sttHtp'd,  uiid  ro»u  uguin, 

As  loath  to  leave  the  helpless  maid. 

Wild  mid  ilinorderly. 

When,  fiLst  :w  sluift  can  fly. 

Amid  the  M:eiie  iif  tumult,  high 

Bloodshot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread. 

They  saw  Lord  Murmiun's  fidcun  fly : 

The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head, 

And  stniidesrt  Tunstiiir.s  iHimier  white. 

Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red. 

Anil  Edmund  lluwurd'.s  lion  bright, 

Lord  ilarmion's  steed  ru.sb'd  by  ; 

Still  l>ear  them  bravely  in  the  fight: 

And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 

Although  nguinst  tliem  come. 

A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast 

Of  giUlunt  Gordons  nj:uiy  a  one. 

To  mark  he  would  return  in  liastc,* 

And  many  a  stublwni  Badenooh-man,' 

Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 

And  many  a  ru;^ged  Rordir  c!;ui, 

Witi,  Hiiiitly,  :uul  witli  Uouic 

XXVIII. 

Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels. 

XXVII. 

Left  in  that  dreadful  hour  alone : 

Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while. 

Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels; 

Stanley  broke  I.K.'nno.\  and  Argyle ; 

Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own. 

Though  there  tl»c  western  mountaineer* 

Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tt)ne. — 

Ilu.xh'd  with  bare  lx>s<.ni  on  the  spear. 

Tlie  scatter'd  van  of  England  wheels; — '' 

And  flung  the  feeble  targe  a.*idc, 

She  only  said,  as  loud  in  idr 

And  with  both  liands  the  broadsword  plied. 

Tlie  tumult  roar'd,  "  Is  Wilton  there  ?"— 

Tw:ls  vjiin : — But  Fortune,  on  the  right. 

niey  fly,  or,  madden'd  by  despair, 

With  fickle  smile,  chcer'd  Scotland's  fight. 

Fight  but  to  die,—"  Is  Wilton  there  ?" 

Tlien  fell  tliat  spotless  bamxer  white,* 

With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

TIic  Howard's  lion  fell ; 

Two  horsemen  drencli'd  with  gore. 

Yet  still  Lord  Marmiou's  falcon  flew 

And  in  their  arm.s,  a  helj)les.s  load, 

With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 

Around  the  battle-yell. 

His  hand  still  strain'd  the  broken  brand ; 

Tlic  B<jrder  slogan  rent  the  sky  1 

His  arms  were  smear'd  with  bknid  and  sand: 

A  Home  !  a  Gordon !  was  the  cry  : 

Dnigg'd  from  among  the  horses'  feet. 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows ; 

With  dinted  shield,  luid  helmet  beat, 

Advanced, — forced  back, — now  low,  now  higli, 

Tlic  falcon-crest  and  plum:ige  gone. 

The  pt!nnon  sunk  and  rose  ; 

Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion !  .  .  .* 

As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale, 

Young  Blount  his  armor  did  uidace, 

When  rent  arc  rigging,  slurouds,  and  sail. 

And,  gazing  on  his  ghiistly  face, 

It  waver'd  'mid  the  foes. 

Said — "  By  Saint  George,  he's  gone  1 

No  longer  Blount  the  view  could  bear : 

lliat  spear-wound  has  our  master  sped, 

"  By  Heaven,  and  all  its  saints !  I  swear 

And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head ! 

I  will  not  see  it  lost ! 

Gof)d-night  to  Marmion." — 

Fitz- Eustace,  you  with  Ladv  Clare* 

"  Umiurtur'd  Blount !  thy  brawling  cease : 

May  bid  your  beads  and  patter  prayer, — 

He  ojjea  hia  eyes,"  said  Eustace ;  "  peace  1" 

•  In  all  former  Cililion".  Hijfhlnndman.  lindenoch  ii  llic  cor- 

»  MS.—  "  Like  pine  up-rooted  from  the  ground." 

Kction  or  the  Aolhor't  inUTlcavcH  copy  of  l)ie  oliiion  of  1830. 
»  MS. — "Though  tlicrf  tlie  ilaonllt-nii  moanuinccr." 

•  MS. — "  And  cried  he  would  return  in  haale." 

•  MS.—"  Fell  ntJiinlcm  Toiwlall'ii  banner  wliilc. 
Sir  RHmond'n  lion  fell." 

'  MS.—"  Repolncd,  the  band  j    ,  „     ,      ,      ,      ... 
The  «cal.erM  wing   (  of  England  wheeb." 

*  MS.—"  FiU-Eustace,  you  and  Laily  Clare 
May  for  iU  safety  join  in  prayer." 

•  MS  — "  Can  that  be    [)™"^'  |  Lord  Marmion  I" 

CANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


149 


XXIX. 
Wlien,  doff'd  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air,' 
Around  'gan  Mannion  wildly  stare  : — 
"  Where's  Harry  Blount  ?  Fitz-Eustace  -where  ? 
Jjingcr  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare  ! 
Redeem  my  pennon, — charge  again  1 
Cry — '  Marniion  to  the  rescue  !' — Vain  1 
Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 
That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  agam ! — 
Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's — fly,'' 
To  Dacre  bear  my  signet-ring : 
TeU  liim  his  squadrons  up  to  bring. — 
Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  hie ; 
Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field, 
His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield : 
Edmund  is  down  : — my  life  is  reft ; 
The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 
Let  Stanley  charge  with  spm-  of  fire, — 
With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancasliii'e, 
FuU  upon  Scotland's  central  host,' 
Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 
Must  I  bid  twice  ? — hence,  varlets  !  fly ! 
Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." 
They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay : 
Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away, 
Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 
And  half  he  murmur'd, — "  Is  there  none, 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nm-st, 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
Of  blessed  water  from  the  spring, 
To  slake  my  dying  thirst  1" 

XXX. 

0,  Woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 

And  variable  as  the  shade 

Bv  the  light  quivermg  aspen  made ; 

When  pain  and  anguish  wi-ing  the  brow, 

A  ministering  angel  thou  ! — 

Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 

"VYlien,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran : 
Forgot  were  hati'ed,  wrongs,  and  fears ; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears. 

Sees  but  the  dying  man.^ 

>  MS. — "And  when  he  felt  the  fresher  air." 

2  MS. — "  Yet  my  last  thought's  for  England — hie, 

To  Dacre  give  my  signet-ring.  .  .  . 
Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  fly." 

3  MS. — "  Full  on  King  James's  central  host." 

"  The  hero  of  the  piece,  Marmion,  who  has  been  guilty  of 
seducing  a  nun,  and  abandoning  her  to  be  buried  alive,  of 
forgery  to  ruin  a  friend,  and  of  perfidy  in  endeavoring  to 
(educe  away  from  him  the  object  of  his  tenderest  affections, 
fights  and  dies  gloriously,  and  is  indebted  to  the  injured  Clara 
for  the  last  drop  of  water  to  cool  his  dying  thirst.  This  last 
act  of  disinterested  attention  extorts  from  the  Author  the 
smoothest,  sweetest,  and  tenderest  lines  in  the  whole  poem. 
It  is  with  pleasure  that  we  extract  numbers  so  harmonious 


She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runners  side,' 

But  in  abhorrence  backward  drew  ; 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side. 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn  ? — behold  her  mark 

A  httle  fountain  cell, 
Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark, 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
JB,x\nk.  lucarn.  pilflrim.  Iitfnft.  anU.  praj. 
Sox.  tUc.  feinTJ.  soul.  of.  Snb'l.  Greg. 

EJFIjo.  iui'lt.  tljts.  crosH.  aii'D.  toell. 
She  fitll'd  the  hehn,  and  back  she  liied, 
And  with  surjjrise  and  joy  espied 

A  monk  supportuig  Marmion's  head : 
A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 

To  shrieve  the  dying,  Vjless  the  dead. 

XXXL 
Deep  drank  Lord  Marmion  of  the  wave, 
And,  as  she  stoop'd  liis  brow  to  lave- 
"  Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 
"  Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head !" 

Then,  as  remembrance  rose, — 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shrift  or  prayer  1 

I  must  redress  her  woes. 
Short  space,  few  words,  are  mine  to  sparp 
Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare  !" — 

"  Alas  !"  she  said,  "  the  while, — 
0,  think  of  yoiu-  immortal  weal ! 
In  vaiu  for  Constance  is  your  zeal ; 

She died  at  Holy  Isle."— 

Lord  Marmion  started  from  the  grotmd, 
As  fight  as  if  he  felt  no  wound ; 
Though  in  the  action  burst  the  tide, 
In  torrents,  from  liis  wounded  side. 
"  Then  it  was  truth," — he  said — "  I  knew 
That  the  dark  presage  must  be  true. — 
I  would  the  Fiend,  to  whom  belongs 
The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  wrongs. 

Would  spai-e  me  but  a  day  1 
For,  wastmg  fire,  and  dying  groan,* 
And  priests  slain  on  the  altar  stone, 

from  the  discords  by  which  they  are  surrounded." — Ci  itUoi 
Review. 
»  MS. — "  She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  tide, 
But  in  abhorrence  soon  withdrew. 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountains  wide 
Where  raged  tlie  war,  a  dark-red  tide 
Was  curdling  in  tlie  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn  ?  behold,  she  marks 

A  little  vaulted  cell, 
Whose  water,  clear  as  diamond  sparks, 

In  a  rude  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
Drinlc,  passing  pilgrim,  drink  and  pray.  ' 
•>  MS. — "  Fire,  sacrilege,  and  dying  groan, 

And  priests  gorged  on  the  altar  stone, 


150 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


CANTO  VI 


iV. 


It  u..      .  .•  tninco^ 

CuTM  on  yuii  btuio  inuniuder'M  laiico. 
Am!  d»>i;  KninJ  ! 

A  iiiiful  !-  — —      .  .  mil." 

Tbin,  faiiitiiig,  down  im  ciirtL  he  sunk, 
Supixirlcd  by  Uio  treinbliiig  Muiik. 

XXXII. 

With  fruitless  hilxir,  CIiir:i  Ixmud 

And  utrovu  to  hlunch  thi-  gu.shing  wuim.l : 

Hie  Monk,  with  uunvuiliug  cares, 

Exhau.-*ted  uH  the  Church's  prayers. 

Kver,  hu  8uid,  that,  close  and  uetu", 

A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear, 

And  tlmt  the  priest  he  could  not  hear ; 

For  that  she  ever  suuy, 
"  In  the  lost  buttle,  borne  doicn  by  thefiifiiig, 
Where  mingles  tear's  rattle  with  groans  of  the 
dying  f 

So  the  notes  rung ; — 
"  Avoid  thee.  Fiend ! — with  cruel  Land, 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinuer's  sand  1 — 
O,  look,  my  eon,  ujxin  yon  sign' 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine ; 

O,  think  on  faith  and  bliss ! — 
By  many  a  deathbed  I  liave  been. 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  tliis." — 
Tlie  war,  that  fur  a  space  did  fail. 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

And — St.\nley  !  was  the  cry ; 
A  light  on  Marmiou's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye :" 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head, 
He  shfxik  the  fnigment  of  his  blade. 

And  shouted  "  Victory  ! — 
Cliargc,  Chester,  ch:u-gc !  On,  Stanley,  on ! " 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmiou.* 

XXXIIL 
By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell, 
Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell. 

Might  bribe  him  for  ilclay, 
JInd  all  by  whom  the  deed  was  done. 
Should  uith  mtjitlf  become  his  own. 

Il  may  nol  lie" 

>  MS. — "  O  look,  my  Mn,  ojion  thin  cnm, 
O,  think  apon  ih^  zrt"'-  'livinr. 

On  - 
By  mi'  i 

And  manr  a  d>.<mal  parting  rvvn. 
Bat  never  aoght  like  this." 
3  MS.—"  And  iparklcd  in  hi*  eye." 

*  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  haa  nolhing  lo  good  a*  the  dealli  of 
Marmion. — .Macki.xtosh. 
'  Mri. — "  In  vain  the  wish — for  far  thry  •tray, 

And  fipoil  and  havoc  mark'd  llw-ir  way. 
'O,  Lady,'  'away!'" 

•M?.— ••  But  -till  u,  h.ath." 


For  still  the  Scots,  arotind  their  King, 
I'librokeii,  fought  in  dc-perate  ring. 
Where's  now  their  victor  vaward  wing, 

Wlure  lluntly,  and  where  Home? — 
O,  for  a  blast  of  that  dreatl  liorn. 
On  Fontarabiiut  echoes  borne. 

That  to  KiriLf  Oiarles  did  come, 
Wlicn  Kowland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  jutladin  and  peer. 

On  Koiice-valles  died  I 
Sudi  bla.Ht  might  warn  them,  not  in  vaui. 
To  ({uit  the  plunder  of  the  slain. 
And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again, 

Wliile  yet  on  Fludden  side, 
Af;ir,  the  Royal  Standard  flies. 
And  round  it  toils,  an<l  bleeds,  and  dies, 

Our  Caledonian  j)ride ! 
In  vain  the  wish — for  far  away. 
While  8j)<)il  iuid  havoc  mark  their  way, 
Near  Sybil's  Cross  the  plunderers  stray. — 
"  0,  Lady,"  cried  the  ilonk,  "  away  !"« 

And  placed  her  on  her  steed, 
And  led  her  to  the  di.ijxd  fair, 

Of  lilmouth  upon  TweeiL 
There  all  the  night  they  spent  in  prayer, 
And  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 
She  met  her  kiu-sman.  Lord  Fitz-Clare. 

XXXIV. 
But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning  heath,' 
More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  death. 
The  English  sliafts  in  volleys  hiul'd. 
In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assail'd  ; 
Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep, 

That  fought  aroimd  their  King. 
But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow, 
lliuugh  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghiLstly  blow. 

Unbroken  was  the  ring ; 
The  stubbfirn  spear-men  still  made  good* 
Their  dark  impenetrable  wood. 
Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

•  MS. — "  Ever  tlie  ."^tubburu  s(>ears  made  good 
Their  dark  imiH-netrable  wood  ; 
Each  Scot  stepp'd  whore  hid  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell. 
Till  the  la.st  ray  of  parting  light, 
Then  ceased  perforce  the  dreadful  fight. 

And  sunk  the  battle's  yell. 
The  skilful  t^urrey's  sage  commands 
Drew  from  the  strife  his  shatter'd  baods. 

Their  loss  his  foenian  knew  ; 
Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low. 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow 

Melts  from  the  mounUiin  blue. 
By  various  march  their  scalter'd  bands, 
Disorder'il,  gain'd  the  Hcottish  lands. — 
Day  dawns  on  Floddcn's  dreary  side. 


I 


1 


«ANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


151 


The  instant  that  he  fell. 
No  thouglit  was  there  of  dastard  flight ; 
Link'd  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight, 
Groom  fought  like  noble,  squhe  Uke  knight, 

As  fearlessly  and  well ; 
TUl  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  their  tliin  liost  and  wounded  King 
Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shatter'd  bands ; 
And  from  the  charge  they  drew, 
As  mountain-waves,  from  wasted  lands, 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Tlien  did  their  loss  Ms  foeman  know ; 
Theu-  I^ng,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
Tliey  melted  from  the  field  as  snow. 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash, 

While  many  a  broken  baud, 
Disorder'd,  tlu-ough  her  currents  dash, 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land ; 
To  town  and  tower,  to  town  and  dale, 
To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale. 
And  raise  the  universal  wail.' 
Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song, 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong : 
StUl  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear. 

Of  Flodden's  fatal  field. 
Where  shiver'd  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 

And  broken  was  her  shield ! 

XXXV. 
Day  dawns  upon  the  mountain's  side  : — ^ 
There,  Scotland !  lay  thy  bravest  pride, 
Chiefs,  knights,  and  nobles,  many  a  one : 
The  sad  sm-vivors  all  are  gone. — 
View  not  that  corpse  mistrustfully. 
Defaced  and  mangled  though  it  be ; 
Nor  to  yon  Border  castle  high, 
Look  northward  with  upbraiduag  eye ; 

Nor  cherish  hope  in  vain. 
That,  journeying  far  on  foreign  strand, 
The  Royal  Pilgrim  to  his  land 

May  yet  return  again. 
He  saw  the  wreck  his  rashness  wi-ought ; 

And  show'd  the  scene  of  carnage  wide  ; 

There,  Scotland,  lay  thy  bravest  pride  !" 
'  "  The  powerful  poetry  of  these  passages  can  receive  no  il- 
nstration  from  any  praises  or  observations  of  ours.  It  is  supe- 
rior, in  our  apprehension,  to  all  that  this  author  has  hitherto 
produced  ;  and,  with  a  few  faults  of  diction,  equal  to  any 
thing  that  has  ever  been  written  upon  similar  subjects.  From 
the  moment  the  author  gets  in  sight  of  Flodden  Field,  indeed, 
to  the  end  of  tlie  poem,  there  is  no  tame  writing,  and  no  inter- 
vention of  ordinary  passages.  He  does  not  once  flag  or  grow 
tedious  ;  and  neither  stops  to  describe  dresses  and  ceremonies, 
nor  to  commemorate  the  harsh  names  of  feudal  barons  from  the 
Border.  There  is  a  flight  of  five  or  six  hundred  lines,  in  short, 
lu  which  he  never  stoops  his  wing,  nor  wavers  in  his  coarse  ; 


Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 

And  fell  on  Flodden  plain : 
And  well  in  deatli  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clench'd  within  liis  manly  hand, 

Beseem'd  the  monarch  slain." 
But,  0 !   how   changed   since   yon   blithe 

night ! — 
Gladly  I  turn  me  from  the  sight, 

Unto  my  tale  again. 

XXXVL 
Short  is  my  tale : — Fitz-Eustace'  care 
A  pierced  and  mangled  body  bare 
To  moated  Lichfield's  lofty  pile ; 
And  there,  beneath  the  southern  aisle 
A  tomb,  with  Gotliic  sculpture  fair. 
Did  long  Lord  ilarmion's  image  bear 
(Now  vainly  for  its  sight  you  look ; 
'Twas  levell'd  when  fanatic  Brook 
The  fair  cathedral  storm'd  and  took ; 
But,  thanks  to  Heaven  and  good  Saint  Chad, 
A  guerdon  meet  the  spoiler  had  !)* 
There  erst  was  martial  ilaruoion  foimd, 
His  feet  upon  a  couchimt  homid, 

His  hands  to  heaven  upraised  ; 
And  all  aroimd,  on  scutcheon  rich, 
And  tablet  carved,  and  fretted  niche, 

His  arms  and  feats  were  blazed. 
And  yet,  though  all  was  carved  so  fair, 
And  priest  for  Marmion  breathed  the  prayer, 
The  last  Lord  Marmion  lay  not  there. 
From  Ettrick  woods  a  peasant  swain 
Follow'd  liis  lord  to  Fl-idden  plain, — 
One  of  those  flowers,  "w  hom  plaintive  lay  . 
In  Scotland  mourns  as  "  wede  away :" 
Sore  wounded,  Sybil's  Cross  he  spied. 
And  dragg'd  him  to  its  foot,  and  died. 
Close  by  the  noble  Marmion's  side. 
The  spoilers  stripp'd  and  gash'd  the  slain. 
And  thus  their  corpses  were  mista'en ; 
And  thus,  in  the  proud  Baron's  tomb. 
The  lowly  woodsman  took  the  room. 

XXXVIL 
Less  easy  task  it  were,  to  show 
Lord  Marmion's  nameless  grave,  and  low.' 

but  carries  the  reader  forward  with  a  more  rapid,  sustained, 
and  lofty  movement,  than  any  epic  bard  that  we  can  at  present 
remember." — Jeffrey. 

2  "Day  glimmers  on  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

The  cloven  cuirass,  and  the  helmless  head,"  &c. 

Byron's  Lara. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  4  S.  ■•  Ibid.  Note  4  T. 

6  "  A  corpse  is  afterwards  conveyed,  as  that  of  Marmion,  to 
the  Cathedral  of  Lichfield,  wliere  a  magnificent  tomb  is  erected 
to  his  memory,  and  masses  are  instituted  for  the  repose  of  bis 
Eoul  ;  but,  by  an  admirably-imagined  act  of  poetical  justice,  we 
are  informed  tliat  a  peasant's  body  was  placed  beneath  that 
costly  monument,  while  the  haughty  Baron  himself  was  buried 
like  a  vulgar  corpse,  on  the  spot  on  which  he  died.    — Jilon.  Rev 


152 


SCO'iT'S  POETICAL  WOFIKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


Thi'v  dutr  l»w  jrravo  o'cn  where  he  lay,' 
It'  • 

Tiuii      ,  lie  Jiwiiy 

IIm'  itiniple  CroM  of  Sybil  Orcy, 

Ai  'i>-r  font  of  stiiite : 

Hut  \.  : -nil  the  httle  hill* 

C)<i/<  !i  the  sloiiilor  »priiu:let  Htill. 

(.)!>  r  there, 

For  ti.  ..  ..:■>  curious  oye 

11»e  iiieiii  Kl  descry  ; 

All  t.'|)!iir 

To  M.  ^ ;  ;i..^  :uul  rush, 

Ami  rc-<t  Iheni  by  the  luizel  bush, 

And  j>luit  their  f,'arlaiuis  fair ; 
N«)r  drciun  they  sit  uj)on  the  {Jfrnve, 
Tluit  holds  the  bones  of  Marinion  brave. — 
When  thou  Phalt  find  the  little  hill,' 
Witli  thy  heart  commune,  luid  be  still.    . 
If  ever,  in  temptation  strong, 
Tliou  lefl'st  the  right  path  for  the  wrong; 

If  everv  d     ' 'I'p,  thus  trml. 

Still  led  t  .T  from  the  road; 

Dread  thou  to  speak  presumptuous  doom 
On  noble  Marinion's  lowly  tomb ; 
lUit  !<ay,  "  He  died  a  gaUant  knight, 
Witli  Bword  iu  hand,  for  England's  right." 

XXXVIIL 

I  do  not  rhyme  to  that  dull  elf, 

\\1\"  •  to  himself, 

Tliat  ;  I  l(»dden'8  dismal  night, 

Wilton  was  foremost  in  the  figlit ; 

That,  wlien  brave  Surrey's  steed  was  slain, 

Twjis  Wilton  mounted  him  again ; 

Twas  Wilton's  brand  that  deepest  hew'd,* 

Amid  tho  -poarmen's  stubborn  wood: 

Unnamed  by  HolUnshed  or  Hall, 

Ho  was  the  living  soul  of  all : 

niiat.  ':t,  his  faith  made  plain, 

He  ^'•     .  '■'    .  "ik  and  lands  again: 

And  ch.irged  his  old  paternal  shield 

'  MS. — "Tlier  doR  lii«  bed  e'en  where  lie  lay." 
»  M.-*.— "  But  yet  trStre  sarlle  the  liule  liill." 
*  MS.—"  iril"iii  .'....I.l^i  find  (liis  little  tomb. 


n 

ik  a  hajity  doom." 

«MS.- 

...  n 

-■  '  the  Scoltiih  ring  ; 

•T 

111'  sinick  down  the  Kinj." 

•  f     ■ 

^course. 

•  ■ 

I  the  beauties  and  defects  of 

tllLI 

r>'eable  cither  to  the 

|,ir 

we  look  upon  it  as 

*  ni 

vtraonlinary  talents, 

but    : 

which 

an  the  foand.-ilion 

of  a  new 

•chool. 

may  hctr.il'er  octwion  no  little  an- 

ooyance  botli  to  xu  and  to  the  pubhc  Mr.  Scott  has  hitherto 
filled  the  whole  stage  himKlf;  and  the  very  uplendor  of  hia 
•access  haa  probably  0|icraled  ai  yet  rather  to  drter  than  to 
encourage  t>ie  herd  of  rivals  and  imitaton  ;  but  if,  by  the  help 
of  the  poo  I   parts  of  hii  poem,  he  »nccce<ls  in       '  •  the 

verdict  of  the  public  in  favor  of  the  bad  par  es- 

tablishes ar  iadiscrimioale  taste    for   chivalrous   Ic^rcmli   and 


With  Ix-aringH  won  on  Flodden  Field. 

Nor  niiig  I  to  that  simple  maid, 

To  wiiom  it  iiuiHt  ill  terms  be  said, 

That  Kin;^  and  kinsmen  did  agree, 

To  bless  fair  (^lara's  foiistaney; 

Who  c4innot,  unless  I  relate, 

I'aint  to  her  mind  the  bridal's  state ; 

That  Wol-cy's  voice  the  blessing  spoke. 

More,  Sands,  and  Dt'imy,  pass'd  the  joke  ; 

Tliat  bluff  King  Hal  the  curtain  drew. 

And  t^atlicriiif's  h.-iiid  the  slocking  threw; 

And  afterwards  for  many  a  <lay. 

That  it  was  held  enough  to  say, 

In  blessing  to  a  weilde<i  pair, 

"  Love  they  like  Wilton  and  like  Clare '" 


2.  •  2i  n  b  0  J) . 


TO    THE     UEAUER. 


Wnv  then  a  final  note  prolong. 

Or  lengthen  out  a  closing  WHig, 

Unless  to  bid  the  gentles  speed, 

Who  long  have  listed  to  my  rede  ?* 

To  Statesmen  grave,  if  such  may  deign 

To  read  the  Minstrel's  idle  strain, 

Sound  head,  clean  han<l,  and  piercing  wit, 

And  patriotic  heiirt — sis  Pirr  1 

A  garland  for  the  hero's  crest. 

And  twined  by  her  he  loves  the  best ; 

To  every  lovely  lady  bright, 

What  can  I  wish  but  faithful  knight  t 

To  every  faithful  lover  too, 

What  can  I  wish  but  lady  true  ? 

And  knowledge  to  the  studious  sage ; 

And  pillow  to  the  head  of  age. 

To  thee,  dear  sclioolboy,  whom  my  lay 

Has  cheated  of  thy  hour  of  play. 

Light  task,  and  merry  holiday  I 

To  all,  to  each,  a  fair  good-night, 

And  pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light  I* 

romances  in  irregular  rhyme,  he  may  depend  upon  having  as 
many  copyists  as  Mrs.  Radcliffe  or  Schiller,  and  upon  becoming 
the  founder  of  a  new  schism  in  the  catholic  poetical  church, 
for  which,  in  spite  of  all  our  exertions,  there  will  probably  be 
no  cure,  but  in  the  extravagance  uf  the  last  and  lowest  of  its 
followers.  It  is  for  this  rea-son  that  we  conoc-ive  it  to  be  oir 
duty  to  make  one  strong  eflbrt  to  bring  back  the  great  apcslle 
of  liie  heresy  to  the  wholesome  erred  of  his  ln«trucloni,  ai.d  to 
stop  the  insurrection  before  it  becomes  dus(KTatc  and  sense- 
less, by  |)ersuading  the  leader  to  return  to  his  duty  and  alle- 
giance. We  admire  Mr.  Scott's  genius  as  much  as  any  of 
those  who  may  be  misled  by  its  perversion  ;  and,  like  the 
curate  and  the  barber  in  Don  Clui.iote,  lament  the  day  when  a 
gentleman  of  such  endowments  was  corrupted  by  the  wicked 
tales  of  knight-errantry  and  enchantment." — Jepfrky. 

"  We  do  not  flatter  ourselves  that  Mr.  Scott  will  pay  to  oi'.r 
advice  that  attention  which  he  has  refused  to  his  acute  friend 
Mr.  Erskine ;  but  it  is  pof'sible  that  his  own  gooo  sense  may  in 
time  persuade  him  not  to  abandon  his  loved  fairy  ground  (a 
province  over  which  wc  wish  him  a  long  and  prosperous  gov 


CANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


lr>a 


eminent),  but  to  combine  the  charms  of  lawful  poetry  with 
those  of  wild  and  romantic  fiction.  As  the  first  step  to  this 
desirable  end,  we  wovild  beg  him  to  rcHect  that  his  Gothic 
models  will  not  bear  him  out  in  transferring  the  loose  and 
shufliing  ballad  metre  to  a  poem  of  considerable  length,  and 
of  complicated  interest  like  the  present.  It  is  a  very  casij  thing 
to  write  five  hundred  ballad  verses,  statis  peile  in  una;  but 
Mr.  Scott  needs  not  to  be  told,  that  five  hundred  verses  writ- 
ten on  one  foot  have  a  very  poor  chance  for  immortality." — 
Monthly  Review. 


"  The  story,"  writes  Mr.  Southey,  "  is  made  of  better  mate- 
rials than  the  Lay,  yet  they  are  not  so  well  fitted  together. 
As  a  whole,  it  has  not  pleased  me  so  much, —  in  parts,  it  has 
pleased  me  more.  There  is  nothing  so  finely  conceived  in 
your  former  poem  as  the  death  of  ^:arnlion  :  there  is  nothing 
finer  in  its  conception  anywhere.  The  introductory  epistles 
I  did  not  wish  away,  because,  as  poems,  ihey  gave  me  great 
pleasure  ;  but  I  wished  them  at  the  end  of  the  volume,  or  at 
the  beginning, — anywhere  except  where  they  were.  My  taste 
is  pcrha|)s  peculiar  in  disliking  all  interruptions  in  narrative 
poetry.  When  the  poet  lets  his  story  slee]),  and  talks  in  his 
own  person,  it  has  to  me  the  same  sort  of  unpleasant  effect 
that  is  produced  at  the  end  of  an  act.  You  are  alive  to  know 
what  follows,  and  lo-  -down  comes  the  curtain,  and  the  fiddlers 
begin  with  their  abominations.  The  general  opinion,  however, 
is  with  me,  in  this  particular  instance." — Life  vf  Scott,  vol. 
iii.  ]).  44. 

"Thank  you,"  says  Mr.  Wordsworth,  "for  Marmion.  I 
think  your  end  has  been  attained.  That  it  is  not  the  end 
which  I  should  wish  you  to  propose  to  youreelf,  you  will  be 
well  aware,  from  what  you  know  of  my  notions  of  composi- 
tion, both  as  to  matter  and  manner.  In  the  circle  of  ray  ac- 
quaintance, it  seems  as  well  liked  as  the  Lay,  though  I  have 
heard  that  in  the  world  it  is  not  ^o.  Had  the  poem  been 
much  better  than  the  Lay,  it  could  scarcely  have  satisfied  the 
public,  which  has  too  much  of  the  monster,  the  moral  monster, 
in  its  composition." — Ibid.  p.  45. 

"My  own  opinion,"  says  Mr.  George  Ellis,  "is,  that  both 
the  productions  are  equally  good  in  their  different  ways : 
yet,  U])on  the  whole,  I  had  rather  be  the  author  of  Marmion 
than  of  the  Lay,  because  I  think  its  species  of  excellence  of 
much  more  difficult  attainment.  What  degree  of  bulk  may 
be  essentially  necessary  to  the  corporeal  part  of  an  E\nc  poem, 
I  know  not ;  but  sure  I  am  that  the  story  of  Marmion  might 
have  furnished  twelve  books  as  easily  as  six — that  the  mas- 
terly character  of  Constance  would  not  have  been  less  be- 
witching had  it  been  much  more  minutely  painted — and  that 
De  Wilton  might  have  been  dilated  with  great  ease,  and  even 
to  coividcrable  advantage; — in  short,  that  bad  it  been  your 
intention  merely  to  exhibit  a  spirited  romantic  story,  instead 
making  that  stor.v  subservient  to  the  deliiicTtion  of  the 
ers  which  jireva^'ed  at  a  certain  period  of  our  history, 
bet  and  variety  of  your  characters  woul'i  have  suited 
20 


any  scale  of  painting.  On  the  whole,  1  can  sincerely  assure 
you,  that  had  I  seen  Marmion  without  knowing  the  autliiir, 
I  should  have  ranked  it  with  Theodore  and  Honoria, — that 
is  to  say,  on  the  very  top  shelf  of  English  poetry." — Ibid.  vol. 
iii.  p.  40. 

"  I  shall  not,  after  so  much  of  and  about  criticism,  say  any 
thing  more  of  Marmion  in  this  place,  than  that  I  have  always 
considered  it  as,  on  the  whole,  the  greatest  of  Scott's  poems. 
There  is  a  certain  light,  easy,  virgin  charm  about  the  Lay, 
which  we  look  for  in  vain  through  the  subsequent  volumes  of 
his  verse  ;  but  the  superior  strength,  and  breadth,  and  bold- 
ness, both  of  conception  and  execution,  in  the  .Marmion,  ai>. 
pear  to  me  indisputable.  The  great  blot,  the  combination  of 
mean  felony  with  so  many  noble  qualities  in  the  character  of 
the  liero,  was,  as  the  poet  says,  severely  commented  on  at  the 
time  by  the  most  ardent  of  his  early  friends,  Leyden ;  but 
though  he  admitted  the  justice  of  that  criticism,  he  chose  '  to 
let  the  tree  lie  as  it  had  fallen.'  He  was  also  sensible  that 
many  of  the  subordinate  and  connecting  parts  of  the  narra- 
tive are  flat,  harsh,  and  obscure— but  would  never  make  any 
serious  attemjit  to  do  away  with  these  imperfections ;  and 
perhaps  they,  after  all,  heighten  by  contrast  the  effect  of  the 
passages  of  high-wrought  enthusiasm  which  alone  he  con- 
sidered, in  after  days,  with  satisfaction.  As  for  the  '  episto- 
lary dissertations,'  it  must,  I  take  it,  be  allowed  that  they  in- 
terfered with  the  flow  of  the  story,  when  readers  were  turn- 
ing the  leaves  with  the  first  ardor  of  curiosity  ;  and  they 
were  not,  in  fact,  originally  intended  to  be  interwoven  in  any 
fashion  with  the  romance  of  Warmion.  Though  the  author 
himself  does  not  allude  to,  and  had  perhaps  forgot'.en  the 
circumstance,  when  writing  the  Introductory  Essay  of  1830 
— they  were  announced,  by  an  advertisement  early  in  1807,  ai 
'  Six  Epistles  from  Ettrick  Forest,'  to  be  published  in  a  sepa- 
rate volume,  similar  to  that  of  the  Ballads  and  Lyrical  Pieces; 
and  perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  thai  this  first  plan  had 
been  adhered  to.  But  however  that  may  be,  are  there  any 
pages,  among  all  he  ever  wrote,  that  one  would  be  more  sorry 
he  should  not  have  written  1  They  are  among  the  most  de- 
licious portraitures  that  genius  ever  painted  of  itself, — buoyant, 
virtuous,  happy  genius — exulting  in  its  own  energies,  yet  pos- 
sessed and  mastered  by  a  clear,  calm,  modest  mind,  and  happy 
only  in  diilusing  happiness  around  it. 

"With  what  gratification  those  Epistles  were  read  by  the 
friends  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  it  would  be  superlluous 
to  show.  He  had,  in  fact,  painted  them  almost  as  fully  as 
himself;  and  who  might  not  have  been  proud  to  find  a  place 
in  such  a  gallery  1  The  tastes  and  habits  of  six  of  those  men, 
in  whose  intercourse  Scott  found  the  greatest  pleasure  when  his 
fame  was  approaching  its  meridian  splendor,  are  thus  preserved 
for  posterity  ;  and  when  I  reflect  with  what  avidity  we  catch 
at  the  least  hint  which  seems  to  afford  us  a  glimpse  of  the  in- 
timate circle  of  any  great  poet  of  former  ages,  I  cannot  but 
believe  that  posterity  would  have  held  this  record  precious, 
even  had  the  individuals  been  in  themselves  far  less  remark 
able  than  a  Rose,  an  Ellis,  a  Heber,  a  Skene,  a  Marriott.  »Pt 
an  Eiskine." — Lockhart,  vol,  iii.  p.  53. 


lui 


SCOUT'S  POKTICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


1  nnilrr  an  <>xccllcnt  idi'a  of  wlinl  roiiinriocn  of 
V  Were.  It  haa  aIw)  the  merit  of  being  written 
^liuli ;  ami  many  of  the  wilil  ailventure«  which 
mIiI  with  aiiini|ilioity  bonlerinj;  U|ion  the  nuhliine. 
■  are  r»'fem'tl  to  in  tlio  text  ;  ami  I  wontd  have 
1  liy  fiiore  full  extracts,  but  as  llii^  eurious  work 
n-publi.«heil,  1  confine  myself  to  the  talc  of  the 
-,  and  of  tlie  tiucst  of  Sir  Launcelul  after  llie 


Note  A- 

•I  of  the  I.nke 
I  .ird  house, 

I'rriiout, 
I      ^         ^     _       t  anil  UtiHOHt' force, 
iMiU  eoM^rrte  icith  the  unAuririi  corse. — P.  80. 

Xim  n  ^'  T'e  .\rthur  contain*  a  nort  of  nbriil;;- 

Birnt  of  I  ■  il  ailvenlnres  of  the  Kouml  Table  ; 

•nJ,  U-inj  wnttrn  in  roiiipnratively  iiio<l>-rn  l:iii;,'u:it'e,  jjives 
thr  ;• 

clu. 
in  I 
ill' 

illii 
it  ■■'. 
VU 
So 

•    ,    .  Sir  I^auncelot  tlepnrted,  and  when  he  came  to 

the  ('h.np<*ll  I'eriloa!!,  ho  alishtcd  downe,  and  tied  hiii  horse  to 
■  Ulllt'  gale.  And  a«  Hion  an  he  was  within  the  church-yani, 
be  MW,  on  the  front  of  the  cha(K'll,  many  faire  rich  shields 
tuf'     '  '     !awne  ;  and  many  of  the  shields  Sir  Launcelot 

hal  i>L<  have  before  ;  witli  that  he  !<aw  stand  by  him 

thir  ■.'hl.«.  more,  by  a  yard,  than  •\n\  man  that  ever 

he  i.  iiid  all  thoM!  grinned  and  ^Minshed  at  Sir  Laun- 

celot ;  uiiil  when  ho  raw  their  counlenanee,  lice  dread  lliciii 
tore,  and  m>  put  lii.i  shield  afore  him,  and  tookc  liiii  iiword  in  his 
hand,  n-ady  to  doe  batt.iile ;  and  they  were  all  armed  in  black 
hamcis,  reaily,  with  their  shields  and  swords  drawn.  And 
when  Sir  Lanncelot  would  have  gone  through  them,  they  scat- 
tered on  every  side  of  him,  and  gave  him  the  way  ;  and  there- 
with he  waxed  all  bold,  and  entered  into  the  chajiell,  an<l  then 
hee  saw  no  light  but  a  dimme  lampe  burning,  anil  then  was  he 
ware  of  a  ror(«<  covered  with  a  rloalli  of  silke  ;  then  Sir  Lauii- 
ce''  ■  ■  .  and  cut  a  piece  of  that  elolli  away,  and 

th>  I  iin  a-t  llie  earth  had  quaked  a  little,  whereof 

be  wn  alcanl,  and  then  lice  saw  a  faire  sword  lye  by  the  dead 
kni;;ht.  and  that  he  gat  in  his  hand,  and  hied  him  out  of  the 
cliapi»-!l.  As  M)on  as  he  w.xs  in  the  chappell-yerd,  all  the 
kni;ht.>  spoke  to  him  with  a  grimly  voice,  and  said,  '  Knight, 
Sir  Laoncclot,  lay  that  sword  from  thee,  or  else  thou  sliilt  die.' 
— '  Whether  I  live  or  die,'  said  Sir  Launcclot,  '  with  no  great 
wonis  prt  yce  it  again,  therefore  fight  for  it  and  yee  ILit.' 
Thervwiih  he  p.i^M-d  tlirouch  thi-m  ;  and,  beyond  the  cliap|>ell- 
?erd,  there  met  liini  n  fairp  dnniowU,  and  said,  '  Sir  Launcelot, 
leave  that  sw.  •  if  thou  wilt  die  for  it.' — '  I  will 

not  leave  it,'  -  -lot,   'for  no  thn-als.' — 'No?' 

■aid  she,  '  and  yc  ilid  leave  that  sword.  Queen  (luencver  should 
ye  never  ice.' — 'Then  were  I  a  fool  and  I  would  leave  this 
■word,'  taid  Sir  Laoncclot.  '  Now,  gentle  knight,'  said  the 
damosell,  '  I  reioirD  thee  to  kiss  me  once.' — '  Nay,'  said  Sir 
Launcclot,  'that  Go<l  forbid!' — 'Well,  »ir,'  taid  she,  'and 
thou  haddest  kL<se<l  me  thy  life  daye*  had  been  done,  but  now, 
alas  !'  saiil  she,  '  I  have  loot  all  my  labour ;  for  I  onlcincd  this 
chappcll  for  thy  sake,  and  for  Sir  Gawaine :  ami  once  I  had 
Sir  Gawaine  within  it;  and  at  that  time  he  fought  with  that 
knight  which  there  lielh  dean  in  yonder  cliapi>ell.  Sir  Gilbert 
the  bastard,  and  at  that  time  hee  smote  olT  Sir  Gilbert  the 
bastard's  left  hand.     And  to,  Sir  Launcelot,  now  I  tell  lliee, 


that  I  have  loved  llice  thit  waven  ycare  ;  but  there  may  no  w»- 
man  have  thy  love  but  Cluc<*iic  tiufhcvcr  ;  but  >illii-ii  (  may 
not  ri'joyice  thee  to  have  thy  body  alive,  I  had  kept  no  mors 
joy  in  this  world  but  lu  have  hail  lliy  ilcud  body  ;  and  I  would 
have  balmcd  it  and  served,  and  so  have  kept  It  in  my  life  dates, 
and  daily  I  should  have  clipped  llice,  ami  kissed  tlic-e,  in  tlm 
despite  of  Queen  Guenever.' — '  Yu  say  well,'  taid  Bir  Launce- 
lot ;  '  Jesus  preserve  me  from  yonr  subtill  eraft.'  And  ilier»- 
with  he  took  his  lior«e,  and  departed  from  her." 


Note  B. 


J)  m'nftil  man,  and  uncovfea'd, 

He  tank  the  Sangrcai's  holy  ^uest, 

.'hid,  slumbering,  sate  the  vision  high, 

He  might  not  view  tcith  leaking  eye. — P.  87. 

One  day,  when  Arthur  was  holding  a  liigh  feast  with  hit 
Knighli  of  'he  Round  Table,  the  Sangreal,  or  vessel  out  of 
which  the  last  p.'Ls.'-over  w.xs  eaten  (a  precious  relic,  wlii<-h  had 
long  remained  concealed  from  human  eyes,  because  of  the  sins 
of  the  land),  suddenly  appeared  to  him  and  all  his  chivalry. 
The  consequence  of  this  vision  was,  that  all  the  knighlii  took 
on  them  a  solemn  vow  to  seek  the  Sangreal.  But,  alas  I  it 
could  only  be  revealed  to  a  knight  at  once  accomplished  in 
earthly  chivalry,  and  pure  and  guiltlc's  of  evil  conversation. 
All  Sir  Launcelot's  noble  accompliihmenU  were  therefore  ren- 
dered vain  by  his  guilty  intrigue  with  Queen  Guenever,  or 
Ganore  ;  and  in  his  holy  quest  he  encountered  only  such  dis- 
graceful disasters  as  that  which  follows  : — 

"  But  .'^ir  Launcelot  rode  overthwart  and  endlong  in  a  wild 
forest,  and  held  no  path  but  as  wild  adventure  led  him  ;  and 
at  the  last,  he  came  unto  a  stone  crosse,  which  departed  two 
waycs,  in  wast  land  ;  and,  by  the  crosse,  was  a  slone  that  woi 
of  marble;  but  it  y/d!i  so  dark,  that  Sir  Launcclot  might  not 
well  know  what  it  was.  Then  Pir  Launcelot  looked  by  him, 
and  daw  an  old  chappell,  and  there  he  wcml  tu  have  found 
jieople.  And  so  ^ir  Launcelot  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and 
there  he  put  off  his  shield,  and  hung  it  upon  a  tree,  and  then 
lice  went  unto  the  chappcll  doorc,  and  found  it  wasted  and 
broken.  And  within  he  found  a  faire  altar,  full  richly  arrayed 
with  cloth  of  silk,  and  there  stood  a  faire  candlestick,  which 
beare  six  great  candles,  and  the  candicsticke  was  of  silver. 
And  when  Sir  Launcelot  saw  this  light,  hee  had  a  great  wiH 
for  to  enter  into  the  cha|i|)ell,  but  he  could  find  no  place  where 
hee  might  enter.  Then  was  he  p;i-ssing  hcavic  and  disniuicd. 
Then  he  returned,  and  came  againc  to  his  horse,  and  tooke  ofT 
his  sad  ile  and  his  bridle,  and  let  him  pasture,  and  uulaccd  hia 
hclnie,  iiid  ungirded  his  sword,  and  luid  him  down  to  sleepe 
upon  his  shield,  before  the  crosse. 

"  And  so  hee  fell  on  sleepe ;  and,  halfc  waking  and  lialie 
sleeping,  he  saw  conic  by  him  two  jialfrcys,  both  faire  and 
white,  the  which  beare  a  litter,  therein  lying  a  sicke  knight. 
And  when  he  was  nigh  the  crosse,  he  there  abode  still.     All 

I  this  Sir  Launcelot  saw  and  beheld,  for  hee  slept  not  verily,  and 
hee  heard  him  say,  '  O  sweete  Lord,  when  shall  this  sorrow 
leave  me,  and  when  shall  the  holy  vessell  come  by  me,  where 
through  I  shall  be  blessed,  for  I  have  endured  thus  long  for  lit- 
tle Iresposse  !'  And  thus  a  great  while  complained  the  knight, 
and  allwaies  Sir  Launcelot  beard  it.     With  that  Sir  Launcelot 

I  taw  the  candleslicke,  with  the   fire  tapeis,  come  hofore   the 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


155 


rrosse;  but  he  could  see  nobody  that  brought  it.  Also  there 
came  a  table  of  silver,  and  the  holy  vcssell  of  the  Sancgreall,  the 
which  Sir  Launcelot  had  seen  before  that  time  in  King  Tct- 
cliour's  house.  And  therewithall  the  -sicke  knight  set  him  up- 
right, and  held  uj)  both  his  hands,  and  said,  '  Faire  sweete 
Lord,  which  is  here  within  the  holy  vessull,  take  heede  to  mee, 
that  I  may  bee  hole  of  this  great  malady  !'  And  therewith 
upon  his  hands,  and  upon  his  knees,  he  went  so  nigh,  that  he 
touched  the  holy  vessell,  and  kissed  it  :  And  anon  he  was  liole, 
and  then  he  said,  '  Lord  God,  I  tliank  thee,  for  I  am  healed  of 
this  malady.'  .Soo  when  the  lioly  vessell  had  been  there  a 
great  while,  it  went  into  the  chapi)elle  againe,  with  the  can- 
dlcstiike  and  the  light,  so  that  Sir  Launcelot  wist  not  where  it 
became,  for  he  was  overtaken  with  sinne,  that  bee  liad  no 
power  to  arise  against  the  holy  vessell,  wherefore  afterward 
many  men  said  of  him  shame.  But  lie  tooke  rejientance  after- 
ward. Then  the  .sicke  knight  dressed  him  upright,  and  kissed 
the  crosse.  Then  anon  his  squire  brotiglit  him  Ids  amies,  and 
asked  his  lord  how  he  did.  'Certainly,'  said  bee,  'I  tbanke 
God  right  heartily,  for  through  the  holy  vessell  I  am  healed : 
But  I  have  right  great  mervaile  of  this  sleeping  knight,  which 
hath  had  neither  grace  nor  power  to  awake  during  the  time 
that  this  holy  vessell  hath  beene  here  present.' — '  I  dare  it  right 
well  say,'  said  the  squire,  '  that  this  same  knight  is  defouled 
with  soul*  manner  of  deadly  sinne,  whereof  he  has  never  con- 
fessed.'— '  By  my  faith,'  said  the  knight,  '  whatsoever  he  be, 
he  is  unhajipie  ;  for,  as  I  deeme,  hee  is  of  the  fellowship  of  the 
Round  Table,  the  which  is  entered  into  the  ([uest  of  the  Sanc- 
greall.'— '  Sir,' said  the  squire,  'here  T  have  brought  you  all 
your  amies,  save  your  hehue  and  your  sword  ;  and,  therefore, 
by  mine  assent,  now  may  ye  take  this  knight's  helme  and  his 
sword  ;'  and  so  he  did.  And  when  he  was  cleane  armed,  he 
took  Sir  Launcelot's  horse,  for  he  was  better  than  his  owne, 
and  so  they  departed  from  the  crosse. 

"Then   anon  Sir  Launcelot  awaked,  and  set  himselfe  up- 
right, and   he   thought  him   what  hee   had  there   seene,  and 
whether  it  were  dreames  or  not ;  right  so  he  heard  a  voice  that 
.1,  'Sir  Launcelot,  more  hardy  than  is  the  stone,  and  more 
tier  than  is  the  wood,  and  more  naked  and  bare  than  is  the 
ie  of  the  fig-tree,  therefore  go  thou  from  hence,  and  with- 
draw  thee   from   this  holy  place;'  and  when  Sir  Launcelot 
heard  this,  he  was  passing  heavy,  and  wist  not  what  to  doe. 
And  so  he  departed  sore  weeping,  and  cursed  the  time  that  he 
was  borne  ;   for  then  he  deemed  never  to  have  had  more  wor- 
ship ;  for  the  words    went  unto  his  heart,  till  that  he  knew 
wherefore  that  hee  was  so  called." 


Note  C. 


Jind  Dryden,  in  immortal  strain, 

Had  raised  the  Table  Round  again. — P.  87. 

Dryden's  melancholy  account  of  his  projected  Epic  Poem, 
blasted  by  the  selfish  and  sordid  parsimony  of  his  patrons,  is 
contained  in  an  "  Essay  on  Satire,"  addressed  to  the  Earl  of 
Doreet,  and  jirefi.ved  to  the  Translation  of  Juvenal.  After 
mentioning  a  plan  of  supplying  machinery  from  the  guardian 
angels  of  kingdoms,  mentioned  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  he 
adds : — 

"Thus,  my  lord,  I  have,  as  briefly  as  I  could,  given  your 
lordship,  and  by  you  the  world,  a  rude  draught  of  wliat  I  have 
been  long  laboring  in  my  imagination,  and  what  I  had  intended 
to  liave  put  in  practice  (though  far  unable  for  the  attempt  of 
such  a  poem) ;  and  to  have  left  the  stage,  to  which  my  genius 
never  much  inclined  me,  for  a  work  which  would  have  taken 
up  my  life  in  the  performance  of  it.  This,  too,  I  had  intended 
chiefly  for  the  honor  of  my  native  country,  to  which  a  poet  is 
particularly  oolig^d.  Of  two  subjects,  both  relating  to  it,  I 
was  doubtful  whether  I  should  choose  that  of  King  Arthur 
conquering  the  Saxons,  which,  being  farther  distant  in  time, 
gives  \'je  greater  scope  to  my  invention  ;  or  that  of  Edward  the 


Black  Prince,  in  subduing  Spain,  and  restoring  it  to  the  law 
ful  prince,  though  a  great  tyrant,  Don  Pedro  the  Cruel ;  which, 
for  the  compass  of  time,  including  only  the  expedition  of  one 
year,  for  the  greatness  of  the  action,  and  its  answerable  event, 
for  the  magnanimity  of  the  English  hero,  opposed  to  the  in- 
gratitude of  the  person  whom  he  restored,  and  for  the  many 
beautiful  episodes  which  I  had  interwoven  with  the  principal 
design,  together  with  llie  characters  of  the  chiefost  English  per- 
sons (wherein,  after  Virgil  and  Spenser,  I  would  liave  taken 
occa.sion  to  represent  my  living  friends  and  patrons  of  the  co- 
blest  families,  and  also  shadowed  the  events  of  future  ages  it 
the  succession  of  our  imperial  line), — with  these  helps,  and 
those  of  the  machines  which  I  liave  mentioned,  I  might  per- 
hajis  liave  done  as  well  as  some  of  my  iiredecessors,  or  at  least 
chalked  out  a  way  for  others  to  amend  my  errors  in  a  like  dc' 
sign ;  but  being  encouraged  only  with  fair  words  by  King 
Cliarles  II.,  my  little  salary  ill  paid,  and  no  prosjiect  of  a  future 
subsistence,  I  was  then  discouraged  in  the  beginning  of  ray 
attempt;  and  now  age  has  overtaken  me,  and  want,  a  more 
insufferable  evil,  through  the  change  of  the  times,  baa  wholly 
disabled  me." 


Note  D. 

Their  theme  the  vierry  minstrels  made, 
Of  Ascapart,  and  Bevis  hold. — P.  87. 

The  "  History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton"  is  abridged  by  ray  friend 
Mr.  George  Ellis,  with  that  liveliness  which  extracts  amuse- 
ment even  out  of  the  most  rude  and  unpromising  of  our  old 
tales  of  chivalry.  Ascapart,  a  most  important  personage  in  the 
romance,  is  thus  described  in  an  extract : — 

"  This  geaunt  was  mighty  and  strong 
And  full  thirty  foot  was  long. 
He  was  bristled  like  a  sow  ; 
A  foot  he  had  between  each  brow  ; 
His  lips  were  great,  and  hung  aside  ; 
His  eyen  were  hollow,  his  mouth  was  wide; 
Lotbly  he  was  to  look  on  than, 
And  liker  a  devil  than  a  man. 
His  staff  was  a  young  oak, 
Hard  and  heavy  was  his  stroke." 
Specimens  of  Metrical  Romances,  vol.  ii.  p.  136 

I  am  happy  to  say,  that  the  memory  of  Sir  Bevis  is  still  fra 
grant  in  his  town  of  Southampton  ;  the  gate  of  which  is  senti 
nelled  by  the  effigies  of  that  doughty  knight-errant  and  his  gi 
gaiitic  associate. 


Note  E. 


Day  set  en  JVorham's  castled  steep, 

Jind  Tweed' s  fair  river,  broad  and  deep,  i$-c. — P.  87. 

The  ruinous  castle  of  Norhara  (anciently  called  Ubbanford) 
is  situated  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  Tweed,  about  si.x  mile? 
above  Berwick,  and  where  that  river  is  still  the  bounil/.ry  be- 
tween England  and  Scotland.  Tlie  extent  of  its  ruins,  as  well 
as  its  historical  importance,  shows  it  to  have  been  a  ]dace  of 
magnificence,  as  well  as  strength.  Edward  I.  resided  there 
when  he  was  created  umpire  of  the  dispute  concerning  the 
Scottish  succession.  It  was  repeatedly  taken  and  retaken  du- 
ring the  wars  between  England  and  Scotland  ;  and,  indeed, 
scarce  any  happened,  in  which  it  had  not  a  principal  share. 
Norliam  Castle  is  situated  on  a  steep  bank,  which  overhangs 
the  river.  The  repeated  sieges  which  the  castle  had  sustained, 
rendered  frequent  repairs  necessary.  In  11(34,  it  was  almost 
rebuilt  by  Hugh  Pudsey,  Bishop  of  Durham,  who  added  a  huge 
keep,  or  donjon  ;  notwithstanding  which.  King  Henry  II.,  in 
1174,  took  the  castle  from  the  bishop,  and  committed  the  keep- 
ing of  it  to  William  de  Neville.     After  this  period  it  seems  to 


15G 


SCOUTS  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tv.  ■■ 


r  ;  ■ 
ef 
V 
1 1. 
»  , 

hi 
C. 

I 


//. 


til 
•11 


.o'>ml  liv  xUr  Kin;,  kiid  ran«i<lcre<l  u  a 

1  wrfe   fn?" 

t  t,  »  tile 

tllr  |ir«|>- 

K  ..II.     Al'trr 

la.     Al  (lir  uiiiun  uT 

.-.;  Robert  t'.iffy  (al'liT- 

hi*  owa  Me,  aixl  (hat  of  two 

•  m,  Carry  notJ   Ngr- 

•    .ar,  fur  XlMIUO.     8.<o 

r  iinliurgli. 

Muiu-nin, 

;iu   t)ain<  uii  till'  alntt'  of 

T  I  III-  b.-illUi  of  Flo<lili'n. 

.1   aji  iiiiprt'f^fiabtf  :  — 

I  wl<,  Ibrty-rour  kiiK', 

I  ulmon,  fort)'  ((unrtrn  of  grain,  bo- 

..  .1...;  :aur  liunilr«l  hIippii,  lying  undor  the  cas- 

;  bat  >  nuinb<T  of  the  airuws  wanted  feathcn, 

vA^r  [i.  t.  inakir  of  arrownj  was  iv<iuiroil." — 

r,'.]Mj,  vol.  ii.  |i.  21)1,  note. 

'■  arr  nt  iin-^ont  coii'iilcrible,  at  well 
I  I'i^t  of  a  large  ^llatl^re^l  tower,  with 
nl>  of  other  edifices,  enclosed  wilhiu 
.L  circuit. 


Note  F. 

The  battled  tOKtri,  the  donjon  keep. — P.  87. 

It  i»  ■    ■  '■>  remind  my  readers,   that  the 

dofij't  .in,  means  the  strongest  part  of 

a  t  >i|uarc  tower,  with  wallii  of  trenien- 

doi.  Ill  the  centre  of  the  other  buildings, 

from  whirh,  however,  it  wa»  usnallr  dclache.l.  Here,  in  ca;<e 
of  till-  outwani  defences  being  gaineil,  the  grirri>on  retreated 
!ii  III  1^"  iheir  last  atand.  The  donjon  contained  the  great  hall, 
tml  |>ciiici|>al  rooms  of  state  for  Kolenin  occasions,  and  also  the 
|viM)n  of  the  fortress  ;  from  which  laj«t  circunHtanee  wc  derive 
III'  !  uiie  of  the  word  rfunoffon.     Ducange 

1 1  -  |ilau«ibly,  that  the  name  is  derived 

i-ually  built  upon  a  hill,  which  in  Cel- 
I'  1        i-c  !inp|)0!>e9  the  word  came  from  the 

ii.«  in  these  towers,  which  were  thence 
M      ^-onH  ;  thus  deriving  the  aucient  word 


If  . 
li. 
d.r 
fl.- 


from  Uie  modem  application  of  it. 


Not^G. 


fFtll  wnt  he  arm'd  from  head  to  heel. 
In  maii  and  plate  of  Milan,  steel.— P.  88. 


in  the  middle  ages  for  their 

the   following   paisage,   in 

'   the  preparations  made  by 

II  nrylV..  and  Tlioma-^, 

ir  pro|)Ow<l  combat  in 

'«  made  ample  iirovi- 


The  >rtl<t<  of  Milan  ^^ 
•kill    in     ^rtTit,ri/ _    a*   ft;. 
»' 
11 
I) 

th--     -  '  ,  i 

tion  of  all  things  nece»*ary  for  the  combat ;  and  the  Earl  of 
Dcrlty  sent  olT  messengers  to  lA)nibanly,  lo  have  armor  from 
Pit  (I.^leas,  Duke  of  Milan.  The  Doke  complied  with  joy,  and 
Ciw.  i'  •  Vi  ':.'lit,  called  Sir  Fraiiri«,  who  had  brought  tlie  mcs- 
i  ._'   .  •  .li  e  of  all  hi«  armor  fur  the  Earl  of  Dcrbv.     When 

he  h.vl  1         .1   for  in  pl.Ttcl  an. I   ninil  armor, 

the  !/<>-  n'Mindant  lov   ff.r  il..-  Farl,  or- 

di  •  Milan,  t..  V  the 

ki.  .  :         ..  Derby  mi  „•  ■com- 

pletely ttrtiietl." — JoHXBs'  Froiitart,  vol.  iv.  p.  5'J7. 


NotkU. 

Hlka  tkifXa  at  me,  to  drath  it  dight.—P.  88. 

The  ciwit  and  mollo  of  Marmion  an-  borrowed  from  the  fo. 
lowing  ttury  : — Sir  David  du  l.iiiduiy,  tir>l  Karl  of  i'rauford 
wa<,   among  otlwr  gi'iillciiien  of  i|unlity,  utlnided,  during  ■ 
visit  lo  l<oiidoii,  in  UKH),  by  .'>ir  William  Dalzell,  who  wax,  ac 
cording  lo  my  authority,  Rower,  nul  only  exct'tling  in  wisduni 
but  also  of  a  lively  wil.     Chancing  lo  be  at  the  court,  he  there 
saw  Sir  I'iero  Cuurtenay,  an  English  knight,  famous  for  akill  ia 
tilling,  and  for  the  beauty  of  hi*  |ii-i>on,  parading  the  palace, 
arrayed  in  a  new  mantle,  iH'oring  for  device  an  cmbioidered 
falcon,  with  this  rhyme, — 

"  I  bear  a  falcon,  fairest  of  flight. 
Whoso  pinches  at  her,  his  death  is  dight,> 
In  graith."3 

The  Scottish  knight,  being  a  wag,  appeanil  next  day  in  a 
dress  exactly  similar  to  that  of  Courtenay,  but  bearing  a  ma^ 
pic  in.'te.nd  of  the  falcon,  with  a  motto  iilgeniouidy  contrived 
lo  rhyme  to  the  vaunting  iitscription  of  Sir  I'ient : — 

"  I  bear  a  pie  picking  at  a  jiiece, 
WhoMi  picks  at  her,  i  shall  pick  al  his  nese,> 

In  faith." 

This  affront  could  only  be  expiated  by  a  just  with  sharp 
lances.  In  the  course,  Dal/ell  left  hin  helmet  unlaeeil,  so  llial 
it  gave  way  al  the  touch  of  his  antagonist's  lance,  and  he  llins 
avoided  the  shock  of  the  encounter.  This  happened  twice  : — 
in  the  third  ckicounter,  the  handsome  Courtenay  lost  two  of  his 
front  teeth.  Ah  the  Englishman  complained  bitterly  of  Dal- 
zell'a  fraud  in  not  fastening  his  helmet,  the  Scoltishniaii  .agreed 
to  run  six  courses  more,  each  champion  slaking  in  the  band  of 
the  King  two  hundred  pounds,  lo  be  forfeited,  if,  on  entering 
the  lifts,  any  unequal  advantage  should  be  detected.  This  be- 
ing agreed  lo,  the  wily  Scot  demanded  that  Sir  Piers,  in  addi- 
tion lo  llie  loss  of  his  teeth,  should  consent  to  the  extinction  oi 
one  of  his  eyes,  he  himself  having  lost  an  eye  in  the  fight  ol 
Otlerbnrn.  As  Courtenay  demurred  to  this  equalization  of  op 
tical  powers,  Dalzell  demanded  tlie  forfeit ;  which,  after  much 
altercation,  the  King  appuiiited  lo  be  paid  lo  him.  saying,  hn 
surpassed  the  English  both  in  wit  and  valor.  This  must  ai>- 
pear  to  the  reader  a  singular  specimen  of  the  humor  of  ihat 
time.  I  suspect  iht?  Jockey  Club  would  have  given  a  diflerent 
decision  from  Henry  IV. 


Note  I. 

They  liall'd  Lord  jVnrmion  ; 
They  hail'd  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  J.uUcriBnrd,  and  Scrivilbnye, 

Of  Tamxorih  tower  and  loicn. — P.  89. 

I<onl  M.armion,  the  principal  characler  of  the  present  ro- 
mance, is  entirely  a  fictilious  personaje.  In  earlier  limes,  in 
deed,  the  family  ofMarmion,  Lonlsof  Fontenay,  in  Normandy 
was  highly  distinguished.  Robert  de  Marmion.  Lord  of  Fon 
tenay,  a  distinguished  follower  of  the  Conqueror,  obtained  a 
grant  of  the  castle  and  town  of  Tamworth,  ami  also  of  the 
manor  of  Scrivelby,  in  Lincolnshire.  One,  or  both,  of  these 
noble  possessions,  was  held  by  the  honorultle  service  of  being 
Uie  royal  champion,  as  the  ancestors  of  Alarmion  had  formerly 
been  to  the  Dukes  of  Normandy.  But  after  the  ca.stle  and 
demesne  of  Tamworth  had  pass<'d  through  four  successive 
barons  from  Robert,  the  family  became  extinct  in  the  person 
of  Pliilip  de  Marmion,  who  died  in  20th  Edward  I.  without 
issue  male.  He  was  succeeded  in  his  castle  of  Tamworth  by 
Alexander  de  Freville,  who  married  Mazen,  his  grand-<lau;,'h- 
tcr.     Baldwin  de  Freville,  Alexander's  descendant,  in  the  reiga 


1  Prepared. 


i  Armor. 


3  No 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


157 


of  Richard  I.,  by  the  supposed  tenure  of  his  castle  of  Tam- 
worth,  claimed  the  office  of  royal  champion,  and  to  do  the 
service  apjjertaining  ;  namely,  on  the  day  of  coronation,  to 
tide,  completely  armed,  upon  a  barbed  horse,  into  VVestmin- 
Bter  Hall,  and  there  to  challenge  the  combat  against  any  wlio 
would  gainsay  the  King's  title.  But  this  office  was  adjudged 
to  Sir  John  Dynioke,  to  whom  the  manor  of  Scrivelby  had  de- 
scended by  another  of  the  co-heiresses  of  Robert  de  Marmion  ; 
and  it  remains  in  tliat  family,  whose  representative  is  lleredi- 
itary  Champion  of  England  at  the  present  day.  The  family 
and  ijossessions  of  Freville  have  merged  in  the  Earls  of  Fei^ 
rars.  I  have  not,  therefore,  created  a  new  family,  but  only 
revived  the  titles  of  an  old  one  in  an  imaginary  personage. 

It  was  one  of  the  i\'armion  family,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward II.,  perlbrnied  that  chivalrous  feat  before  tlie  very  castle 
of  Norham,  wIulIi  Bishop  lercy  has  woven  into  his  beautiful 
ballad,  "  The  Hermit  of  VVarkworth." — The  story  is  thus  told 
by  Leiand  : — 

"The  i^cottes  cam  yn  to  the  marches  of  England,  and  de- 
stroyed tlie  castles  of  VVerk  and  Herbotel,  and  overran  much 
of  Northumberland  marches. 

"  At  this  tyme,  Thomas  Gray  and  his  friendes  defended 
Norham  from  the  .Scotteg. 

"It  were  a  wonderful  processe  to  declare,  what  misehefes 
cam  by  hangre  and  a.sseges  by  the  space  of  xi  yeres  in  Nor- 
thumberland ;  fur  the  Scottes  became  so  proude,  after  they  had 
got  Berwick,  that  they  nothing  esteemed  the  Englishmen. 

"  About  this  tynie  there  was  a  greate  feste  made  yn  Lincoln- 
shir,  to  which  came  many  gentlemen  and  ladies;  and  amonge 
them  one  lady  brought  a  beaulme  for  a  man  of  were,  with  a 
very  ricli  creste  of  gold,  to  William  Marmion,  knight,  with  a 
letter  of  commandement  of  her  lady,  that  he  should  go  into 
the  daungerest  place  in  England,  and  ther  to  let  the  beaulme 
be  seene  and  known  as  famous.  So  he  went  to  Norham  ; 
whither,  within  4  days  of  cumming,  cam  Phiiip  Moubray, 
guardian  of  Bcrwicke,  having  yn  his  bande  40  men  of  armes, 
the  very  Hour  of  men  of  the  Scottish  marches. 

"Thomas  Gray,  capitayne  of  Norham,  seynge  this,  brought 
his  garison  afore  the  barriers  of  the  castel,  behind  whom  cum 
William,  richly  arrayed,  as  al  glittering  in  gold,  and  wearing 
the  heaulme,  his  lady's  present. 

"  Then  said  Thomas  Gray  to  Marmion,  '  Sir  Knight,  ye  be 
cum  hither  to  fame  your  helmet :  mount  np  on  yowr  horse, 
and  ride  lyke  a  valiant  man  to  yowr  foes  even  here  at  hand, 
and  I  forsake  God  if  I  rescue  not  thy  body  deade  or  alyve,  or 
I  myself  wyl  dye  for  it.' 

"  Whereupon  he  toke  his  cursere,  and  rode  among  the  throng 
of  ennemyes  ;  the  which  layed  sore  stripes  on  him,  and  pulled 
him  at  the  last  out  of  his  sadel  to  the  grounde. 

"  Then  Tliomas  Gray,  with  al  the  hole  garrison,  lotte  prick 
yn  among  the  Scottes,  and  so  wondid  them  and  tlicir  horses, 
that  they  were  overthrowan  ;  and  Marmion,  sore  beten,  was 
horsiil  agayn,  and,  with  Gray,  persewed  the  Scottes  yn  chase. 
There  were  taken  50  horse  of  price  ;  and  the  women  of  Nor- 
ham brought  them  to  the  foote  men  to  follow  the  chase." 


Note  K. 


-     —  Largesse,  largesse. — P.  89. 

"Ihis  was  the  cry  with  which  heralds  and  pursuivants  were 
wont  to  acknowledge  the  bounty  received  from  the  knights. 
Stewart  of  Lorn  distinguishes  a  ballad,  in  which  he  satirizes 
the  r.?rrowness  of  James  V.  and  his  courtiers,  by  the  ironical 
burden — 

"  Lerges,  Urges,  Urges,  hay, 
L,ergcs  of  this  ncw-yeir  day. 
First  lerges  of  the  King,  my  chief, 
Quiiilk  come  als  quiet  as  a  theif, 


;  Two. 


SProot 


And  in  my  hand  slid  schillingis  tway,» 
To  put  his  Icrgnes  to  the  prief,* 
For  lerges  of  this  new-yeir  day." 

The  heralds,  like  the  minstrels,  were  a  race  allowed  to  have 
great  claims  upon  the  liberality  of  the  knights,  of  whose  feats 
they  kejit  a  record,  and  proclaimed  them  aloud,  as  in  the  text, 
upon  suitable  occasions. 

At  Berwick,  Norham,  and  other  Border  fortresses  of  impor- 
tance, pursuivants  usually  resided,  whose  inviolable  character 
rendered  them  the  only  ])ersons  that  could,  with  perfect  assu- 
rance of  safety,  be  sent  on  necessary  embassies  into  Scotland. 
This  is  alluded  to  in  stanza  xxi.  p.  91. 


NOTK  L. 


Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  hold. 
Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 
Mnd  Captain  of  the  Hold.— P.  90. 

Were  accuracy  of  any  consequence  in  a  fictitious  narrative, 
this  castellan's  name  ought  to  have  been  William  ;  for  Wil- 
liam Heron  of  Ford  was  husband  to  the  famous  Lady  Ford, 
whose  siren  charms  are  said  to  have  cost  our  James  IV.  so  dear. 
Moreover,  the  said  William  Heron,  was,  .it  the  time  supposed, 
a  prisoner  in  Scotland,  being  surrendered  by  Henry  VIII.,  on 
account  of  his  share  in  the  slaughter  of  Sir  Robert  Ker  of 
Cessford.  His  wife,  represented  in  the  text  as  residing  al  the 
Court  of  Scotland,  v\'as,  in  fact,  living  in  her  own  Castle  at 
Ford. — See  Sir  Richard  Heron's  curious  Genealogy  of  the 
Heron  Family. 


Note  M. 


The  whiles  a  J^orthem  harper  rude 

Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, — 

"  How  the  fierce  Thir  walls,  and  Ridley  s  all,"  Src. — P.  90. 

This  old  Northumbrian  ballad  was  taken  down  from  the 
recitation  of  a  woman  eighty  years  of  age,  mother  of  one  of  tlie 
miners  of  Alston-moor,  by  an  agent  for  the  lead  mines  there, 
who  communicated  it  to  my  friend  and  correspondent,  R.  Snr- 
tees.  Esquire,  of  Mainsforth.  She  had  not,  she  said,  heard  it 
for  many  years  ;  but,  when  she  was  a  girl,  it  nsed  to  be  su:ig 
at  the  merry-makings  "  till  the  roof  rung  again."  To  preserve 
this  curious,  though  rude  rhyme,  it  is  here  inserted.  The  ludi- 
crous turn  given  to  the  slaughter  marks  that  wild  and  disorderly 
state  of  society,  in  which  a  murder  was  not  merely  a  casual  cir- 
cumstance, but,  in  some  cases,  an  exceedingly  good  jest.  Tha 
structure  of  the  ballad  resembles  the  "  Fray  of  Suport,"^  haw- 
ing the  same  irregular  stanzas  and  wild  chorus. 

I. 

Hoot  awa',  lads,  hoot  awa', 

Ha'  ye  heard  how  the  Ridleys,  and  Thirwalls,  and  a 

Ha'  set  upon  Albany4  Featherstonhaugh, 

And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadmanshaugh  ? 

There  was  Willimoteswick, 

And  Hardriding  Dick, 
And  Hughie  of  Hawilen,  and  Will  of  the  Wa' 

I  canno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a'. 
And  mony  a  mair  that  the  deil  may  knaw. 

II. 

The  auld  man  went  down,  but  Nicol,  his  son, 
Ran  away  afore  the  fight  was  begun  ; 

And  he  ran,  and  he  run. 

And  afore  they  were  done, 

»  Sea  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  ii.  p.  1S4, 
*  ProDoonced  Awbony, 


158 


fcJCOrr'S  POETICAL  WORlvS. 


Th«r«  WW  many  a  Fraib««toa  ^1  ^o  '  *<°°i 
At  D««rr  wu  arra  aince  llie  world  brf  un. 


III. 


1^' 
lit,' 


ii  •  cUw ; 
liauil  Uirlrjtw,' 


IV. 
Aim  (at  a  twlft  o'  the  craig  ;< 
Anc  eal  a  bunch*  o'  tiie  waiiie  ;« 
8f  my  Haw  gat  lanietl  o(  a  li-g. 
Ami  •yne  ran  wallowing^  liame. 


H  JOl,  hoot,  the  old  tnan't  ilain  onlright  I 

Lay  him  now  wi'  hU  faro  down  : — he's  a  (orrowful  light. 

Janrt,  lluio  ilnnot.* 

I'll  lay  ■  iiPl. 

Thoo  gvtj  a  II'  '  .11  alure  it  be  night. 

VI. 

Iloo  away  lodf,  lioo  away, 
VVr'»  a'  be  hangiil  if  we  »tay. 

Tak  Ufi  the  dead  man,  and  lay  him  ahint  the  biggin. 
Ucrv'*  the  Bailey  o'  ilaltwhistle,' 
Wi'  hia  great  bull's  pizzle. 

That  fup'd  up  the  broo', — and  sync in  the  piggin.'o 

In  ezplan.ition  of  this  ancient  ditty,  Mr.  Snrtees  has  fur- 
nished me  with  the  following  local  memorandum  : — Willi- 
molo«Mi<-k,  the  chief  scat  of  the  ancient  family  of  Ridley,  is 
■itnat<-<l  two  miles  above  the  confluence  of  the  Allon  and 
Tyne.  It  was  a  house  of  strcn^h,  a.i  appears  from  one  ob- 
long lower,  still  in  tolerable  pn-servation."  It  lias  been  long 
in  )io«»i-wion  of  tiie  Blacket  family.  Ilardriding  Dick  Ls  not 
an  epithet  referring  to  horsemanship,  but  means  Richard  Rid- 
ley of  Ilardriding,"  the  seat  of  another  family  of  that  name, 
which,  m  liic  time  of  Charles  I.,  was  sold  on  acconnl  of  ex- 
penses incurred  by  the  loyally  of  the  proprietor,  the  immc- 
di  -  of  Sir  Matthew  Ridley.     Will  of  the  Wa' seems 

to  .1  Ridley  of  Walltown,  so  called  from  its  silua- 

tioQ  un  llie  great  Roman  wall.  Thirlwall  Castle,  whence 
ihe  clan  of  Thirlwalls  derived  their  name,  is  situated  on  the 
small  river  of  Tip|iel,  near  the  western  boundary  of  Northum- 
berl.ind.  Ii  is  near  the  wall,  and  lakes  its  name  from  the 
mnipart  liavin;  In-en  thirled,  i.  e.  pierced,  or  breached,  in  its 
vicinity.  Fcatluryton  Castle  lies  south  of  the  Tyne,  towards 
Al'ion-moor.  Albany  Featherstonhaugh,  Ihe  chief  of  that 
»!.'  '  le  a  figure  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.     A 

f'-'  '-xi.st   litlwecn   the   Ridleys   and    Feather- 

stoi-.  ;  r  .  .1  ■  Ml  'iiih  consequences  as  the  ballad  narrates. 
U  Ort.  •.'■i.'.i  Hnrici  ''ri.  Iiii/iiisitio  capt.  apud  Hnulwhis- 
tlf.  .tup  ri.um  r,r//i/.»  JUrrnndri  FealhcTston,  Qi-n.  npud 
Grrn'<!^-<-.s  'ri.,-,Tr  inttrfecti,  22  Oct.  per  J^icolaum 
K'  "'«■  Ilu/Ton  ItiiUr,  .Vicolaum  llidle, 

tl  '  _,  «.    Nor  were  the  Fealherstons  williout 

iheir  revenge  ;  for  3<iio  Hcnriri  8vi,  wc  have —  Ullairatio  Jfico- 
lai  Ftthmto*,  at  Thome  J^yzton,  i,-e.  i<-c.  pro  homicidio 
nUl.  RidJe  de  Morale, 

I  Sitip  dicaiflM  slap,  or  rmllMr  is  th«  sun*  word  which  wis  origiiudly 

1'"    ' 

iw,  m  Tnlfsr  pxprvsnoa  ctill  In  tis«. 
3  ,  or,  w«c«  ploxlarsd ;  •  vtr;  likely  termiiutioa  of  lbs 

Ir.;. 
«  V'    -.  I  Pimfh.  e  Bflljr.  »  Bellowing. 

B  3-Jhi  ilut.  Tie  bonier  baH  m'lt  b>r  so,  beesoM  she  wiu  wcoping 
for  her  iliun  hnjiband ;  a  lofa  wbich  ht  reama  to  think  might  b«  sooo 
n,  aired. 

T%»  Bailuf  of  Hallwhislle  saiiiia  to  hav*  arrired  when  the  tnty  was 


NoteN. 

James  hack'd  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 
M'arbeck,  that  Ftrmith  couutrrfeit, 
H'ha  OH  the  pibhrt  paid  Ihe  cheat. 
Then  did  I  march  trtlh  Aurrry'*  potter. 
What  time  tee  ra:ed  old  Jlyton  toicer.—  V.  01. 

The  «tory  of  IVrkin  Warlxck,  or  Richard,  Duke  of  York, 
la  Well  known.      In   H'.Nl,  he  wiu  received  honorably  in  Hi  ul- 
land;  and  Jnnii-*  IV.,  nfur  ronlVrring  Ujion  hiiii  in  marriage 
hia  own  rrlnlion,  the  I.ady  Catharine  (^inlun,  made  war  on 
England  in  Udiulf  of  hia  pr<*trnKions.     To  n'taliate  an  inva- 
sion of  Kn;;lanil,  Hum')r  advanciHl  into  Herwickshire  at   the 
head  of  confidrrablo  forooM,  but  n-ln-atcd,  after  taking  the  in- 
considemble  fortn-ss  of  Aylon.     Ford,  in  hit  Drainalic  Chroni- 
cle of  Ferkin  Warbeck,  makr-s  the  most  of  tliis  inroaj  : 
" SURRKY. 
"  Are  all  onr  braving  enemies  iihrnnk  back. 
Hid  ill  ihe  fogies  of  their  diMi'nipcr'd  climate, 
Not  daring  to  b<;hold  our  colon  wave 
In  sjiight  of  this  infocted  ayrc  ?     Can  they 
liooke  on  the  j^lrenglh  of  Cundrestine  defac't ; 
The  glorie  of  Ueydonhall  devastcd  ;  that 
Of  Edington  cast  downe  ;  the  pile  of  Fulden 
Orethrowne  :  And  this,  the  strongest  of  their  forti, 
Old  Ayton  Ca.«tle,  yeclded  ami  dpmoli.-ihed. 
And  yd  not  |>eepe  abroad  ?     The  Scots  are  bold, 
Ilanlie  in  baltayle,  but  it  seems  the  cause 
They  uiidert.ike  considered,  appeures 
Unjoynled  in  the  frame  on't." 


NoteO. 


■  /  troie. 


Durham  can  find  you  guides  enow  ; 

For  here  be  some  have  pricked  as  far, 

On  Scottish  /p-oiind,  as  to  Dunbar; 

Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bolhan's  ale, 

And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale ; 

Harried  the  wives  of  Orernlaw's  guodi. 

And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods. — ?.  91. 

The  garrisons  of  the  English  castles  of  Wark,  f:orham,  and 
Berwick,  were,  as  may  be  ea.sily  supposed,  \erj  jy  jblesome 
neighbors  to  Scotland.  Sir  Richanl  Maitlund  jf  J  edington 
wrote  a  poem,  called  "The  Blind  Baron's  Co'jlVrt,"  when 
his  barony  of  Blytlie,  in  Lauderdale,  was  han-i.d  jy  Rowland 
Foster,  the  English  cajitain  of  Wark,  with  hi."  c  ir^any,  to  the 
number  of  300  men.  They  spoiled  the  poetijjJ  Knight  of  5000 
sheep,  200  nolt,  30  horses  and  mares ;  the  wh-jle  furniture  of 
his  house  of  BIytlic,  worth  100  pounds  Scots  (X8  3s.  8d.),  and 
every  thing  else  that  was  jiortable.  "  Thi.s  spoil  wai  committed 
the  16lh  day  of  May,  1570  (and  the  said  ?ii  Richard  was  three- 
score and  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  grown  blind),  in  time  o( 
peace  ;  when  nane  of  that  counlry  lippcned  [exi»ecle:IJ  such  a 
thing." — "  The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort"  consists  in  a  string"! 
puns  on  the  word  Blythe,  the  name  of  the  lands  thus  despoiled. 
Like  John  Littlewit,  he  .had  "  A  conceit  left  in  I:j  nijerj-  a 
miserable  conceit." 

The  last  line  of  the  text  contains  a  phrase,  by  whi'.h  Ihe 
Bordercni  jocularly  intimated  the  boming  a  hour:.     VI  h.a 

over.  This  topporter  of  aocial  order  it  treati-J  r.itb  characterisUe  irrerer 
SDce  by  Iho  moaa-trooping  poet. 

la  An  iron  pot  with  two  ears. 

11  WilliinotFtwick  wna,  in  prior  editionn,  r/o'ound'.d  wilh  Ridley  Hnll, 
titohteil  two  milei  lower,  on  the  same  aide  of  t'ja  Tyne,  the  hereditary 
aeat  of  William  C.  Lowes,  Esq. 

IJ  Ridley,  the  bishop  and  martjT,  v»i.  vjsording  to  tome  aalhoritiea, 
bora  at  Ilardriding,  where  n  chair  wi-*  p'»rfr\*cd,  called  Iho  Bishop's 
Chair.  Othnra,  and  pnrlicniarly  his  biof  r»-<  i  ?r  and  nsnKiake,  Dr.  Oloee* 
tor  Ridley,  lusign  the  honor  of  the  m.ir.jT''  birth  to  Willimottawick. 


i 


ihe  Maxwells,  in  1G85,  burned  the  Castle  of  Loclnvood,  they 
<aiJ  they  did  so  to  give  the  Lady  Johnstone  "  liyht  to  set  lier 
hood."  Nor  was  the  jjhrase  inapplicable  ;  for,  in  a  letter,  to 
which  I  have  mislaid  the  reference,  the  Karl  of  Nortliunibar- 
and  writes  to  the  King  and  Conncil,  that  he  dressed  liiniself 
«t  niidnigiit,  at  Warkworth,  by  the  blaze  of  the  neighboring 
liliages  burned  by  the  Scottish  marauders. 


Note  P. 

The  priest  of  Shorcsicood — he  could  rein 
The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train. — P.  91. 
This  churchman  seems  to  have  been  akin  to  Welsh,  tlie 
ticar  of  St.  Thomas  of  Eseter,  a  leader  among  the  Cornish 
insurgents  in  1549.  "This  man,"  says  Ilollinshed,  "had 
many  good  things  in  him.  He  was  of  no  great  stature,  but 
well  set,  and  mightilie  compact :  He  was  a  very  good  wrest- 
ler ;  shot  well,  both  in  the  long  bow  and  also  in  the  cross- 
Dow  ;  he  handled  his  hand-gun  and  peece  very  well  ;  he  was 
ft  very  good  woodman,  and  a  bardie,  and  such  a  one  as  would 
not  give  his  head  for  the  polling,  or  his  beard  for  the  washing. 
He  was  a  companion  in  any  e.\ercise  of  activitie,  and  of  a 
courteous  and  gentle  behaviour.  He  descended  of  a  good  honest 
parentage,  being  borne  at  Peneveriu  in  Cornwall ;  and  yet,  in 
this  rebellion,  an  arch-captain  and  a  principal  doer." — Vol.iv. 
p.  958,  4to.  edition.  This  model  of  clerical  talents  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  hanged  upon  the  steeple  of  his  own  church.' 


Note  Q. 

that  grot  where  Olives  nod. 

Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Saint  Rosalie  retired  to  Ood. — P.  92. 
"  Sante  Rosalia  was  of  Palermo,  and  born  of  a  very  noble 
family,  and,  when  very  young,  abhorred  so  much  the  vanities 
of  this  world,  and  avoided  the  converse  of  mankind,  resolving 
to  dedicate  herself  wholly  to  God  Almighty,  that  she,  by 
divine  inspiration,  forsook  her  father's  house,  and  never  was 
more  heard  of  till  her  body  was  found  in  that  cleft  of  a  rock, 
on  that  almost  inaccessible  mountain,  where  now  the  chapel 
is  built ;  and  they  affirm  she  was  carried  up  there  by  the 
hands  of  angels  ;  for  that  place  was  not  formerly  so  accessible 
(as  now  it  is)  in  the  days  of  the  Saint ;  and  even  now  it  is  a 
very  bad,  and  steepy,  and  brealuieck  way.  In  this  frightful 
place,  this  holy  woman  lived  a  great  many  years,  feeding  only 
on  what  she  found  growing  on  that  barren  mountain,  and 
creeping  into  a  narrow  and  dreadful  cleft  in  a  rock,  which 
(vas  always  dropping  w-et,  and  was  her  place  of  retu-eraent  as 
well  as  prayer  ;  having  worn  out  even  the  rock  with  her  knees 
in  a  certain  place,  which  is  now  open'd  on  purpose  to  show  it 
to  those  who  come  here.  This  chapel  is  very  richly  adorn'd  ; 
and  on  the  spot  where  the  Saint's  dead  body  was  discover'd, 
which  is  just  beneath  the  hole  in  the  rock,  which  is  open'd 
on  purpose,  as  I  said,  there  is  a  very  fine  statue  of  marble, 
representing  her  in  a  lying  posture,  railed  in  all  about  with 
fine  iron  and  brass  work  ;  and  the  altar,  on  which  they  say 
mass,  is  built  just  over  it." — Voyage  to  Sicily  and  Malta, 
by  Mr.  John  Dryden  (son  to  the  poet),  p.  107. 


Note  R. 


Friar  John  ■ 


Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 
Have  mark'd  ten  aves  and  two  creeds. — P.  92. 
Friar  John  understood  the  soporific  virtue  of  liis  beads  and 
h.eviary,  as  well  as  his  namesake  in  Rabelais.     "But  Gap- 

'  The  reader  needs  hardly  to  be  reminde'^  nf  Ivanhoe, 


gantua  could  not  sleep  by  any  means,  on  which  side  soever 
he  turned  himself.  Whereupon  the  monk  said  to  him,  •  I 
never  sleep  soundly  but  when  I  am  at  sermon  or  prayers : 
Let  us  therefore  begin,  you  and  I,  the  seven  penitential  psalms, 
to  try  whether  you  shall  not  quickly  fall  .-isleep.'  The  conceit 
pleased  Gargantua  very  well ;  and  beginning  the  first  of  these 
psalms,  as  soon  as  they  came  to  Beali  quorum,  they  fell  asleep 
both  the  one  and  the  other." 


Note  S. 


The  summon'' d  Palmer  came  in  place. — ^P.  92. 

A  Palmer,  opposed  to  a  Pilgrim,  was  one  who  made  it  his 
sole  business  to  visit  ditfcrent  holy  shrines  ;  travelhng  incessant- 
ly, and  subsisting  by  charity  ;  whereas  the  Pilgrim  retired  to  his 
usual  home  and  occupations,  when  he  had  paid  his  devotionj 
at  the  jjarticular  spot  which  was  the  object  of  his  pilgrimage. 
The  Palniei-s  seem  to  have  been  the   Questionarii  of  the  an- 
cient Scottish  canons  1242  and  1296.     There  is  in  the  Banna- 
tyne  MS.  a  burlesque  account  of  two  such  persons,  entitled, 
"t-immyand  his  brother."    Their  accoutrements  are  thus  ludi- 
crously described  (I  discard  the  ancient  spelling) — 
"  Syne  shaped  them  up,  to  loup  on  leas, 
Two  tabards  of  the  tartan  ; 
They  counted  naught  what  their  clouts  were 

When  sew'd  them  on,  in  certain. 
Syne  clampit  up  St.  Peter's  keys, 

Made  of  an  old  red  gartane  ; 
St.  James's  shells,  on  t'other  s'de,  shows 
As  pretty  as  a  partane 

Toe, 
On  Symmye  and  his  brother.'' 


Note  T. 


To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound, 
Within  the  ocean-cave  to  pray. 
Where  good  Saint  Rule  his  holy  lay, 
From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day. 
Sung  to  the  billows'  sound. — P.  93. 
St.  Regnlns  (^Scottici,  St.  Rule),  a  monk  of  Patra,  in  Acha- 
ia,  warned  by  a  vision,  is  said,  A.D.  370,  to  have  saile<l  west- 
ward, until  he  landed  at  St.  Andrews  in  Scotland,  where  he 
founded  a  chapel  and  tower.    Tlie  latter  is  still  standing  ;  and, 
though  we  may  doubt  the  precise  date  of  its  foundation,  is  cei^ 
tainly  one  of  the  most  ancient  edifices  in  Scotland.     A  cave, 
nearly  fronting  the  ruinous  castle  of  the  Archbishops  of  St.  An- 
drews, bears  the  name  of  this  religious  person.     It  is  difficult  of 
access ;  and  the  rock  in  which  it  is  hewed  is  washed  by  the 
German  Ocean.    It  is  nearly  round,  about  ten  feet  in  diameter, 
and  the  same  in  height.     On  one  side  is  a  sort  of  stone  altar  ; 
on  the  other  an  aperture  into  an  inner  den,  where  tlie  miserable 
ascetic,  who  inhabited  tliis  dwelling,  probably  slept.     At  full 
tide,  egress  and  regress  are  hardly  practicable.    As  Regulus  first 
colonized  the  metropolitan  see  of  Scotland,  and  convertsd  the 
inhabitants  in  the  vicinity,  he  has  some  reason  to  complain, 
that  the  ancient  name  of  Killrule  {Cella  Reguli)  should  have 
been  superseded,  even  in  favor  of  the  tutelar  saint  of  Scotland. 
The  reason  of  the  change  was,  that  St.  Rule  is  said  to  have 
brought  to  Scotland  the  relics  of  Saint  Andrew. 


Note  TJ. 


-Saint  Fillan's  blessed  well, 


Whose  spring  can  phrensied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore. — P.  93. 

1       St.  Fillan  was  a  Scottish  saint  of  some  reputation.   Although 


160 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


!"• 

Ti. 

•  » 

or 

Ur. 

•  a.' 


common 

!  willi  it. 

I   tu 

''"»■» 

tvi-rful  ill  cane* 

i-'tTiiiK  have 

"iieo  llint 

■ii.inimj. — [SfO 

.  tlordcr.] 


Note  V. 

/  and  bare, 

,1  rrir//(iir.  — P.  JM. 

IV'r  'k  KoiT<(  now  a  ran«e  ol'  m<iuiilalnon«  ulieop-wnlka, 
«.,,  .  .  ■  <  <  r..,.'rvi-<l  for  llip  |iloa»urc  of  the  royal  uliaio. 
Hi  '  •!,  tlio  wooil  liaa  bifn,  by  ilrgrcm,  ulmont 

tu   .  :*i,  wlifri.'Vi:r |>rotec-lc(l  I'roin  llio  alieep, 

Cii,  any  pluntiiig.    VVIa-n  tlic  King  liiiiil- 

nl  iiiMuncil  till-  airny  of  tliv  country  lo  meet 

aj,.'  Tliut,  in  \Wii,  Jnuii^  V.  "  made  prot-la- 

ni:i'.  '.   baroiK,  gcnilcnii-n,   Innilunrd-men,   and 

f'  y  should  toni|iear  at   Kiliiibur„'li,  with  a 

willi  the  King  where  he  jileiucd,  to 
I  iviotdale,  Annandule,  Liddi>dale,  and 
oih'-r  |>art«  ol'  that  country  ;  and  aliio  warned  all  gentlemen  that 
hail  ;:u<xl  do::*  <o  bring  tlicm,  that  he  might  hunt  in  the  said 
caiiinrv  an  he  |il"a.xtl :  The  whilk  the  Earl  ul'  Argyle,  the  Liarl 
ol'  lluiill<-y.  (he  Kari  of  Aihole,  and  »o  all  the  re!<t  oi°  the  gen- 
Ih  Mini  111'  the  lli;>lilnnd,  did,  and  brought  their  hounds  with 
them  ill 

-Til. 
to 
S. 
an  . 

CO" 


'1 


■n. 


r.  to  hunt  with  the  King,  a^i  he  plea-scd. 
of  Juno  the  King  past  out  of  Edinburgh 
.  uiili  many  of  the  iiubles  anil  gentlemen  of 
!r-m.  (»>  the  number  of  twelve  thousand  men; 
!id,  and  houmled  and  hawked  all  the 
.1  U  to  »ay,  Crammat,  Pa|i|jertlaw,  t^t. 
Mar)-I:i««,  Carlavrick,  Clia|>el,  Kwindoorex,  and  „.iiighope. 
I  hf  ar  I  ««y,  he  slew,  in  llie»c  bounds,  eighteen  score  of  harLi."i 
Tie-w  hanlingi  had,  of  course,  a  military  character,  and  at- 
Cenilaiwe  tt|ion  them  was  a  part  of  the  duty  of  a  vassal.  The 
act  for  abolishing  ward  or  military  tenures  in  Scotland,  enu- 
ni'  I  -  of  hunting,  hosting,  watching,  and  word- 

in;-  were  in  future  to  he  illegal. 

'-|KM!t,  has  given  an  aceuniit  of  the  mode  in 
...  were  conducted  in  the  llij;hlands  of  Scot- 
niieenth  century,  having  been  present  at  Brx- 
an  occasion  : — 
I   find  the  truly  noble   and    right   honourable 
lor  kine,  Carl  of  Mar;  James  Stuart,  Earl  ofMur- 

ru  '  .or.lon.  Earl  of  Engye,  son  and  heir  to  the  Mar- 

iu  -  •  ...  -y  ;  Janies  Er!*kine,  Earl  of  Ruchan  ;  and  John, 
LonI  Krskiiie.  Hon  and  heir  to  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  their  Count- 
CK-  li  hoiioure.l,  and  my  la.st  assured  and  a|i- 

\  illiaiii  .Murr.iy,  knight  of  Abercarney,  and 
•lit",  e»<|uin-s.  and  their  followers;  all 
il,  in  one  habit,  as  if  Lycurgus  hail 
^v^  of  ei)ualily  ;  for  once  in  the  year, 
ii  of  Au^'ust,  and  somctlincK  part  of 
nohilily  and  gentry  of  the  kingdom 
jine  ii.to  these  ilighland  countries  to 
hunt ;  whrrc  thry  do  conform  thcmiiclves  to  the  habit  of  tlie 
llighlandmxn.  who.  for  the  mo»t  part,  upeak  nothing  but  Irish  ; 
und,  in  former  timr,  wcrr  those  |H-ople  W'ich  were  called  iJie 
Rtd-tknnkt.  Their  habit  i-» — ihoes,  witli  hut  one  note  a-piece  ; 
itockiiigs  (which  they  call  short  hose),  made  of  a  warm  stuff 
of  dlverw  colours,  which  th«.y  rail  tartan  ;  as  for  breeches, 
many  of  them,  nor  their  forefathers,  never  wore  any,  but  a  jer^ 
kin  of  the  same  stuff  that  their  hose  is  of;  their  garurt  being 
twods  or  wrcatlu  of  hay  or  straw  ;  with  a  plaid  about  iJicir 

t  Pitscottic'i  Hutary  o/  ScoUamd,  folia  •ditico,  p.  141. 


pr 

hui.'ir  .1.  ui  ' 
and  every  m 
been  lh<  n-,  .t 
which  IS  the 
Be|>temlHT.  " 
(for  their  plea 


'ille  of  diverge  colours,  much  liner  and 
'  ;   with  blue  Hat  eaiis  un  their  heads  ; 
n  I  '.  knit  Willi  two  knots,  about  their  neek>  :   nii.l 

thii  .    atlin-d.     Now  their  weapons  an-   -'oiig  bowrs 

and  lurk'il  arrows,  swun'.s  and  targets,  hari|uebiivM  s,  muskets, 
dark*,  and  Loihubir  a\es.  With  these  nriiis  1  fuuiid  many  nf 
thnm  nrmni  for  the  hunting.  As  for  tlieir  uttiru,  any  man,  of 
what  degree  aoever,  that  come*  amongst  them,  mu>t  nut  di^ 
dain  to  wear  it ;  for,  if  lliey  do,  theu  they  will  disdain  to  hunt 
or  williiiglr  to  bring  in  their  dugs  ;  but  if  men  be  kind  unto 
them,  and  be  in  tlieir  habit,  then  are  they  eoiii|uered  with  kitid- 
iiisw,  and  the  «|>«rt  will  he  pleniiful.  This  was  the  reason  that 
I  found  so  many  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  those  shapes 
Hut  to  proi-e<d  to  the  hunting  : —  ^ 

"  My  good  I.onl  of  Marr  having  put  me  into  that  shape,  1 
rode  with  him  from  his  house,  where  I  saw  the  ruins  of  an  oM 
castle,  called  the  Castle  of  Kindrogliit.  It  was  built  by  King 
Malcolm  Canniore  (for  a  hunting-house),  who  reigneil  in  t^eol- 
land  when  Edward  the  Confessor,  ILirohl,  and  Norman  Wil- 
liam, n-igned  in  England.  1  spc.tk  of  it,  because  it  was  the 
hi-st  house  I  saw  in  those  parts  ;  for  I  was  the  space  of  tMelvi^ 
days  after,  before  I  saw  either  house,  corn-field,  or  habitnlion 
for  any  en-atun-,  but  deer,  wild  liuptes,  wolves,  and  such  liko 
creatures, — which  made  mo  doubt  that  I  should  never  have 
Eccn  a  house  again. 

"Thus,  the  fir>l  day,  we  travelled  eight  miles,  where  there 
were  small  collages,  built  on  purpose  lo  lodge  in,  which  they 
call  Lonquhards.  I  thank  my  good  Lord  Erskine,  he  com- 
manded that  I  should  always  be  lodged  in  his  lo.lging  :  iho 
kitchen  being  always  on  the  side  of  a  bank  :  many  keitli-s  and 
pots  boiling,  and  many  spits  turning  and  winding,  with  great 
variety  of  cheer, — as  venison  baked  ;  itodden,  rost,  and  slewed 
beef;  mutton,  ^oals,  kid.  hares,-  fresh  salmon,  pigeons,  hens, 
capons,  chickens,  partridges,  muii^-ooLs,  heath-cocks,  caper- 
kellics,  and  termagants;  good  ale,  sacke,  white  and  claret, 
tent  (or  allegant).  with  most  potent  a(|uavitx. 

"  AH  these,  and  more  than  these,  wc  had  continually  in  sn 
Iierflnous  abundance,  caught  by  falconers,  fowlers,  fisher^i,  ane 
brought  by  my  lord's  tenants  and  purveyors  to  victual  oui 
camp,  which  consisteth  of  foortoon  or  fifteen  hundred  men  and 
horses.  The  manner  of  the  hunting  is  this:  Five  or  six  linn- 
dred  men  do  rise  early  in  the  morning,  and  they  do  disperse  them- 
selves divers  ways,  and  seven,  eight,  or  ten  miles  compass,  they 
do  bring,  or  cha.se  in,  the  deer  in  many  herds  (two,  three,  or 
four  hundred  in  a  herd),  to  such  or  such  a  place,  as  the  iiuble- 
men  shall  ap|)oint  them  ;  tlien,  when  day  is  come,  the  lonls 
und  gentlemen  of  their  companies  do  ride  or  go  lo  the  said 
places,  sometimes  w;iding  up  to  the  middles,  through  bums 
and  rivers  ;  and  then,  they  being  come  to  the  place,  do  lie  down 
on  the  ground,  till  those  foresaid  seouLs,  which  are  called  the 
Tinkhell,  do  bring  down  the  deer;  but,  as  the  proverb  says  ol 
the  bad  cook,  so  these  tinkhell  men  do  lick  their  own  fingers ; 
for,  besides  their  bows  and  arrows,  which  they  carry  willi  them, 
we  can  hear,  now  and  then,  a  harquebuss  or  a  musket  go  off, 
which  they  do  seldom  diiinharge  in  vain.  Then,  after  wc  had 
staid  there  three  liours,  or  lliereabouls,  we  might  perceive  the 
deer  appear  on  the  hills  round  about  us  (their  hcacl.s  making  a 
show  like  a  wood),  which,  being  followed  close  by  the  tinkhell, 
are  chased  down  into  the  valley  where  we  lay  ;  then  all  the 
valley,  on  each  .side,  being  way-laid  with  a  hundred  couple  of 
stron"  Irish  greyhounds,  they  arc  all  let  loose,  as  occasion 
serves,  upon  the  hen!  of  deer,  that  with  dogs,  guns,  arrows, 
durks,  and  daggers,  in  the  space  of  two  hours,  fourscore  fat 
deer  were  slain;  which  after  are  disposed  of,  some  one  way, 
and  some  another,  twenty  and  thirly  miles,  and  more  than 
enough  left  for  us,  to  make  merry  withall,  at  our  rendezvous." 


Note  W. 

Vy  lone  Saint  Mary's  silatt  lake.—F.  95 
This  beautiful  sheet  of  water  forms  the  reservoir  from  which 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


161 


the  Yarrow  takes  its  source.  It  is  connected  with  a  smaller 
lake,  called  the  Loch  of  the  Lowes,  and  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains In  tlie  winter,  it  is  still  frequented  by  flights  of  wild 
swans  ;  hence  my  friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines  : — 

"  The  swan  on  sweet  St.  Mary's  lake 
Floats  double,  swan  and  shadow." 

y  '.a.T  the  lower  extremity  of  the  lake,  are  the  ruins  of  Dry- 
hope  tower,  the  birth-place  of  Mary  Scott,  daught>»  uf  I'liiliji 
Scott,  of  Dryhope,  and  famous  by  the  traditional  name  of  the 
Flower  of  Yarrow.  She  was  married  to  Walter  Scolt  of  Har- 
den, no  less  renowned  for  his  depredations,  than  his  bride  for 
her  beauty.  Her  romantic  appellation  was,  in  later  days,  with 
equal  justice,  conferred  on  Miss  Mary  Lilias  Scott,  the  last  of 
the  elder  branch  of  the  Harden  family.  The  author  well  re- 
members the  talent  and  spirit  of  the  latter  Flower  of  Yarrow, 
though  age  had  then  injured  the  charms  wliich  procured  her 
the  name.  Tiie  words  usually  sung  to  the  air  of  "  Tweedside," 
beginning,  "  VVIiat  beauties  does  Flora  disclose,"  were  com- 
posed in  lier  honor. 


Note  X. 


in  feudal  strife,  a  foe, 

Hath  laid  Oar  Lady's  chapel  low. — P.  06. 
% 
The  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes  (dc  lacuous)  was  situ- 
ated on  the  eastern  side  of  tiie  lake,  to  wliicli  it  gives  name. 
It  was  injured  by  the  clan  of  Scott,  in  a  feud  with  tlie  Cran- 
stouns;  but  continued  to  be  a  place  of  worsliip  during  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  vestiges  of  the  building  can  now 
scarcely  be  traced  ;  but  the  burial-ground  is  still  used  as  a  cem- 
etery. A  funeral,  iji  a  spot  so  very  retired,  lias  an  uncommon- 
ly striking  effect.  The  vestiges  of  the  chajjlain's  house  are  yet 
visible.  Being  in  a  high  situation,  it  commanded  a  full  view 
of  the  lake,  with  the  opposite  mountain  of  Bourhope,  belong- 
ing, with  the  lake  itself,  to  Lord  Napier.  On  the  left  hand  is 
the  tower  of  Dryhope,  mentioned  in  a  ])receding  note. 


Note  Y. 


the  IVizard' s  grave  ; 

That  (Vizard  Pricst\i,  whose  hones  arc  thrust 
From  covtpaiiij  of  holy  dust. — P.  96. 

At  one  corner  of  the  burial-ground  of  the  demolished  chapel, 
bat  without  its  precincts,  is  a  small  mound,  called  Ilinram's 
Corse,  where  tradition  deposits  the  remains  of  a  necromantic 
priest,  the  former  tenant  of  the  chaplainry.  His  story  much 
resembles  that  of  Ambrosio  in  "The  Monk,"  and  has  been 
made  the  theme  of  a  ballad,  by  my  friend  Mr.  James  Hogg, 
more  |)oetically  designed  Ihc  Ettrick  Shepherd.  To  liis  vol- 
ume, entitled  "Tlie  Mountain  Bard,"  which  contains  this, 
and  [uauy  other  legendary  stories  and  ballads  of  great  merit,  1 
refer  the  curious  reader. 


Note  Z. 


Some  ruder  and  more  savaffe  scene. 

Like  that  which  frowns  round  dark  Loch-skcnc. — P.  96. 

Loeh-skene  is  a  mountain  lake,  of  considerable  size,  at  the 
head  of  the  Motfal-watcr.  The  character  of  the  scenery  is 
uncommonly  savage  ;  and  the  earn,  or  Scottish  eagle,  has,  for 
many  ages,  built  its  nest  yearly  upon  an  islet  in  the  lake. 
I..och-skeD3  discharges  itself  into  a  brook,  which,  after  a  short 
and  precipit.ite  course,  falls  from  a  cataract  of  immense  lieiglit, 
and  gloomy  grandeur,  called,  from  its  appearance,  the  "  Gray 
21 


Mare's  Tail."  The  "  Giant's  Grave,"  afterwards  mentioned, 
is  a  sort  of  trench,  which  bears  that  name,  a  little  way  from 
the  foot  of  the  cataract.  It  has  the  appearance  of  a  battery, 
designed  to  command  the  pass. 


Note  2  A. 


high  Whitby's  cloister' d  pile. — P.  97. 

The  Abbey  of  Whitby,  in  the  Archdeaconry  ofCleaveland, 
on  the  coast  of  Yorkshire,  was  founded  A.  D.  657,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  vow  of  Oswy,  King  of  Northumberland.  It  con- 
tained both  monks  and  nuns  of  the  Benedictine  order;  but, 
contrary  to  what  was  usual  in  such  establishments,  the  abbess 
was  superior  to  the  abbot.  The  monastery  was  afterwards 
ruined  by  the  Danes,  and  rebuilt  by  William  Percy,  in  the 
reign  of  the  Conqueror.  Tliere  were  no  nuns  there  in  Henry 
the  Eighth's  lime,  nor  long  before  it.  The  ruins  of  Whitby 
Abbey  are  very  magnificent. 


Note  2  B. 


St.  Cuthbcrt's  Holy  Islc.—V.  97. 

Lindisfarne,  an  isle  on  the  coast  of  Northumberland,  was 
called  Holy  Island,  from  the  sanctity  of  its  ancient  monastery, 
and  from  its  having  been  the  ejiiscopal  seat  of  the  see  of  Dur- 
ham during  the  early  ages  of  British  Christianity.  A  succes- 
sion of  holy  men  held  that  office  ;  but  their  merits  were  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  superior  fame  of  St.  Cuthbert,  who  was  sixth 
Bishop  of  Durham,  and  who  bestowed  the  name  of  his  "  patri- 
mony" upon  the  extensive  proj)erty  of  the  see.  The  ruins  of 
the  monastery  upon  Holy  Island  betoken  great  antiquity.  The 
arches  are,  in  general,  strictly  Saxon  ;  and  the  pillars  which 
support  them,  short,  strong,  and  massy  In  some  places, 
however,  there  are  pointed  windows,  which  indicate  that  the 
building  has  been  repaired  at  a  period  long  subsequent  to  the 
original  foundation.  The  exterior  ornaments  of  the  building, 
being  of  a  light  sandy  stone,  have  been  wa-sted,  as  described 
in  tiie  text.  Lmdisfarne  is  not  properly  an  island,  but  rather, 
as  the  venerable  Bede  has  termed  it,  a  semi-isle  ;  for,  although 
surrounded  by  the  sea  at  full  tide,  the  ebb  leaves  the  sands  dry 
between  it  and  the  opposite  coast  of  Northumberland,  from 
which  it  is  about  three  miles  distant. 


Note  2  C. 


Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told 
How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 
Must  menial  service  do. — P.  99. 

The  popular  account  of  this  curious  service,  which  waa 
probably  considerably  exaggerated,  is  thus  given  in  "  A  True 
Account,"  jirinted  and  circulated  at  Whitby  :  "  In  the  fifth 
year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  after  the  conquest  of  England 
by  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  the  Lord  of  Cglebarnby, 
then  called  William  de  Bruce ;  the  Lord  of  Smeaton,  called 
Raljih  de  Percy  ;  with  a  gentleman  and  freeholder  called  Al- 
latsou,  did,  on  the  16th  of  October,  1159,  appoint  to  meet  an^ 
hunt  the  wild  hoar,  in  a  certain  wood,  or  desert  place,  belong- 
ing to  the  Abbot  of  Wiiitby  ;  the  place's  name  was  Eskdale- 
side  ;  and  the  abbot's  name  was  Sedman.  Then,  these  young 
gentlemen  being  met,  with  their  hounds  and  boar-staves,  in  the 
place  before  mentioned,  and  there  having  found  a  great  wild- 
boar,  the  hounds  ran  him  well  near  about  the  chapel  and  her 
milage  of  Eskdale-side,  where  was  a  monk  of  Whitby,  who 
was  an  hermit.  The  boar,  being  very  sorely  pursuetl,  and 
dead-run,  took  in  at  the  chapel  door,  there  laid  him  down,  and 
presently  died.    The  hermit  shut  the  liounds  out  of  the  chapel, 


16!i 


scorr's  poetical  works. 


•ml  kept  hiaMcIf  within  at  hu  mrtliuilioiw  and  praycn,  tb« 

bo-  'I"                          ill  the  lliiek 

o:  I  ll«o  cf)'  of 

('  '  on  tlio  her- 

I,  t\i(liiii  they 

I,  1,  in  n  very 

r  "aino,  (lilt 

I.  I  at  the  lirnnit  ttitli  tlieir  boar- 
t  '<-t  iIimI.  Tlwmiiion  the  (»pnllt- 
II  :  that  they  wi-ra  in  peril  of  ilcalh, 
ti  <...^li:  Bill  at  llint  lime  the  abbot 
t-  rwith  the  King,  rrniovml  them  out  of 
I  came  in  liaii^'T  of  thr  l.iw,  and 

II,  >  lo  have  thr  vvitiIv  oI' llic  law, 
»  .ill.  llul  the  hrriiiil,  liiliig  a  liuly  and 
i!  IKiini  ol'ilt'alli,  H'lit  lur  llie  abbot,  and 
i:  <-n  U'lio  bail  wounded  him. 
'I  ."II  canii- ;  and  the  hi-rmit, 
I '  I  wratt,  (ojd  unio  tticm,  '  I  nm  sure  to  die 
ot  you  have  given  me.' — Tlie  abbot  an.iwerod, 
'They  thall  a<  lurely  die  for  tlie  name.' — But  tlie  hermit  an- 
■weretl,  '  Not  (O,  for  I  will  freely  forgive  them  my  dealt),  if 
ihey  will  be  content  to  bo  enjoined  the  penance  I  shall  lay  on 

tr 

1'- 
•  \ 

a> 
yoD 


-uard  of  tlieir  loulj.'  The  gentlemen  being 
.  nave  their  lives.  Then  said  the  hermit, 
I'll  hold  your  lands  of  the  Abbot  of  Whitby, 
in  thi^  manner  :  That,  ujion  Asceii^ion-day, 
ur  Millie  of  you,  ahall  come  to  the  wood  of  tlie  Strny- 
headii,  which  i<i  in  Eskdale-«ide,  the  same  day  at  san-ri-iiiig, 
and  tlirre  shall  Uie  abbot'ii  officer  blow  hir«  horn,  to  the  intent 
Uut  you  may  know  where  to  find  him  ;  and  he  shall  deliver 
onto  you,  William  du  Bruce,  ten  stakes,  eleven  strout  stowcrs, 
•ml  eleven  yelheni,  to  be  cot  by  you,  or  some  of  yoo,  with  a 
knife  of  one-  |ienny  price :  and  you.  Ralph  dc  Percy,  shall  take 
(wenty-ono  of  each  rort,  lo  be  cut  in  the  same  manner  ;  and 
yon,  AllatM>n,  shall  lake  nine  of  each  sort,  lo  be  cut  as  afore- 
M  il.  n:.i\  to  be  taken  on  your  backs  anil  carried  to  the  town  of 
Wi-  ■'. ,  f.r'.i  lo  be  there  before  nine  of  the  clock  the  same  day 
b-  iii-<l.     At  ihe  same  lionr  of  nine  of  the  clock,  if 

II  .  your  labor  and  service  shall  cease  ;  and  if  low 

water,  each  of  you  (hall  set  your  stakes  to  the  brim,  each 
(take  one  yanl  from  the  other,  and  so  ycthcr  them  on  each  side 
with  your  ^c'.ber^  ;  and  so  stake  on  each  side  with  your  strout 
(towcn,  that  they  may  stand  three  tides  without  removing  by 
Ibe  force  thereof.  Each  of  yon  shall  do,  make,  and  execute 
the  laid  ••rvice,  at  that  very  hour,  every  year,  eicept  it  be  full 
•ea  at  that  hour :  but  when  it  shall  so  fall  out,  this  service 
■liall  c'-i^e.  Yon  shall  faithfully  do  this,  in  remembrance 
that  yon  •'.:■',  moM  cmcllir  slay  me;  and  that  you  may  the  bet- 
ter call  lo  Go'l  for  mercy,  repent  unfuignedly  of  your  sins,  and 
do  goo<l  worl,-.  Thij  officer  of  E.«kdale-side  shall  blow,  Outon 
jfou!    Uut'  'ut  on  you  I   for  this  heinous  crime.     If 

yoo,  or  yoD.-    .;■.,  shall  refuse  this  service,  so  long  an  it 

•hill  not  bo  full  tea  at  the  aforesaid  hour,  yon  or  yours  shall 
Ibrfeit  yonr  lands  to  the  Abbot  of  Whitby,  or  his  successors. 
Thi»  I  entreat,  and  eameiitly  beg,  that  you  may  have  lives  and 
gouil*  |r  I  .•:  and  I  request  of  you  to  prom- 

Be,  b\  that  it  «hall  be  done  by  you  and 

yoor  »n.'. "  *.<jr».  i»  I',  aluri.  .lid  re<|nc«|i-d  :  and  I  will  confirm 
it  by  the  Liilh  of  an  hom-st  man.' — Then  the  hermit  said,  '  My 
•out  lonff'th  for  tli"  Ixjnl  :  and  I  do  a.s  freely  forgive  these 
men  my  death  a.«  Ci.ri.^t  forgave  the  thieves  on  the  cross.'  And, 
io  the  [.resenre  of  llio  abbot  and  the  rest,  he  said  moreover 
these  wonln :  '  /■  maniu  tuot,  fJominr,  commendo  spirilum 
mtum,  a  vincuiit  enin  mortU  rtdtmitti  me,  Domine  verita- 
tit.  jimen.' — So  ho  yielded  up  the  ghost  the  eighth  day  of 
December,  anno  Domini  1159,  whoae  soul  God  have  mercy 
apon.     Amen. 

"  This  sen  ice,"  it  ia  added,  "  still  continue*  to  bo  performed 
with  the  fip''rTib"d  ceremonies.  thou::li  not  by  ilio  proprietors 
in  person.  P-irt  of  the  lands  charceil  (herewith  are  now  held 
*y  a  genllcm.'^n  of  the  Dame  of  Uerbcrt." 


Note  '2  D, 


in  Iheir  conrmt  ctll 


Jl  SaiuH  jirincrtt  once  did  dicell. 
The  lovehj  y.Jr^jled.--V.  !KI. 
She  was  Jio  daughter  uf  King  0»»vy,  who,  in  gnlituilo  to 
Heaven  fui  the  great  victory  wliieh  he  won  in  t'fci.'i,  ngaiii«t 
Penda,  th"  ["ngnM  King  of  Mereia,  dedicated  Kdellleda.  then 
but  a  year  old,  to  the  servic<'  of  Uod,  in  the  nionattery  ol 
Whitby,  of  which  St.  Hilda  was  then  abbeK.  She  afterwards 
adorned  the  jilace  of  her  education  with  great  mogiiiliccneo 


Note  2  E 


of  thousand  tnalief,  each  one 

IVas  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

H'hcn  holy  Hilda  pray'd ; 
They  told,  how  sea-foxW  pinions  fail, 
As  over  fVhitby's  lowers  they  sail. — P.  99. 

These  two  miracles  are  much  insisted  upon  by  all  ancient 
writers  who  have  occasion  to  mention  either  Whitby  or  St. 
Hilda.  The  relics  of  the  snakes  which  infested  the  pn-cincts 
of  the  convent,  and  were,  at  the  abbess's  prayer,  not  only  be- 
headed, but  petrified,  ure  still  found  about  the  rocks,  and  are 
termed  by  Protestant  fossilisls,  .Immonita. 

The  other  miracle  is  thus  nieiitioned  by  C.imden  :  "  Ft  is 
also  ascribed  lo  the  power  of  her  sanctity,  that  these  wild 
geese,  wli>:h,  in  the  winter,  fly  in  great  flocks  to  the  lakes  and 
rivers  unfrozen  in  the  southern  parts,  lo  the  great  amazement 
of  every  one,  fall  down  suddeuly  ujion  the  ground,  when 
they  are  in  their  flight  over  certain  neighboring  fields  here- 
abouts :  a  relation  I  should  not  have  made,  if  I  had  not  re- 
ceived it  from  some  credible  men.  But  those  who  are  less  in- 
clined to  heed  superstition,  attribute  it  to  some  occult  quality 
in  the  ground,  and  to  somewhat  of  antipathy  between  it  and 
the  geese,  such  as  they  say  is  betwixt  wolves  and  scyllaroots  : 
For  that  such  hidden  tendencies  and  aversions,  as  we  call 
sympathies  and  antipathies,  arc  implanted  in  many  things  by 
provident  Nature  for  the  preservation  of  them,  is  a  thing  so 
evident  that  everybody  grants  it."  Mr.  Charlton,  in  his  His- 
tory of  Whitby,  points  out  tho  true  origin  of  the  fable,  from 
the  number  of  sea-gulls  that,  when  flying  from  a  storm,  often 
alight  near  Whitby  ;  and  from  the  woodcocks,  and  other  birds 
of  passage,  who  do  the  same  upon  their  arrival  on  shore,  after 
a  long  flight. 


Note  2  F. 


His  body's  resting-place,  of  old. 

How  oft  their  Patron  changed,  they  told. —  P.  99. 

St.  Cnthbert  was,  in  the  choice  of  his  sepulchre,  one  of  the 
most  mutable  and  unreasonable  saints  in  the  Calendar.  He 
died  A  o.  688,  in  a  hermitage  upon  the  Fame  Islands,  having 
resigned  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne,  or  Holy  Island,  about 
two  years  before.i  Ilis  body  was  brought  to  Lindisfarne, 
where  it  remained  until  a  descent  of  the  Danes,  about  7'J3, 
when  the  monastery  was  nearly  destroyed.  The  monks  fled 
to  Scotland  wilh  what  they  deemed  their  chief  treasure,  the 
relics  of  St.  Cnthbert.  The  Saint  was,  however,  a  most  capri- 
cious fellow-traveller;  which  was  the  more  intolerable,  as, 
like  Sinbad's  Old  Man  of  Ihe  Sea,  he  journeyed  upon  the 
shoulden  of  his  companions.  They  paraded  him  through 
Scotland  for  several  years,  and  came  as  far  west  as  WhiUiem, 
in  Galloway,  whence  they  attempted  to  sail  for  Ireland,  but 
were  driven  back  by  tempests.  He  at  length  made  a  halt  at 
Norliam  ;  from  thence  he  went  to  Melrose,  where  he  remained 

1  He  rcsomcd  the  biihopric  of  LInilUhme,  which,  owing  lo  biul  hcnllli, 
h«  a<iiin  rclinqnishcd  within  1cm  Ibsn   three  months  before  his  death.— 

RiLTVE's  St.  CulltbtTt. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


163 


■Uitionary  for  a  short  time,  and  then  caused  himself  to  be 
launched  ujion  the  Tweed  in  a  stone  coffin,  wliieh  landed  liim 
at  Tilmouth,  in  Northumberland.  This  boat  is  finely  shaped, 
ten  feet  long,  three  feet  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and  only  four 
inches  thick  ;  so  that,  with  very  little  assistance,  it  might  cei^ 
tainly  have  swam  :  It  still  lies,  or  at  least  did  so  a  few  years 
ago,  in  two  pieces,  beside  the  ruined  chapel  of  Tilmouth. 
From  Tihnouth,  Cnthbert  wandered  into  Yorkshire ;  and  at 
length  made  a  long  stay  at  Chestei^le-street,  to  which  the 
bishop's  see  was  transferred.  At  length,  the  Danes,  continu- 
ing to  infest  the  country,  the  monks  removed  to  Rippon  for  a 
season  ;  ano  it  was  in  return  from  thence  to  Chester-le-street, 
that,  passing  through  a  forest  called  Dunholme,  the  Saint  and 
his  carriage  became  immovable  at  a  place  named  Wardlaw, 
or  Wardilaw.  Here  the  Saint  chose  his  place  of  residence  ; 
and  all  who  have  seen  Durham  must  admit,  that,  if  difficult 
in  his  choice,  he  evinced  taste  in  at  length  fixing  it.  It  is  said 
that  the  Northumbrian  Catholics  still  keep  secret  the  precise 
spot  of  the  Saint's  sepulture,  which  is  only  intrusted  to  three 
persons  at  a  time.  When  one  dies,  the  survivors  associate  to 
them,  m  his  room,  a  person  judged  fit  to  be  tlie  depository  of 
60  valuable  a  secret. 

[The  resting-place  of  the  remains  of  this  saint  is  not  now 
matter  of  uncertainty.  So  recently  a-s  17th  May,  1827,  1139 
years  after  his  death,  their  discovery  and  disinterment  were 
effected.  Under  a  blue  stone,  in  the  middle  of  the  shrine  of 
St.  Cuthbert,  at  the  eastern  e.xtremity  of  the  choir  of  Durham 
Cathedral,  there  was  then  found  a  walled  grave,  containing 
the  coffins  of  the  Saint.  The  first,  or  outer  one,  was  ascer- 
tained to  be  that  of  1541,  the  second  of  10-11 ;  the  third,  or  in- 
ner one,  answering  in  every  particular  to  the  description  of 
that  of  698,  was  found  to  contain,  not  indeed,  as  had  been 
averred  then,  and  even  until  1539,  the  incorruptible  body,  but 
the  entire  skeleton  of  the  Saint ;  the  bottom  of  the  grave  being 
perfectly  dry,  free  from  offensive  smell,  and  without  the  slight- 
est symptom  that  a  human  body  had  ever  undergone  decora- 
position  within  its  walls.  The  skeleton  was  found  swathed  in 
five  silk  robes  of  emblematical  embroidery,  the  ornamental 
parts  laid  with  gold  leaf,  and  these  again  covered  with  a  robe 
of  linen.  Beside  the  skeleton  were  also  deposited  several  gold 
and  silver  insignia,  and  other  relics  of  the  Saint. 

The  Roman  Catholics  now  allow  that  the  coffin  was  that  of 
St.  Cuthbert. 

The  bones  of  the  Saint  were  again  restored  to  the  grave  in 
a  new  cciHn,  amid  the  fragments  of  the  former  ones.  Those 
portions  of  the  inner  coffin  which  could  be  preserved,  inclu- 
ding one  of  its  rings,  with  the  silver  altar,  golden  cross,  stole, 
comb,  two  maniples,  bracelets,  girdle,  gold  wire  of  the  skele- 
ton, and  fragments  of  the  five  silk  robes,  and  some  of  the  rings 
of  the  outer  coffin  made  in  1541,  were  deposited  in  the  library 
of  the  Dean  and  Chapter,  where  they  are  now  preserved. 

For  ample  details  of  the  life  of  St.  Cuthbert, — his  coffin- 
journeys, — an  account  of  the  opening  of  his  tomb,  and  a  de- 
scription of  the  silk  robes  and  other  relics  found  in  it,  the  reader 
interested  in  such  matters  is  referred  to  a  work  entitled  "  Saint 
Cuthbert,  by  James  Raine,  M.  A."  (4to,  Durham,  1828), 
wliere  he  will  find  much  of  antiquarian  history,  ceremonies, 
and  superstitions,  to  gratify  his  curiosity.] — Ed. 


Note  2  G. 

Kven  Scotland' s  dauntless  king  and  heir,  <J-c. 
Before  his  standard  fled. — P.  100. 

Every  one  has  heard,  that  when  David  I.,  with  his  son 
Henry,  invaded  Northumberland  in  1136,  the  English  host 
marched  against  them  under  the  holy  banner  of  St.  Cuthbert ; 
to  the  efficacy  of  which  was  imputed  the  great  victory  which 
Mey  obtained  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Northallerton,  or  Cuton- 
tnooi      The  conquerors  were  at  least  as  much  indebted  to  the 


jealousy  and  intractability  of  the  different  tnbes  who  composed 
David's  army;  among  whom,  as  mentioned  in  the  text,  were 
the  Galwegians,  the  Britons  of  Strath-Clyde,  the  men  of  Te- 
viotdale  and  Lothian,  with  many  Norman  a:.d  German  war- 
riors, who  asserted  the  cause  of  the  Empress  Maud.  See 
Chalmers'  Caledonia,  vol.  i.  p.  622  ;  a  most  laborious,  cq 
rious,  and  interesting  publication,  from  which  considerablf 
defects  of  style  and  manner  ought  not  to  turn  aside  the  Scot 
tish  antiquary. 


Note  2  H. 


'  Ticas  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign. 

Edged  Alfred's  falchion  on  the  Dane, 

Jind  turn'd  the  Conqueror  back  again. — P.  100. 

Cuthbert,  we  have  seen,  had  no  great  reason  to  spare  the 
Danes,  when  opportunity  offered.  Accordingly,  I  find,  in 
Simeon  of  Durham,  that  the  Saint  appeared  in  a  vision  to 
Alfred,  when  lurking  in  the  marshes  of  Glastonbury,  and 
promised  him  assistance  and  victory  over  his  heathen  enemies ; 
a  consolation,  which,  as  was  reasonable,  Alfred,  after  the  vic- 
tory of  Ashendown,  rewarded,  by  a  royal  offering  at  the  shnne 
of  the  Saint.  As  to  William  the  Conqueror,  the  terror  spread 
before  his  army,  when  he  marched  to  punish  the  revolt  of  the 
Northumbrians,  in  1096,  had  forced  the  monks  to  fly  once 
more  to  Holy  Island  with  the  body  of  the  Saint.  It  was,  how- 
ever, replaced  before  William  left  the  north  ;  and,  to  balance 
accounts,  the  Conqueror  having  intimated  an  indiscreet  cnrioe- 
ity  to  view  the  Saint's  body,  he  was,  while  in  the  act  of  com- 
manding the  shrine  to  be  opened,  seized  with  heal  and  sickness, 
accompanied  with  such  a  panic  terror,  that,  notwithstanding 
there  was  a  sumptuous  dinner  prepared  for  him,  he  fled  with- 
out eating  a  morsel  (which  the  monkish  historian  seems  to  have 
thought  no  small  part  both  of  the  miracle  and  the  penance), 
and  never  drew  his  bridle  till  he  got  to  the  river  Tees. 


WOTE  2  L 


Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 

The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name. — P.  100. 

Although  we  do  not  learn  that  Cnthbert  was,  during  his  life, 
such  an  artificer  as  Dnnstan,  his  brother  in  sanctity,  yet,  since 
his  death,  he  has  acquired  the  reputation  of  forging  those  En- 
trochi  which  are  found  among  the  rocks  of  Holy  Island,  and 
pass  there  by  the  name  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Beads.  While  at 
this  task,  he  is  supposed  to  sit  during  the  night  upon  a  certain 
rock,  and  use  another  as  his  anvil.  This  story  was  perhaps 
credited  in  former  days ;  at  least  the  Saint's  legend  contains 
some  not  more  probable. 


Note  2  K. 

Old  Colwulf.—F.  100. 

Ceolwulf,  or  Colwulf,  King  of  Northumberland,  flourislieo 
in  the  eighth  century.  He  was  a  man  of  some  learning  ;  for 
the  venerable  Bede  dedicates  to  him  his  "  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory." He  abdicated  the  throne  about  738,  and  retired  to 
Holy  Island,  where  he  died  in  the  odoi  of  sanctity.  Saint  as 
Colwulf  was,  however,  I  fear  the  foundation  of  the  penance 
vault  does  not  correspond  with  his  character  ;  for  it  is  recorded 
among  his  memorabilia,  that,  finding  the  air  of  tlie  island  raw 
and  cold,  he  indulged  the  monks,  whose  rule  had  hitherto  con- 
fined them  to  milk  or  water,  with  the  comfortable  privileee  of 
using  wine  or  ale.  If  any  rigid  antiquary  insists  on  this  objec- 
tion, he  is  welcome  to  suppose  the  penance-vault  was  intended, 
by  the  founder,  for  the  more  genial  purposes  of  a  cellar. 


1C4 


SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thcw  (lenitenlial  vanlu  were  (h<*  Oeittd-frwulbe  of  Ger- 

Bi:i  III  llic  earlirr  and  iiiur«  n;;IJ  liiiit-a  ut' iiiuiiUKlic 

^1-  >   Mrtv  •uiiirUiim  uarti  u  B  criiirtrry  tur  llio  lay 

brii.  u.  ioi '  ul  ilir  cuiitriil,  wliuw  uiiutni'minl  uur|Mr«  writ) 
liuTii  X  llorii  |>  riiiiiti^  lo  |iullulr  the  ctioir.  Tliry  aUo  *rrvoil 
W  plai'«-m  ul  iiii-*-tiii;;  I'ur  llir  cliaptrr.  whrii  iiif*ai«uri-*  ufuiii-uiii- 
man  vtrnl)  urrr  lo  Ixi  xloptr^l.  liul  tlirir  iiiwl  Imiuciit 
oap,  as  iiii|ilir<l  by  (he  naiiir,  waa  a*  place*  fur  (lerfonniiig  pvu- 
ancca,  ut  uiHlrrsoinj(  puiiuhiuont. 


Note  2  L. 

TymfmoutM's  kaughlti  Priurens. — P.  100. 

Thai  tliirr  »&.«  an  ancipiil  priury  ul  Tyncinoulli  u  ccrtAin. 
lU  niiiu  aiv  fitualed  on  a  high  rocky  (loiiit ;  and,  doubtlum, 
many  a  vow  wai  mode  to  thv  •liriiie  by  the  dislniwcd  morinvn 
who  drove  towanU  the  Iron-bound  coam  of  Northuniberland 
in  (tormy  wrathrr.  It  wa«  anciently  a  nunnery  ;  for  Virca, 
■bbcM  ul'Tyneniouth,  |in.-9ented  St.  Cutlibrrt  (yet  alive)  with 
>  rare  wiiitJinK-^li<-ft,  in  einulalion  of  a  holy  laily  called  Tuda, 
who  had  Hrnt  him  a  coffin  :  Rut,  on  in  llic  caoc  of  Whitby,  and 
of  Holy  li>lanil,  (he  introduction  of  nuii!i  at  Tyneniouth,  in 
Uie  rcign  of  llt-nry  VIII.  i»  an  anachronl.sni.  The  nunnery  at 
Holy  liland  ii  allogether  fii'litious.  Indeed,  St.  Culliben  was 
nnlikriy  to  permit  nucli  an  n)tabUi>hinrnt  ;  for,  notwithstand- 
ing hi*  accepting  (he  mortuary  gifU  above  mcniioncd,  and  his 
carrying  on  a  vi>itiiig  aci|uamiancc  with  the  Abbcm  of  Cul- 
dingham,  be  certainly  haleil  the  whole  female  sex  ;  and,  in 
revenge  of  a  >lip|iery  tnck  played  to  liini  by  an  Irish  prinucMi, 
be,  after  death.  Inflicted  i>evrr>-  pcnancex  on  such  as  presumed 
to  approach  williia  a  certain  distance  of  his  slirino. 


NOTK  2  M. 


On  those  the  uiatl  icas  lo  rnrlose, 
Jilice,  icilhin  the  tomb.—V.  102. 

It  is  well  known,  that  the  religious,  who  broke  their  vows 
of  cha.itity,  were  gubjecled  to  the  same  penalty  as  the  Roman 
vestals  in  a  similar  case.  A  small  niche,  sufficient  to  enclose 
their  botlies,  was  mode  in  the  ma»ivu  wall  of  the  convent ;  a 
alcndrr  pittance  of  food  and  water  was  dejioMted  in  it,  and  tlio 
awful  word*,  V»Bi!  in  Pace,  were  the  signal  for  immuring 
the  criminal.  It  is  not  likely  that,  in  latter  times,  this  puniidi- 
ment  wa."  often  reported  to  ;  but  among  the  ruins  of  the  Abbey 
of  Coldingham,  were  sonic  years  ago  di-movered  the  reinuins 
of  a  female  •kelcton,  which,  from  the  sha|>e  of  the  niche,  and 
position  of  the  figure,  seemed  to  be  that  of  an  iiritnured  nun. 

[The  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  on  st.  xxxii.  post,  suggests  that 
Ibe  propc-r  reading  of  tlie  sentence  is  vade  in  pactm — not  part 
in  peace,  but  go  into  peace,  or  into  eterual  ruot,  a  pretty  intel- 
ligible mitunins  to  another  world.] 


Note  2  N. 


Ther>iUageinn.—r.  107. 

The  accommodations  of  a  Scoltuh  hostelric,  or  inn,  in  the 
16th  century,  may  be  collected  from  Dunbar's  admirable  tale 
of  "Tlie  Friars  of  Berwick."  Hiinon  Lawder,  "  the  gay 
oetlier."  seems  lo  have  lived  very  comfortably  ;  and  his  wife 
decorate<l  her  |ierM)n  with  a  s<;arlet  kirtle,  and  a  belt  of  silk 
and  Ki'vcr,  anil  rings  Ufion  herfingrrs;  and  feasted  her  para- 
mour with  rabbits,  capons,  partridges,  and  Rordeaux  wine. 
At  least,  if  the  Seotlith  inns  were  not  good,  it  was  not  for 
want  of  encouragement  from  the  Icgijiaturc  ;  who,  so  e.vly  as 
tlie  reign  of  James  I.,  not  only  enacted,  that  in  all  boroughs 
•ud  fain  there  be  hoslellaries,  having  stabl«ii  and  ciiaiuben, 


and  |irovi«ion  for  man  .ind  honte,  but  by  another  statute,  or 
dainml  that  no  man,  tra«vlllng  on  liur>«  or  foot,  uliould  pre- 
sume to  loilge  an) where  e)ice|<t  in  tliri>e  ho«lrllarir«  ;  and  that 
no  |M*r%on,  save  innke«>|H-*n,  «liuuld  receive  i>ueh  travellcri,  un- 
der the  iwnaltjr  of  forty  •hillings,  for  exereiaiiig  auch  honpilal- 
i(y.i  Uiit,  in  •pile  uf  llir<o  provident  onactnienlo,  tin- Siottun 
hostels  aso  but  indinert-nt,  and  strangers  continue  to  iind  r»- 
oeption  in  the  house*  of  individuals. 


NoTK  2  0. 

The  death  of  a  dear  friend.— P.  109. 

Among  other  omens  to  which  faithful  credit  is  given  among 
the  Sco(ti'<h  peaxantry,  is  what  ii  callitl  the  "dead-bell,"  ex- 
plained by  my  fri'-nd  Janie<i  llu^g.  tu  l>e  that  tinkling  in  the 
ear<  which  the  country  (leople  regani  ai  the  secret  intelligenca 
of  some  friend's  decease,  lie  tells  a  story  to  the  purpose  in 
tJia  "  Mountain  Bard,"  p.  36. 

["  O  lady,  'lis  dark,  an'  I  heard  llic  dead-bell ! 
An'  I  darena  gae  yonder  for  gowd  iior  fee." 

"  By  the  dead-bell  is  meant  a  tinkling  in  the  ears,  which  our 
peasantry  in  the  country  regard  as  the  st'cret  intelligence  of 
some  friend's  decease.  Thus  (his  natural  occurrence  strikes 
many  with  a  su|H'n>litiou9  awe.  Thii  reminds  me  of  a  (rilling 
anecdo(e,  which  I  will  here  relale  as  an  instance: — Uur  two 
seKant-girls  agreed  to  go  on  an  errand  of  their  own,  one  nigiit 
after  sup|>cc,  to  a  ronsiderable  di^tance,  from  which  I  strove 
to  iienuai^lo  them,  but  could  not  prevail.  So,  after  going  to 
the  apartment  where  I  slept.  I  took  a  drinking-glass,  and, 
coming  close  lo  the  back  of  the  door,  made  two  or  three  9wee|ia 
round  the  lifHiof  the  gla.ss  with  my  finger,  which  caused  a  loud 
shrill  sound.  I  then  overheard  the  folluwing  dialogue:  — 
'  H.  Ah,  mercy  !  the  dead-bell  went  through  my  head  just 
now  wi'li  such  a  knell  as  I  never  he:ird.' — '  /.  I  heard  it  loo." 
— '  Ii.  Did  you  indeed  ?  That  is  remarkable.  I  never  knew 
of  two  hearing  it  at  the  same  time  before.' — '  /.  We  will  not 
go  to  Midgehope  to-night.' — '  Ii.  I  would  not  go  for  all  the 
world  !  I  shall  warrant  it  is  my  poor  brother  Wat  ;  who 
knows  what  these  wild  Iri.ihes  may  have  ilono  to  bim  ?'  " — 
ilooa'8  Jitountain  Hard,  3d  ICdii.  pp.  31-2.] 


Note  2  P. 


The  Ooblin-Hall.—V.  110. 

A  vaulted  hall  under  the  ancient  ca*tlc  of  Gilford  or  Yester 
(for  it  bears  either  name  indifferently),  the  construction  of 
which  has  from  a  very  remote  jieriod  been  a-scribed  to  m.igic. 
The  Stalbitical  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Garvald  and  Baro 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  present  slate  of  this  ca-stle 
and  apartment  :  "  Upon  a  penin^'ula,  formed  by  the  water  of 
Mopes  on  the  ea.st,  and  a  large  rivulet  on  the  west,  stands  the 
ancient  castle  of  Yester.  Sir  David  Dalryinple,  in  hii  Annals, 
relates,  that  '  Hugh  GifTord  dc  Yester  died  in  1207;  that  in 
his  ca>tle  there  was  a  capacious  cavern,  formed  by  magical 
art,  and  called  in  the  country  Bo-Ilall,  i.  e.  Hobgoblin  Mall  ' 
A  stair  of  twenty-four  »te|)s  led  down  totliis  apartment,  which 
is  a  large  and  spacious  hall,  with  an  arched  roof;  and  though 
it  hath  stood  for  so  many  centuries,  and  been  exposed  to  the 
external  air  for  a  period  of  fifty  or  sixty  years,  it  is  still  as  firm 
and  entire  as  if  it  had  only  stooil  a  few  years.  From  the  floor 
of  this  hall,  another  stair  of  thirty-six  steps  leads  down  to  a 
pit  which  hath  a  coinmunicalion  with  Mo|)e«-waler.  A  great 
part  of  the  wallsof  this  large  and  ancient  castle  arc  still  stand- 
ing. There  is  a  tradition,  that  the  castle  of  Yester  was  the 
last  fortiCcation,  in  this  country,  that  surrendered  to  General 

I  Jsniet  I.  Tar'  Ainciit  I.  cap.  94 ;  PsrUsmtnl  Ul.  cap.  it. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMIOX. 


165 


Gray,  sent  into  Scotland  by  Protector  Somerset."  Statisti- 
cal Jlccount,  vol.  xiii. — I  have-  only  to  add,  that,  in  1737,  the 
Goblin  Hall  was  tenanted  by  the  .Marquis  of  Tweeddule's  fal- 
coner, as  I  le.-irn  from  a  poem,  by  Boyse,  entitled  "Retire- 
ment," writter  upon  visiting  Yester.  It  is  now  rendered  in- 
accessible by  thi<  fall  of  the  stair. 

Sir  David  Daltymple's  authority  for  the  anecdote  is  in  For- 
dun,  whose  words  are,—"  A.  D.  mcclxvii.  JIugo  Oijj'ard 
de  Yester  moritur ;  cujus  castrum,  vel  saltern  caveam,  et 
dovgionem,  arte  damovicd  antiqua;  relationes  ferunt  fabri- 
faclus  :  nam  ibidem  habetur  mirabi/is  spccus  subterraneus, 
opere  mirijico  constructus,  mngno  tcrrarum  spatio  prote- 
latus,  qui  commiiiiiter  330^^clll  appcllatus  est."  lAb. 
X.  cap.  21. — Sir  David  conjectures  that  Hugh  deGifibrd  must 
either  have  been  a  very  wise  man,  or  a  great  oppressor. 


Note  2  Q. 

There  floated  Haco's  bnvner  trim 
JIbove  M'orweyan  warriors  grim. — 110. 

In  1263,  Haco,  King  of  Norway,  came  into  the  Frith  of 
Clyde  with  a  powerful  armament,  and  made  a  descent  at 
Largs,  in  Ayrbhire.  Here  he  was  encountered  and  defeated, 
on  the  2d  October,  by  Alexander  III.  Haco  retreated  to  Ork- 
ney, vvhei-e  lie  died  soon  after  this  disgrace  to  his  arms.  There 
are  still  existing,  near  the  )>lace  of  battle,  many  b.irrows,  some 
of  which,  liaving  been  opened,  were  found,  as  usual,  to  con- 
tain bones  and  urns. 


Note  2  R. 


The  wizard  habit  strange. — P.  111. 

"  Magicians,  as  is  well  known,  were  very  curious  in  the 
choice  and  form  of  their  vestments.  Their  caps  are  oval,  or 
like  pyramids,  with  lappets  on  each  side,  and  fur  within. 
Their  gowns  are  long,  and  furred  with  fox-skins,  under  which 
they  have  a  linen  garment  reaching  to  the  knee.  Their  girdles 
are  three  inches  broad,  and  have  many  cabalistical  names, 
with  crosses,  trines,  and  circles  inscribed  on  them.  Their 
shoes  should  be  of  new  russet  leather,  with  a  cross  cut  upon 
them.  Their  knives  are  dagger-fashion  ;  and  their  swords 
have  neither  guard  nor  scabbard." — See  these,  and  many  other 
particulars,  in  the  Discourse  concerning  Devils  and  Spirits,  an- 
nexed to  Reginald  Scott's  Discoiiery  of  Witchcraft,  edi- 
tion 166d. 


Note  2  S. 


Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle. — P.  111. 

"A  pentacle  is  a  piece  of  fine  linen,  folded  with  five  comers, 
according  to  the  five  senses,  and  suitably  inscril'ed  with  cliar^ 
acters.  This  the  magician  extends  towards  the  spiriis  which 
he  invoke.'!,  when  they  are  stubborn  and  rebellious,  and  refuse 
to  be  conformable  unto  the  ceremonies  and  rites  of  n'lgic." — 
See  the  Discourses,  Stc.  above  mentio!'>d,  p.  6C. 


Note  2  T. 


^s  born  vpon  that  blessed  night, 

When  yawning  graves  and  dying  groan 

Proclaim'd  Hell's  empire  overthrown. — P.  111. 

It  is  a  popular  article  of  faith,  that  those  who  are  bom  on 
Christmas,  or  Good  Friday,  have  the  power  of  seeing  sjjirits, 


and  even  of  commanding  them.  The  Spaniards  imjinted  the 
haggard  and  downcast  looks  of  their  Philip  II.  to  tlie  Jisagree- 
able  visions  to  which  this  privilege  subjected  him. 


Note,  2  U. 

Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield 
The  Elfin  warrior  doth  wield 

Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast. — P.  112. 

The  following  extract  from  the  Essay  upon  the  Fairy  Super- 
stitions, in  the  "Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  vol.  ii., 
will  show  whence  many  of  the  particulars  of  the  combat  be- 
tween Alexander  III.  and  the  Goblin  Knight  are^rived  : — 

Gervass_ol  iinmryjjita  imperial  ap.  Script,  rer.  Briinsvic 
(vol.  i.  p.  797),  relates  the  following  popularstory  concerning  a 
fairy  knight:  "  Osbcrt,  a  bold  and  ])Owerful  baron,  visited  a 
noble  family  in  the  vicinity  of  Wandlebury,  in  the  bishopric  of 
Ely.  Among  other  stories  related  in  the  social  circle  of  his 
friends,  who,  according  to  custom,  amused  each  other  by  re- 
peating ancient  tales  and  traditions,  he  was  informed,  that  if 
any  knight,  unattended,  entered  an  adjacent  plain  by  moon- 
light, and  challenged  an  adversary  to  appear,  he  would  be  im- 
mediately encountered  by  a  sjiirit  in  the  form  of  a  knight.  Os- 
bert  resolved  to  make  the  experiment,  and  set  out,  attended  by 
a  single  squire,  whom  he  ordered  to  remain  without  the  limits 
of  the  plain,  which  was  surrounded  by  an  ancient  entrench- 
ment. On  repeating  the  challenge,  he  was  instantly  assailed 
by  an  adversary,  whom  he  quickly  unhorsed,  and  seized  the 
reins  of  his  steed.  During  this  operation,  his  ghostly  opponent 
sprung  np,  and  darting  his  spear,  like  a  javelin,  at  Osbert. 
wounded  him  in  the  thigh.  Osbert  returned  in  triumph  witli 
the  horse,  which  he  committed  to  the  care  of  his  servants.  The 
horse  was  of  a  sable  color,  as  weU  as  his  whole  accoutrements, 
and  apparently  of  great  beauty  and  vigor.  He  remained  with 
his  keeper  till  cock-crowing,  when,  with  eyes  flashing  fire,  he 
reared,  spurned  the  ground,  and  vanished.  On  disarming  him- 
self, Osbert  perceived  that  he  was  wounded,  and  that  one  of 
his  steel  boots  v/as  full  of  blood."  Gervase  adds,  that,  "as 
long  as  he  lived,  the  scar  of  his  wound  opened  afresh  on  the 
anniversary  of  the  eve  on  which  he  encountered  the  spirit." 
Less  fortunate  was  the  gallant  Bohemian  knight,  who,  travel- 
ling by  night  with  a  single  companion,  "  came  in  sight  of  a 
fairy  host,  arrayed  under  displayed  banners.  Despising  the  re- 
monstrances of  his  friend,  the  knight  pricked  forward  to  break 
a  lance  with  a  champion,  who  advanced  from  the  ranks  appa- 
rently in  defiance.  His  companion  beheld  the  Bohemian  over- 
thrown, horse  and  man,  by  his  aerial  adversary  ;  and  returning 
to  the  spot  next  morning,  he  found  the  mangled  corpses  of  the 
knight  and  steed." — Hierarchy  of  Blessed  Angels,  p.  554. 

Besides  these  instances  of  Elfin  chivalry  above  quoted,  many 
others  might  be  alleged  in  support  of  employing  fairy  machine- 
ry in  this  manner.  The  forest  of  Glenraore,  in  the  North  High- 
lands, is  believed  to  be  haunted  by  a  spirit  called  Lh^jjg^ceu^, 
in  the  array  of  an  ancient  warrior,  having  a  bloody  hand,  from 
which  he  takes  his  name.  He  insists  upon  those  with  whom 
he  meets  doing  battle  with  him  ;  and  the  clergyman,  who 
makes  up  an  account  of  the  district,  extant  in  the  Macfarlane 
MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  gravely  assures  us,  that,  in  his 
time,  lAam-deirg  fought  with  three  brothers  whom  he  met  in 
his  walk,  none  of  whom  long  survived  the  ghostly  conflict. 
Barclay,  in  his  "  Euphormion,'*  gives  a  singular  account  of  an 
oflicer  who  had  venTureltTwith  his  servant,  rather  to  intrude 
upon  a  haunted  house  in  a  town  in  Flanders,  than  to  put  up 
with  worse  quarters  elsewhere.  After  taking  the  usual  precau- 
tions of  providing  fires,  lights,  and  arms,  they  watched  till  mid- 
night, when  behold  !  the  severed  arm  of  a  man  dropped  from 
the  ceiling  ;  this  was  followed  by  the  legs,  the  other  arm,  the 
trunk,  and  the  head  of  the  body,  all  separately.  The  members 
rolled  together,  united  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  aston- 
ished soldiers,  and  formed  a  gigantic  warrior,  who  defied  them 


106 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


bodi  to  conibai.  Tlirir  blowt,  iilthoa>h  thej  penMreted  the 
bo>\y  and  ampaiatnl  the  hnilM  orthrir  <ln>n{;<' anta<;onijit,  had, 
u  the  ivadri  inay  ratily  briirve,  httiv  rtrrrt  on  an  rnrniy  who 
|>v<«-ur>'  >ucli  (loMrrn  ol'  Mtl'-unioii  ;  uor  did  hii  rflurt>  inakfl 
inun  illrt'tual  iiiij>rri»iuii  U|>uii  ihrro.  Huw  tho  conibal  l>T- 
■uiiiali->l  I  ilo  not  rtni'iK  n-nirinhrr,  and  liavo  lint  ihi-  t>uuk  by 
mi':  I'lii  I  ill  '  iiiadriii!'  nn  hi»  ninimion 

till-  11.   1  i'   ;  n>;  i.y  .lioulil  I'  ■  If  UMll'llllllion  ; 

«  I  I,  he  wa>  ul>li;;r<i  lu  n'lrnrl. 

'I  r  talit  ul'  (he  kiiiil  i»  euiiiaiiinl  in  an  extract 

coniiiiu'iii.i(i<4  to  me  by  iny  rrii-iid  Mr.  Hurtit-i  o^.Maiu^lurtll, 
In  the  IluJiujiriv,  wlio  eopicd  it  from  a  MS.  nuto  in  a  copy  of 
nurtliog^e.  "On  the  Nature  of  Spirim,  8vo.  lOW,"  which 
had  U^rii  the  |iropony  of  the  late  Mr.  tiill,  attompy-Ki'ncral  to 
Bj;t'rlun.  lli>ho|i  uf  Durliain.  "It  wiuiiot,"  nay*  my  obliging 
corr  "  ill   Mr.  liill'i  own  liand,    but    jiruliubly   an 

hu  .  iilder,  and  win  unid  to  ho,    F  libra  Concrnt. 

Dumelm.  itff  T.  C.  rttrart.,  whom  I  bi'liuvo  to  have  bt-cn 
Thoiii.T"  Cradwkc.  Em\.  bnrriatcr,  wlio  litld  muTal  oiriri'«  un- 
der tlio  S.I-  ol"  I>urli:im  a  hundred  yrars  ago.  Mr.  Gill  wan 
pa«rvcil  of  ino«t  of  hi*  mnnu»chpli>."  The  extract,  which,  in 
fact,  nu^^it'itpd  the  introdactiou  of  tho  tale  into  the  present 
poem,  ruii-i  thus  : — 

"  Hem  miram  hujutmodi  qua  nottris  temporibui  evenil, 
Utte  ciro  nobiJi  ac  fide  dignUiimo,  cnarrare  haud  pigtbit. 
Radulphus  Jiulmer,  cum  e  eastriji,  quit  tunc  Irmporin  propr. 
A'or/um  poaita  rrnnt,  obtrclntionis  causn,  eziia.iet,  ac  in 
tiJtrriure  Tuedir  ripi  pritJam  cum  canibus  lepornriis  inse- 
qurrrlur,  forte  cum  Scuto  quodam  nobiti,  tibi  antchac,  ut 
vuleb.^tur,  famitiaritrr  cognito,  congrcisut  cft  ;  ac,  ut  faa 
erat  inter  ininticoi,  flagrante  betlo,  breritsimd  interroga- 
tionu  mord  interpnuitd,  alter  utroa  invicem  incitato  curau 
infe-ttit  animi*  petiere.  Jfosler,  prima  oecurau,  equo priia- 
crrrimo  kostit  impetu  labante,  in  terram  ecertut  pectore  ct 
capite  /ttso,  tanguincm,  mortuo  timilia,  evomebat.  Quem 
ii(  te  irgre  kabentem  cumitcr  allucutus  eat  alter,  pollicitua- 
que,  modo  auiilium  nan  abnrgarcl,  monitiaque  obtemperana 
ab  umni  rrrum  aaerarum  eogilatinnc  abntmrrct,  vec  Deo, 
Itripnrte  f'irgini,  Sanetore  ullo,  prrcca  out  rota  rffrrrct  vet 
•nlcr  arae  conciperel,  te  brevi  cum  sanum  validumque  reati- 
tulurum  eaae.  Pros  angore  obiata  conditio  accepta  eat  ;  ac 
veterator  Hie  nescio  quid  obacani  murmuria  inauaurrana, 
frekenaa  manu,  dicto  citiua  in  pedea  aanum  ut  antca  sublc- 
vaeit.  Coaler  autem,  maxima  priE  rei  inauditd  novitate 
'urmidine  percul.iua.  Ml  Jesu  !  erclamat,  vel  quid  simile  ; 
at  aubilo  reapicicna  nee  hoatem  ncc  ullam  alium  conapicit, 
equum  aoium  graciaaimo  nupcr  caau  ajjlictum,  per  summam 
pacrm  in  rivoflucii  paacentcvi.  Jid  caalra  itaquc  mirabun- 
dus  rerrrtena,  fidei  dubiua,  rem  prima  occultacit,  deiii,  con- 
^eeto  bello,  Conftaaori  auo  totnm  aasiTuit.  Deluaoria  pro. 
cul  dubio  rea  totn,  ac  mala  vetcratoria  illius  aperitur  J'raua, 
qua  kvmincm  Chrittianum  ad  vetitum  tale  auiilium  pcltice- 
ret.  .V'oinrii  uteunque  illiua  (nobilia  alias  ac  clari)  rcticen- 
dum  duco,  cum  kaud  dubium  ait  quin  JJiabo/ua,  Deapermit- 
tentt,  jurmam  quam  libuerit,  imma  angeli  lucia,  sacro  oculo 
JJri  tente,  poaae  aaiumrre."  The  MS.  chronicle,  from 
which  Mr.  Cradockc  took  thij  curious  extract,  cannot  now 
be  round  in  the  Chapter  Library  of  Durham,  or,  at  least, 
ba<  hitherto  escape<l  itic  rovarcliot  of  my  friendly  corrc!i|>on- 
jent. 

Lindesay  I*  made  to  allude  to  thi«  adventure  of  Ralph  Bul- 
mer,  oa  a  well-known  <tory,  io  the  4lh  Canto,  Stanza  zxii.  p. 
121.  •* 

The  northern  charopiond  of  old  were  accustomed  peculiarly 
to  search  for,  and  delight  in,  encounter!   with  «nch  military 


1  I  1j*i;  l»»vt  Io  quoie  a  nineU  inilAii'-*  from  a  vpit  inUr«<tin|r  pnna{;c. 
hir  DsTid,  recounting  hi*  attenUoii  to  King  JamM  V.  in  h\a  inbne)-,  i< 
•ukile,  t>7  lh«  learned  editor'!  punctuatioo,  tcwy, — 

'  Tl.e  erst  sillalris,  that  thoa  did  nnitf , 
Wm4  |>a,  da,  lyn,  u|m/o  the  Iul«  : 


•peclfM.     See  a  whole  chapter  on  the  tubject,  in  Rartiioli 
NDt,  De  Cautii  eonttrnptin  Mortis  a  Dania,  p.  '23'J. 


Note  2  V. 


Cleae  to  Ike  kut,  no  more  kit  oien, 

C'lose  fa  tke  aid  he  »uugbt  in  rain, 

The  morn  may  find  tkr  ttijfm'd  attain. — P.  114. 

I  cannot  help  here  mentioiiinx,  that,  on  the  nipht  in  whiok 
these  lint-s  wen!  written,  suggested,  as  they  wen-,  by  a  suddai 
fall  of  snow,  beginning  after  sunset,  an  unfortuiialu  man  |ier- 
ished  exactly  in  the  manner  here  deserilx-d,  and  lii>  body  waf 
ne,vt  nioniing  found  clow  to  his  own  house.  The  accident 
hapjK-ued  within  five  miles  of  llic  farm  of  Ashestiel. 


NOTK  2  W. 


■Forbei.—V.  115. 


Sir  William  Forbes  of  Pilaligo,  Baronet ;  nncqanlled,  pei^ 
ha|Ni,  in  tho  degree  of  individual  affection  entertained  for  him 
by  his  friends,  as  well  as  in  the  general  resjicct  and  e»teein  of 
Scotland  at  large.  His  "  Life  of  Beattic,"  whom  he  befriended 
and  jialronizcd  in  life,  a-i  well  as  celebrale<l  after  his  deeei-ue, 
was  not  long  published,  berun'  llie  bi  nevolent  and  aflectioiiate 
biographer  v.is  called  to  follow  the  Mibjeet  of  his  narrative. 
This  melancholy  event  very  shortly  succeeded  the  marriage  ol 
the  friend,  to  whom  this  introduction  is  addressed,  with  one  of 
Sir  William's  danghtcni. 


Note  2  X. 
Friar  Hush.—Y.  IIG. 
Miaa,  "  Will  o'  the  Wisp."  This  personage  is  a  strolling; 
demon,  or  esprit  fallet,  who,  once  U|)on  a  time,  got  admittance 
into  a  monastery  as  a  scullion,  and  ]i1ayed  the  monks  many 
pranks.  He  was  also  a  sort  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  and  Jack  o' 
Lantliem.  It  is  in  allusion  to  tliis  mischievous  demon  that 
Milton's  clown  speaks, — 

"  She  was  pinched,  and  palled,  she  said, 
And  he  by  Friar'a  tanthern  led." 

"The  hLstory  of  Friar  Rush"  is  of  extreme  rarity,  and,  for 
some  lime,  even  the  existence  of  such  a  book  wri.s  doubted, 
although  it  is  oxpre^ly  alluded  to  by  Reginald  Scott,  in  his 
"Discovery  of  Witchcraft."  I  have  perused  a  copy  in  the 
valuable  library  of  my  friend  Mr.  Heber ;  and  I  observe,  from 
Mr.  Beloc's  "  Anecdotes  of  Literature,"  that  there  is  one  in 
the  excellent  collection  of  the  Marquis  of  Stafford. 


Note  2  Y. 
.Sir  David  lAndesay  af  the  Mount, 
I^ord  I^ion  King-at-arms. — P.  117. 

The  late  elaborate  edition  of  Sir  David  Lindesay's  Wosta, 
by  Mr.  George  Chalmers,  has  probably  introduced  him  toman/ 
of  my  reader-".  It  is  |>crha|is  to  he  n-gretted,  that  the  learned 
Editor  had  not  bestowed  more  pains  in  elucidating  his  author, 
even  althoDgh  he  should  have  omitted,  or  at  least  rcwrved,  hii 
disquisitions  on  the  origin  of  the  language  used  by  the  poet  :i 


Then  played  I  twenty  iprin(ris  perqueir, 
t)u'.i!k  wiw  KTviii  plesour  for  to  la-ftr." 

Vol.  i.  p.  1,  Sll. 

Mr.  Chalmem  d-^^a  not  inr.rr.i  iis,  »>vnot«  or  gloaaary,  wh»l  ia  meant  t-y 
tb«  Kinj  '■  muting  pa,  de-.  lyn,  up-m  the  luU  ,"   Lot  any  old  wnuian  b 


APPENDX  TO  MARMIOK 


167 


But,  with  all  Iiis  faults,  hia  work  is  an  acceptable  present  to 
Scottish  antiquaries.  Sir  David  Lindesay  was  well  known  for 
his  early  efforts  in  favor  of  the  Reformed  doctrines ;  and,  in- 
deed, Iiis  play,  coarse  as  it  now  seems,  must  have  had  a  pow- 
erful effect  upon  the  people  of  his  age.  I  am  uncertain  if  I 
abuse  poetical  license,  by  introducing  Sir  David  Lindesay  in 
the  character  of  Lion-Herald,  sixteen  years  before  he  obtained 
that  office.  At  any  rate,  I  am  not  the  first  who  lias  been 
guilty  of  this  anachronism  ;  for  the  author  of  "  Flodden  Field" 
dispatches  Dallamount,  which  can  mean  nobody  but  Sir  Da- 
vid de  la  Mont,  to  France,  on  the  message  of  defiance  from 
James  IV.  to  Henry  VIII.  It  was  often  an  office  imposed  on 
the  Lion  King-at-arms,  to  receive  foreign  ambassadors  ;  and 
Lindesay  himself  did  this  honor  to  Sir  Ralph  Sadler  in  1539-40. 
Indeed,  the  oath  of  the  Lion,  in  its  first  article,  bears  reference 
to  his  frequent  employment  upon  royal  messages  and  embas- 
sies. 

The  office  of  heralds,  in  feudal  times,  being  held  of  the  ut- 
most importance,  the  inauguration  of  tlie  Kiiigs-at-arms,  who 
presided  over  their  colleges,  was  ijroiiortionally  solemn.  In 
fact,  it  was  the  mimicry  of  a  royal  coronation,  except  that  the 
nnction  was  made  with  wine  instead  of  oil.  In  Scotland,  a 
namesake  and  kinsman  of  Sir  David  Lindesay,  inaugurated  in 
1592,  "was  crowned  by  King  James  with  the  ancient  crown 
of  Scotland,  which  was  used  before  the  Scottish  kings  assumed 
a  close  crown  ;  and,  on  occasion  of  the  same  solemnity,  dined 
at  the  King's  table,  wearing  the  crown.  It  is  probable  that 
the  coronation  of  his  predecessor  was  not  less  solenm.  So 
sacred  was  the  herald's  office,  that,  in  1515,  Lord  Drummond 
was  by  Parliament  declared  guilty  of  treason,  and  his  lands 
forfeited,  because  he  had  struck  with  his  fist  the  Lion  King- 
it-arms,  when  he  reproved  him  for  his  follies.'  Nor  was  he 
restored,  but  al  the  Lion's  earnest  solicitation. 


Note  2  Z. 


Crtclttoun  Castle. — P.  118. 

A  large  rninoTjs  castle  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne,  about  ten 
miles  from  Edinburgh.  As  iiidicited  in  the  text,  it  was  built 
at  different  times,  and  with  a  very  differing  regard  to  splendor 
and  accommodation.  The  oldest  part  of  the  building  is  a  nar- 
row keep,  or  tower,  such  as  formed  the  mansion  of  a  lesser 
Scottish  baron  ;  but  so  many  additions  have  been  made  to  it, 
that  there  is  now  a  large  court-yard,  surrounded  by  buildings 
of  different  ages.  The  eastern  front  of  the  court  is  raised  above 
a  portico,  and  decorated  with  entablatures,  bearing  anchors. 
All  the  stones  of  this  front  are  cut  into  diamond  facets,  the 
angular  projections  of  which  have  an  uncommonly  rich  appear- 
ance. The  inside  of  this  part  of  the  building  appears  to  have 
contained  a  gallery  of  great  length  and  uncommon  elegance. 


Scotland  will  bear  -witness,  that  pa,  da,  h'n,  are  the  first  efforts  of  a  child 
*o  say,  "  Wharc^s  David  Lindesay?"^  and  that  tlie  subsequent  words 
begin  another  sentence — 


- "  Upon  the  lute 


Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir,"  Ac. 

In  another  place,  "justing  lumis,"  t.  e.  looms,  or  implenients  of  tilting, 
u  facetiously  interpreted  "  playful  limbs."  Many  such  minute  errors  could 
be  ]iointod  out ;  but  these  are  only  mentioned  incidentally,  and  not  as  di- 
minishing the  real  merit  of  the  edition. 

1  The  record  ex^iresses,  or  rather  is  said  to  have  expressed,  the  cause  of 
forfeiture  to  be, — "  Eo  quod  Leonem,  armorum  Regem  pugno  violasset 
dum  eum  de  inepliis  sui3  admonet.'^ — See  Nisbet's  Wera^dry,  Part  iv. 
chap.  r\-i. ;  and  Lksl£i  Historia  ad  Annum  1515. 

2  ["  In  Scotland,  formerly,  as  still  in  somo  parts  of  Greece,  the  great 
chieftains  required,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  their  authority,  that  those 
»/ho  passed  through  their  lands  should  repair  to  their  castle,  to  ex-plain  the 
pnrpoae  of  their  journey,  and  receive  the  hospitality  suited  to  their  rank. 

^   3  It  is  suggested  by  an  Ingenious  correspondent,  that  Pa,  da,  lyn,  ought 
Mther  lo  be  interpreted,  ja/ay,  Ifavy  Lindesay. 


Access  was  given  to  it  by  a  magnificent  staircase,  now  quits 
destroyed.  The  soffits  are  ornamented  with  twining  cordage 
and  rosettes  ;  and  the  whole  seems  to  have  been  far  more 
splendid  than  was  usual  in  Scottish  castles.  The  castle 
belonged  originally  to  the  Chancellor,  Sir  William  Crichton, 
and  probably  owed  to  him  its  first  enlargement,  as  well  as  its 
being  taken  by  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  imputed  toCrichtou's 
counsels  the  death  of  his  predecessor,  Earl  William,  beheaded 
in  Edinburgh  Castle,  with  his  brother,  in  1440.  It  is  said  to 
have  been  totally  demolished  on  that  occasion  ;  but  the  present 
state  of  the  ruin  shows  the  contrary.  In  1483,  it  was  garrisoned 
by  Lord  Crichton,  then  its  proprietor,  against  King  James  III., 
whose  displeasure  he  had  incurred  by  seducing  his  sister  Marga- 
ret, in  revenge,  it  is  said,  for  the  Monarch  having  dishonored  his 
bed.  From  the  Crichton  family  the  ccistle  passed  to  that  of  the 
Hejiburiis,  Earls  Bothwell ;  and  when  the  forfeitures  of  Stew- 
art, the  last  Earl  of  Bothwell,  were  divided,  the  barony  and 
castle  of  Crichton  fell  to  the  share  of  the  Earl  of  Buccleuch. 
They  were  afterwards  the  property  of  the  Pringles  of  Clifton, 
and  are  now  that  of  Sir  John  Callender,  Baronet.  It  were  to 
be  wished  the  proprietor  would  take  a  little  pains  to  preserve 
these  splendid  remains  of  antiquity,  which  are  at  present  used 
as  a  fold  for  sheep,  and  wintering  cattle ;  although,  perliaps, 
there  are  very  few  ruins  in  Scotland  which  display  so  well 
the  style  and  beauty  of  ancient  castle-architecture.  The  cas- 
tle of  Crichton  has  a  dungeon  vault,  called  the  Massy  More. 
The  epithet,  which  is  not  uncommonly  applied  to  the  prisons 
of  other  old  castles  in  Scotland,  is  of  Saracenic  origin.  It  oc- 
curs twice  in  the  "  Epistolm  ItinerariiB^^  of  ToUius.  "  Car- 
eer subtcrraneus,  sive,  ut  Mauri  appellant,  Maz.morri," 
p.  147  ;  and  again,  "  Cogantur  omncs  Captivi  sub  noctcm  in 
ergasttda  stibterranca,  quie  TarccB  Mgeierani  vocant  Maz- 
MORRAS,"  p.  243.  The  same  word  applies  to  the  dungeons  of 
the  ancient  Moorish  castles  in  Spain,  and  serves  to  show  from 
what  nation  the  Gothic  style  of  castle-building  was  originally 
derived.2 


Note  3  A. 

Earl  Adam  Hepburn. — P.  118. 

He  was  the  second  Earl  of  Bothwell,  and  fell  in  the  field  of 
Flodden,  where,  according  to  an  ancient  English  poet,  he  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  a  furious  attempt  to  retrieve  the  day  ; — 

"  Then  on  the  Scottish  part,  right  proud, 
The  Earl  of  Bothwell  then  out  brast, 

And  stepping  forth,  with  stomach  good, 
Into  the  enemies'  throng  he  thrast  ; 

And  Bothwell !  Bothwell!  cried  hold, 
To  cause  his  souldiers  to  ensue, 

To  neglect  this  was  held  discourtesy  in  the  great,  and  insolence  in  th* 
inferior  traveller ;  and  so  strictly  was  the  etiquette  insisted  on  by  some 
feud.<il  lords,  that  the  Lord  Oliphant  is  said  to  have  planted  guns  at  his 
castle  of  Newtyle  in  Angus,  so  as  to  command  the  Iiigh  roan,  and  compel 
all  restive  passengers  to  do  this  act  of  homage. 

*' Jt  chanced  when  such  ideas  were  predominant,  that  the  Lord  of  Crich- 
ton Castle  received  intelligence  lliat  a  Southern  chieftain  of  high  rank, 
some  say  Scott  of  Buccleuch,  was  to  pass  his  dwelling  on  his  return  from 
court.  The  Lord  of  Crichton  made  great  preparation  to  banquet  hia 
expected  guest,  who  nevertheless  rode  past  the  castle  without  paying  the 
expected  visit.  In  his  first  burst  of  indignation,  the  Baron  pursued  the 
discourteous  traveller  with  a  body  of  horse,  made  bim  prisoner,  and  confined 
him  in  the  dungeon,  while  he  himself  and  his  vassals  feasted  upon  the  gooa 
cheer  which  had  been  provided.  With  the  morning,  however,  came 
reflection,  and  anxiety  for  the  desperate  feud  which  impended,  as  the 
necessary  consequence  of  his  rough  proceedijig.  It  is  s;tid,  tiiat,  by  way  of 
amende  honorable^  the  Baron,  upon  the  second  day,  placed  his  compelled 
guest  in  his  seat  of  honor  in  the  hall,  while  he  himself  retired  into  his  own 
dungeon,  and  thus  did  at  once  penance  for  bis  rashness,  ^  itisfied  the  honor 
of  the  strauger  chief,  and  put  a  stop  to  the  feud  which  must  otherwise 
have  taken  place  between  them." — Sir  Walter  Scou'i  Miacellaneovt 
Prose  Works,  vol.  vii.  pp.  192-3.1 — Ed. 


IGS 


scorr's  poetical  works. 


Bu!  •' 

■  I'oM, 

Th     - 

.  tiim  ihrew. 

Tha<  H«r 

heart 

llu  fm.. 

h'loddfn  Fir 
U.  Wi. 

:."  tie. 
1.1,  a  ro.ni ;  nUUxX  by 
bcr.    Eain.  ItMi. 

Aitam  waa  Kramirallirr  lo  Jamrt,  Eart  of  Bothwoll,  loo  wrl] 
kiiuwii  lit  titp  biitury  o(  Uurcn  Mary. 


Note  3  B. 

Firr  tkat  a  mttMtnrer  from  heaven, 

/■  ram  to  J  ■  ■•untfl  piren, 

jigatHtl  I  ■     ■  ■  mar.— v.  ll'J. 

Thii  otory  U  told  by  PiUcoltie  with  characUrntic  limpli- 
dty  : — "  The  K  •  ■•■.;;  thai  France  could  gel  no  <U|i|)ort  of 

bim  for  that  a  proclamsuon,  full  ha«tily,  throogh 

■11  the  r>'a1ni  i^  .  both  cast  and  west,  south  and  north, 

aa  wrM  in  ili  i  the  firm  land,  to  all  inanncr  of  men 

b,-:  in,  lliat  they  nliould  be  ready, 

«r  th  him,  with  forty  days  victual, 

and  to  iiir  of  Ediiiburgb,  and  tbcru  lo 

pan  for  '  lli^  proclamations  were  baxtily 

obeyTd,  contrary  lo  the  Council  of  Scotland's  will ;  bul  every 
man  loved  his  prince  to  well  that  they  would  on  no  ways 
disobey  him  ;  but  every  man  caused  make  his  jiroclamalion  so 
hastily,  conform  to  the  charge  of  the  King's  proclamalion. 

'•  The  King  came  to  Lithgow,  where  he  happened  lo  be 
for  the  time  at  the  Council,  very  sad  and  dolorous,  making  his 
devotion  to  God,  to  send  him  goo<l  chance  and  fortune  in  his 
voyage.  In  this  mean  time  then-  came  a  man,  clad  in  a  blue 
gown,  in  at  the  kirk  door,  and  belted  about  him  in  a  roll  of 
linen  cloth  ;  a  pair  of  brotikings<  on  his  feet,  lo  the  groat  of 
his  lej:«  ;  with  all  other  lio»o  and  clothes  conform  thereto  :  bul 
be  had  nothing  on  his  he.id,  bul  nyde^  red  yellow  hair  behind, 
and  on  his  haffets,!)  which  wan  down  lo  his  sboulden ;  but 
his  forehead  was  bald  and  bare.  Ue  seemed  to  be  a  man  of 
two-and-fifty  yean,  with  a  great  pike-stafl*  in  his  hand,  and 
came  firit  forward  among  the  lords,  crying  and  «f.eiringi  for  the 
King,  fayin;;,  he  desired  to  speak  with  him.  While,  at  the 
last,  he  e:iine  where  the  king  was  sitting  in  the  desk  at  his 
pmyirs ;  but  when  he  saw  the  King,  he  made  him  little 
rc\eriiii-e  or  ••ahitation,  but  leaned  down  grotiling  on  the  desk 
before  liirn,  ami  s.iiil  lo  him  in  this  manner,  as  after  follows: 
Sir  KiiiL'.  my  niotlier  hath  sent  me  to  you,  de!*iring  you  not  to 
pasR,  Bl  this  Ume,  where  ihou  art  purpo-.ed  ;  for  if  thoo  does, 
thou  wilt  nol  fare  well  in  ihy  journey,  nor  none  that  passeth 
with  thee.  Further,  she  bade  Uice  mell»  with  no  woman,  nor 
on  their  eoDn<el,  nor  let  ihem  touch  thy  body,  nor  thou 
thein  ;  for,  if  llioo  do  it,  thou  wilt  be  confounded  and  brought 
lo  shame.' 

"  By  this  man  had  spoken  ihir  words  unto  the  King's  grace, 
the  ev.  ir  done,  and  the  King  paused  on  ihir 

wonN.  !iim  an  answer;  but.  in  the  meantime, 

before  tin  Kiiig'i,  e^ts,  and  in  the  presence  of  all  the  lords  that 
were  about  him  for  the  lime,  this  man  vani.nhcd  away,  and 
could  no  ways  be  seen  or  romjirehended,  but  vanished  away 
ai  he  had  been  a  blink  of  the  sun,  or  a  whip  of  the  whirlwind, 
and  could  no  more  be  seen.  I  heard  say.  Sir  David  Lindesay 
Lyon-heraold,  and  John  Inglis  the  manhal,  who  were,  at  that 
time,  young  men,  and  special  servants  to  the  King's  grace, 
were  standing  prr«cntly  beside  the  King,  who  thought  lo  have 
laid  h.'iniis  un  this  man,  that  they  might  have  spcired  further 
tidings  al  him  :  Bul  all  for  naught ;  they  conld  not  touch 
nim ;  for  he  vanished  away  betwixt  Uicm,  and  was  no  more 
reen." 

Buchanan,    in   more   elegant,   though  not  more  impresaive 


lat  •  the  same  story,  and  quotes  the  |)creon.il  informv 

tu>  r  Onvid    Lind"^»ay  :   " /«   ii»   (i.e.  i/iii  pTopiui 

att   '  '  ..cid  Lindmius,  Montanu»,humo  gptcttiia 

fill        ^  ,  ncc  a  lilrrarum  ntuUiii  alttnut,  ct  cujm 

totiu.1  oi(«  tenor  logUtinu  a  mentiendo  abtrrat ;  ii  yuu  m>i 
tgo  htre  uti  tradidi,  pro  cerlit  acctpittcm,  ut  ruigntam  va- 
nu  rumoribuM  fabulum,  omitsurut  tram." — Lib.  xiil.  Tho 
King's  throne,  in  01.  Caiherinu's  aisle,  which  he  had  con 
structtfd  for  h.insclf,  with  twelve  stalls  for  iJie  Kiiiglits  Com 
paniuns  of  the  Order  of  the  Tbiittle,  is  still  shown  at  the  place 
where  the  apparition  was  seen.  I  know  not  by  what  means 
St.  Andrew  got  the  credit  of  having  Ih-cu  the  celebrated  moui 
tor  of  Janm  IV.  ;  for  the  ixpn-^^'iun  in  l.indoay's  narrative, 
"  My  mother  Iioa  sent  me,"  could  only  Ih-  usetl  by  Al.  John, 
the  adopted  son  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  Tiia  whole  story  is  ko 
well  attested,  that  we  have  only  the  choice  between  a  miracle 
or  an  imposture.  Mr.  Pinkerton  plausibly  argues,  from  tliu 
caution  against  incontinence,  that  the  ducen  was  privy  to  the 
scheme  of  tho«e  who  had  recourse  lo  this  expedient  lo  del.4 
King  James  from  his  impolitic  war. 


Note  3  C. 

The  wUd-buck  btU$.—V.  119. 

I  am  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  di-seribe  the  cry  of  the  deer 
by  another  wonl  than  braying,  although  the  latter  has  been 
sauctified  by  the  use  of  the  Scotlish  metrical  translation  ol 
the  Psalms.  BcU  seems  lo  be  an  abbreviation  of  bellow. 
Thu  sylvan  sound  conveyed  great  delight  lo  our  ancetton, 
chiefly,  I  suppose,  from  association.  A  gentle  knight  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  Sir  Thomas  Worlley,  built  VVantlcy 
Lodge,  in  WanclifTe  Fortsd,  for  the  pleasure  (as  an  ancient 
inscription  tcslifies)  of  "  listening  to  the  hart's  bell  " 


Note  3  D. 


June  saw  his  father's  overthrow. — P.  119. 

The  rebellion  against  James  III.  was  signalized  by  the 
cruel  circumstance  of  bis  son's  presence  in  the  hostile  army. 
When  ihe  King  saw  his  own  banner  displayed  against  him, 
and  his  son  in  the  faction  of  his  enemies,  he  lost  the  little 
courage  he  had  ever  possessed,  fled  out  of  the  field,  fell  from 
his  horse  as  it  started  at  a  woman  and  water-pitcher,  and 
was  slain,  it  is  not  well  understood  by  whom.  James  IV,, 
after  the  battle,  passed  to  Stirling,  and  hearing  the  monks  ot 
the  cha|>el-royal  dejdoring  the  death  of  his  father,  their  founder, 
he  was  seized  with  deep  remorse,  which  manifested  itself  in 
severe  penances.  See  a  following  note  on  stanza  ix.  of  canto 
v.  The  battle  of  Sauchie-bnrn,  in  which  James  111.  fell,  wu 
fought  18ih  Jane,  1488. 


Note  3  E. 


The  Borough-moor.— P.  122. 

The  Borough,  or  Common  Moor  of  Edinburgh,  wjis  of  very 
great  extent,  reaching  from  the  southern  walls  of  the  city  to 
the  bottom  of  Braid  Hills.  It  was  cnciently  a  forest ;  and,  in 
that  state,  was  so  great  a  nuisance,  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Edinburgh  had  permission  granted  to  them  of  building  wooden 
galleries,  projecting  over  ihe  street,  in  order  to  encourage 
ihcm  lo  consume  the  timber,  which  they  seem  to  have  done 
very  efTectnally.  When  James  IV.  mustered  the  array  of  the 
kingdom  there,  in  1513,  the  Borough-moor  was,  according  to 
Hawthomden,  "a  field  spacious,  and  delightful  by  the  shada 
of  many  atntely  and  aged  oaks."      Upon  that,  and  simila. 


1  Buskins 


»  Long. 


)  Chsrks. 


4  Asking. 


6  Middls. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


169 


occasions,  the  royal  standard  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been 
displayed  from  the  Unre-Stane,  a  higli  stone,  now  built  into 
the  wall,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  highway  leading  towards 
Braid,  not  far  from  the  head  of  Hurntstield  Links.  The  Hare- 
Stane  prohably  derives  its  name  from  tlie  British  word  Har, 
signifying  an  army. 


Note  3  F. 

Pavilions.— V.  VIS. 

I  dn  not  exactly  know  the  Scottish  mode  of  encampment  in 
l.^rj,  hut  I'atten  gives  a  curious  description  of  that  which  he 
saw  after  the  battle  of  Pinkcy,  in  1547  : — •'  Here,  now,  to  say 
somewhat  of  the  manner  of  their  camp.  As  they  had  no  pavil- 
ions, or  round  houses,  of  any  commendable  compass,  so  wear 
there  few  other  teiites  with  posts,  as  the  used  manner  of  mak- 
ing is  ;  and  of  these  few  also,  none  of  above  twenty  foot  length  ; 
but  most  far  under  ;  for  the  most  part  all  very  sumptuously  be- 
set (after  their  faj-hioii),  for  tlie  love  of  France,  with  fleur-de- 
lys,  some  of  blue  buckcram,  some  of  black,  and  some  of  some 
other  colours.  The.se  white  ridges,  as  I  call  them,  that,  as  we 
stood  on  Fau.\syde  Bray,  did  make  so  great  muster  toward  us, 
which  I  did  take  then  to  be  a  number  of  teiites,  when  we  came, 
we  found  it  a  linen  drapery,  of  the  coarser  cambryk  in  dede, 
for  it  was  all  of  canvas  sheets,  and  wear  the  tenticles,  or  rather 
cabyns  and  couches  of  their  soldiers ;  the  which  (much  after 
the  common  building  of  their  country  beside)  had  tliey  framed 
of  four  sticks,  about  an  ell  long  a  piece,  whearof  two  fastened 
together  at  one  end  aloft,  and  the  two  endes  beneath  stuck  in 
the  ground,  an  ell  asunder,  standing  in  fashion  like  the  bowes 
of  a  sowes  yoke ;  over  two  such  bowes  (one,  as  it  were,  at 
their  head,  the  other  at  their  feet),  they  stretched  a  sheet  down 
on  both  sides,  whereby  their  cabin  became  roofed  like  a  ridge, 
but  skant  shut  at  both  ends,  and  not  very  close  beneath  on  the 
sides,  unless  their  sticks  were  the  shorter,  or  their  wives  the 
more  liberal  to  lend  them  larger  napery  ;  howbeit,  when  they 
had  lined  them,  and  stufT'd  them  so  thick  with  straw,  with  the 
weather  as  it  was  not  very  cold,  when  they  wear  ones  couched, 
they  were  as  warm  as  they  had  been  wrapt  in  horses  dnng." — 
Patten's  Account  of  Somerset's  Expedition. 


K"oTE  3  G. 


in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield. 

The  ruddy  lion  ratnp'd  in  gold. — P.  122. 

The  well-known  arms  of  Scotland.  If  you  will  believe  Boe- 
thius  and  Buchanan,  the  double  tressure  round  the  shield,  men- 
tioned, counter  flcur-dc-lysed  or  lingucd  and  armed  azure, 
was  first  assumed  by  Echaius,  King  of  Scotland,  contemporary 
of  Charlemagne,  and  founder  of  the  celebrated  League  with 
France  ;  but  later  antiquaries  make  poor  Eochy.  or  Achy,  lit- 
tle better  than  a  sort  of  King  of  Brentford,  whom  old  Grig 
(who  has  also  swelled  into  Gregorius  Magnus)  associated  with 
himself  in  the  important  duty  of  governipg  some  part  of  the 
northeastern  coast  of  Scotland. 


Note  3  H. 


Caledoma's  Queen  is  changed. — P.  124. 

The  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh  was  secured  on  the  north  side 
by  a  lake,  now  drained,  and  on  the  south  by  a  wall,  which 
there  was  some  attempt  to  make  defensible  even  so  late  as  1745. 
The  gates,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  wall,  have  been  pulled 
down,  in  the  course  of  the  late  extensive  and  beautiful  enlarge- 
ment of  the  city.  Ms'  ingenious  and  valued  friend,  Mr.  Tho- 
mas Campbell,  proposed  to  celebrate  Edinburgh  nnder  the  epi- 
22 


thet  here  borrowed.  But  the  "  Queen  of  the  North"  has  not 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  receive  from  so  eminent  a  pen  the  pro- 
posed distinction 


Note  3  I. 


Since  first,  when  conijuering  York  arose, 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose. — P.  125. 

Henry  VI.,  with  his  dueen,  his  heir,  and  the  chiefs  of  hii 
family,  fled  to  Scotland  after  the  fatal  battle  of  Towion.  In 
this  note  a  doubt  was  formerly  expres.sed,  whether  Henry  VI 
came  to  Edinburgh,  though  his  Queen  certainly  did  ;  Mr.  Pi» 
kcrton  inclining  to  believe  that  he  remained  at  Kirkcudbright. 
But  ray  noble  friend,  Lord  Napier,  has  pointed  out  to  me  a 
grant  by  Henry,  of  an  annuity  of  forty  marks  to  his  Lordship's 
ancestor,  John  Napier,  subscribed  by  the  King  himself,  at 
Edinburgh,  the  28th  day  of  August,  in  the  thirty-ninth  year  of 
his  reign,  which  corresponds  to  the  year  of  God,  1401.  This 
grant,  Douglas,  with  his  usual  neglect  of  accuracy,  dates  in 
1368.  But  this  error  being  corrected  from  the  copy  in  Macfar- 
lane's  MSS.,  p.  119,  20,  removes  all  skejiticisin  on  the  subject 
of  Henry  VI.  being  really  at  Edinburgh.  John  Napier  was 
son  and  heir  of  Sir  Alexander  Napier,  and  about  this  time  was 
Provost  of  Edinburgh.  The  hosjjitable  reception  of  the  dis- 
tressed monarch  and  his  family,  called  forth  on  Scotland  the 
encomium  of  Molinet,  a  contemporary  poet.  The  English 
people,  he  says, — 

"  Ung  nouveau  roy  crecrent. 
Par  despitcuz  vouloir, 
Le  viel  en  debouterent, 
Et  son  legitime  hoir, 
Qui  fuytyf  alia  prendre, 
D' Escosse  le  garand, 
De  tous  siecles  le  inendre, 
Et  le  plus  tollcrant." 

Recollection  des  Avanttues. 


Note  3  K. 


-the  romantic  strain, 


Whose  Jinglo-J^orman  tones  whilere 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear. — P.  125. 

Mr.  Ellis,  in  his  valuable  Introduction  to  the  "Specimens 
of  Romance,  has  proved,  by  the  concuiring  testimony  of  La 
Ravaillere,  Tressan,  but  especially  the  Abbe  de  la  Rue,  that 
the  courts  of  our  Anglo-Norman  Kings,  rather  than  those  of  the 
French  monarch,  produced  the  birth  of  Romance  literature. 
Marie,  soon  after  mentioned,  compiled  from  Armorican  origi- 
nals, and  translated  into  Norman-French,  or  romance  language, 
the  twelve  curious  Lays,  of  which  Mr.  Ellis  has  given  us  a 
precis  in  the  Appendix  to  his  Introduction.  The  story  of  Blon- 
del,  the  famous  and  faithful  minstrel  of  Richard  I.,  needs  no 
commentary. 


Note  3  L. 


The  eloth-^ard  arrows. — P.  126. 

This  is  no  poetical  exaggeration.  In  some  of  the  counties  of 
England,  distinguished  for  archery,  shafts  of  this  extraordinary 
length  were  actually  used.  Thus,  at  the  battle  of  Blackheath, 
between  the  troops  of  Henry  VII.,  and  the  Cornish  insurgents, 
in  1496,  the  bridge  of  Darlford  was  defended  by  a  picked  band 
of  archers  from  the  rebel  army,  "  whose  arrows,"  says  Ilollin- 
shed,  "  were  in  length  a  full  cloth  yard."  The  Scottish,  ac- 
cording to  Ascham,  had  a  proverb,  that  every  English  archei 


170 


SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


eanriol  ootI«r  hi<  Ml  twruty-fuur  ScoU,  ia  alluiioa  to  liii  boD- 
lUo  of  UIMrmof  tlial'u. 


"The  r, 
Ifrr  ;   ihr 
f\"rr  for  I 
L-amiut  lit*:. 


NoriSM. 

TV  fOft.  to  vhrri,  thr  croupe  tr  gain 
^m..  '.  in  ram 

Tki-  J  'CtHii  amain 

Oh  fttman't  tasque  Mow. — 1*.  VM. 

■  Fronclimrn  term  il,  is  terri- 
or  un  paji  it  un  tault,  buing 
Mil  triuiii;>Ii  tlian  for  (oKliora  :  yet  I 
'•■  willi  fourbetUt,  no  that  tlicy  bo 
DOC  loo  high,  may  be  aaeful  in  a  fight  or  mtslce  ;  for,  lu  La- 
liTxtae  halh  il,   in  hi*  Dook  of  Ilonwmanjhip,  Monsieur  de 
.MuMiinorvncy  having  a  hone  that  was  excellent  in  iH'rTorining 
'M,  Willi  hit  «wonl,  utrilie  down  two adviTkarit-s 
-  in  a  loumey,  where  divert  of  the  prime  gal- 
<Iid  meet  ;  for,  taking  his  lii  le  horse 

I'ht  of  h\n  courbttte,  and   ..  _    a  blow 

]rli  weight  and  ron.u  ujioii  tlic  two 
r,  that  he  struck  I  hem  from  their 
hor>«  to  the  ground." — Lord  Herbert  of  Chcrbury'a  Life, 
p.  •»« 


II.,-,,.  I,„ 


1  \'... 
,    tl.- 


Note  8  N. 

He  tav!  the  hardy  burghers  there 

March  arm' don  foot  with  faces  bare. — P.  126. 

The  Scottish  burgeseoss  were,  like  yeomen,  appointed  to  be 
armetl  with  bows  and  sheaves,  sword,  buukler,  knife,  spear,  or 
a  goo<l  axe  instead  of  a  bow,  if  worth  XlOO  ;  their  armor  to  be 
of  white  or  bright  harness.  They  wore  white  hats,  i.  e.  bright 
»te«'l  caps,  without  crest  or  visor.  By  an  act  of  James  IV. 
tlieir  tceapon-sehawings  are  apfiointed  to  be  held  four  times  a 
year,  under  the  alderman  or  bailiOa. 


Note  3  0. 


On  foot  the  yeoman  too 

Kach  at  his  back  (o  slender  store) 

His  forty  days'  provision  bore, 

His  arms  were  halbert,  aze,  or  spear. — P.  126. 

Bows  and  iinii'ers  wore  in  vain  recommended  to  the  pea- 
santry of  .''coll.ind,  by  rejjcated  statutes;  spears  and  axes  seem 
universally  to  have  been  used  instead  of  tliem.  Their  defen- 
»ive  armor  wa«  thn  plate-jack,  hauberk,  or  brigantine;  and 
their   mi-  ■    cnxsbows    and    cnlverins.      All    wore 

•wonU  ol   ■  >  ■  mper,  according  to  Patten  ;  and  a  volu- 

minous handki-rchipf  round  their  neck,  "  not  for  cold,  but  for 
catling."  The  mace  aLs)  was  much  used  in  the  Scottish 
army :  The  old  poem  on  the  battle  of  Flodden  mentions  a 
band — 

"  Who  manfully  did  meet  their  foe«. 
With  leaden  maale*,  and  lances  long." 

When  the  feudal  array  of  the  kingdom  was  railed  forth, 
•uch  man  was  obliged  to  appoar  with  fony  (!nv*'  |irovision. 
When  this  was  expende-l,  whi>-h  took  p'.a-  ■■  battle 

of  Floilden,  the  army  melted  away  of  cour-  t  all  the 

Scottish  forces,  except  a  few  knights,  men-at-arms,  and  the 
Border-prickers,  who  formed  excellent  light  cavalrr,  acted 
Uton  fool. 


Note  3  P. 

^  banquet  rich,  and  costly  teines. — P.  128. 

In  all  traiuaclioiu  of  gn-at  or  petty  iin))ortaiice,  and  amonf 
whunuH>evrr  taking  place,  it  would  aeeiii  that  a  present  of  vviue 
was  a  uniform  and  indi>|ieiisable  preliminary.  It  was  30l  to 
Bir  John  Falttatr  alone  that  tucli  an  iniroduriory  pn-faee  was 
neoeaaary,  however  well  jud^jnl  and  acerplable  un  the  'i\n  of 
Mr.  Brook  ;  for  Sir  Jlalph  tiadler,  while  on  an  einbnMy  to 
Scollaml  in  153U-40,  mentions,  with  eoin|>laoency,  "  the  same 
night  came  Rothesay  (ihe  heraid  ou  I'alliil)  to  me  again,  and 
brought  me  wino  from  the  King,  both  white  and  red." — Ciif 
ford's  Edition,  p.  3U, 


Note  3  Q. 


-his  iron-belt, 


That  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain. 
In  memory  of  his  father  slain, — P.  I"J9. 

Few  readers  need  lo  be  reminded  of  thii  Ir-Ii,  to  the  weight 
of  which  James  added  certain  ounces  every  year  that  he  lived. 
Pitscottie  foundx  his  belief,  that  James  was  not  slain  in  the  bat- 
tle of  Flodden,  because  the  English  never  had  thi>  token  of  the 
iron-belt  to  ^how  to  any  ^'cotlishnian.  The  jierwn  and  char- 
acter of  James  are  delineated  according  to  our  best  hi>turians. 
His  romantic  disposition,  which  led  him  highly  to  relish  gayety, 
a|iproaching  to  license,  was,  at  the  same  lime,  tinged  w  ith  en- 
thusiastic devotion.  These  propensities  sometimes  formed  a 
strange  eonirast.  He  was  wont,  during  his  tits  of  devotion,  to 
assume  the  dress,  and  conform  to  the  rules,  of  the  order  uf  Fran- 
ciscans ;  and  when  he  had  thus  done  penance  for  some  time  in 
Stirling,  to  plunge  again  into  the  tide  o''  pleasure.  Probably, 
too,  with  no  unusual  incon^Utcncy,  he  sometimes  laughed  at 
the  superstitious  observances  to  which  he  at  other  times  sub- 
jected himself.  There  is  a  very  singular  poem  by  Dunbar, 
seemingly  addressed  lo  James  IV.,  on  one  of  these  occasions  of 
monastic  seclusion.  It  is  a  most  daring  and  profane  parody  on 
the  service!)  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  entitled, — 

"  Dunbar's  liirige  to  the  King, 
Byding  oxcer  lang  in  StrioUing. 

We  that  are  here,  in  heaven's  glory, 
To  you  that  are  in  Purgatory, 
Commend  us  on  our  hearty  wise  ; 
1  mean  we  folks  in  Paradise, 
In  £(bnburgh,  with  all  merriness, 
To  you  in  Stirling,  with  distress. 
Where  neither  pleasure  nor  delight  is, 
For  pity  this  epi&tle  writis,"  iic. 

See  the  whole  in  Sibbald'a  Colleclion,  vol.  i.  p.  234. 


Note  3  R. 


Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife.— P.  129. 

Il  has  been  already  noticed  [see  note  to  stanza  xiii.  of  canto 
i.],  that  King  James's  acquaintance  with  Lady  Heron  of  Ford 
did  not  commence  until  he  marched  into  England.  Our  his- 
torians impale  to  the  King's  infatuated  pas.siun  the  delays 
whi'.'h  led  lo  the  fatal  defeat  ol  Flodden.  Tiie  author  of 
"  The  Genealogy  of  the  Heron  Family"  endeavors.,  with  laud- 
able anxiety,  to  clear  the  Lady  Ford  from  this  scaiiilal :  that 
she  came  and  went,  however,  l)etween  the  armies  of  James  and 
Surrey,  is  certain.  See  Pi.vkeRTOn'.s  History,  anil  the  au- 
ihorilics  he  refere  to,  vol.  ii.  p.  99.  Heron  of  Fonl  had  been, 
in  1.511,  in  some  sort  accessory  to  the  slaughter  of  Sir  Robert 
Kerr  of  Cessford,  Wanlcr  of  the  Middle  Marches.     Il  waa 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


171 


committed  by  his  brother  the  bastard,  Lilburn,  and  Ptarked, 
thi.-e  Borderers.  Lilburn  and  Heron  of  Ford  were  delivered 
np  by  Henry  to  James,  and  were  imprisoned  in  the  fortress  of 
Fastcastle,  where  the  former  died.  Part  of  the  pretence  of 
Lady  Ford's  negotiation  with  James  was  the  liberty  of  her  hus- 
band 


KOTE  3  S. 


The  fair  Queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove, 
And  charged  him,  as  her  knight  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance. — P.  129. 

"  Also  the  ftueen  of  France  wrote  a  love-letter  to  the  King 
of  Scotland,  calling  him  her  love,  showing  him  that  she  had 
suffered  much  rebuke  in  France  for  the  defending  of  his  honor. 
She  believed  surely  that  he  would  recompense  her  again  with 
some  of  his  kingly  support  in  her  necessity  ;  that  is  to  say,  that 
be  would  raise  her  an  army,  and  come  three  foot  of  ground  on 
English  ground,  for  her  sake.  To  that  effect  she  sent  him  a 
ring  off  her  finger,  with  fourteen  thousand  French  crowns  to 
pay  his  expenses."  Pitscottie,  p.  110. — A  turquois  ring; 
probably  this  fatal  gift  is,  with  James's  .sword  and  dagger,  pre- 
served in  the  College  of  Heralds,  London. 


Note  3  T. 


Archibald  Bell-the-Cat.—Y.  130. 

Archibald  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man  remarkable  for 
strength  of  body  and  mind,  acquired  the  popular  name  of 
Bell-thc-Cat,  upon  the  following  remarkable  occasion  : — James 
the  Third,  of  whom  Pitscottie  complains,  that  he  delighted 
more  in  music,  and  "  policies  of  building,"  than  in  hunting, 
hawking,  and  other  noble  exercises,  was  so  ill  advised,  as  to 
make  favorites  of  his  architects  and  musicians,  whom  the  same 
historian  irreverently  terms  masons  and  fiddlers.  His  nobiUty, 
who  did  not  sympathize  in  the  King's  respect  for  the  fine  arts, 
were  extremely  incensed  at  the  honors  conferred  on  those  per- 
sons, particularly  on  Cochrane,  a  mason,  who  had  been  created 
Earl  of  Mar  ;  and,  seizing  the  opportunity,  when,  in  1482, 
the  King  had  convoked  the  whole  array  of  the  country  to 
march  against  the  English,  they  held  a  midnight  council  in  the 
church  of  Lander,  for  the  purpose  of  forcibly  removing  these 
minions  from  the  King's  person.  When  all  had  agreed  on  the 
propriety  of  this  measure,  Lord  Gray  told  the  assembly  the 
apologue  of  the  Mice,  who  had  formed  a  resolution  that  it 
wouid  be  highly  advantageous  to  their  community  to  tie  a  bell 
round  the  cat's  neck,  that  they  might  hear  her  approach  at  a 
distance;  but  which  public  measure  unfortunately  miscarried, 
from  no  mouse  being  willing  to  undertake  the  task  of  fastening 
the  bell.  "  I  understand  the  moral,"  said  Angus,  "  and,  that 
what  we  propose  may  not  lack  execution,  I  will  bcll-thc-cat." 
The  rest  of  the  strange  scene  is  thus  told  by  Pitscottie  : — 

"  By  this  was  advised  and  spoken  by  thir  lords  foresaid, 
Cochran,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  came  from  the  King  to  the  coancil 
(which  council  was  holden  in  the  kirk  of  Lauder  for  the  time), 
who  was  well  accompanied  with  a  band  of  men  of  war,  to  the 
number  of  three  hundred  light  axes,  all  clad  in  white  livery, 
and  black  bends  thereon,  that  they  might  be  known  for 
Cochran  the  Earl  of  Mar's  men.  Himself  was  clad  in  a 
riding-pie  of  black  velvet,  with  a  great  chain  of  gold  about  his 
neck,  to  the  value  of  five  hundred  crowns,  and  four  blowing 
noriis,  with  both  the  ends  of  gold  and  silk,  set  with  a  precious 
stone,  called  a  berryl  hanging  in  the  midst.  This  Cochran 
had  his  heumont  borne  before  him,  overgilt  with  gold,  and  so 
were  all  the  rest  of  his  horns,  and  all  his  pallions  were  of  fine 
canvas  of  silk,  and  the  cords  thereof  fine  twined  silk,  and  the 
^oins  upon  his  pallions  were  double  overgilt  with  gold. 


"  This  Cochran  was  so  prond  in  his  conceit,  that  he  couuted 
no  lords  to  be  marrows  to  him,  therefore  he  rushed  rudely  at 
the  kirk-door.  The  council  inquired  who  it  was  that  perturbed 
them  at  that  time.  Sir  Robert  Dou^Jas,  Laird  of  Lochlcven, 
was  keeper  of  the  kirk-door  at  that  time,  who  inquired  who 
that  was  that  knocked  so  rudely  ?  and  Cochran  answered, 
'  This  is  I,  the  Earl  of  Mar.'  The  which  news  pleased  well 
the  lords,  because  they  were  ready  boun  to  cause  take  him,  as 
is  before  rehearsed.  Then  the  Earl  of  Angus  passed  hastily  to 
the  door,  and  with  him  Sir  Robert  Douglas  of  Loihleven, 
there  to  receive  in  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  so  many  of  his  com- 
plices who  were  there,  as  they  thought  good.  And  the  Earl 
of  Angus  met  with  the  Earl  of  Mar,  as  he  came  in  at  the  door, 
and  pulled  the  golden  chain  from  his  craig,  and  said  to  him,  a 
towi  would  set  him  better.  Sir  Robert  Douglas  syne  pulled 
the  blowing  horn  from  him  in  like  manner,  and  said,  'He  had 
been  the  hunter  of  mischief  over  long.'  This  Cochran  asked, 
'My  lords,  is  it  mows,2  or  earnest?'  They  answered,  and 
said,  '  It  is  good  earnest,  and  so  thou  shalt  find  ;  for  tliou  and 
thy  complices  have  abused  our  priuce  this  long  time  ;  of  whom 
thou  shalt  have  no  more  credence,  but  shalt  have  thy  reward 
according  to  thy  good  service,  as  thou  hast  deserved  in  times 
bypasl ;  right  so  the  rest  of  thy  followers.' 

"  Notwithstanding,  the  lords  held  them  quiet  till  they  caused 
certain  armed  men  to  pass  into  the  King's  pallion,  and  two  or 
three  wise  men  to  pa.«s  with  them,  and  give  the  King  fair 
pleasant  words,  till  they  laid  hands  on  all  the  King's  servants, 
and  took  them  and  hanged  them  before  his  eyes  over  the  bridge 
of  Lawder.  Incontinent  they  brought  forth  Cochran,  and  his 
hands  bound  with  a  tow,  who  desired  them  to  take  one  of  his 
own  pallion  tows  and  bind  his  hands,  for  he  thought  shame  to 
have  his  hands  bound  with  such  tow  of  hemp,  like  a  thief. 
The  lords  answered,  he  was  a  traitor,  he  deserved  no  better ; 
and,  for  despight,  they  took  a  hair  tether,^  and  hanged  him 
over  the  bridge  of  Lawder,  above  the  rest  of  his  complices." — 
Pitscottie,  p.  78,  folio  edit. 


Note  3  U, 


Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood. 
And  chafed  his  royal  Lord. — P.  130. 

Angus  was  an  old  man  when  the  war  against  England  was 
resolved  upon.  He  earnestly  spoke  against  that  measure  from 
its  commencement ;  and,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Flodden, 
remonstrated  so  freely  upon  the  impolicy  of  fighting,  that  the 
King  said  to  him,  with  scorn  and  indignation,  "  if  he  was 
afraid  he  might  go  home."  The  Earl  burst  into  tears  at  this 
insupportable  insult,  and  retired  accordingly,  leaving  his  sons 
George,  Master  of  Angus,  and  Su"  Wilham  of  Gienbervie,  to 
command  his  followers.  They  were  both  slain  in  the  battle, 
with  two.  hundred  gentlemen  of  the  name  of  Douglas.  The 
aged  Earl,  broken-hearted  at  the  calamities  of  his  house  and 
his  country,  retired  into  a  religious  house,  where  lie  died  about 
a  year  after  the  lield  of  Flodden. 


Note  3  V. 

Tantnllon  hold.— P.  131. 

The  ruins  of  Tantallon  Castle  occupy  a  high  rock  projecting 
into  the  German  Ocean,  about  two  miles  east  of  Nor^li  Ber- 
wick. The  building  is  not  seen  till  a  close  approach,  as  there 
is  rising  ground  betwixt  it  and  the  land.  The  circuit  is  of 
large  extent,  fenced  upon  three  sides  by  the  precipice  which 
overhangs  the  Sea,  and  on  the  fourth  by  a  double  ditch  and 
very  strong  outworks.  Tantallon  was  a  principal  castle  of 
the  Donglas  family,  and  when  the  Earl  of  Angus  was  banished, 
1  Rope.  2  Jest.  3  H:Uter. 


172 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


in  1V?7,  It  <-nifmnc<l  (o  hoM  om  ii»i\ir!«l  Jamm  V.  Tlie  King 
M  :i  lion.  iMjfTowi-il  Irum 

ll,.   I  i>  .  tlir  Diikr  ul'  Alliany, 

iHo  xr-  at  .jjitiiiPi",  wln»M'  iiaiiH-a,  u>  I'lLvollif  iiilonin  u<  willi 
Uuilatili'  iiiiiiuleiifM,  wrrr  '•  Tlirnwii-iiiuulliM  Mrg  itii'l  lit'r 
Mamivr  ;"  alio,  "  two  grrat  kotcanla,  and  Iwo  niuymi.  two 
double  falrona,  and  fourquarti-r  falcoru  ;"  for  ttio  mIV'  cuiiliiig 
anil  R~<l>-livi-r)  of  wliicti,  llin-<>  lonti  wrrv  tniil  in  |iawn  at 
Puiibar.  Yrl.  nolwitliilBMcling  all  tlii>  a|i|iaralu>,  Jiuiilii  woji 
'or>o<l  to  nue  llio  airgv,  anil  only  urtiTwanl»  oblainrd  |ic»i- 
crwiun  of  Taiiullon  by  In'aly  willi  ibr  govfrnor,  Simon  I'a- 
naii'^vv  Wli.'ii  (ll-  r.irl  of  Angu»  n-tnrned  fruni  liunlnbnii'iit, 
Uj  i:;aiii  oblaiiK'il  |ioH«i".»ion  of  Tan- 

la  ,  :  nruge  lo  an  Kii;;li>.li  ainbaMa- 

dof,  unilcr    .  ■<    »iniilar    lo    lliow  di-^nlird    in    llu' 

U-Jt.     Tlii»  \v  r  llian  llif  Cfli'bratcd  Sir  Ral|ili  Sadlir, 

who  rr«idpd  llicre  for  Konio  time  under  An}!n»'ii  proU'clion, 
aftrr  tlip  railun>  of  liia  ncgolialloii  for  nialolilnj;  tlii>  infant 
Mary  with  ElwarJ  VI.  lie  »ay»,  that  though  this  place  wn» 
jmorly  funiishetl,  it  wu  of  nuch  •tron-stli  nn  might  warrant 
him  B^iainot  thr  malice  of  his  rnvmie.«,  and  that  lie  now  lliunglit 
him*  -If  out  of  dangrr.' 

Th.  t)  i*  a  military  tradition,  that  the  old  Scottish  March 
was  meant  to  ci|ircn  the  words, 

Ding  down  Tantallon, 
Mak  a  brig  to  the  Baas. 

Tantallon  wan  at  length  "dung  down"  and  mined  by  the 
Covenantern  ;  iL'<  lonl,  the  .Manjuis  of  Douglas,  being  a  favorer 
of  (he  royal  caaw.  The  caittle  and  barony  were  sold  in  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  rentury  to  President  Dalrymple  of 
North  Berwick,  by  the  tlien  Marqui.s  ofDouglai. 


Note  3  W. 


Their  motto  on  his  blade.— V.  131. 

A  very  ancient  «word,  in  possession  of  Lord  Douglas,  beats, 
among  a  great  deal  of  flourishing,  two  hands  pointing  to  a 
heart,  which  n  placed  betwixt  them,  and  the  date  l:)°29,  being 
the  rear  in  which  Bruce  charged  the  Good  Lonl  Douglas  to 
carry  bis  heart  to  the  Holy  J^and.  The  following  lines  (the 
first  couplet  of  which  is  quoted  by  Godscrofl  as  a  j>opular 
taying  in  bis  time)  are  inscribed  around  the  emblem  : 

"  Ho  mony  guid  as  of  ye  Dovglas  bc-inge 
Of  ane  surname  was  ne'er  in  Scotland  seine. 

f  will  ye  charge,  efler  yat  I  depart, 

To  holy  grawe,  and  I  hair  bury  my  hart ; 

Let  it  remanc  ever  BOTiiB  TY.ME  AND  uowR, 

To  ye  la.«l  day  I  sie  my  Saviour. 

I  do  protest  in  tyme  of  al  my  ringc, 

ye  lyk  anbjcct  had  never  ony  keing." 

This  cnrions  and  valuable  relic  vrax  nearly  lost  during  the 
civil  war  of  l74.'V-6,  being  carried  away  from  Douglas-Castle 
by  some  of  those  in  arms  for  I'rince  Charles.  But  great  inter- 
est having  Ireen  made  by  the  Duke  of  Dongl.is  among  the  chief 
parti«an>  of  the  Stnnrt,  it  was  al  length  restored.  It  resembles 
a  Hit'lilaml  ii.i\  iiior.>.  of  the  usual  size,  is  of  an  excellent  tem- 
per, ani!  admirably  (raised. 


Notes  X. 

Martin  Saarl.—V.  132. 


A  German  general,  who  commanded  the  auxiliaries  sent  by 
ine  Duchess  of  Burgundy  with  Lambert  Simnel.     He  was  de- 

1  Tli«  v^ry  piirionj  Sla1«   r»]»<-n  of  this  sltla  D«*ffOtiator  wore,  in  1910, 
pQbUAh«d  by  Mr.  Clifford,  with  acist  DOtra  by  Ibe  Author  of  Marmion. 


foatn)  and  killnl  at  Slokrfield.  The  name  of  tliia  German 
general  ia  preM-ived  by  (but  of  (he  field  of  bntdr,  which  ii 
called,  uller  liiin,  8war(-in(Hir.— Then'  were  aoiiga  abuul  biin 
long  cunv'iit  in  Kii^land.- -See  Diaacrtation  prvlixetl  to  RiT 
ao.i'ii  ^Hctenl  Hun^ra,  I'Vi,  p.  Ixi. 


Notk  3  Y. 


Perehaner  lomr  form  unit  unohterved ; 

Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  iwereed. — P.  132. 

It  was  early  iiecmsary  for  those  who  fell  themai-lvi-a  obligi'tl 
lu  believe  in  (he  divine  ju<lgnient  being  enunciated  in  the  irial 
by  duel,  (o  find  salvos  for  the  Ktrange  and  obviously  pni-ariou« 
chances  of  the  combat.  Various  curious  evasive  ahifla,  uaed 
by  those  who  look  up  an  unrighteous  quarrel,  were  Bup|>osed 
suflicient  to  convert  it  into  a  ju«t  one.  Thus,  in  (be  roinnnce 
of  "  Amys  and  Amelion,"  the  one  brother-in-arina  figliling 
fur  the  other,  disguised  in  his  armor,  sweant  that  Ac  did  not 
commit  the  crime  of  which  the  Slewanl,  his  antagoniat,  truly, 
though  iiiuliciously,  accused  him  v«'huin  he  r(-pivs<-n(ed.  Bran- 
tome  (ells  a  s(nry  of  an  Italian,  who  entered  the  li^ts  upon  an 
unjus(  i|uamd,  but,  (o  make  bis  cause  good,  fli'd  from  his  ene- 
my a(  (he  fin-t  onset.  "Turn,  coward!"  exclaimed  bis  an- 
tagonist. "  Thou  liest,"  said  ilic  Italian,  "  cowarl  am  I  none  ; 
and  in  this  quarrel  will  I  fight  to  the  death,  but  my  first  cuose 
of  coixbat  was  unjust,  and  I  abandon  it."  "  Je  voun  laisse 
a  pcnsfr,"  adds  Brantome,  "  s'il  n'y  a  pas  rie  I'abiig  /<i." 
Elsewhere  he  says,  very  sensibly,  U|ion  the  confidence  which 
those  who  had  a  righteous  cause  entertained  of  victory  :  "  Un 
autre  abiis  y  avoil-il,  que  cciiz  qui  aruienl  un  juste  subjrt 
de  qurrellc,  ct  qu*on  les  faisoit  jurer  aoattt  cntrcr  au  camp, 
pcnsuient  cslrc  aussitost  vaiiit/ucurs,  noire  s'en  assuroiint- 
t-ils  dtt  tout,  mesmrs  que  Irurs  confrssrurs,  parrnins  rt  con- 
fidants leurs  en  respondoicnt  tout-i-fait,  comme  si  Dieu 
leur  en  cust  donne  une  patenle ;  ct  ne  rr/rnrdant  point  A 
d'aulrcs  fautrs  passres,  ct  que  Dieu  en  garde  la  punition  i 
ce  coup  Id  pour  plus  ffrande,  despitcusc,  ct  ezcmplaire."— 
Discours  sur  les  Duels. 


Note  3  Z. 


The  Cross.—?.  134. 


The  Cross  of  Edinbnrgh  was  an  ancienl  and  curious  strue- 
ture.  The  lower  part  was  an  octagonal  lower,  sixteen  feel  in 
diameter,  and  about  fifteen  feet  high.  Al  each  angle  there 
was  a  pillar,  and  between  ihem  an  arch,  of  the  Grecian  shape. 
Above  these  was  a  projecting  hnttlement.  with  a  tumt  ai 
each  comer,  and  medallions,  of  rude  but  curious  workman- 
ship, between  them.  Above  this  rose  the  proper  Cross,  a 
column  of  one  stone,  upwards  of  twenty  feet  high,  surmount- 
ed with  a  nnicorn.  This  pillar  is  preserved  in  the  grounds  ol 
the  properly  of  Drum,  near  Eilinlnirgli.  The  Magistrates  ol 
Edinburgh,  in  IT-OG,  with  consent  of  (he  Lords  of  Session  (  priih 
pudor .')  des(royed  this  curious  monument,  under  a  wanton 
pretext  that  it  encumbered  (lie  street  ;  while,  on  the  one  haml, 
they  left  an  ugly  mass  called  the  Luckenboodis,  and,  on  the 
other,  an  awkward,  long,  and  low  gnanl-house,  which  were 
fifty  times  more  encumbrance  Mian  the  venerable  and  inolTen- 
sive  Cross. 

From  the  tower  of  the  Cross,  so  long  as  it  remained,  the  her- 
alds published  the  ac(s  of  Parliament ;  and  its  site,  marked  by 
radii,  diverging  from  a  stone  centre,  in  the  High  Street,  ia  still 
the  place  where  proclamations  are  made. 


.J 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


173 


Note  4  A. 
This  awful  summo7is  came. — P.  134. 

This  supernatural  citation  is  mentioned  by  all  our  Scottish 
historians.  It  was,  probably,  like  the  ai)parilion  at  Linlithgow, 
an  attempt,  by  those  averse  to  the  war,  to  impose  upon  the 
su|)er-lilious  temper  ol  James  IV.  The  following  account  from 
Pitscottie  is  characteristically  minute,  and  furnishes,  besides, 
some  curious  particulars  of  the  equipment  of  the  army  of  James 
IV.  I  need  only  add  to  it,  that  Plotcock,  or  Plutock,  is  no 
other  than  Pluto.  The  Christians  of  the  middle  ages  by  no 
means  misbelieved  in  the  existence  of  the  heathen  deities  ;  they 
only  considered  them  as  devils;'  and  Plotcock,  so  far  from 
implying  any  thing  fabulous,  was  a  synonyme  of  the  grand 
enemy  of  mankind.  "  Yet  all  tliir  warnings,  and  uncouth 
tidings,  nor  no  good  counsel,  might  stop  the  King,  at  this  pres- 
ent, from  his  vain  purpose,  and  wicked  enterpri/.e,  hut  hasted 
him  fast  to  Edinburgh,  and  there  to  make  his  provision  and 
furnisliing,  in  having  forth  his  army  against  the  day  appointed, 
that  they  should  meet  in  the  Burrow-muir  of  Edinburgh  : 
That  is  to  say,  seven  cannons  that  he  had  forth  of  the  Castle 
of  E.linburgh,  which  were  called  the  Seven  Sisters,  casten  by 
Robert  Borthwick,  the  master-gunner,  with  other  small  artille- 
ry, bullet,  powder,  and  all  manner  of  order,  as  the  ma.ster-gun- 
ner  could  devise. 

"  In  this  meantime,  when  they  were  taking  forth  their  artil- 
lery, and  the  King  being  in  the  Abbey  for  the  lime,  there  was 
a  cry  heard  at  the  Market-cross  of  Edinburgh,  at  the  hour  of 
midnight,  proclaiming  as  it  had  been  a  summons,  which  was 
named  and  called  by  the  proclaimer  thereof.  The  Summons 
of  Plotcock  ;  which  desired  all  msn  to  compear,  both  Earl,  and 
Lord,  and  Baron,  and  all  honest  gentlemen  within  the  town 
(every  man  specified  by  his  own  name;,  to  compear,  within 
the  space  of  forty  days,  before  his  master,  where  it  should  hap- 
pen him  to  appoint,  and  be  for  the  time,  under  the  pain  of  dis- 
obedience. But  whether  this  summons  was  proclaimed  by 
vain  persons,  night-walkers,  or  drunken  men,  for  tlieir  pastime, 
or  if  it  was  a  spirit,  I  cannot  tell  truly  ;  but  it  was  shewn  to 
me,  that  an  indweller  of  the  town,  Mr.  Richard  Lawson,  being 
evil-disposed,  ganging  in  his  gallery-stair  foreanent  the  Cross, 
hearing  this  voice  proclaiming  this  summons,  thought  marvel 
what  it  should  he,  cried  on  his  servant  to  bring  him  his  purse  ; 
and  when  he  had  brought  him  it,  he  took  out  a  crown,  and 
cast  over  the  stair,  saying,  '  I  appeal  from  that  summons, 
judgment,  and  sentence  thereof,  and  takes  me  all  whole  in  the 
mercy  of  God,  and  Christ  Jesus  his  son.'  Verily,  the  author 
of  this,  that  caused  me  write  the  manner  of  this  summons,  was 
a  landed  gentleman,  who  was  at  that  time  twenty  years  of  age, 
and  was  in  the  town  the  time  of  the  said  summons  ;  and  there- 
alter,  when  the  lield  was  stricken,  he  swore  to  me,  tii'-re  was  no 
man  that  escaped  that  was  called  in  this  summons,  but  that  one 
man  alone  which  made  his  protestation,  and  appealed  from  the 
said  fiuramons  ;  but  all  the  lave  were  perished  in  the  field  with 
the  kins." 


Note  4  B. 


One  of  his  own  ancestry. 

Drove  the  Monks  forth  of  Coventry. — P.  136. 

This  relates  to  the  catastrophe  of  a  real  Robert  de  M  arm  ion 
in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen,  whom  William  of  Newbury  de- 
scribes with  some  attributes  of  my  tictitious  hero  :  ^^  Homo  bel- 
licosus,  Jerocia,  et  astucia,  fere  nulla  suo  tempore  impar." 
This  Baron,  having  expelled  the  Monks  from  the  church  of 
Coventry,  was  not  long  of  experiencing  the  divine  judgment, 


1  See,  on  this  curious  subject,  tho  Ess.**y  on  Fairies,  in  the  "  Border  Min- 
•trclsy,"  vol.  ii.  under  the  fourth  ht»ftd ;  also  Jackson  on  Unbelief,  p.  115. 
Chilucer  calls  Pluto  the  *'  King  of  Faerie  ;"  and  Dunbar  names  him,  '*  Pluto, 
ihftt  elrich  iocubus."     If  he  was  not  actually  the  devil,  be  must  be  conaid- 


as  the  same  monks,  no  doubt,  termed  his  disaster.  Having 
waged  a  feudal  war  with  the  Earl  of  Chester,  Marmion's  borss 
fell,  as  lie  charged  in  the  van  of  his  troop,  against  a  body  of 
the  Earl's  followers  :  the  rider's  thigh  being  broken  by  the  fall, 
his  head  was  cut  ofl"  by  a  common  foot-soldier,  ere  l)e  could 
receive  any  succor.  The  whole  story  is  told  by  WiUiaiu  ol 
Newbury. 


Note  4  C. 
the  savage  Dane 


Al  lol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain. — P.  137. 

The  lol  of  the  heathen  Danes  (a  word  still  applied  to  Christ- 
mas in  Scotland)  was  solemnized  with  great  festivity.  The 
humor  of  the  Danes  at  table  displayed  itself  in  pelting  each 
other  with  bones  ;  and  Torl'a?us  tells  a  long  and  curious  story, 
in  the  History  of  Hrolfe  Kraka,  of  one  llottus,  an  inmate  of 
the  Court  of  Denmark,  who  was  so  generally  assailed  with 
these  missiles,  that  he  constructed,  ont  of  the  bones  with  which 
he  was  overwhelmed,  a  very  respectable  intrenchment,  against 
those  who  continued  the  raillery.  The  dances  of  the  northern 
warriors  round  the  great  fires  of  pine-trees,  are  commemorated 
by  Olaus  Magnus,  who  says,  they  danced  with  such  fury 
holding  each  other  by  the  hands,  that,  if  the  grasp  of  any  fail- 
ed, he  was  pitched  into  'he  fire  with  the  velocity  of  a  sling. 
The  sufTerer,  on  such  occa^^ions,  was  instantly  plucked  out, 
and  obliged  to  qualTolTa  certain  measure  of  ale,  as  a  penalty 
for  "  spoiling  the  Idng's  fire."  ., 


Note  4  D. 
On  Christmas  eve. — P.  137. 

In  Roman  Catholic  countries,  mass  is  never  said  at  night, 
except  on  Oiristmas  eve.  Each  of  the  frolics  with  which  that 
holiday  used  to  be  celebrated,  might  admit  of  a  long  and  cu- 
rious note  ;  but  1  shall  content  myself  with  the  following  de- 
scription of  Christmas,  and  his  attributes,  as  personified  in  one 
of  Ben  Jonson's  Masques  for  the  Court. 

"  Enter  Christmas  with  two  or  three  of  the  Ouard.  He 
is  attired  in  round  hose,  long  stockings,  a  close  doublet,  a  high- 
crowned  hat,  with  a  brooch,  a  long  thin  beard,  a  truncheon, 
little  rufl^s,  white  shoes,  his  scaris  and  garters  tied  cross,  and  his 
drum  beaten  before  him. —  TT.e  riavics  of  his  children,  with 
their  attires  :  Miss-Rule,  in  a  velvet  cap,  with  a  sprig,  a  short 
cloak,  great  yellow  rutf,  hke  a  reveller  ;  his  torch-bearer,  bear- 
ing a  rope,  a  cheese,  and  a  basket ; — Carol,  a  long  tawny  coat, 
with  a  red  cap,  and  a  Hute  at  his  girdle  ;  his  toroh-bearer  car- 
rying a  song-book,  open  ; — Minc'd-pie,  like  a  fine  cook's  wife, 
drest  neat,  her  man  carrying  a  pie,  dish,  and  spoons  ; — Gem- 
boll,  like  a  tumbler,  with  a  lioop  and  bells ;  his  torch-bearer 
arm'd  with  cole-staff,  and  blinding  cloth  ; — Post  and  Pair, 
w>ith  a  pair-royal  of  aces  in  his  hat,  his  garment  all  done  over 
with  pairs  and  purs ;  his  squire  carrying  a  box,  cards,  and 
counters  ; — JVew-year's-Oift,  in  a  blue-coat,  serving-raan  like 
with  an  orange,  and  a  sprig  of  rosemary  gilt  on  his  head,  hU 
hat  full  of  brooches,  with  a  collar  of  gingerbread  ;  hi-,  torch- 
bearer  carrying  a  march-jiain,  with  a  bottle  of  wine  on  eitiier 
arm  ; — Mumming,  in  a  masquing  pied  suit,  with  a  visor ;  iiis 
torch-bearer  carrying  the  box,  and  ringing  it ; — IVassal,  like  a 
neat  sempster  and  songster  ;  her  page  bearing  a  brown  bowl, 
drest  with  ribbands,  and  rosemary,  before  her ; — Offering,  in 
a  short  gown,  with  a  porter's  stafl'in  his  hand  ;  a  wyth  borne 
before  him,  and  a  bason,  by  his  torch-bearer ; — Baby  Coda, 


ered  aa  the  "prince  of  the  power  of  the  air."  The  must  remarkable  in. 
stance  of  these  s:ir\-iving  classic:il  supeistitions,  is  that  of  the  Gerni;m8,  ccu- 
ceming  the  Hill  of  Venim,  into  which  she  attempts  to  entice  all  galhiiit 
kuigbts,  and  detains  them  there  in  a  sort  of  Fool's  F  tradise. 


174 


SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


dr«t  Ilka  a  hor.  In  a  flne  long  co«l,  higgln.  Iiib,  muckendpr, 
■nil  I  '-r  ;  hi*  u»hpr  bearing  a  gtvat  cake,  Willi  a  bean 

anil   . 


No-x  4  E. 

tVh»  lUt*  May  I'a  their  mumming  >et 
Tracf$  ofamcirHt  mgtItrjf.—P.  138. 

It  •.  I.  crtsin.  ilint  tlip  Mummrrs  of  England,  who  (in 
i^'iir'  uvil  to  gu  iiliijul  ill  ili-;;iiii«  to  tliu 

nrijl  ,  ;;  the  thrn  iiwli-*  |i!oii»lii'liiirB  ;  niul 

thr  Umsariit  of  fooltaml,  not  yrt  in  total  (li«iiiie,  |irwHMit,  in 
■oinp  JMilittinri  ilrgTPp,  a  iihailow  of  the  old  niysiti-ries,  wliieh 
wrrr  lli«4«ri);iii  of  the  Giiglith  drama.  In  Scotland  (me  ipso 
Irtlf),  we  wrfr  wont,  ilurin'  my  lioyhoo<l,  to  take  the  cliarac- 
ten  ol'the  aputtlf*.  at  Iraiit  ol'  IVtcr,  Paul,  and  Jiidai  Incariot ; 
ihp  lir't  hail  (lie  kryu,  the  lu-roiid  carried  a  iiworil,  and  the  la.it 
thp  lia«,  in  which  the  dole  of  our  neighbors'  pluinbiake  w.aii 
i!.  jii^ittil.  One  played  a  champion,  and  recited  some  trodi- 
liui.:il  rhyme*  ;  another  was 

.     .     .     .     "  Alexander,  King  of  .Macedon, 
Who  conqoer'd  all  the  world  b»t  Scotland  alone  : 
When  he  came  to  Scotland  his  courage  grew  cold, 
To  wo  a  little  nation  courageous  and  bold." 

Thete,  and  many  such  venieo,  were  repeated,  but  by  rote,  and 
onconnectedly.  There  was  aluo,  occasionally,  1  believe,  a 
Saint  George.  In  all,  there  was  a  confused  resemblance  of  the 
ancient  myiiterie*,  in  which  the  characters  of  Scripture,  the 
Nine  Worthie*,  and  other  popular  personages,  were  a.sually 
exhibited.  It  were  much  to  be  wished  that  the  Chester  My»- 
t.rv-^  were  publiiheil  from  the  MS.  in  the  Moseum,  with  the 
:i  ■  ■italions  which  a  diligent  investisalor  of  popular  antiquities 
uii;;lil  itill  iiupplr.  The  late  .icute  ami  valuable  antiquary, 
Mr.  Ril.<on,  dhowed  me  several  memoranda  towards  such  a 
ta.«l(.  which  are  probably  now  dispersed  or  lost.  See,  however, 
hi'  lirmarka  on  Shnkspenre,  i7t'3,  p.  38. 

Since  the  fir»t  e<lition  of  Marniion  appeared,  thi»  subject  has 
received  much  elauidation  from  the  learned  and  extensive  la- 
bors of  Mr.  Douce ;  and  tlie  Chester  Mysteries  [edited  by  J. 
H.  Markland,  Esq.]  have  been  printed  in  a  stylo  of  great  ele- 
gance and  accuracy  (in  I8I8),  by  Densley  and  Sons,  London, 
for  the  Roxborshe  Club.     1830. 


Note  4  F. 

Where  my  greal-grandsire  f.nme  of  old. 
With  amber  beard  and  flazen  hair. — P.  138. 

Mr.  Scott  of  Harden,'  my  kind  and  afTectionatc  friend,  and 
dintant  relation,  ha»  the  original  of  a  poetical  invitation,  ad- 
dmseil  from  his  grandfather  to  my  relative,  from  which  a  few 
line*  in  the  text  are  imitated.  They  are  dated,  as  the  epistle 
in  tJic  text,  from  .Mertoon-house,  the  seat  of  the  Harden  fam- 
ily. 

"  With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair, 
And  rrvrrend  apostolic  air. 
Free  of  anxiety  and  care. 
Come  hither.  Chrintmavday,  and  dine ; 
We'll  mix  sobriety  with  wine. 
And  easy  mirth  with  thoughu  divine. 
We  Christians  think  it  holiday. 
On  it  no  sin  to  feast  or  p!ay  ; 
Olhen,  in  spile,  may  fast  and  pray. 
No  snpcrstition  in  the  use 
Oar  ancestors  made  of  a  goose ; 

I  Nnw  JjovX  Polw.irl'i. 

ITIie  old  f^entUn-.in  was  ttn  ultimat*  of  tbu  eeUbrattd  K^ai^is.  By 
tk«  bror  if  Iba  UU  Eul  of  K«Wi«,  who  wu  drteenltd  oD  lh«  outtcmal 


Why  may  not  we,  as  well  as  they, 
Be  iniiucenlly  hiillic  that  day, 
On  giHMo  or  pic,  on  wine  or  ale, 
And  Kiorn  enthuniantic  zeal  1 — 
Pray  come,  and  welcome,  or  plague  rott 
Vour  friend  niid  lanillorti,  Walter  Scott. 
"  .Mr.  Hatter  Scott,  J.estuden." 

The  venerable  old  gentleman,  to  whom  the  lines  are  addri""* 
e<l,  waa  the  younger  brother  of  William  Srolt  of  BBeburn. 
Ileing  the  cadet  of  a  cadet  of  the  llanieri  family,  h»  had  vrry 
little  to  lose  ;  yet  he  contrived  to  lose  the  small  ;  ro[ierty  he 
had,  by  engaging  in  the  civil  wan  and  intrigues  i/f  the  Ikmimi 
of  Hluart.  Ilia  veneration  for  llm  exiled  fainil/  waa  ao  great, 
that  he  swori'  he  would  not  shave  hin  iM-anl  till  they  wen-  re- 
storetl  :  a  mark  of  attachment,  which,  I  suppose,  had  l>een 
common  during  Cromwell's  usurpation ;  for,  in  Cowley's 
"  Cutter  of  Coleman  Street,"  one  drunken  cavalier  upbraids 
anollier.  that,  when  he  was  not  able  to  afford  to  pay  a  barber, 
he  atlected  to  "  wear  a  beani  for  the  King."  I  sincerely  hope 
this  was  not  absolutely  the  original  reason  of  my  ancivlor's 
beanl  ;  which,  xis  appean  frr>m  a  portrait  in  the  possession  of 
Sir  Henry  liny  M.acdoueal,  Hart.,  and  another  painted  for  the 
famous  Dr.  I'iicairn,'''  was  a  beard  of  a  most  dignified  and 
venerable  a|ipearaoce. 


Note  4  G. 

The  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree.—V.  139. 

I  am  permitted  to  illustrate  this  passage,  by  inserting  "  Cetu 
brcn  yr  FlltjU,  or  the  Spirit's  BIa.sted  Tree,"  a  legendary  tale, 
by  the  Reverend  George  Warrington  : — 

"  The  event,  on  which  llii.t  tale  is  founded,  is  preserved  by 
tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Vaaghans  of  llengwyrt ;  nor  is 
it  entirely  lost,  even  among  the  common  fieople,  who  still 
point  out  this  oak  to  the  passenger.  The  enmity  between  the 
two  WcLsh  chieftains,  Ilowel  Sele,  and  Owen  Glenilwr,  wai 
extreme,  and  marked  by  vile  treachery  in  the  one,  and  fero- 
cious cruelty  in  the  other.'  The  story  is  somewhat  changed 
and  softened,  as  more  favorable  to  the  character  of  the  two 
chiefs,  and  as  better  an.«wering  the  purpose  of  poetry,  by  ad- 
milting  the  passion  of  pity,  and  a  greater  degree  of  sentiment 
in  the  description.  Home  trace  ol  Ilowel  Selo's  mansion  was 
to  be  seen  a  few  yearn  .ago,  and  may  perhajis  be  still  visible,  in 
the  park  of  Nannau,  now  belonging  to  Sir  Robert  V'aughan, 
ISaronet,  in  the  wild  and  romantic  tracks  of  .'Merionethshire. 
The  abbey  mentioned  pas.ses  under  two  names,  Vencr  and 
Cymmer.     The  former  is  retained,  as  more  generally  used. 

THE  SPIRIT'S  BLASTED  TREE. 
Ceubrcn  yr  Ellyll 

"Through  Nannau's  Chase,  as  Howel  pa.ss'd, 
A  chief  esteem'd  both  brave  and  kind, 
Far  distant  borne,  the  ctag-hounds'  cry 
Came  murmuring  on  the  hollow  wind. 

"  Starting,  he  bent  an  eager  car, — 

llow  should  the  sounds  return  again  7 
His  hounds  lay  wearied  from  the  chase, 
And  all  at  home  his  hunter  train 

"  Then  sudden  anger  flashed  his  eye. 
And  deep  revenge  he  vow'd  to  take 
On  that  bold  man  who  dared  to  force 
His  red-deer  from  the  forest  brake 

aide  from  Dr.  Pitcaim,  my  father  became  poascased  of  the  portrait  in  quev 
tioD. 
i  The  histoi;  of  their  feud  maybe  found  in  Feniiaat'a  Tour  is  Wala*. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMIOX. 


17/5 


"Unhappy  Chief!  would  naught  avail, 
No  signs  iinjiress  thy  heart  with  fear, 
Thy  lady's  ilarl;  mysterious  dream, 
Thy  warning  Irom  tiie  hoary  seer? 

"  'Twas  now  November's  cheerless  hour, 
Which  drenching  rain  and  clouds  deface 
Dreary  bleak  Robell's  tract  appear'd. 
And  dull  and  dank  each  valley's  spaca 

'  Three  ravens  gave  the  note  of  death, 

As  tlirough  mid-air  tliey  wing'd  their  way  ; 
Then  o'er  his  head,  in  rapid  flight. 

They  croali, — they  scent  their  destined  prey. 

"  Loud  o'er  the  weir  the  hoarse  flood  fell. 
And  dasli'd  the  foaming  spray  ou  high  ; 
The  west  wind  bent  the  forest  tops. 
And  angry  frowu'd  the  evening  sky. 

"  lU-omen'd  bird  !  as  legends  say. 

Who  liast  tlie  wondrous  power  to  know, 
While  health  tills  higli  the  throhhing  veins, 
Tlie  fated  hour  when  blood  must  flow. 

"  A  stranger  pass'd  Llanelltid's  bourne, 

His  dark-gray  steed  with  sweat  besprent, 
Which,  wearied  with  the  lengthen'd  way, 
Could  scarcely  gain  the  hill's  ascent. 

"Blinded  by  rage,  alone  he  pass'd, 
Nor  sought  his  ready  vassals'  aid  : 
But  what  his  fate  lay  long  unknown. 
For  many  an  anxious  year  delay'd. 

"The  portal  rcach'd, — the  iron  bell 

Loud  sounded  round  the  outward  wall ; 
ftuick  sprang  the  warder  to  the  gate. 
To  know  what  meant  the  clam'rous  call. 

"  A  peasant  mark'd  his  angry  eye. 

He  saw  him  reach  the  lake's  dark  bourne, 
He  saw  him  near  a  Blasted  Oak, 
But  never  from  that  hour  return. 

"  '  O  !  lead  me  to  your  lady  soon  ; 
gay, — it  is  my  sad  lot  to  tell, 
To  clear  the  fate  of  that  brave  knight. 
She  long  has  proved  she  loved  so  well 

"  Three  days  pass'd  o'er,  no  tidings  came ; — 
Where  should  the  Chief  his  steps  delay  ? 
With  wild  alarm  the  servants  ran. 
Yet  knew  not  where  to  point  their  way. 

"  Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  spacious  hall, 
The  menials  look  surprise  and  fear ; 
Still  o'er  his  harp  old  Modred  hung. 
And  touch'd  the  notes  for  grief's  worn  esr. 

"  His  vassals  ranged  the  mountain's  height, 
The  covert  close,  the  wide-spread  plain ; 
But  all  in  vain  their  eager  search, 
They  ne'er  must  see  their  lord  again. 

"  The  lady  sat  amidst  her  train  ; 

A  mellow'd  sorrow  mark'd  her  look  : 
Then,  asking  what  his  mission  meant. 

The  graceful  stranger  sigh'd  and  spoke  : — 

"  Yet  Fancy,  in  a  thousand  shapes. 

Bore  to  his  home  the  Chief  once  more  : 
Some  saw  him  on  high  iMoal's  top. 
Some  saw  him  on  the  winding  shore. 

"  '  O  could  I  spread  one  ray  of  hope. 

One  moment  raise  thy  soul  from  woe. 
Gladly  ray  tongue  would  tell  its  tale, 
My  words  at  ease  unfetter'd  flow  1 

"With  wonder  fraught  the  tale  went  round, 
Amazement  chain'd  the  hearer's  tongue : 
Each  peasant  felt  his  own  sad  loss. 
Yet  fondly  o'er  the  story  hung. 

"  '  Now,  lady,  give  attention  due. 

The  story  claims  thy  full  belief: 
E'en  in  the  worst  events  of  life. 
Suspense  removed  is  some  relief. 

"  Oft  by  the  moon's  pale  shadowy  light,  • 
His  aged  nurse  and  steward  gray 
Would  lean  to  catch  the  storied  sounds, 
Or  mark  the  flitting  spirit  stray. 

"  '  Though  worn  by  care,  see  Madoc  here, 

Great  Glyndwr's  friend,  thy  kindred's  foe  : 
Ah,  let  his  name  no  anger  raise. 
For  now  that  mighty  Chief  lies  low. 

"  Pale  lights  on  Cader's  rocks  were  seen, 
And  midnight  voices  heard  to  moan; 
'Twas  even  said  the  Blasted  Oak, 
Convulsive,  heaved  a  hollow  groan: 

"  '  E'en  from  the  day,  when,  chain'd  by  fate, 
By  wizard's  dream,  or  potent  spell. 
Lingering  from  sad  f~alopia's  field 
'Reft  of  Ais  aid  the  Percy  fell  ;— 

"  And  to  this  day  the  peasant  still. 

With  cautious  fear,  avoids  the  ground  : 
In  each  wild  branch  a  spectre  sees. 
And  trembles  at  each  rising  sound. 

"  '  E'en  from  that  day  misfortune  still, 
As  if  for  violated  faith. 
Pursued  him  with  unwearied  step  ; 
Vindictive  still  for  Hotspur's  death. 

"  Ten  annual  suns  had  held  their  course, 
In  summer's  smile,  or  winter  storm  ; 
The  lady  shed  the  widow'd  tear, 
As  oft  she  traced  his  manly  form. 

"  '  Vanquish'd  at  length,  the  Gljndwr  fled. 

Where  winds  the  Wye  her  devious  flood ; 
To  find  a  casual  shelter  there. 
In  some  lone  cot,  or  desert  wood. 

"  Yet  still  to  nope  her  heart  would  cling 
As  o'er  the  mind  illusions  play, — 
Of  travel  fond,  perhaps  her  lord 
To  distant  lands  had  steer'd  his  way. 

"  '  Clothed  in  a  shepherd's  humble  guise. 
He  gaiu'd  by  toil  his  scanty  bread  ; 
He  who  had  Cambria's  sceptre  borne 
And  her  brave  sons  to  glory  led  1 

170 


SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"*To  (»nnf?  p\Tr'm>-.  mil  :rTi'*r 

Til.  '  "-r ; 

I  hear ;  „        '  !«, 

8acli  a*  wiUi  jMin  I  now  conver. 

■  '  To  8«l«*i  uii  willow  bear  the  tale, 

Not  ^  .    t  : 

Gi»r  1-  irlll, 

Theu  luajf  lU/  pafliiij;  k>u1  bo  blo«t.' — 

"  '  Dim  wu'd  ih*  ere  that  fiercely  »lione, 

And  faiiil  the  tongue  thai  prouilly  apoke, 
And  wrak  that  arm,  (lill  niiietl  to  me. 
Which  oft  had  dealt  the  mortal  (troke. 

"  *  How  could  I  t/irn  hi>  mandate  bcort 
Or  how  lii«  last  hflii-^t  ohey  1 
A  rill  <l<  <niM,  with  him  I  tied  ; 
Wiih  hiiii  1  thunn'd  tlic  light  of  day. 

"  '  Proscribed  by  Henry's  honile  ra»e, 

My  country  lost,  dcsgrail'd  my  land, 
Dnprmle,  I  (led  my  native  soil. 

And  fought  on  Syria's  distant  strand. 

"  '  Oh,  had  thy  long-lamente<l  lord 

The  holy  cro«s  and  banner  vicw'd, 
Div-d  in  the  sacml  cause  !   who  fell 
Sad  victim  of  a  pnvalo  feud  I 

"  '  Led  by  the  ardor  of  the  chase. 

Far  (ii't.iiil  from  his  own  domain, 
From  where  Ganhmielan  spreads  her  shades 
The  Glyndwr  sought  the  opening  plain. 

"  '  Wit}i  head  aloft  and  antlers  wide, 

.K  red  buck  roused  then  crow'd  in  view ; 
Stung  with  the  sight,  and  wild  with  rage, 
Swift  from  tlie  wood  fierce  llowel  flew. 

"  '  With  bitter  taant  and  keen  reproach, 
lie,  all  impeiuoua,  ponr'd  hi;  rage; 
Reviled  the  Chief,  as  weak  in  arms. 
And  bade  him  load  the  balllo  wage. 

•' '  Glyndwr  for  once  restrain'd  his  sword. 
And,  still  averfe,  the  fight  delays; 
But  soften'd  wor.ls,  like  oil  to  fire, 
Made  anger  more  intensely  blaze. 

•' '  They  fooght ;  and  doubtful  long  the  fray  ; 
The  Glyndwr  gave  the  fatal  wound  1 
Btill  mournful  mu«l  my  tale  proceed, 
And  it«  last  act  all  dreadful  sound. 

"  '  How  coold  we  hope  for  wish'd  retreat. 
His  eager  vawals  ranging  wide, 
His  bloodhounds'  keen  sagacious  scent. 
O'er  many  a  trackless  mountain  tried. 

"  '  I  mark'd  a  broad  and  Blasted  Oak, 

Fcorch'd  by  t'  's  liviil  glara 

Hollow  its  stem  i  ii  to  root, 

And  all  its  shrivcii'd  arms  were  bare. 

' '  Be  this,  I  cried,  his  proper  grave  ! — 
(The  ihouglu  in  me  was  deadly  tin,) 
Aloft  we  raiseil  the  haplcNi  Chief, 
And  dropp'd  hit  bleeding  corpae  within.' 


"  A  shriek  from  all  the  damsels  bunt. 
That  picri-ed  thn  vaulted  rooU  btluw  ; 
Wilde  hurror^truck  the  Laily  stooil, 
A  Uvin(  form  of  sculptured  woe. 

"  With  stupid  stare  and  vacant  gaze. 
Full  on  his  face  her  eyes  were  cast, 
Abnurb'd  ! — she  lost  her  pn-»riit  gnef. 
And  faintly  tliought  of  things  long  puL 

"  Liike  wild-fire  o'er  a  mossy  heath. 
The  rumor  through  (he  hamlet  ran  ; 
The  |ieasants  crowd  at  morning  dawn. 
To  hear  the  tale — behold  the  man. 

**  He  led  them  near  the  lilasted  Oak, 

Then,  conscious,  from  the  scene  withdrew 
The  pea>iaiits  work  with  trembling  haste, 
And  lay  the  whiten'd  bones  to  view  I — 

"  Back  they  recoil'd  ! — the  right  hand  still. 
Contracted,  grasji'd  a  rusty  sword  ; 
Which  er(t  in  many  a  battle  fjlranrd, 

And  proudly  dcck'd  their  i>laughter'd  lord. 

"  They  bore  the  cor»e  to  Venor's  shrine, 
With  holy  rites  and  prayers  addreas'd  ; 
Nine  while-robed  monks  the  last  dirgo  lang, 
And  gave  the  angry  spirit  rest." 


Note  4  BL 


The  IlighlaniicT  ■ 


IVill,  on  a  Friday  morn,  took  palt, 
Ifoik'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tale."— P.  139. 

The  Daoine  sAi'.or  Men  of  Peace,  of  the  Scottish  High- 
landers, rather  resemble  the  Scandinavian  /Jurrn-«r  than  the 
Knglish  Fairies.  Notwithstanding  their  name,  they  are,  if 
not  absolutely  malevolent,  at  least  |>cevi!ih,  discontented,  and 
apt  to  do  mischief  on  slight  provocation.  The  belief  of  their 
existence  is  deeply  impressed  on  the  Highlanders,  who  think 
they  arc  particularly  olTended  at  mortals  who  talk  of  them, 
who  wear  their  favorite  color,  green,  or  in  any  respect  inlerfere 
with  their  afiairs.  This  is  especially  to  be  avoided  on  Friday, 
when,  whether  as  dedicated  to  Venus,  with  whom,  in  Ger- 
many, this  subterraneous  people  are  held  nearly  connected,  or 
for  a  more  solemn  reason,  they  are  more  active,  and  |>o•^s«.-^9ed 
of  greater  power.  Some  curious  particulars  concerning  the 
|iopular  superstitions  of  the  Highlanders  may  be  found  in  Dr. 
Graham's  Picturesque  Sketches  of  Perthshire. 


Note  4  L 

The  towers  of  Franch(mont.—P.  139. 

The  journal  of  the  friend  to  whom  the  Fourth  Canto  of  the 
Poem  is  inscribed,  furnished  me  with  the  following  account  of 
a  striking  suiierslition. 

"  Pa.sscd  the  pretty  little  village  of  FranchCmont  (near 
Spaw),  with  the  romantic  ruins  of  the  old  cattle  of  the  Counts 
of  that  name.  The  road  leads  through  many  delightful  vales 
on  a  rising  gronnd  ;  at  the  extremity  of  one  of  them  stands 
the  ancient  castle,  now  the  subject  of  many  so|)cr8tiuoas 
legends.  It  is  firmly  believed  by  the  neighboring  pea^aotry, 
that  tlie  last  Baron  of  Franch6mont  deposited,  in  one  of  the 
vaults  of  the  castle,  a  ponderous  chest,  containing  an  im' 
mensc  treasure  in  gold  and  pilvcr,  which,  by  some  magic  spell, 
waa  inlnuteU  to  the  care  of  the  Devil,  who  ii  constantly  foobd 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


177 


iitting  on  the  chest  in  the  shape  of  a  huntsman.  Any  one 
adventurous  enough  to  touch  the  chest  is  instantly  seized 
witli  the  palsy.  Upon  one  occasion,  a  priest  of  noted  piety 
was  bronj;ht  to  the  vault :  he  used  all  the  arts  of  e.\orcism  to 
persuade  Ills  infernal  majesty  to  vacate  his  seat,  but  in  vain; 
the  huntsman  remained  immovable.  At  last,  moved  by  the 
earnestness  of  the  priest,  he  told  him  that  he  would  agree  to 
resign  the  chest,  if  the  exorciser  would  sign  his  name  with 
blood.  But  the  priest  understood  his  meaning,  and  refused, 
as  by  that  act  he  would  have  delivered  over  his  soul  to  the 
Devil.  Vet  if  anybody  can  discover  the  mystic  words  used 
by  the  person  who  deposited  the  treasure,  and  pronounce 
them,  the  fiend  must  instantly  decamp.  I  had  many  stories 
of  a  similar  nature  from  a  peasant,  who  liad  h'mself  seen  the 
Devil  in  the  shape  of  a  great  cat." 


XOTE  4  K 


The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair, 
Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air, 
^nd  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer. — P.  141. 

"  I  shall  only  produce  one  instance  more  of  the  great  ven- 
eration paid  to  Lady  Hilda,  which  still  prevails  even  in  these 
our  days  ;  and  that  is,  the  constant  opinion  that  she  rendered, 
and  still  renders,  herself  visible,  on  some  occasions,  in  the 
Abbey  of  Streanshalh  or  VVliitby,  where  she  so  long  resided. 
At  a  particular  time  of  the  year  (viz.  in  the  summer  months), 
at  ten  or  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  the  sunbeams  fall  in  the 
inside  of  the  northern  part  of  the  choir ;  and  'tis  then  that  the 
spectators,  who  stand  on  the  west  side  of  Whitby  churchyard, 
so  as  just  to  see  the  most  northerly  part  of  the  abbey  pass  the 
north  end  of  VVliitby  church,  imagine  they  perceive,  in  one 
of  the  highest  windows  there,  the  resemblance  of  a  woman 
arrayed  in  a  shroud.  Though  we  are  certain  this  is  only  a 
leflection  caused  by  the  splendor  of  the  sunbeams,  yet  fame 
reports  it,  and  it  is  constantly  believed  among  the  vulgar,  to 
be  an  appearance  of  Lady  Hilda  in  her  shroud,  or  ratlier  in  a 
glorified  state ;  before  which,  I  make  no  doubt,  the  Papists, 
even  in  these  our  days,  offer  up  their  prayers  with  as  much 
zeal  and  devotion  as  before  any  other  image  of  their  most 
glorified  saint." — Charlton's  History  of  Whitby,  p.  33. 


Note  4  L. 


the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 

Which  wont  of  yore,  in  battle  fray. 
His  foemen's  limbs  to  shred  away. 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray. — P.  143. 

The  Earl  of  Angus  had  strength  and  personal  activity  cor- 
responding to  his  courage.  Spens  of  Kilspindie,  a  favorite 
of  James  IV.,  having  spoken  of  him  lightly,  the  Earl  met  him 
while  hawking,  and,  compelling  him  to  single  combat,  at  one 
blow  cut  asunder  his  thighbone,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot. 
But  ere  he  could  obtain  James's  pardon  for  this  slaughter, 
Angus  was  obliged  to  yield  his  castle  of  Hermitage,  in  e.x- 
change  for  that  of  Both  well,  which  was  some  diminution  to 
the  family  greatness.  The  sword  with  which  he  struck  so 
remarkable  a  blow,  was  presented  by  his  descendant  James, 
Earl  of  Morton,  al'terwards  Regent  of  Scotland,  to  Lord  Lin- 
desay  of  the  Byres,  when  he  defied  Bothwell  to  single  combat 
on  Carberry  Hiil.  See  Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border. 


Note  4  M. 


And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 
J\ro !  by  St.  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  I 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms ! —  What,  Warder,  ho  ' 
Let  the  portcullis  fall. — P.  144. 
23 


This  ebullition  of  violence  in  the  potent  Earl  of  Angus  ii 
not  without  its  example  in  the  real  history  of  the  house  oJ 
Douglas,  whose  chieftains  possessed  the  ferocity,  with  the 
heroic  virtues  of  a  savage  state.  The  most  curious  instance 
occurred  in  the  case  of  Maclellan,  Tutor  of  Bombay,  who, 
having  refused  to  acknowledge  the  pre-eminence  claimed  by 
Douglas  over  the  gentlemen  and  Barons  of  Galloway,  was 
seized  and  imprisoned  by  the  Earl,  in  his  casileof  the  Thricve, 
on  the  borders  of  Kirkcudbrightshire.  Sir  Patrick  Gray, 
commander  of  King  James  the  Second's  guard,  was  uncle  to 
the  Tutor  of  Bombay,  and  obtained  from  the  King  a  "  sweet 
letter  of  supplication,"  praying  the  Earl  to  deliver  his  prisoner 
into  Gray's  hand.  When  Sir  Patrick  arrived  at  the  castle, 
he  was  received  with  all  the  honor  due  to  a  favorite  ser- 
vant of  the  King's  household  ;  but  while  he  was  at  dinner, 
the  Earl,  who  suspected  his  errand,  caused  his  prisoner  to  be 
led  forth  and  beheaded.  After  dinner.  Sir  Patrick  presented 
the  King's  letter  to  the  Earl,  who  received  it  with  great  affec- 
tation of  reverence  ;  "  and  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  hira 
forth  to  the  green,  where  the  gentleman  was  lying  dead,  and 
showed  him  the  manner,  and  said,  '  Sir  Patrick,  you  are  come 
a  little  too  late  ;  yonder  is  your  sister's  son  lying,  but  he  wants 
the  head  :  take  his  body,  and  do  with  it  wiiat  you  will.' — Sir 
Patrick  answered  again,  with  a  sore  heart,  and  said,  '  My 
lord,  if  ye  have  taken  from  hira  his  head,  dispone  upon  the 
.body  as  ye  please;'  and  with  that  called  for  liis  horse,  and 
leaped  thereon  ;  and  when  he  was  on  horseback,  he  said  to 
the  Earl  on  this  manner,  "My  lord,  if  1  live  you  shall  be 
rewarded  for  your  labors  that  you  have  used  at  this  time, 
according  to  your  demerits.' 

"  At  this  saying  the  Earl  was  highly  offended,  and  cried  for 
horse.  Sir  Patrick,  seeing  the  Earl's  fury,  spurred  his  horse, 
but  he  was  chased  near  Edinburgh  ere  they  left  hira  ;  and  had 
it  not  been  his  led  horse  was  so  tried  and  good,  he  had  been 
taken." — Pitscottie's  History,  p.  39. 


Note  4  N. 


A  letter  forged! — Saint  Jude  to  speed! 
Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed  ! — P.  144. 

Lest  the  reader  should  partake  of  the  Earl's  astonishment, 
and  consider  the  crime  as  inconsistent  with  the  manners  of  the 
period,  I  have  to  remind  him  of  the  numerous  forgeries  (partly 
executed  by  a  female  assistant)  devised  by  Robert  of  Artois, 
to  forward  his  suit  against  the  Countess  Matilda  ;  which,  being 
detected,  occasioned  his  flight  into  England,  and  proved  the 
remote  cause  of  Edward  the  Third's  memorable  wara  in 
France.  John  Harding,  also,  was  expressly  hired  by  Edward 
VI.  to  forge  such  documents  as  might  appear  to  establish  the 
claim  of  fealty  asserted  over  Scotland  by  the  English  monarclis. 


Note  4  0. 
Lennel's  convent. — P. 


145. 


This  was  a  Cistertian  house  of  religion,  now  almost  entirely 
demolished.     Lennel  House  is  now  the  residence  of  my  venei 
able  friend,  Patrick  Brydone,  Esquire,  so  well  known  in  the 
literary  world.'    It  is  situated  near  Coldstream,  almost  opposite 
to  Cornhill,  and  consequently  very  near  to  Flodden  Field. 


Note  4  P. 

Twisel  bridge. — P.  145. 

On  the  evening  previous  to  the  memorable  battle  of  Flodden, 
Surrey's  head-quarters  were   at  Barmoor  Wood,  and   King 

1  First  Edition.— Mr.  Brydone  has  been  many  yeani  dea/J      ISM. 


178 


SCo'iTS  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1 


J»n.-  '    •'  - -'•'■ 

one 

of  t'li  1  I  I 

thr    am..    '.       (  111    llir    liH' 


Willi 

aiiii  ' 


.... ....  .i..".i f  Flo<IJcii-liill, 

trum  llif  ridge 

>    riwr,    nillllfll  llctWPcn 

Oth   8r|itpmlH-r,   1AI3, 

•,i-V<l    ilio 

I'ukJ,    Iiu    r.  luiiii    pomitig 

hr   n   fori      'I  ■"•nt    ImJ    tin- 

.laiiif*  mill  \i\* 
'Itiali  iiiuiiiiri'li 
he  cMH-iiu  to  li«v»  n-lird  on   llie  ilpjitli  of  llic 
Hut  u  lIu*  pvcage,  bolli  over  I  lit-  l>ri(li:i> 
Ibnl,  wan  dillicull  and  (low,  il  necni*  iioiwible 
!'    '  '  might  liBve  been  attacked  lo  gn-iit  udvnnlago 

^  will)  tlirtc  natural  obntaek-a.     I  know  not  if 

Hi'  :ir.  t.>  i'i.,iiii.-  Jamen'ii  forbearance  to  want  of  military  nkill, 
or  lu  III"  ruiii.inlic  declaration  which  Pit^roltie  put.i  in  liiit 
HMiitli,  "  ihnt  he  wai  determined  to  have  liia  •  iicinieii  before 
liiiii  (I'l  !»  i>'iiri  field,"  and  tlien'lorv  would  mifler  no  iiit<Tru|»- 
tion  '  .  even  by  artillery,  to  their  |ia.«ing  the  river. 

Tl  "-iil^'eof  Twi"el,  by  wliirli  the  Kii^li«li  cro!«.«e<l 

the  Till,  m  mill  standing  beneath  Twiwl  Caitle,  a  Hjdeiidid  pilo 
of  (lOlhic  architecture,  aj  now  rebuilt  by  Sir  Franciii  Uluke, 
Bart.,  whom  cxtcniiivo  plantations  have  so  much  improved  the 
country  around.  The  glen  is  romantic  and  delightful,  with 
steep  bank*  on  each  side,  covered  with  copse,  particularly  with 
hawthorn.  Beneath  a  tall  ro<-k,  near  the  bridge,  is  a  plentiful 
fountain,  called  St.  Helen's  Well. 


Note  4  Q. 

Hence  might  thnj  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  dead/ ij  fray.— P.  147. 

The  rentier  cannot  here  expect  a  full  account  of  the  battle 
of  Flwlden ;  but,  so  far  as  is  neeeysaryj^  understand  the  ro- 
mance, I  beg  to  remind  him,  that  when  the  English  army,  by 
their  skilful  countermarch,  were  fairly  placed  between  King 
Jaineii  and  his  own  country,  the  Scoltbih  monarch  resolved  to 
fight ;  and,  setting  fire  to  his  tents,  descended  from  the  ridge 
of  Flo«lden  to  Becure  the  neighboring  eminence  of  Brankstone, 
on  which  that  village  is  built.  Thus  the  two  armies  met,  almost 
without  Mving  each  other,  when,  according  to  the  old  poem  of 
"  Flodden  Field," 

'•  The  English  line  stretch'd  east  and  west, 
And  southward  were  their  faces  set ; 
The  PcottUh  northward  proudly  prest, 
And  manfully  their  foes  they  met." 

The  En?Ii«h  army  advanced  in  four  divisions.  On  the  right, 
which  fimt  engaged,  were  the  sons  of  Earl  Surrey,  namely, 
Tliom!i.<  Howanl,  the  Admiral  of  England,  and  Sir  Edmund, 
the  Kiiiglii  .Mnr"hal  of  the  army.  Their  diviiiions  were  sepa- 
ratpii  I'nini  larli  other;  but,  at  the  request  of  Sir  Edmund,  his 
brotli'-r'*  li.iKilion  was  drawn  very  near  to  his  own.  The 
centre  was  commanded  by  Surrey  in  person  ;  the  left  wing  by 
Sir  Frflward  Stanley,  with  the  men  of  Lancashire,  and  of  the 
palatinate  of  Chester.  Lonl  Dacres,  with  a  large  body  of 
hor«,  formed  a  rrsenre.  When  the  smoke,  which  the  wind 
had  driven  Iwtwern  the  armies,  was  somewhat  dispersed,  they 
perceive<l  the  Scots,  who  had  moved  down  the  hill  in  a  similar 
onlcr  of  battle,  and  in  deep  silence.'     The  Earls  of  Huntley 

1  "  L4Jiqutls  Kacottois  durmdirrnt  bi  montii^t  en  bonne  ordre,  en 
la  truiniere  que  marc/lent  Ue  Atlemtins  tana  pnrUr,  ne  /nirc  nucun 
bruit." — Gsxelts  of  lh«  tistUe,  Pvdterton*t  Httlory,  jtpptndix^  vol.  ii. 

p.m. 

1"In  181<>,  as  Sir  Canuby  llsff^entone'i  wnrkracn  wrre  rfi^ng  in 
FlMden  Field,  ihej  rsms  to  a  pit  flllvd  with  hamsn  iKmra,  snd  which 
■serocd  of  frrrst  extent ;  tmt,  thkemeA  st  th«  light,  th«y  iinnicUiAtaly  filled 
up  the  exeavsticn,  and  pro^«edM  no  farther. 

"Id  I8n,  Mr.  Gmy  orMilIfi.-ld  Hill  f.und,  mar  tha  trace*  of  an  aocinit 


and  of  Home  eominanded  their  left  wing,  and  charged  Sit 
E<lmund  Howanl  with  such  succeaa  as  entirc-ly  to  defeat  hit 
port  of  the  Eiiglinh  right  wing.  Sir  Bdmund'a  banner  was 
liealen  down,  and  he  hiniiu-lf  e»ca)i«<l  with  dilheulty  to  hit 
brother'a  divi>ion.  The  Admiral,  however,  iitouil  firm  ;  and 
Dae^<  advancing  to  hi>  aupport  with  the  r-M-rve  of  cavalry 
probably  Ih-iween  the  interval  of  the  divitiuiu  coininandi.d  by 
the  bruthen  Howanl,  ap|H-nn  tu  have  kept  the  vieton  iu 
efli-elual  cheek.  Hoiiie'a  men,  clii'.'tly  Bonlerers,  tx';;uii  to 
pillage  the  baggage  of  liulli  erniiiM  ;  and  llieir  letuler  is  branded 
by  the  Seolti>h  hiatorians  with  negligence  or  treachery.  Oa 
the  other  hand,  Huntley,  on  whom  they  bestow  many  rnco- 
niiums,  is  said  by  the  English  historians  to  have  left  Uie  field 
after  the  first  charge.  Meanwhile  the  Admiral,  whose  (lank 
these  chiefs  ought  lu  have  attacked,  availed  liiniwlf  of  t>ieii 
iiinctivity,  and  pushed  forward  ugainut  uiiotlier  large  divition 
of  the  Srottinh  army  in  his  front,  headed  by  the  Earls  ol 
Crawfonl  and  Montrose,  both  of  whom  were  slain,  and  their 
forces  muted.  On  the  left,  the  success  of  the  Eiigli-h  wa^i  ytt 
more  decisive  ;  for  the  Heotlish  right  wing,  consisting  of  un- 
disriplirii-d  Highlanders,  coiiinianded  by  l-ennoi  and  Argyle, 
was  unable  to  sustain  the  clinrgn  of  Sir  FMward  Stanley,  and 
e>()ecially  the  severe  execuiion  of  the  Lancashire  archers. 
The  King  and  Surrey,  who  commanded  the  respective  centres 
of  their  arinii>s,  were  meanwhile  engaged  in  close  and  dubious 
confliet.  James,  snrronnded  by  the  flower  of  his  kingilom,  and 
impatient  of  the  galling  discharge  of  arrows,  supported  also  by 
his  reserve  under  Bolhwell,  charged  with  such  fury,  that  tlie 
standard  of  Surrey  was  in  danger.  At  that  critical  moment, 
Stanley,  who  had  routed  the  left  wing  of  the  Scolti^h,  purxued 
his  career  of  victory,  and  arrived  on  the  right  flank,  and  in  the 
rear  of  James's  divi^^ion,  which,  throwing  itself  into  a  circle, 
dis[)uted  the  battle  till  night  came  on.  Surrvy  then  dnrw 
back  his  forces  ;  for  the  Scottish  centre  not  having  been 
broken,  and  their  left  wing  being  victorious,  he  yet  doubled 
the  event  of  the  field.  The  Scottish  army,  however,  felt  their 
loss,  and  abandoned  the  field  of  battle  in  disorder,  before 
dawn.  They  lost,  perhaps,  from  eight  to  ten  thousand  men  ; 
but  that  included  the  very  prime  of  their  nobility,  gentry,  and 
even  clergy.  Scarce  a  family  of  eminence  but  has  an  ancestor 
killed  at  Flodden  ;  and  there  is  no  province  in  Scollaml.  even 
at  this  day,  where  the  battle  is  mentioned  without  a  sen'ation 
of  terror  and  sorrow.  The  English  lost  also  a  great  number  of 
men,  perhaps  within  one-third  of  the  vanquished,  br  ^  they 
were  of  inferior  note. — See  the  only  distinct  detail  of  the  Field 
of  Flodden  in  Pinkerton's  History,  Book  xi.  ;  all  former 
accounts  being  full  of  blunders  and  inconsistency. 

The  spot  from  which  Clara  views  the  battle  most  be  sup- 
posed to  have  been  on  a  hillock  commanding  the  rear  of  the 
English  right  wing,  which  was  defeated,  and  in  which  conflict 
Marmion  is  supposed  to  have  fallen.^ 


Note  4  R. 

Brian  Tunslall,  stainless  knight. — P.  14V. 

Sir  Brian  Tunstall,  called  in  the  romantic  language  of  the 
time,  Tunstall  the  Undefiled,  was  one  of  the  few  Englishmen 
of  rank  slain  at  Flodden.  He  figures  in  the  ancient  English 
poem,  to  which  [  may  safely  refer  my  readers  ;  as  an  edition, 
with  full  explanatory  notes,  has  been  published  by  my  friend, 
Mr.  Henry  Weber.     Tunslall,  [K-rhaps,  derived  his  epithet  of 

encampment,  s  short  distance  from  Flodden  Hill,  a  tumulus,  whicl],  on  re- 
moving, exhibited  a  very  sinpjlar  sepulrhro.  In  the  centre,  a  large  um 
was  found,  but  in  a  thousand  pieces.  It  had  either  been  broken  to  pieces 
by  the  itouei  falliagupon  it  when  dig^ng,  or  had  gone  to  pieces  on  the  ad- 
niiuion  of  the  uir.  This  um  wns  surrounded  by  a  number  of  cells  formed 
of  flat  stones,  in  the  shape  of  graves,  but  too  smnll  to  bold  the  body  in  its 
natural  state.  These  sepulchral  recesses  contained  nothing  except  asbos, 
or  dual  of  the  some  kind  aa  that  in  the  um."— Syces'  Local  Record*  (1 
Tols.  Sto,  1S33),  vol.  Li.  pp.  60  and  109. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


179 


undejilcd  from  his  white  armor  and  banner,  the  latter  bearing 
a  wliite  cock,  about  to  crow,  as  well  as  from  his  unstained  loy- 
alty aiul  knightly  faith.  His  place  of  residence  was  Thurland 
Castle 


Note  4  S. 


Reckleas  of  life,  he  desperate  fought. 

And  fell  on  Flodden  plain  ; 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clenched  within  his  manly  hand. 

Beseemed  the  monarch  slain. — P.  15J 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  King  James  fell  in  the  battle 
of  Flodden.  He  was  killed,  says  the  curious  French  Gazette, 
within  a  lance's  length  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey  ;  and  the  same 
account  adds,  that  none  of  his  division  were  made  prisoners, 
though  many  were  killed  ;  a  circumstance  that  testifies  the  des- 
peration of  their  resistance.  The  Scottish  historians  record 
many  of  the  idle  reports  which  passed  among  the  vulgar  of 
their  day.  Home  was  accused,  by  the  popular  voice,  not  only 
of  failing  to  support  the  King,  but  even  of  having  carried  him 
out  of  the  field,  and  murdered  him.  And  this  tale  was  revived 
in  my  remembrance,  by  an  unauthenticated  story  of  a  skeleton, 
wrapped  in  a  bull's  hide,  and  surrounded  with  an  iron  chain, 
Baid  to  have  been  found  in  the  well  of  Home  Castle  ;  for 
which,  on  inquiry,  I  could  never  find  any  better  authority  than 
tlie  se.xton  of  the  parish  having  said,  that,  //  the  well  were 
cleaned  out,  he  would  not  be  surprised  at  such  a  discovery. 
Home  was  the  chamberlain  of  the  King,  and  his  prime  favor- 
ite ;  he  had  much  to  lose  (in  fact  did  lose  all)  in  consequence 
of  James's  death,  and  nothing  earthly  to  gain  by  that  event : 
but  the  retreat,  or  inactivity  of  the   eft  wing  which  he  com- 


manded, after  defeating  Sir  Edmund  Howard,  and  even  the 
circumstance  of  his  returning  unhurt,  and  loaded  with  spoil, 
from  so  fatal  a  conflict,  rendered  the  propagation  of  any  calum- 
ny against  him  easy  and  acceptable.  Other  reports  gave  a  still 
more  romantic  turn  to  the  King's  fate,  and  averred  that  James, 
weary  of  greatness  after  the  carn-ige  among  bis  nobles,  had  gone 
on  a  pilgrimage,  to  merit  absolution  lor  the  death  of  his  father, 
and  the  breach  of  his  oath  of  amity  to  Henry.  In  particular, 
it  was  objected  to  the  English,  th.at  they  could  never  show  the 
token  of  the  iron  belt ;  which,  however,  he  was  likely  enough 
to  have  laid  aside  on  the  day  of  battle,  as  encumbering  his  ner- 
sonal  exertions.  They  produce  a  better  evidence,  the  monarch's 
sword  and  dagger,  which  are  still  preserved  in  the  Herald's 
College  in  London.  Stowe  lias  recorded  a  degrading  story  of 
the  disgrace  with  which  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  mon- 
arch were  treated  in  his  time.  An  unhewn  column  marks  the 
spot  where  James  fell,  still  called  the  King's  Stone. 


Note  4  T. 

The  fair  cathedral  storm' d  and  took. — P.  151. 

This  storm  of  Lichfield  cathedral,  which  had  been  gam 
soned  on  the  part  of  the  King,  took  place  in  the  Great  Civil 
War.  Lord  Brook,  who,  with  Sir  John  Gill,  commanded  the 
assailants,  was  shot  with  a  musket-ball  through  the  visor  of 
his  helmet.  The  royalists  remarked,  that  he  was  killed  by  a 
shot  fired  from  St.  Chad's  cathedral,  and  upon  St.  Chad's  Day, 
and  received  his  death-wound  in  the  very  eye  with  which,  he 
had  said,  he  hoped  to  see  the  ruin  of  all  the  cathedrals  in  Eng- 
land. The  magnificent  church  in  qnestion  suffered  cruelly 
upon  this,  and  other  occasions  ;  the  principal  spire  being  rained 
by  the  fire  of  the  besiegers. 


^iia.^^>  •'idp-fnaf  '■■ 


vT  I)  c    i.  a  i])   0  f  1 1)  c  £  a  k  c : 


A   rOKM,   IN   SIX   CANTOS. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

A>TER  the  success  of  "  Miirniion,"  I  felt  inclined 
to  o.xolftini  with  Ulysses  ia  the  "  Odyssey" — 

OvTof  /i/r  Hi  atd^ot  aiiarof  iKTCTiXtOTat. 
NSy  ovrc  otoitiv  JAXov.  0<ly».  %.  I.  5. 

"  One  vfiitnrou"  game  my  liainl  lion  won  to-day — 
Another,  gallantJi,  yet  rt-niainii  to  |>la)'." 

Tlic  ancient  manners,  the  habits  and  customs  of 
tlie  aboriginal  race  by  whom  the  Higlilands  of 
Scotland  were  inhabited,  had  always  appeared  to 
nif  peculiarly  adai>ted  to  jHtetry.  The  chiuige  in 
their  mamicr.-s  too,  had  taken  place  almost  within 
my  own  time,  or  at  least  I  had  learned  many  i)ar- 
ticular-*  eunoiTning  the  luicient  state  of  the  High- 
buids  from  the  old  men  of  the  lost  generation.  I 
had  always  tlifui^jht  tlie  old  Scottish  Gacd  highly 
adapted  for  poetical  comj)osition.  The  feuds  and 
political  disseusion-s,  which,  half  a  century  earlier, 
■would  have  rendered  the  richer  and  wealthier  part 
of  the  kingdom  indisposed  to  countenance  a  poem, 
the  scene  of  which  was  laid  in  the  Highhuids,  were 
now  simk  in  the  generous  compassion  which  the 
Englisli,  more  than  any  other  nation,  feel  for  the 
misfortunes  of  an  honorable  foe.  The  Poems  of 
Ossian  had,  by  their  popularity,  sufficiently  shown, 
that  if  writings  on  Highland  subjects  were  qual- 
ified to  interest  the  reader,  mere  national  preju- 
dices were,  in  the  present  day,  very  unlikely  to 
interfere  with  their  success. 

--_  I  liad  also  read  a  great  deal,  seen  much,  and 
heard  more,  of  that  romantic  country,  where  I  was 
in  the  liabit  of  spending  some  time  every  autumn ; 
ami  the  scenery  of  Ix^ch  Katritie  was  coimccted 
with  the  recollection  of  many  a  dear  friend  and 

>  "  Thcae  Highland  viiils  were  repeated  almost  every  Bum- 
mer for  scvr.ral  •ucceasive  years,  and  perhaps  even  the  first  of 
hem  was  in  dome  degree  connecleil  witli  liis  profi.-ssional  busi- 
De».     At  all  event',  it  w!M  to  h  :<k  of  enforcing  the 

execution  of  a  logal  irntniment  a;-  ^Iac^■u■ons,  refracto- 

ry tenanm  of  Stewart  of  Appiri,  iw  to  Invcrnahyle, 

that  Scott  owcJ  his  intro;luciior.  :  •  ry  of  the  Lady  of 

the  hake.  '  An  escort  of  a  wrgcant  and  »ix  men,'  he  says, 
'was  obtained  from  a  Highland  regiment  lying  in  Stirling; 
and  the  author,  then  a  writer's  apprentice,  equivalent  to  the 
honora'nle  situation  of  an  attorney's  clerk,  was  invMied  with 
the  iiuperintendence  of  the  expedition,  with  directions  to  «oe  | 
that  the  messenger  discharged  his  duly  fully,  and  that  the  gal- 
lant sergeant  did  not  exceed  IiLs  part  by  committing  violence 
or  plunder.     And  thus  it  happened,  oddly  enough,  that  tlie  j 


merry  oxpeditinn  of  former  days.'  Tiiis  poem,  the 
action  of  wliicli  lay  among  scenes  so  beautiful,  and 
so  deeply  imprinted  on  my  recollection,  was  u  la- 
bor of  love  ;  and  it  wius  no  less  so  to  recall  the 
manners  and  Incidents  introduced.  The  frequent 
custom  of  .James  IV..  and  particularly  of  James  V, 
to  walk  through  their  kingdom  in  disguise,  afford- 
ed me  the  hint  of  an  incident,  which  never  fiuls  to 
be  interesting,  if  managed  with  the  slightest  ad- 
dress or  dexterity.  ^' 

I  may  now  coiffess,  however,  that  tlie  employ 
mcnt,  though  attended  with  great  pleasure,  was 
not  without  its  doubts  and  anxieties.  A  lady,  to 
whom  I  was  nearly  related,  and  with  whom  I  lived, 
during  her  whole  life,  on  the  nio.st  brotlierly  terms 
of  affection,  was  residing  with  me  at  the  time  when 
the  Work  was  in  f)rogTess,  and  used  to  ask  me,  wliat 
I  could  possibly  ilo  to  rise  so  early  in  tlu^  morning 
I  (that  happening  to  be  the  most  convenient  time  to 
I  me  for  composition).  At  hi-st  I  told  her  the  sub- 
ject of  my  meditations ;  and  I  can  never  forget  the 
anxiety  and  affection  expressed  in  her  reply.  "  Do 
not  be  so  rash,"  she  said,  "  my  dearest  cousin.'  You 
are  already  popular — more  so,  perhaps,  than  you 
yourself  will  believe,  or  than  even  I,  or  other  par- 
tial friends,  can  fairly  allow  to  your  merit.  You 
stand  liigh — do  not  raslily  attempt  to  climb  higher, 
and  incur  the  risk  of  a  fall  ;•  for,  depend  upin  it,  a 
favorite  will  not  be  permitted  even  to  stumble 
with  impunity."  I  replied  to  tliis  affectionate  ex- 
postulation in  the  words  of  Montrose — 

"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 
Or  his  deserts  are  sninll. 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch 
To  gain  or  lose  it  all. "3 

author  first  entered  the  romantic  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine,  of 
which  he  may  perhaps  say  he  has  somewhat  extended  the 
reputation,  riding  in  all  the  dignity  of  dnnser,  with  a  front 
and  rear  guard,  and  loaded  arms.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i. 
p.  193. 

a  "The  lady  with  whom  Sir  Walter  ScoU  held  this  conver- 
sation was,  no  doubt,  his  aunt,  Miss  Chriitlian  Ruiliorford  ; 
tlierc  was  no  other  female  relation  dead  when  this  Introduction 
was  written,  whom  I  can  suppose  him  to  have  consulted  on 
literary  questions.  Lady  Capulct,  on  seeing  the  corpse  of 
Tybalt,  exclaims, — 

'  Tybalt,  my  cousin  !  oh  my  brother's  child  !'  " 

LorKllART,  vol.  iii.  p.  Kl. 

'  Lines  in  praise  of  wom.'n. — Wishart's  Memoirs  of  Monr 
trose,  p.  497. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


181 


"  If  I  fail,"  I  said,  for  the  dialogue  is  strong  in 
my  recollection,  "  it  is  a  sign  that  I  ought  never  to 
nave  succeeded,  and  I  will  write  prose  for  life : 
you  shall  see  no  change  in  my  temper,  nor  will  I 


eat  a  single  meal  the  Avorse. 


But  if  I  succeed. 


'  Up  with  the  bonnie  blue  bonnet, 
The  dirk,  and  tlie  feather,  and  a'  !'  " 

Afterwards,  I  showed  my  affectionate  and  anx- 
ious critic  the  first  canto  of  the  poem,  which  rec- 
onciled her  to  my  imprudence.  Nevertheless, 
although  I  answered  thus  confidently,  with  the 
obstinacy  often  said  to  be  proper  to  those  who  bear 
my  surname,  I  acknowledge  that  my  confidence 
was  considerably  shaken  by  the  warning  of  her 
excellent  taste  smd  unbiased  friendship.  Nor  was 
I  much  comforted  by  her  retractation  of  the  un- 
favorable judgment,  when  I  recollected  how  likely 
a  natural  partiality  was  to  effect  tliat  change  of 
opinion.  In  such  cases,  affection  rises  hke  a  hght 
on  the  canvas,  improves  any  favorable  tints  which 
it  formerly  exhibited,  and  throws  its  defects  into 
the  shade. 

I  remember  that  about  the  same  time  a  friend 
started  m  to  "  heeze  up  my  hope,"  hke  the  "  sports- 
man with  his  cutty  gun,"  in  the  old  song.  He  was 
bred  a  farmer,  but  a  man  of  powerful  understand- 
ing, natural  good  taste,  and  warm  poetical  feeling, 
perfectly  competent  to  supply  the  wants  of  an 
imperfect  or  hregular  education.  He  was  a  pas- 
sionate admirer  of  field-sports,  wliich  we  often  pur- 
sued together. 

As  this  friend  happened  to  dine  with  me  at 
Ashestiel  one  day,  I  took  the  opportunity  of  read- 
ing to  him  the  first  canto  of  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  in  order  to  ascertain  the  effect  the  poem 
was  Ukely  to  produce  upon  a  person  who  was  but 
too  favorable  a  representative  of  readers  at  large. 
It  is,  of  course,  to  be  supposed  that  I  determined 
rather  to  guide  my  opinion  by  what  my  friend 
might  appear  to  feel,  than  by  what  he  might  think 
fit  to  say.  His  reception  of  my  recitation,  or  pre- 
lection, was  rather  singular.  He  placed  his  hand 
across  liis  brow,  and  listened  with  great  attention 
through  the  whole  account  of  the  stag-hunt,  tiU 
the  dogs  threw  themselves  into  the  lake  to  follow 
their  master,  who  embarks  with  Ellen  Douglas. 
He  then  started  up  with  a  sudden  exclamation, 

1  The  Jolly  Beggar,  attributed  to  Kin|  James  V. — Herd's 
Collection,  177G. 

2  "  I  believe  the  shrewd  critic  here  introduced  was  the  poet's 
excellent  cousin,  Charles  Scott,  now  laird  ot  Kiiowe-south. 
Tlie  story  ofthe  Irish  postillion's  trot  lie  owed  to  Mr.  Moore." 
— IJfe  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  2o3. 

3  "  Mr.  Robert  Cadell,  who  was  then  a  young  man  in  train- 
ing for  his  profession  in  Edinburgh,  retains  a  strong  impression 
of  the  interest  which  the  Lady  of  tlie  Lake  excited  there  for 
two  or  three  months  before  it  was  on  the  counter.  '  James 
Ballantvne,'  he  says,  '  read  the  cantos  from  time  to  time  to 


struck  his  hand  on  the  table,  and  declared,  in  a 
voice  of  censure  calculated  for  the  occasion,  that 
the  dogs  must  have  been  totally  ruined  by  being 
permitted  to  take  the  water  after  such  a  severe 
chase.  I  own  I  was  much  encouraged  by  the  spe- 
cies of  revery  which  had  possessed  so  zealous  a 
follower  of  the  sports  of  the  ancient  Nimrod,  who 
liad  been  completely  surprised  out  of  aU  doubts 
of  the  reality  of  the  talc.  Another  of  his  remarks 
gave  me  less  pleasure.  He  detected  the  identity 
of  the  King  with  the  wandering  knight,  Fitz-James, 
wlien  he  wuids  iiis  bugle  to  summon  his  attendants. 
He  was  probabh^  thinking  of  the  lively,  but  some- 
what licentious,  did  ballad,  in  which  the  denoue- 
ment of  a  royal  intrigue  takes  place  as  follows : 

"  He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  shrill. 
And  Ibur-and-tweiity  belted  knights 

Came  skipping  ower  the  hill . 
Then  he  took  out  a  little  knife. 

Let  a'  his  daddies  fa'. 
And  lie  was  the  brawest  gentleman 

That  was  aiiiang  them  a'. 

And  we'll  go  no  more  a-roving,"  &c.i 

This  discovery,  as  Mr.  Pepys  says  of  the  rent  in 
his  camlet  cloak,  was  but  a  trifle,  yet  it  troubled 
me ;  and  I  was  at  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  efface 
any  marks  by  which  I  thought  my  secret  could  be 
traced  before  the  conclusion,  when  I  rehed  on  it 
with  the  same  hope  of  producing  effect,  with  which 
the  L-ish  postboy  is  said  to  reserve  a  "trot  for  the 
avenue."'* 

I  took  uncommon  pains  to  verify  the  accuracy 
of  the  local  chcumsiances  of  tliis  story.  I  recol- 
lect, in  particular,  that  to  ascertain  whether  I  was 
telling  a  probable  tale,  I  went  mto  Perthsliire,  to 
see  whether  King  James  could  actually  have  rid- 
den from  the  banks  of  Loch  Vemiachar  to  Stirling 
Castle  witlun  the  time  supposed  in  the  Poem,  and 
had  the  pleasm'e  to  satisfy  myself  that  it  was  quite 
practicable. 

After  a  considerable  delay,  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake"  appeared  mMay,  1810  ;  and  its  success  was 
certauily  so  extraordmary  as  to  induce  me  for  the 
moment  to  conclude  that  I  had  at  last  fixed  a  nail 
hi  the  proverbially  inconstant  wheel  of  Fortune, 
whose  stabihty  in  behalf  of  an  individual  who  had 
so  boldly  courted  her  favors  for  three  successive 
times,  had  not  as  yet  been  shaken.'^     I  had  at 

select  coteries,  as  they  advanced  at  press.  Common  fame  was 
loud  in  their  favor ;  a  great  poem  was  on  all  hands  anticipa- 
ted. I  do  not  recollect  that  any  of  all  tlie  author's  works  waa 
ever  looked  for  with  more  intense  anxiety,  or  that  any  one  of 
them  excited  a  more  extraordinary  sensation  when  it  did  ap- 
pear. The  whole  country  rang  with  the  praises  of  the  jioet — 
crowds  set  off  to  view  the  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine,  till  then 
comparatively  unknown  ;  and  as  the  book  came  out  just  before 
the  season  for  excursions,  every  house  and  inn  in  that  neigh- 
borhood was  crammed  with  a  constant  succession  of  visitors. 
It  is  a  well-ascertained  fact,  that  from  the  date  of  the  public  • 


182 


scorrs  poetical  works. 


Iftiiifil.  J),  rlia]!--,  lliat  (li':;;ri'o  of  jmLlic  ripiiliitii'ii 
ai  whuli  j)rii>li.:ici:,  or  certainly  tiiniility,  would 
liiivu  uuule  a  luilt,  mid  di^'oiitiiiucd  otforU  by 
wlii.h  I  wiiM  far  iiinri'  liki-ly  to  diiuiiii.'^li  my  fiiino 
t!»;iii  to  iiiiTfiuu^'  it.  Hut  lut  tlic  cflcbratoil  Jolui 
Wilki"<  i*  Kiid  to  Imve  oxpliiinud  tu  hi:*  lute  Mu- 
j   -fv,  tlrntli.  i  hirt  full  tide  of  popu- 

I  iii'v,  w!w  ii.  .    .  ..U',  BO  I  can,  with  honest 

ir  ;•  1  .  \.  l|i;itc  inysidf  from  Imvinj;  been  at  any 
u:n>-  .1  |.:ii!i-an  of  uiv  own  jxK-try,  I'von  wlien  it 
WU4  111  till-  hii^hcst  ftiKliion  witli  tlie  million.  It 
must  not  Ik!  supjHwiMl,  that  I  waa  either  so  un- 
Lrnit.'ful,  or  so  8uperal)undantly  candid,  aa  to  de- 
(ijii-e  or  scorn  tho  value  of  those  whose  voice  had 
elfvuted  mo  so  much  higher  thiui  my  own  opinion 
told  me  I  deserved.  I  felt,  on  the  contrary,  the 
more  ^.T.itcful  to  the  public,  a?  receiviii!j^  that  from 
jiartiaiity  to  me,  which  I  could  not  have  claimed 
from  merit ;  and  I  endeavored  to  deserve  the  pur- 
tiaiity,  by  continuing  such  exertions  as  I  was  ca- 
j  ablf  of  fur  their  amusement. 

It  imiy  be  that  I  did  not,  in  this  continued  course 
of  scribbliiiu'.  consult  either  the  interest  of  the  pub- 
lic or  my  own.  But  the  former  hail  elfectual  means 
of  defending  themselves,  aiid  could,  by  their  cold- 
ne.-w,  (4uiTicit'ntly  check  any  appr(>ach  to  intru.-ion ; 
and  for  my  :*eU',  I  hud  now  for  several  years  dedi- 
cjiteil  my  hours  so  much  to  literary  labor,  that  I 
s-h-iuld  have  felt  difficulty  in  employing  myself 
otlier\vL->e;  and  so,  like  Dogberry,  I  generously 
bestowed  all  my  tediousness  on  the  public,  com- 
forting myself  with  the  reflection,  that  if  posterity 
siiould  think  me  undeserving  of  the  favor  with 
wliiqh  I  was  regarded  by  my  contemporaries, 
"  they  could  not  but  say  I  /lad  the  crown,'  and  had 
enjoyed  for  a  time  that  popularity  which  is  so 
much  coveted. 

I  conceived,  however,  tliiit  I  held  the  distingui.sh- 
ed  situation  I  had  obtained,  however  unwortliily, 
rather  like  the  champion  of  pugilism,'  on  the  con- 
lii  ■11  of  being  always  ready  to  .show  proofs  of  my 
rhi.l,  thim  in  the  manner  of  the  champion  of  chiv- 
alry, who  performs  Ids  duties  only  on  rare  and  sol- 

tioD  of  the  Liuly  of  llio  Lnke,  ihc  ixwt-lione  duty  in  Scotland 
ro»c  in  an  cxtnordinary  degree  ;  and  indeed  it  continued  to  do 
io  .s....>Sriv  for  a  number  of  yean,  the  author's  succeeding 
iri;  op  the  eDlha«iaam  forourscenery  wliicli  lie  had 
lull-  •pri.^iiially  Treated.' 

•'  I  owe  to  the  name  cormpondenl  the  following  details  : — 
'TIk-  :    ■  '  ired  iiwtantly,  and 

wat  I'  ir.  by  lour  cilitionii 

in  octal u,  \,/..  I'  i  ><.'COii<l  ui  '.iSA>,  and  a  third  and 

a  fourth  carh   u  oi-s;  thu«,  in  the  njincc  of  a  few 

niunthi.  the  extraoniinnry  imnilx  r  ol  '.II.IHN)  copie!i  wore  dis- 
|«o«t'd  of.  In  llie  next  yiar  ( IHl  I )  iIh  re  \v;n  another  edition  of 
3IKi(l;  there  wat  one  uf'JOOtl  in  IriM  ;  ajiulhi  rot'JINM)  in  1815  ; 
one  of  :i(XX)  again  in  1819;  and   iw<>    n.  iking  between  them 


emn  occaxionx.  T  wa.s  in  any  case  conscious  that  I 
could  Hot  long  hohl  a  sittiation  which  the  caprice, 
rather  thiui  the  judgment,  of  tho  pulilic,  had  bc- 
stowi'd  iijion  me,  luid  preferred  being  deprived  of 
my  precetleiice  by  come  more  worthy  rival,  to 
sinkiiig  into  contempt  for  my  itnlolence,  and  hising 
my  reputation  by  what  Scotti.^h  lawyers  cull  the 
nn/atire  j>ruitciijiltoii.  Accor<lingly,  those  who 
choose  to  look  at  the  Introduction  to  llokeby,  in  the 
Iireseiit  edition,  will  be  able  to  tr'ice  the  steps  by 
which  I  tlediiieil  as  a  poet  to  figure  as  a  noveliit ; 
as  the  ballad  says.  Queen  Eleiuior  sunk  at  Charing- 
Cro.ss  to  ri.se  again  at  Queeiiliithe. 

It  oidy  remains  for  me  to  say,  that,  during  my 
short  i)re-eminence  of  j)opularity,  I  faithfully  ob- 
served the  rules  of  moderation  wliich  I  had  re- 
solved to  follow  before  I  begtui  my  course  as  a 
man  of  letters.  If  a  man  is  determined  to  make  a 
noise  in  the  world,  he  is  as  sure  to  encounter  abtise 
.ind  ridicule,  as  he  who  gallops  furiou.sly  through  a 
village,  must  reckon  on  being  followed  by  the  curs 
in  ftdl  cry.  E.vperienced  persons  know,  that  in 
stretching  to  flog  the  Litti  r,  the  rider  is  very  apt 
to  catch  u,  bad  fall ;  nor  is  an  attempt  to  chastise  a 
mahgnant  critic  attended  with  less  danger  to  the 
author.  On  this  princijile,  I  let  piu-ody,  burlesque, 
and  squibs,  lind  their  own  level ;  and  while  the 
latter  hissed  most  fiercely,  I  was  cautious  never  to 
catch  them  up,  as  school-boys  do,  to  throw  them 
back  against  the  naughty  boy  who  fired  them  off, 
wisely  remembering  that  they  are,  in  such  cases, 
apt  to  explode  in  the  handling.  Let  me  add,  that 
my  reign'  (since  Byron  has  so  called  it)  was  mark- 
ed by  some  instances  of  good-natiu-e  as  well  as  pa- 
tience. I  never  refused  a  literary  person  of  merit 
such  services  in  smoothuig  his  way  to  the  public  as 
were  in  my  power;  and  I  had  the  advantage, 
rather  an  uncommon  one  with  our  uritable  race, 
to  enjoy  general  favor,  without  incurring  pentia- 
nent  ill-will,  so  far  as  is  known  to  me,  among  any 
of  my  contemporaries. 

W.  S. 

Abbottsfobd,  April,  1830. 

250U,  appeared  in  1825.  Since  which  time  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  in  collective  editions  of  his  poetry,  and  in  separate  iwaei, 
must  have  circulated  to  the  extent  of  at  least  3U,(KH)  copiei 
more.  So  that,  down  to  the  month  of  July,  1836,  the  legiti- 
mate  sale  in  Great  Britain  has  been  not  less  than  50,U00 
copies.'  "—Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  248. 

'  "  In  twice  five  years  the  'greatest  living  poet,' 
Like  to  the  champion  in  the  fisty  ring. 
Is  call'd  on  to  support  hLs  claim,  or  show  it, 
Although  'tis  an  imaginary  thing,"  &c. 

JDun  Juan,  canto  xi.  st.  55. 

2  •'  Sir  Walter  reign'd  before  roe,"  Sic. 

Don  Juan,  canto  xi.  st.  57. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


183 


(El)c  £aii)  of  tl)c  Cake. 


TO    THE 


MOST     NOBLE 

JOHN   JAMES   MARQUIS   OFABERCORN, 

dec.  <tc.  d'C. 

THIS     poem'     is     inscribed     BY 

THE   AUTHOR. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  Scene  of  the  following  Poem  is  laid  chiefly  in  the  Vicinity  of  Loch  Katrine,  in  the  Western  High. 
lands  of  Perthshire.  The  time  of  Action  i^iclndes  Six  Days,  and  the  transactions  of  each  Day  occupy 
a  Canto? 


1  Published  by  John  Ballantyne  &  Co.  in  4to.,  with  en- 
graved frontispiece  of  Saxon's  portrait  of  Scott,  X2  2s. 
May,  1810, 

2  "  Never,  we  think,  has  the  analogy  between  poetry  and 
painting  been  more  strikingly  exemplified  than  in  the  writings 
of  Mr.  Scott.  He  sees  every  tiling  with  a  painter's  eye.  What- 
ever he  represents  has  a  character  of  individuality,  and  is 
drawn  with  an  accuracy  and  minuteness  of  discrimination, 
wliich  we  are  not  accustomed  to  expect  from  verbal  description. 
Much  of  this,  no  doubt,  is  the  result  of  genius  ;  for  there  is  a 
quick  and  comprehensive  power  of  discernment,  an  intensity 
and  keenness  of  observation,  an  almost  intuitive  glance,  which 
nature  alone  can  give,  and  by  means 'of  wliich  lier  favorites  are 
enabled  to  discover  characteristic  differences,  where  the  eye  of 
dulness  sees  nothing  but  uniformity  ;  but  something  also  must 
be  referred  to  discipline  and  exercise.  The  liveliest  fancy  can 
only  call  forth  those  images  which  are  already  stored  up  in  the 
memory  ;  and  all  that  invention  can  do  is  to  unite  these  into 
new  combinations,  which  must  appear  confused  and  ill-defined, 
if  the  impressions  originally  received  by  the  senses  were  deficient 
in  strength  and  distinctness.  It  is  because  Mr.  Scott  usually 
delineates  those  objects  with  which  he  is  perfectly  familiar, 
that  his  touch  is  so  easy,  correct,  and  animated.  The  rocks, 
the  ravines,  and  the  torrents,  which  he  exhibits,  are  not  the  im- 
perfect sketches  of  a  hurried  traveller,  but  the  finished  studies 
of  a  resident  artist,  deliberately  drawn  from  diji'erent  ])oints  of 
view  ;  each  has  its  true  shape  and  position  ;  it  is  a  portrait ;  it 
has  its  name  by  which  the  spectator  is  invited  to  examine  the 
exactness  of  the  resemblance.  The  figures  which  are  com- 
bined with  the  landscape  are  painted  with  the  same  fidelity. 
Like  those  of  Salvator  Rosa,  they  are  perfectly  aiiprojiriate  to 
the  spot  on  which  they  stand.  The  boldness  of  feature,  the 
lightness  and  compactness  of  form,  the  wildness  of  air,  and  the 
careless  ease  of  attitude  of  these  mountaineers,  ai'e  as  congenial 
to  their  native  Highlands,  as  the  birch  and  the  pine  which 
darken  their  glens,  the  sedge  which  fringes  their  lakes,  or  the 
heath  which  waves  over  their  moors." — Quarterly  Review, 
May,  1810. 

"  It  is  honorable  to  Mr.  Scott's  genius  that  he  has  been  able 
to  interest  the  public  so  deeply  with  this  third  presentment  of 


the  same  chivalrous  scenes  ;  but  we  cannot  help  thinking,  that 
both  his  glory  and  our  gratification  would  liave  been  greater, 
if  he  had  changed  his  hand  more  completely,  and  actually  given 
us  a  true  Celtic  story,  with  all  its  drapery  and  accompaniments 
in  a  con-espondiiig  style  of  decoration.  Such  a  subject,  we 
are  persuaded,  has  very  great  capabilities,  and  only  wants  to  be 
introduced  to  public  notice  by  such  a  hand  as  Mr.  Scott's,  to 
make  a  still  more  powerful  iniprtssion  than  he  has  already  ef- 
fected by  the  resun-ection  of  the  tales  of  romance.  There  are 
few  persons,  we  believe,  of  any  degree  of  poetical  susceptibility, 
who  have  wandered  among  the  secluded  valleys  of  the  High- 
lands, and  contemplated  the  singular  people  by  whom  they  are 
still  tenanted — with  their  love  of  music  and  of  song — their  hardy 
and  irregular  life,  so  unlike  the  unvarying  toils  of  the  Saxou 
mechanic — their  devotion  to  their  chiefs — their  wild  and  lofty 
traditions — their  national  enthusiasm — the  melancholy  grand- 
eur of  the  scenes  they  inhabit — and  the  multiplied  superstitions 
which  still  Unger  among  them — witliout  feehng,  that  there  is 
no  existing  people  so  well  ada])ted  for  the  purposes  of  poetry, 
or  so  eajiable  of  furnishing  the  occasion  of  new  and  striking  in- 
ventions. 

"  We  are  persuaded,  that  if  Mr.  Scott's  powerful  and 
creative  genius  were  to  be  turned  in  good  earnest  to  such  a 
subject,  something  might  be  produced  still  more  impressivt 
and  original  than  even  this  age  has  yet  witnessed." — Jef- 
frey, Edinburgh  Review,  No.  xvi.  for  1810. 

'■  The  subject  of  The  Lady  is  a  common  Highland  irruption, 
but  at  a  point  where  the  neighborhood  of  the  Lowlands  affords 
the  best  contrast  of  manners — where  the  scenery  aft'ords  the  no- 
blest subject  of  description — and  where  the  wild  clan  is  so  near 
to  the  Court,  that  their  robberies  can  be  connected  witli  the 
romantic  adventures  of  a  disguised  king,  an  exiled  lord,  and  a 
high-born  beauty.  The  whole  narrative  is  very  fine.  There 
are  not  so  many  splendid  passages  for  quotation  as  in  tlie  two 
former  poems.  This  may  indeed  silence  the  objections  of  the 
critics,  but  I  doubt  whether  it  will  promote  the  popularity  oi 
the  poem.]*  It  has  nothing  so  good  as  tlie  Address  to  Scotlanu 
or  the  Death  of  Marmion." — Mackintosh,  in  his  Diary 
1811,  sec  his  Life,  vol.  ii.  p.  82. 

"  The  Lay,  if  I  may  venture  to  state  the  creed  now  estaD- 


184 


SCO'lT'S 


POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAKTO  1. 


(lI)c  £.a\}]}  of  tl)c  Cake. 


CANTO    KIBKT. 


<r \)c  (Tb.iBt. 

Iljuir  of  the  Nortli !  that  inouUIering  lon^:  ht\.*t  Imng 

On   tlio   wiU-h-clm    that    -lia.t.  ■*    Saint    I'illiiii's 
tipruig. 
Ami  tlown  tho  fitful  l«rfo7.(!  tliy  mimhir.s  thnig,' 

Till  envious  ivy  did  jirouud  tbeu  cling, 
MutUing  with  verdiuit  ringlet  every  string, — 

0  miivstrel  Harp,  6till  must  thine  accents  glecp? 
Mid  rustling  leaves  and  fountains  murmuring, 

Still  must  tliy  sweeter  sounds  their  silence  keep. 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to  weep  ? 

Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon, 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festive  crowd, 
Wlicn  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  glory  won, 

Arou-od  the  fearful,  or  subdued  the  proud. 
At  each  according  pause,  was  heard  aloud* 

Tl  '  '.Miiy  sublime  and  high ! 

Fair  <\  ■  1  chiefs  attention  bow'd; 

For  still  the  burden  of  thy  minstrelsy 
Was  KniL,'lit hood's  dauntless  deed,  and  Beauty's 
matchlcis  eye. 

O  wake  once  more  !  how  rude  soe'cr  the  hand 

That  vcntiu-es  o'er  thy  nuigic  maze  to  stray  ; 
0  wake  once  more !  though  scarce  my  skill  com- 
mand 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay : 
Though  liarsh  smd  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away, 

And  all  unwortliy  of  thy  nobler  strain, 
Yet  if  one  heart  tlu-ob  liigher  at  its  sway. 

The  wiz.ird  note  has  not  been  touch'd  in  vain. 
Then  silent  be  no  more  1  Enchantress,  wake  again  t 


The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill. 
And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 
In  lone  Glcnartncy's  hazel  shade ; 
But,  when  th«  smi  his  beacoi^  red 


lished,  i«,  I  nhonld  ray,  pcncrally  considered  as  the  most  nato- 
ral  and  original,  Marmion  ai  ihe  most  powerful  and  splendid, 
the  Lady  of  the  Lake  as  the  nioct  interwling,  romantic,  piclur- 
esque,  and  gracefnl  of  his  great  poems." — Lockuart,  vol. 
bi.  p.  256. 

>  MS. — "  And  on  the  fitful  hreeze  thy  numben  flung, 
Till  envious  ivy,  with  her  vcnlant  ring. 
Mantled  and  muffled  each  melo<lious  string, — 
O  IVizard  Harp,  still  must  thine  accentj  sleep  V 


Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlicli's  head, 

llio  dcep-njouth'd  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 

Ri'Mumdfd  up  l\w  riM-ky  way,' 

And  faint,  fnnii  farllu-r  di>t;uico  borne. 

Were  heard  the  diuiging  hoof  jmd  hora 

II. 
As  Chief,  who  heiu-s  his  warder  ciUl, 
"To  arms!  the  fooiuun  storm  the  wall," 
The  antler'd  monarch  of  the  WiU'ile 
Sprimg  from  liis  heuthory  couch  in  liastc. 
But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  t(i<ik. 
The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  xhook; 
Like  crested  leader  proud  luid  liigh, 
Toss'd  his  beam'd  frontlet  to  the  sky ;  . 
A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 
A  moment  snuff'd  the  tainted  gale, 
A  moment  listen'd  to  the  cry. 
That  thicken'd  as  the  chase  drew  nigh ; 
n»en,  its  the  headmost  foes  a])pu;ir'd. 
With  one  brave  boimd  the  copse  he  clear't.1. 
And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far, 
Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var. 

III. 
Yell'd  on  the  view  the  opening  pack , 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern,  paid  them  back ; 
To  many  a  mingled  soimd  at  once 
The  awtikeiid  inount:un  gave  response. 
A  hundred  dogs  bay'd  deep  and  strong, 
Clatter'd  a  humlred  steeds  along, 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  joiu'd  the  shout ; 
With  hark  and  whoop  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlicli's  echoes  knew.* 
F;ir  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe. 
Close  in  her  covert  cower'd  the  doe. 
The  fidcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high. 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  gleu. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
Rcturn'd  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn. 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still. 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill. 

IV. 
Less  loud  the  sounds  of  silvan  war 
Disturb'd  the  heights  of  Uam-Var, 

2  MS. — "  At  each  aeconling  pause  tlion  spokc-st  aloud 
Thine  ardent  sympathy." 

'  MS. — "  The  bloodhound's  notes  of  heavy  bass 
Resounded  hoar«.'ly  up  the  pass." 

*  Bcnvoirlich,  a  mountain  comprehended  in  the  cluster  of  tii' 
Grampians,  at  the  head  of  the  valley  of  the  Giiiry.  a  ri\er 
which  springs  from  its  base.  It  rises  to  an  elevation  of  333(1  t"e«l 
above  the  level  of  the  sea. 


CANTO  I. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


186 


And  roused  the  cavern,  -where  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old ;' 
For  ere  that  steep  ascent  was  won, 
High  in  his  pathway  hung  the  sun. 
And  many  a  gaUant,  stay'd  perforce, 
Was  fain  to  breathe  his  falteruig  horse  ; 
And  of  the  trackers  of  the  deer, 
Scarce  half  the  lessening  pack  was  near ; 
So  shrewdly  on  the  mountam's  side 
Had  the  bold  burst  theh-  mettle  tried. 

V. 
nie  noble  stag  was  pausing  now. 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow. 
Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath. 
The  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith. 
With  anxious  eye  he  w  ander'd  o'er 
Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor, 
And  ponder'd  refuge  from  liis  toil. 
By  far  Lochard^  or  Aberfoyle. 
But  nearer  was  the  copsewood  gray, 
TJiat  waved  and  wept  on  Loch-Achray, 
And  mingled  with  the  pine-trees  blue 
On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Benvenue. 
Fresh  vigor  with  the  hope  return' d,^ 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

*  "  About  a  mile  to  the  westward  of  the  inn  of  Aberfo3'!e, 
I.ochaTd  opens  to  the  view.  A  few  hundred  yards  to  the  east 
of  it,  the  Avendow,  which  had  just  issued  from  the  lake,  tum- 
bles its  waters  over  a  rugged  precipice  of  more  than  tliirty  feet 
in  height,  forming,  in  the  rainy  season,  several  very  magnificent 
cataracts. 

"  The  first  opening  of  the  lower  lake,  from  the  east,  is  un- 
commonly picturesque.  Directing  the  eye  nearly  westward, 
Benlomond  raises  its  pyramidal  mass  in  the  background.  In 
nearer  prospect,  you  have  gentle  eminences,  covered  with  oak 
and  birch  to  the  very  summit ;  the  bare  rock  sometimes  peep- 
ing through  amongst  the  clumps.  Immediately  under  the  eye, 
the  lower  lake,  stretching  out  from  narrow  beginnings  to  a 
breadth  of  about  half  a  mile,  is  seen  in  full  prospect.  On  the 
riffht,  the  banks  are  skirted  with  extensive  oak  woods  which 
cover  the  mountain  more  than  half  way  up. 

"  Advancing  to  the  westward,  the  view  of  the  lake  is  lost  for 
about  a  mile.  Tlie  upper  lake,  which  is  by  far  the  most  ex- 
tensive, is  separated  from  tlie  lower  by  a  stream  of  about  200 
yards  in  length.  The  most  advantageous  view  of  the  upper 
lake  presents  itself  from  a  rising  grouud  near  its  lower  extrem- 
ity, where  a  footpath  strikes  off  to  the  south,  into  the  wood 
that  overhangs  this  connecting  stream.  Looking  westward, 
Benlomond  is  seen  in  the  background,  rising,  at  the  distance  of 
six  miles,  in  the  form  of  a  regular  cone,  its  sides  presenting  a 
gentle  slope  to  the  N.W.  and  S.B.  On  the  right  is  the  lofty 
mountain  of  Benoghrie,  running  west  towards  the  deep  vale  in 
which  Lochcon  lies  concealed  from  the  eye.  In  the  fcreground, 
Lochard  stretches  out  to  the  west  in  the  fairest  prospect ;  its 
length  three  miles,  and  its  breadth  a  mile  and  a  half.  On  the 
right,  it  is  skirted  with  woods  ;  the  northern  and  western  ex- 
tremity of  the  lake  is  diversified  with  meadows,  and  corn-fields, 
and  farm-houses.  On  the  left,  few  marks  of  cultivation  are  to 
be  seen. 

"  Fartlier  on,  the  traveller  passes  along  the  verge  of  the  lake 
under  a  ledge  of  rock,  from  thirty  to  fifty  feet  high  ;  and,  stand- 
ing immediately  under  this  rock,  towards  its  western  extremity, 
he  b.is  a  double  echo,  of  uncommon  distinctness.  Upon  pro- 
24 


With  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spum'd. 
Held  westward  with  unwearied  race, 
And  left  beliind  tlie  panting  chase. 

VI. 

'Twere  long  to  teU  what  steeds  gave  o'er, 
As  swept  the  hunt  through  Cambus-more  ;* 
Y/hat  reins  were  tighten'd  in  despair. 
When  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air ;' 
Wlio  flagg'd  upon  Bochastle's  heath. 
Who  .shimn'd  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith, — ' 
For  twice  that  day,  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er. 
Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far, 
That  reach'd  the  lake  of  Vennachar ;' 
And  wlien  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won,' 
The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 

VIL 

Alone,  but  with  unbated  zeal. 
That  liorseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel ; 
For  jaded  now,  and  spent  with  toil, 
Emboss'd  with  foam,  and  dark  with  soil. 
While  every  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew. 
The  labormg  stag  strain'd  full  in  view, 


nouncing,  with  a  firm  voice,  a  line  of  ten  syllables,  it  is  re- 
turned, lirst  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake  ;  and  when  tha* 
is  finished.  It  is  repeated  with  equal  distinctness  from  the  wooo 
on  the  cast.  The  day  must  be  perfectly  calm,  and  the  lake  as 
smooth  as  glass,  for  otherwise  no  human  voice  can  be  returned 
from  a  distance  of  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile." — Graham's 
Sketches  of  Perthshire,  2d  edit,  p,  182,  &c. 

3  MS. — "  Fresh  vigor  with  the  thought  return'd, 

With  flying  hoof  the  heath  he  spurn'd," 

■4  Cumbus-viore,  within  about  two  miles  of  Callender,  on  the 
wooded  banks  of  the  Keltic,  a  tributary  of  tlie  Teith,  is  the  scat 
of  a  family  of  the  name  of  Bucbauan,  whom  the  Poet  fre- 
quently visited  in  his  younger  days, 

6  Benledi  is  a  magnificent  mountain,  3009  feet  in  height, 
which  bounds  the  horizon  on  the  northwest  from  Callender. 
The  name,  according  to  Celtic  etymologists,  signifies  the  Moun- 
tain of  God. 

6  Two  mountain  streams — the  one  flowing  from  Loch  Voil, 
by  the  pass  of  Leny  ;  the  other  from  Loch  Katrine,  by  Loch 
Achray  .and  Loch  Veunachar,  unite  at  Callender ;  and  the 
river  thus  formed  thenceforth  takes  the  name  of  Teith.  Hence 
the  designation  of  the  territory  of  Menteith. 

'  "  Loch  Vennachar,  a  beautiful  expanse  of  water,  of  abon' 
five  miles  in  length,  by  a  mile  and  a  half  in  breadth," — Gra 

HAM. 

"  "  About  a  mile  above  Loch  Vennachar,  the  approach 
(from  the  east)  to  the  Brigg,  or  Bridge  of  Turk  (the  scene 
of  the  death  of  a  wild-boar  famous  in  Celtic  tradition),  leads 
to  the  summit  of  an  eminence,  where  there  bursts  upon  the 
traveller's  eye  a  sudden  and  wide  prospect  of  the  windings  o' 
the  river  that  issues  from  Loch  Achray,  with  that  sweet  lake 
itself  in  front ;  the  gently  rolling  river  pni-sues  its  serjientine 
course  through  an  extensive  meadow  ;  at  the  west  end  of  the 
Lake,  on  the  side  of  Aberfoyle,  is  situated  the  delightful  farm 
of  Achray,  the  level  field,  a  denomination  justly  due  to  it, 
when  considered  in  contrast  with  the  rugged  rocks  and  moun- 
tains which  surround  it.  From  this  eminence  are  to  be  seen 
also,  on  the  riglit  hand,  the  entrance  to  Glenfinlaa,  and  in  mp 
distance  Benvenue,"-  -Graham. 


ISO 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


CANTO   I. 


T\v      '  •..     .  :  Uubert'a  breed, 

L'l.  l.n-atli,  uiiil  s]icoiI,' 

Fodt  oti  his  flyiiig  tnieua  cuuu- 

Ai.  ■    ■■  ■  ■        ■ 

!•',  r  ...lUUcll, 

'N'iiiilictivo  tuil'il  Uiu  bluuUliuuii Jd  sUmdi ; 
N'.ir  ii<  .  '. 

Nor  fiuL-       ,  ,        .       nu- 

Tlius  up  Uio  murgiu  uf  tiie  hiku, 

Betwcfii  tlie  prtiii>iie  luul  briiko, 

O'er  (ttuck  nnl  ii"  'v  till  ir  i\ict'  tliuy  take. 

\  lil. 
'ITiu  Hunter  nmrk'd  tlmt  mouutiun  Ligli, 
nio  louc  lake's  western  boundary, 
And  deeiu'd  the  stag  mutit  turn  to  bay. 
Where  tliat  huge  nunpiu-t  barr'd  tlic  way ; 
AU-eady  glorying  in  the  priz-e, 
MeiL*ured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes; 
For  the  death-wound  and  duath-hallof), 
JIuster'd  his  breath,  his  wliinyiu-d  drew; — * 
But  thundering  as  he  come  prepared, 
With  rea«ly  lu-m  and  weajiou  bared. 
The  wily  quarry  shuiui'd  the  shock, 
Antl  tuni'd  hiin  from  the  opposing  rock; 
111.       '     '  'own  a  darksome  glen, 

S<"  I  id  and  hunter's  ken. 

In  the  deep  Trosach's'  wildest  nook 
His  siilitary  ri-1" 

Tlari.',  wliile  il'  i  '1,  the  thicket  shed 

Cold  dews  and  wild-flowers  on  his  liead, 
He  heard  the  baffled  dogs  iu  viiiu 
Kave  tlu-ough  the  liollow  pass  amain, 
Chiding  the  rocks  that  yell'd  again. 

IX. 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came. 
To  clieer  them  on  the  vanish'd  game ; 
But,  t'tuinbling  in  the  rugged  dell, 
The  gallant  horse  exliausted  full. 
'Ilie  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 
To  roil-    '  ith  the  spur  and  rein, 

For  til'  •ed,  his  lalx)rs  o'er, 

Stretch'd  his  stiff  limbs,  to  rise  no  more ; 
Tlu-n,  toiK'h'd  with  i  "  remorse, 

He  sorrow'd  o'er  tin       ^       ^  horse. 
"  I  httle  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 
I  .shiok'd  \]]x<u  t'      '         -  <jf  Seine, 
Tliat  Higliland  ■    _  r  .-hould  feed 

On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed ! 
Woe  worth  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day, 
Tliat  costs  thy  life,  my  LMllMi.t  it  iv  i" 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  B.  ^  Ibid.  Nole  C. 

'  "The  terra  Troaach  signifies  the  rou;;':    -  '       ■' 
10  ry." — Graham. 
>  MS. — "  And  on  tlie  hnnter  hie<l  hi«  pace, 

To  mcrt  •lome  comrades  of  tl>e  chase." 


Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounda, 
From  vain  j)ursuit  to  call  the  hounds. 
Back   linip'd,   with   hIow   luid   crippled 

pace, 
Tlu>  hiilky  leaders  of  the  duise; 
Close  to  their  master's  side  they  press'd, 
With  driMiping  tail  and  humbled  crest; 
But  still  the  dingle's  holhjw  throat 
Trolong'd  the  swelling  bugle-note, 
llie  owlets  started  from  their  dream, 
llie  eagles  answer'il  with  their  scream. 
Itound  imd  around  the  sounds  were  cast, 
Till  echo  .""eeni'd  lui  answering  bhist ; 
And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  way,* 
To  jf>in  some  comrades  of  the  day ; 
Yet  often  paused,  so  t;tran<re  the  road, 
So  wondrous  were  the  scenes  it  sliow'd. 

XL 

llie  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
RoU'd  o'er  the  glen  their  level  way ; 
Each  )iurjilo  peak,  each  flinty  s})ire, 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire. 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below. 
Where  twined  the  path  in  slmdow  liid. 
Round  many  a  rock}'  pyramid, 
Shooting  abruptly  from  the  dell 
Its  thuuder-splinter'd  pinnacle ; 
Round  many  an  insulated  mass. 
The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass,' 
Huge  as  the  tower"  which  builders  vain 
Presumptuous  piled  on  Shinar's  plain.' 
The  rocky  summits,  split  and  rent, 
Form'd  turret,  dome,  or  battlement. 
Or  seeni'd  fantastically  set 
With  cupola  or  minaret, 
W'ild  crests  as  pagod  ever  deck'd, 
Or  mo.sque  of  Kiistern  arcliitect. 
Nor  were  these  earth-born  castles  bare.' 
Nor  lack'd  they  m:uiy  a  banner  fair; 
For,  from  their  shiverd  brows  display 'd. 
Far  o'er  the  imfathomable  glade. 
All  twinkling  witli  the  dewdrup's  sheen,' 
Tlae  brier-rose  fell  iii  streamers  green. 
And  creeping  slirubs,  of  thousand  dyes. 
Waved  in  the  west-wind's  siunmer  sighs. 

XII. 
Boon  nature  scattcr'd,  free  and  wild, 
Each  plant  or  flower,  the  mountain's  child. 

'  MS. — "Tlie  mimic  castles  of  the  pass." 

•  Tlie  Tovier  of  Babel.— GenesU,  xi.  1-9. 

'  M3. — "  Nor  were  tiiese  miglily  bulwarks  bare." 

9  MS. — "  liri^'ht  glisltninir  witli  the  dewdrop'i  sheen." 


CANTO  I. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


187 


Here  eglantine  enibalm'd  the  air, 
Hawthorn  and  hazel  mingle  there  ; 
The  primrose  pale  and  violet  flower, 
found  in  eacli  chff  a  narrow  bower  ; 
Fox-glove  and  night-shade,  side  by  side. 
Emblems  of  punishment  and  pride, 
Group'd  then-  dark  hues  with  every  stain 
The  weather-beaten  crags  retain. 
With  boughs  that  quaked  at  every  breath, 
Gray  birch  and  aspen  wept  beneath ; 
Aloft,  the  ash  and  warrior  oak 
Cast  anchor  in  J;he  rifted  rock ; 
And,  higher  yet,  the  pme-tree  hung 
His  shatter'd  trunk,  and  frequent  flung,' 
Where  seem'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  liigh, 
His  boughs  athwart  the  narrow'd  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced, 
Where  glist'mng  streamers  waved  and 

danced, 
ine  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  view 
The  summer  heaven's  dehcioufs  blue ; 
So  wondrous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 
The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream. 

XIII. 
Onward,  amid  the  copse  'gan  peep 
A  narrow  inlet,  still  and  deep, 
Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  brim,* 
As  served  the  wild-duck's  brood  to  swim. 
Lost  for  a  space,  tlii'ough  tliickets  veering, 
But  broader  when  again  appearing. 
Tall  rocks  and  tufted  knolls  then-  face 
Could  on  the  dark-blue  mii-ror  trace  ; 
And  farther  as  the  hunter  stray'd. 
Still  broader  sweep  its  channels  made. 
The  shaggy  mounds  no  longer  stood. 
Emerging  from  entangled  wood,^ 
But,  wave-encircled,  seem'd  to  float. 
Like  castle  girdled  with  its  moat ; 
Yet  broader  floods  extending  stUl 
Divide  them  from  their  parent  hill. 
Till  each,  retiring,  claims  to  be 
An  islet  in  an  inland  sea. 


'  MS.-  -"  His  scathed  trunk,  and  frequent  flung. 

Where  seem'd  tlie  clifts  to  meet  on  high, 
His  rugged  arms  athwart  the  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced. 
Where  twinkling  streamers  waved  and  danced." 

*  MS. — "  Afibrding  scarce  such  breadth  of  flood. 

As  served  to  float  the  wild-duck's  brood." 

3  JIS. — "  Emerging  drj'-shoil  from  the  wood." 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

"  Loch  Ketturin  is  the  Celtic  pronunciation.  In  his  Notes 
to  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  the  author  has  signified  his  belief 
that  the  lake  was  named  after  tlie  Catlerins,  or  wild  robbers, 
who  haunted  its  shores. 

8  Benvenue — is  literally  Oie  little  mountain — i.  e.  as  con- 
6-asted  with  Benledi  and  Benlomond. 

'  MS. — "  His  ruin'd  sides  mid  fragments  hoar, 


XIV. 

And  now,  to  issue  from  the  glen, 

No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken, 

Unle.«s  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 

A  fiu-  projecting  precipice.^ 

The  broom's  tough  roots  his  ladder  made, 

The  hazel  saplings  lent  their  aid; 

And  thus  an  airy  point  he  won. 

Where,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 

One  burnish'd  sheet  of  livmg  gold, 

Locli  Ktitrine  lay  beneath  liim  roll'd,* 

In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay, 

With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay. 

And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 

Floated  amid  the  hveher  hght. 

And  mouiitams,  tliat  like  giants  stand, 

To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 

High  on  the  south,  huge  Benvenue' 

Down  on  the  lake  in  masses  threw 

Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurl'd, 

The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world ; 

A  wildering  forest  feather'd  o'er 

His  ruin'd  sides  and  siunmit  hoar,' 

While  on  the  north,  through  middle  air, 

Ben-an*  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare.' 

XV. 
From  the  steep  promontory  gazed" 
The  stranger,  raptured  and  amazed. 
And,  "  What  a  scene  were  here,"  he  cried, 
"  For  princely  pomp,  or  churclunan's  pride  I 
On  this  bold  brow,  a  h)rdly  tower ; 
In  that  soft  vale,  a  lady's  bower ; 
On  yonder  meadow,  far  away. 
The  turrets  of  a  cloister  gray ; 
How  blithely  might  the  bugle-horn 
Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  morn ! 
How  sweet,  at  eve,  the  lover's  lute 
Chuue,  when  the  groves  were  still  and  mute ! 
And,  when  the  midnight  moon  should  lave 
Her  forehead  in  the  silver  wave, 
How  solemn  on  the  ear  would  come 
The  holy  matin's  distant  hum, 


While  on  tlie  north  to  middle  air." 
8  According  to  Graham,  Ben-an,  or  Benuan,  is  a  mere   li- 
minutive  of  Ben — Mountain. 

"  "  Perhaps  the  art  of  landscape-painting  in  poetry  has  nei'ej 
been  displayed  in  higher  perfection  than  in  these  stanzas,  to 
which  rigid  criticism  might  possil)ly  object  that  the  picture  ia 
somewhat  too  minute,  and  that  tlie  contemplation  of  it  de- 
tains the  traveller  somewhat  too  long  from  the  main  purjiose 
of  his  ])ilgrimage,  but  which  it  would  be  an  act  of  the  greatest 
injustice  to  break  into  fragments,  and  present  by  ))iecemeal. 
Not  so  the  magnificent  scene  wliich  bursts  upon  the  bewil- 
dered hunter  as  he  emerges  at  length  from  the  dell,  and  com- 
mands at  one  view  the  beautiful  c^ipanse  of  Loch  Katrine."-* 
Critical  Review,  August,  1820. 
'"  MS. — "  From  tlie  high  p  omontory  gazed 

The  siran''er,  aicc-struch  and  amazed  • 


18£ 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  L 


AVliile  the  deep  peid's  cuminundiiig  touo 
SliuuKl  wuko,  ill  youJer  wlet  luuc, 
A  sjiiiitfd  lu-riiiit  frmn  liis  i-t-ll. 
To  ilrtij)  a  IkikI  with  ovi-ry  kni'll — 
And  hu^U>,  lute,  uttd  bell,  and  all. 
Should  each  liewiMer'd  >traiij;er  oiiU 
To  friendly  feast,  and  lighted  luill.' 

XVI. 
"  lUithe  were  it  then  t«t  wander  liere  1 
Hut  now, — beshrew  yon  niniblo  deer, — 
Like  tlmt  same  hermit's,  thin  ami  spare, 
llie  copse  must  give  my  evening  fare ; 
Some  mossy  bank  my  couch  must  be, 
Sonic  rustling  oak  my  ciinoj)y.' 
Yet  pass  we  that;  the  war  and  chase 
Give  little  choice  of  resting-jilace  ; — 
A  sununer  night,  in  greenwood  spent, 
Were  but  to-morrow's  merriment: 
15ut  hosts  may  in  these  wilds  aliound. 
Such  as  arc  better  miss'd  than  found ; 
To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here, 
Were  worse  than  loss  t>f  steed  or  deer. — ' 
I  mu  uloue  ; — my  bugle-strain 
ilay  call  some  straggler  of  tlie  train; 
Or,  fall  the  worst  that  may  betide, 
Ere  now  this  falchion  has  been  tried." 

XVII. 
But  scarce  again  his  liorn  be  wound,* 
When  lol  forth  stinting  at  the  sound. 
From  underneath  iui  aged  ouk, 
lliat  slanted  from  the  L-^let  rock, 
A  damsel  guider  of  its  way, 
A  Uttle  skiff  shot  to  the  bay,' 
Tliat  round  the  promontory  steep 
Led  its  deep  line  in  graceful  SAveep, 
Eddying,  in  ahnost  viewless  wave, 
The  weeping  willow-twig  to  lave, 
And  kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  slow, 
nic  >)each  fif  pebbles  bright  as  snow. 
Tlie  iHiat  had  totich'd  this  silver  strand, 
Just  as  the  Hunter  left  his  stand, 
And  stood  con^eal'd  amid  the  brake, 
To  view  this  Ladj    of  the  Lake, 
llie  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 
Slfe  tlionirht  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 
With  head  up-raisetl,  and  look  intent, 
And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent, 
And  locks  flung  back,  and  lips  apart, 

'  MS.—  '  To  liospitablc  fc^^t  and  hall." 
1  MS. — "  .Inil  hollvw  trunk  of  some  old  tree, 
.My  rhamhtr  for  the  night  miut  be." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

♦  MS. — "  T/tc  bugle  shrill  again  iie  wonnd, 

And  to!  forth  i<t.irting  at  the  aound." 
»  MS.—"  A  little  fkifTxhot  to  the  hay. 
The  Hunter  left  his  airy  stand, 


Like  monument  of  Greciiui  art, 

In  listening  mood,  she  sceui'd  to  atiuid. 

The  guardiiui  \iuad  of  the  strand. 

XVIIf. 
And  ne'er  tlid  (!  recian  chisel  trace' 
A  Nymph,  a  Naiail,  or  a  tlrace, 
Of  liner  form,  or  lovelier  face ! 
What  though  the  sun,  with  iirdent  frown. 
Had  sliglilly  tinged  her  cheek  with  browu. — 
The  rtjxirtive  toil,  which,  short  and  light, 
Had  dyed  her  glowing  luie  so  bright, 
Served  too  in  hiwtier  swell  to^how 
Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow : 
What  tliough  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 
To  mea.sured  nifiod  had  train'd  her  pace, — 
A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true. 
Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dash'd  the  de'V* 
E'en  the  .«lig)it  harebell  raised  its  head, 
Ela.-tic  from  her  airy  tread : 
What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 
The  accents  of  the  moimtaitt  tongue, — ' 
Those  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear, 
The  listener  held  his  breath  to  bear 

XIX. 

A  Chieftain's  daughter  seem'd  the  maid ; 
Her  satin  snood,"  her  silken  jjlaid, 
Her  golden  brooch,  such  birth  betray'd. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  aniid 
Such  wild  lu.vuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Wh<.)se  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
Tiie  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing ; 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair. 
Mantled  a  pluid  wMth  modest  care. 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heai't  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye ; 
Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue. 
Gives  back  the  shaggy  banks  more  true 
Than  every  free-born  glance  confess'd 
Tlie  guileless  movements  of  her  breast ; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  woe  or  pity  claiui'd  a  sigh. 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there, 
Or  meek  devotion  pour'd  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  call'd  forth 
The  indignant  .spirit  of  the  North. 
One  only  passion  unreveal'd, 

And  when  the  boat  had  toDch'd  the  sand 
Conceal'd  he  Btood  anii<l  the  brake. 
To  view  thi.s  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

•  MS. — "  A  finer  form,  a  fairer  face, 

Had  never  marble  Nymph  or  Grace, 
That  boajils  the  Grecian  chisel's  trace." 

^  MS. — "The  accents  of  a  stranger  tongue." 

'  Hot  Note  on  Canto  III.  btauza  5. 


CANTO  I. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


189 


With  maiden  pride  the  maid  conceal'd, 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame ; — 
0  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name  ! 

XX. 

Impatient  of  the  silent  horn, 
Now  on  the  gale  her  voice  was  borne : — 
"  Father  !"  she  cried ;  the  rocks  around 
Loved  to  prolong  the  gentle  sound. 
A.  wliile  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — ' 
MalcoLn,    was    tliuie    the   blast?"    the 
name 
Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell, 
The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swelL 
"  A  stranger  I,"  the  Huntsman  said, 
Advancmg  from  the  hazel  shade. 
The  maid,  alarm' d,  with  hasty  oar, 
Push'd  her  hght  shallop  from  the  shore. 
And  when  a  space  was  gaiu'd  between. 
Closer  she  drew  her  bosom's  screen ; 
(So  forth  the  startled  swan  would  swing,* 
So  turn  to  prune  liis  ruffled  wing.) 
Then  safe,  though  flutter'd  and  amazed, 
She  paused,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed. 
Not  liis  the  form,  nor  his  the  eye, 
Tliat  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly. 

XXL 
On  his  bold  visage  middle  age 
Had  slightly  press'd  its  signet  sage , 
Yet  had  not  quench'd  the  open  truth 
And  fiery  vehemence  of  youth ; 
Forward  and  frolic  glee  was  there, 
The  will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare. 
The  sparkling  glance,  soon  blown  to  fire, 
Of  hasty  love,  or  headlong  ire. 
His  limbs  were  cast  in  manly  mould, 
For  hardy  sports  or  contest  bold  ; 
And  tliough  in  peaceful  garb  array'd, 
And  weaponless,  except  his  blade. 
His  stately  raien  as  well  imphed 
A  high-born  heart,  a  martial  pride, 
As  if  a  Baron's  crest  he  wore, 
And  sheathed  in  armor  trode  the  shore. 
Slighting  the  petty  need  he  show'd, 
He  told  of  his  benighted  road  : 
His  reatiy  speech  flow'd  fair  and  free, 
Li  phrase  of  gentlest  courtesy  ; 
Yet  soein'd  that  tone,  and  gesture  bland, 
Less  used  to  sue  than  to  coimnand. 

MS. — "  A  space  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — 
'  Jilpine,  was  thine  the  blast  V  the  uama 
Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell, 
The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 
'  Nor  foe  nor  friend,'  the  stranger  said, 
Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 
The  startled  maid,  with  h;isty  oar, 
Push'd  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore." 


XXIL 
A  while  the  maid  the  stranger  eyed. 
And,  reassured,  at  length  replied. 
That  Highland  halls  were  open  still' 
To  wilder'd  wanderers  of  the  hill. 
"  Nor  tliink  you  miexpected  come 
To  yon  lone  isle,  our  desert  home  ; 
Before  the  heath  had  lost  the  dew 
Tlus  morn,  a  couch  was  puU'd  for  you ; 
On  yonder  mountain's  purple  licad 
Have  ptarnfigan  and  heath-cock  bled. 
And  our  broad  nets  have  swept  the  mere, 
To  furnish  forth  your  evening  cheer." — 
"  Now,  by  the  rood,  my  lovely  maid, 
Your  courtesy  has  err'd,"  he  said ; 
"  No  right  have  I  to  claim,  misplaced, 
The  welcome  of  expected  guest. 
A  wanderer,  here  by  fortune  tost. 
My  way,  my  friends,  my  courser  lost, 
I  ne'er  before,  believe  me,  fair. 
Have  evftr  drawn  your  mountain  air. 
Till  on  this  lake's  romantic  strand,^ 
I  found  a  fay  in  fairy  land !" — 

XXIIL 

"  I  well  believe,"  the  maid  replied. 

As  her  light  skiff  approach'd  the  side, — 

"  I  well  believe,  that  ne'er  before 

Your  foot  has  trod  Loch  Katrine's  shore  ■ 

But  yet,  as  far  as  yesternight. 

Old  Allan-Bane  foretold  your  plight, — 

A  gray-hair'd  sire,  whose  eye  intent 

Was  on  the  vision'd  future  bent.^ 

He  saw  your  steed,  a  dappled  gray, 

Lie  dead  beneath  the  birchen  way  ; 

Painted  exact  yom*  form  and  mien, 

Your  hunting  siut  of  Lincoln  green, 

That  tasseU'd  horn  so  gayly  gilt. 

That  falchion's  crooked  blade  and  hilt, 

That  cap  with  heron  plumage  trim, 

And  yon  two  hounds  so  dark  and  grim. 

He  bade  that  all  should  ready  be, 

To  grace  a  guest  of  fair  degree ; 

But  hght  I  held  his  prophecy, 

And  deem'd  it  was  my  father's  horn. 

Whose  echoes  o'er  the  lake  were  borne." 

XXIV. 

The  stranger  smiled  : — "  Since  to  your  home 
A  destined  errant-knight  I  come, 

s  MS. — "  So  o'er  the  lake  the  swan  would  spring, 
Then  turn  to  prune  its  ruffled  wing." 

3  aiS.— "  Her  father's  hall  was  open  sUll." 

4  MS. — "  Till  on  this  lake's  enchanting  strand," 

6  MS.—"  Is  often  on  the  future  bent."— See  Appenan 

NoteF 


190                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                canto  «, 

Announced  by  prophet  sooth  ami  oKl, 

Tlio  ivy  and  Idftan  vino. 

Duoin'il,  tlouVitk's.-,  fur  m-hii-viMiu-nt  bold, 

The  clematis,  the  favor'd  flower 

I'll  lightly  front  ouch  hij^h  eiiipriHc, 

Which  leasts  the  name  of  virgin-bower 

For  one  kind  i^liuicv  of  those  brij,'ht  eyes. 

And  every  hardy  jdant  could  bear 

IVnuit  nu;  first,  the  tiLsk  to  (^uidc 

I>Kh  Katrine's  keen  and  Hcarehing  lur. 

Yi'ur  fiiiry  frif^iito  o'or  the  tiilo." 

An  instant  in  this  porch  alie  staid, 

'J  ho  maid,  with  smile  jtnpprcfw'd  and  ely, 

And  gayly  to  the  stranger  said, 

'Hii'  toil  unwonted  saw  him  try ; 

"  On  heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call. 

For  seldom  sure,  if  e'er  before. 

And  enter  the  enclmnte<l  hall !" 

Hij»  noble  luind  Imd  grasp'd  an  oar:' 

Yet  with  main  strength  his  Btrokes  he  drew, 

XXVII. 

And  o'er  tlie  lake  tlie  shallop  flew. 

"My  Iiope,  my  heaven,  my  Iru'^t  must  be, 

AVith  heads  erect,  and  whim])erin<j  cry. 

My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." 

llie  hounds  behind  their  passage  ply. 

He  crosa'd  the  threshold — and  a  clang 

Nor  frequent  does  the  bright  oar  break 

Of  angry  steel  that  instant  rang. 

Tlie  dark'iiing  mirror  of  the  lake. 

To  his  bold  brow  his  spirit  rush'd, 

Until  the  rocky  isle  they  reach. 

But  soon  for  vain  alarm  he  blush'd, 

^Vnd  moor  their  shallop  on  the  beach. 

Wlien  on  the  floor  ]m:  saw  disjday'd, 

Cause  of  the  din,  a  naked  Vjlade 

XXV. 

Dropp'd  from  the  sheath,  that  careless  flung 

'llic  ftr.ingcr  vicw'd  the  sliorc  around ; 

Upon  a  stag's  huge  antlers  swimg ; 

'Twits  all  so  clo.«c  with  copsewood  bound, 

For  all  aroimd  the  walls  to  grace, 

Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 

Hiuig  trophies  of  the  fight  or  chase : 

Tliat  human  foot  frequented  tliere, 

A  target  there,  a  bugle  here. 

Until  the  mountjun-niaiden  sliow'd 

A  battle-axe,  a  hunting-spear, 

A  clambering  unsuspected  road, 

And  broadswords,  bows,  and  arrows  store, 

Tliat  winded  through  the  tangled  screen, 

With  the  tusk'd  trophies  of  the  boar. 

And  open'd  on  a  narrow  green. 

Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died,* 

Wliere  weeping  birch  and  willow  round 

And  there  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide 

With  their  long  fibres  swept  the  ground. 

The  frontlet  of  the  elk  adorns. 

ilere,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour. 

Or  mantles  o'er  the  bison's  horns ; 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower." 

Pennons  and  flags  defaced  and  stain'd, 

That  blackening  streaks  of  blood  retain'd. 

XXVL 

And  deer-skins,  dappled,  dun,  and  wliite. 

It  was  a  lodge  of  ample  size. 

With  otter's  fur  and  seal's  unite, 

But  strange  of  structure  and  device ; 

In  rude  and  uncouth  tapestry  all. 

Of  sudi  materials,  as  around 

To  garnish  forth  the  silvan  hall. 

Tlie  workman's  hand  had  readiest  foimd. 

Loppd  off  their  boughs,  their  hoar  trunks  bared, 

XXVIII. 

And  by  the  hatchet  rudely  squared. 

Tlie  wondering  stranger  roimd  him  gazed. 

To  give  the  walls  their  destined  height, 

And  next  the  fallen  weapon  raised  : — 

The  sturdy  oak  and  ash  unite ; 

Few  were  the  arms  whose  sinewy  strength 

"VSHiile  moss  and  clay  and  leaves  combined 

Sufficed  to  stretch  it  forth  at  length. 

To  fence  each  crevice  from  the  wind. 

And  as  the  brand  he  poi.sed  and  sway'd. 

Tlie  lighter  pine-trees,  over-head, 

"  I  never  knew  but  one,"  he  said. 

Tlieir  slender  length  for  rafters  spread, 

"WHiose  stalwart  arm  might  brook  to  wielu 

And  wither'd  heath  and  rushes  dry 

A  blade  like  tliis  in  battle-field." 

Supplied  a  russet  canopy. 

She  sigh'd,  then  smiled  and  took  the  word : 

Due  westward,  fronting  to  the  green, 

"  You  see  the  guardian  champion's  sword : 

A  rural  jwrtico  was  seen, 

As  light  it  trembles  in  his  hand. 

Aloft  on  native  pillars  borne. 

As  in  my  grasp  a  hazel  wand ; 

Of  mountain  fir,  with  bark  unshorn. 

My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 

Where  Ellen's  hand  luid  taught  to  twine 

Of  Fcrragus  or  Ascabart  ;* 

.  M?. — "  Thit  frrntle  hand  had  gra«p'd  an  oar  : 

There  hang  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide. 

Yet  with  main  itrength  the  oart  he  drew." 

Above  the  elk's  branch'd  brow  and  skall. 

»  Bee  Appendix,  Note  G. 

And  frontlet  of  the  forest  bull." 

•  MS. — "  Here  grins  the  wolfax  when  he  died, 

*  Bee  Appendix,  Note  H. 

■ 

I 


CATTTO  I.                                THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                       191 

But  in  the  absent  giant's  hold 

On  wandering  knights  our  spells  we  cast ; 

Are  -women  now,  and  menials  old." 

Wliile  viewless  minstrels  touch  the  string, 

'Tis  thus  our  charmed  rhymes  we  sing." 

XXIX. 

She  sung,  and  still  a  harp  unseen 

Tlie  mistress  of  the  mansion  came, 

Fill'd  up  the  symphony  between.* 

Mature  of  age,  a  graceful  dame  ; 
Whose  easy  step  and  stately  port 

XXXL 

Had  well  beconie  a  princely  com-t, 

Song. 

To  whom,  though  more  than  kindred  knew. 

"  Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er. 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  due.^ 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking ; 

Meet  welcome  to  her  guest  slie  made. 

Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more, 

And  every  com'teous  rite  was  paid. 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 

That  hospitality  could  claim. 

In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall. 

Though  all  unask'd  his  birth  and  name  '■' 

Hands  imseen  tliy  couch  are  strewing, 

Such  then  the  reverence  to  a  guest, 

Fairy  strauis  of  music  fall. 

Tliat  fellest  foe  might  join  tlie  feast, 

Every  sense  in  slmnber  dewing. 

And  from  his  deadhest  foeman's  door 

Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er. 

Unquestion'd  turn,  the  banquet  o'er. 

Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more : 

At  length  his  rank  the  stranger  names. 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 

"  The  Knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-James  ; 

Morn  of  tod,  nor  night  of  waking. 

Lord  of  a  barren  heritage. 

Which  his  brave  snes,  from  age  to  age, 

"  No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear,' 

By  then"  good  swords  had  held  with  toil ; 

Armor's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing, 

His  sire  had  fallen  in  such  turmoil. 

Triunp  nor  pibroch  summon  here 

And  he,  God  wot,  was  forced  to  stand 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 

Oft  for  his  right  with  blade  in  hand. 

Yet  the  lark's  shriU  fife  may  come 

This  mornmg,  with  Lord  Moray's  tram, 

At  the  day-break  fi-om  the  fallow, 

He  chased  a  stalwart  stag  in  vain, 

And  the  bittern  sound  liis  drum, 

Outstripp'd  his  comi-ades,  miss'd  the  deer, 

Booming  jfrom  the  sedgy  shallow. 

Lost  liis  good  steed,  and  wander'd  here." 

Ruder  sotmds  shall  none  be  near  ; 

Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here. 

XXX. 

Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 

Fain  would  the  knight  in  turn  require 

Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping." 

The  name  and  state  of  Ellen's  sire. 

Well  show'd  the  elder  lady's  mien,' 

XXXIL 

That  courts  and  cities  she  had  seen  : 

She  paused — then,  blushing,  led  the  lay'' 

Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  display'd* 

To  grace  the  stranger  of  the  day. 

The  simple  grace  of  silvan  maid, 

Her  mellow  notes  awhile  prolong 

La  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  face. 

The  cadence  of  the  flowing  song, 

Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race. 

Till  to  her  lips  in  measm-ed  frame 

'Twere  strange,  in  ruder  rank  to  find. 

The  minstrel  verse  spontaneous  came. 

Such  looks,  such  manners,  and  such  mmd. 

Each  hint  the  Knight  of  Snowdoun  gave. 

Song  continueti. 

Dame  Margaret  heard  with  silence  grave ; 

"  Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done. 

Or  Ellen,  mnocently  gay, 

Wliile  our  slumb'rous  spells  assail  ye,* 

Turn'd  all  inquiry  Ught  away : — 

Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun. 

"  Weird  women  we !  by  dale  and  down 

Bugles  here  shall  soimd  reveille. 

We  dwell,  afar  from  tower  and  town. 

Sleep  !  the  deer  is  in  his  den  ; 

We  stem  the  flood,  we  ride  the  blast. 

Sleep!  thy  hoimds  are  by  thee  lying; 

1  MS  — "  To  whom,  though  more  remote  her  claim, 

Each  anxious  hint  the  stranger  gave, 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  name." 

The  mother  heard  with  silence  grave." 

a  See  Appenilix,  Note  I. 

»  MS. — "  Well  show'd  the  mother's  easy  mien." 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

*  MS. — "  Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  betray'd 

c  MS. — "  jVoon  of  hunger,  night  of  waking. 

The  simple  heart  oi  mountain  maid, 

No  rude  sound  shall  rouse  thine  ear." 

In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  grace, 

'  MS. — "  She  paused — but  waked  again  the  lay." 

Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race  : 

/  "  Slumber  sweet  our  spells  shall  deal  ye, 

'Twas  strange,  in  birth  so  rude,  to  find 

B  MS.—  j     Let  our  slumbrous  spells  \  avail  ye. 

Such  face  such  manners,  and  sach  mind. 

K                                                (  beguile  ye   • 

192 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


Sleep !  nor  tlream  iu  yonder  glen. 

How  Uiy  giUliuit  steoil  luy  ilying. 
Hiiiititiiuin,  rest !  thy  clinso  in  dono, 
'I'liiiik  not  of  ttit*  riitin^  mm, 
For  at  dawning  to  iiashiI  ye, 
I  lerc  no  bu>'le8  ttound  ruveill6." 

XXXlIi. 
Till-  hull  \va>i  cliur'd — tlic  .strangor'a  bed 
Wa-*  there  of  mountain  heather  spread, 
AViiere  uft  a  Inmdrod  gnoMt^  had  lain, 
And  dn-aniM  their  fore-^t  sports  a^ain.' 
Hut  vainly  tlid  tlio  heath-tlower  slied 
Its  moorhmd  fragrance  round  liis  licad; 
Not  Kllen's  spell  had  luU'd  to  rest 
The  fever  of  his  troubled  breasts 
In  broken  dreams  the  image  rose 
Of  varied  ]>erils,  pains,  and  woes: 
liis  steeil  now  rtounders  in  the  brake, 
Now  smks  his  barge  upon  the  lake ; 
Now  leader  of  a  broken  host. 
His  standard  falls,  his  honor's  lost. 
Then, — from  my  couch  may  heavenly  might 
Chase  tliat  worst  phantom  of  the  night ! — 
Agiiin  return'd  the  scenes  of  youtli. 
Of  confident  undoubting  truth; 
Again  his  soul  he  interchanged 
Witli  friends  whose  hearts  were  long  estranged. 
Tiiey  come,  in  dim  procession  led. 
The  cold,  the  faitldess,  and  the  dead; 
As  warm  eacli  hand,  eadi  brow  as  gay, 
As  if  they  parted  yesterday. 
And  doul>t  distracts  him  at  the  view, 
O  were  his  senses  false  or  true ! 
Dream'd  he  of  death,  or  brtiken  vow, 
Or  is  it  all  a  vision  now  !* 

XXXIV. 
At  length,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 
He  seem'd  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love ; 
vShe  lislen'd  with  a  blush  and  sigh, 
His  suit  was  warm,  his  hopes  were  high. 
He  Bought  her  yielded  hand  to  clasp, 

■  MS. — "  And  (IrcamM  llieir  monntain  clia.«e  again." 
'"  Ye  f;oarili.in  vpirit-',  to  wliom  man  is  dear, 

From  ttii-«e  foul  ilrnions  Kliielil  tlie  midnight  gloom  : 
AngpU  of  fancy  and  of  love,  be  near. 

And  o'er  tlip  blank  of  rileep  din'u.>«  a  bloom  : 
Evoke  U>p  farreil  nhadcji  of  Grrcce  and  Rome, 

And  Irt  tbcni  virtue  with  a  look  impart ; 
But  chief,  awhile,  O !  lend  u»  from  the  tomb 

Tho-e  lons-!o«t  friends  for  whom  in  love  we  Kmart, 
And  fill  with  pion*  awe  and  jny-mixt  woe  the  heart. 

"  Or  are  yoo  sportive  ?— bid  the  mom  of  yonlh 
Rise  to  new  light,  and  beam  afresh  tlic  dayi 
Of  innocence,  simplicity,  and  truth  ; 

To  cr.res  estranged,  and  manhood's  thorny  ways. 
«\'hal  transport,  to  retrace  our  boyish  plays. 
Our  easy  bliss,  when  each  thing  joy  supplied  ; 


And  a  cold  gauntlet  met  his  grasp : 

The  phantom's  sex  was  chmigetl  luid  gone, 

Upon  its  head  a  iielmet  shone ; 

Slowly  enlargi'd  to  giant  size, 

With  darken'd  cheek  and  threatening  cye^ 

Tiie  grislv  vi.-aire,  stern  and  hoar, 

To  I'',iicn  still  a  likeness  bort?. — 

He  woke,  and,  panting  with  alTright, 

Ileraii'd  the  visiuii  of  the  night.' 

Tiie  lii'arth's  decaying  brands  were  red. 

And  deep  and  dusky  lustre  sited, 

Half  showiiiLr.  half  cniiccaliii',',  all 

The  uncDUtli  trophies  of  the  hall. 

Mid  those  the  stnmger  fix'd  his  eye, 

Wliere  that  Inige  falchion  liiing  on  high. 

And  thoughts  on  tiiought'»,  a  cotmtless  tlirong, 

Uush'd  chiising  countless  thoughts  along, 

Until,  tiie  gid.ly  whirl  to  cure, 

He  rose,  and  souglit  the  moonshine  pure. 

i XXXV. 

Tlic  wild-rose,  eglantine,  and  broom,* 

Wiisted  around  their  rich  perfume : 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  fragrant  balm, 

Tlie  a-spcns  slept  beneath  the  calm ; 

The  silver  light,  with  quivering  glance, 

riay'd  on  the  water's  still  expanse, — 

"Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passions'  sway 

Could  nige  beneath  the  sober  ray ! 

He  felt  its  calm,  that  warrior  guest, 

While  thus  he  communed  with  his  breast  :— 

"  Why  is  it,  at  each  turn  I  trace 

Some  memory  of  that  exiled  race  ? 

Can  I  not  mountain-maiden  spy, 

But  she  must  bi^ar  the  Douglas  eye  ? 

Ciui  I  not  view  a  Highland  brand, 

But  it  must  match  the  Douglas  hand? 

Can  I  not  frame  a  fever'd  dream. 

But  still  the  Douglas  Is  the  theme  ? 

ni  dream  no  more — by  manly  mind 

Not  even  in  sleep  is  Avill  rosigu'd. 

My  midnight  orisons  said  o'er, 

rU  turn  to  rest,  and  dream  no  more." 

The  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  warbling  maze 
Of  the  wild  brooks!" — Caslle  of  Indolence,  Canto  I. 

'  "  Such  a  strange  and  romantic  dream  as  may  be  naturally 
expected  to  flow  from  the  extraordinary  events  of  the  past  day. 
It  might.  perlia|)s,  be  quoted  xsone  of  .Mr.  Pcotl's  most  success- 
ful efforts  in  descriptive  poetry.  Some  few  lines  of  it  are  indeed 
unrivalled  for  delicacy  and  melancholy  tenderness." — Critical 
Hcviete. 

i  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
4  MS.-"Play'don  ^  ,^^^,,  Katrine's  still  expan.se; 
The  birch,  the  wild-rose,  and  the  broom. 

Wasted  around  their  rich  jx-rfume 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  balmy  dew  ; 
The  aspen  slept  on  Benvenue  ; 
Wild  were  the  heart  whose  pa.ssions'  power 
Defied  the  influence  of  the  hoiu." 


^:"//- 


'"i«^^ 


^'U^^OJ  ^J, 


^ATT  •:r    I'tfE  LAJTE 


CANTO  ir.                                THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                        193 

Ris  midnight  orisons  he  told, 

And  sunken  cheek  and  heavy  eye, 

A  prayer  with  every  bead  of  gold, 

Pine  for  liis  Highlanil  home ; 

Consigii'd  to  heaven  liis  cares  and  "woes. 

Then,  warrior,  then  be  thine  to  show 

And  sunk  in  unchsturb'd  repose ; 

The  care  that  soothes  a  wanderer's  woe ; 

Until  the  heath-cock  slirilly  crew, 

Remember  then  tliy  hap  erewhile. 

And  morning  dawn'd  on  Benvenue. 

A.  strangei*  in  the  lonely  isle. 

"  Or  if  on  life's  uncertain  main 
Mishap  shall  mar  tliy  sail ; 

If  faithful,  wise,  and  brave  in  vain. 

(illjc  £a^2  of  tlje  Cake. 

Woe,  want,  and  exile  thou  sustain 

Beneath  the  fickle  gale ; 

Waste  not  a  sigh  on  lortune  changed. 

CANTO  SECOND. 

On  thankless  courts,  or  friends  estranged. 
But  come  where  kindred  worth  shall  amile, 

Etie  fislanli. 

To  greet  thee  in  the  lonely  isle." 

I. 

At  morn  the  black-cock  trims  liis  jetty  wing, 

IV. 

As  died  the  sounds  upon  the  tide. 

'Tis  morning  prompts  the  linnet's  bUthest  lay, 

The  shallop  reach'd  the  mainland  side, 

All  Nature's  cliildren  feel  the  matin  spring 

And  ere  liis  onward  way  he  took. 

Of  life  reviving,  with  reviving  day ; 

The  stranger  cast  a  lingering  look. 

And  wliile  yon  Uttle  bark  glides  down  the  bay, 

Where  easUy  his  eye  might  reach 

Wafting  the  str;iiig  r  on  liis  way  again, 

Tlie  Harper  on  the  islet  beach. 

Morn's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  grav. 

Reclined  agamst  a  blighted  tree. 

And  sweetly  o'er  the  lake  was  heard  thy  strjun, 

As  wasted,  gray,  and  worn  as  he. 

Mix'd  with  the  sounding  harp,  0  white-hair'd 

To  minstrel  meditation  given. 

Allan-Bane!' 

His  reverend  brow  was  raised  to  heaven. 

As  from  the  rismg  sun  to  claim 

II. 

A  sparkle  of  insphmg  flame. 

Sonfl. 

His  hand,  rechnod  upon  the  wire. 

•'  Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might 

Seem'd  watchmg  the  awakening  fire ; 

Flings  from  their  oars  the  spray. 

So  still  he  sate,  as  those  who  wait 

Not  faster  yonder  rippling  bright, 

TiU  judgment  speak  the  doom  of  fate ; 

That  tracks  the  shallop's  com-se  in  light. 

So  still,  as  if  no  breeze  might  dare 

Melts  m  the  lake  away. 

To  lift  one  lock  of  hoary  hair ; 

Tlian  men  from  memory  erase 

So  still,  as  Ufe  itself  were  fled. 

The  benefits  of  former  days ; 

In  the  last  sound  his  harp  had  sped. 

Then  stranger,  go !  good  speed  the  while. 

Nor  think-  again  of  the  lonely  isle. 

V. 

Upon  a  rock  with  Uchens  wild. 

"  High  place  to  thee  m  royal  court. 

Beside  him  Ellen  sate  and  smiled. — 

High  place  in  battle  line, 

Smiled  she  to  see  the  stately  drake 

Good  hawk  and  hound  for  silvan  sport. 

Lead  forth  liis  fleet  upon  the  lake. 

Where  beauty  sees  the  brave  resort,' 

Wliile  her  vex'd  spaniel,  from  the  beach, 

Tlie  honor'd  meed  be  tliine ! 

Bay'd  at  the  prize  beyond  liis  reach  ? 

True  be  thy  sword,  thy  friend  sincere, 

Yet  tell  me,  then,  the  maid  who  knows. 

Thy  lady  constant,  kind,  and  dear. 

Why  deepen'd  on  her  cheek  the  rose  ?— 

And  lost  in  love  and  friendsliip's  smile, 

Forgive,  forgive,  Fidelity ! 

Be  memory  of  the  lonely  isle. 

Perchance  the  maiden  smiled  to  see 

TTT 

Yon  parting  Ungerer  wave  adieu. 

IIL 

And  stop  and  turn  to  wave  anew ; 

Sonfl  contfiiueli. 

And,  lovely  ladies,  ere  your  ire 

"  But  if  beneath  yon  southern  sky 

Condemn  the  heroine  of  my  lyre. 

A  plaided  stranger  roam. 

Show  me  the  fair  would  scorn  to  spy, 

Whose  drx)ping  crest  and  stifled  sigh. 

And  prize  such  conquest  of  her  eye  I 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 
25 

2  MS.—"  At  tourneys  where  the  brave  resort  * 

194 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


CANTO  II 


1 


VI. 
While  )i't  lie  loitcT'tl  on  the  sikjI, 
It  HceiiiVI  fUH  KlK-n  iimrkM  him  not; 
lUit  when  he  tuni'ii  liiiii  to  the  gluilc, 
One  rourteoiu  partiii<{  vign  Am  iniitie ; 
Ami  after,  oft  the  kni<;ht  woiiM  wiy, 
Tlmt  not  wlien  prize  of  fc.-itul  diiy 
Wjis  ilealt  hint  by  the  bri^'htext  fair, 
Who  e'er  wore  jewel  in  her  hiiir, 
So  hij,'lily  (lid  liis  bosom  swell, 
As  at  that  simple  nuitu  farewell. 
Now  with  a  trusty  mountain-guide, 
And  his  dark  .itng-hounds  by  liis  .side, 
He  jwrts — the  maid  iincon.scious  still, 
Watoh'd  him  wind  slowly  round  the  liill; 
Hut  when  his  stately  form  was  liid, 
Tlic  f,'uardian  in  her  bosom  eliiil — 
"  Thy  Malcolm !  vain  and  selti.-ih  maid !" 
'Twa:i  tlms  upbraiiling  conscience  said, — 
"  Not  so  luid  Malcolm  idly  hung 
On  the  smooth  phrase  of  southern  tongue ; 
Not  so  had  Malcfilm  strain'd  his  eye. 
Another  step  than  thine  to  spy.' 
Wake,  AUan-Bnnc,"  aloud  she  cried, 
To  the  old  Minstrel  by  her  side, — 
"Arouse  thee  from  thy  moody  dream! 
I'll  give  thy  liarp  heroic  theme, 
And  warm  thee  with  a  noble  name ; 
Pour  forth  the  glory  of  tlie  Grneme  !"* 
Scarce  from  her  lip  the  word  had  rush'd, 
When  deep  the  con.«ciou8  maiden  blush'd ; 
For  of  lu's  clan,  in  hall  and  bower, 
Young  Malcolm  Grame  was  held  the  flower. 

VII. 
The  ilinstrel  -waked  his  harp — three  times 
Arcse  the  well-known  martial  chimes, 
Anil  thrice  their  high  heroic  pride 
In  melanclioly  miu-mur.s  died. 
"Vainly  thou  bid'st,  0  noble  maid," 
Cla.sping  his  wither'd  hands,  he  said, 
"  Vainly  thou  bid'st  me  wake  the  strain, 
niough  all  unwont  to  bid  in  vain. 
Alas!  than  mine  a  mightier  hand 
Hw^  tunfd  my  harp,  my  strings  has  spann'd ! 
I  touch  the  chords  of  joy,  but  low 
And  moiiniful  answer  notes  of  woe ; 
And  the  proud  march,  which  victors  tread, 
Sinks  in  the  wailing  for  the  dead. 
O  well  for  me,  if  miiu-  alone 
That  tlirge's  deep  j)rophetic  tone ! 
If,  Es  my  tuneful  fathers  said, 
Tliis  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  sway'd,' 
Can  thus  its  master's  fate  foretell. 
Then  welcome  be  the  minstrel's  knell ! 


>  MS.—"  The  loveliest  Lowland  fair  to  jpy." 
1  See  Appendix,  Note  M.  =  Ibid.  Note  N. 


VIIL 
"But  all !  dear  lady,  thus  k  sigli'd 
Tlie  eve  thy  sainted  mother  «iied ; 
And  Buch  the  soimds  wliicli,  while  I  strove 
To  wake  a  lay  of  war  or  love, 
Came  marring  all  the  fi'stul  mirth. 
Appalling  me  who  gave  them  birtli, 
Atid,  di.Mibedicnt  to  my  call, 
Wail'd    loud   tlirough   Bothwell's-  banner'd 

hall. 
Ere  Douglases,  to  ruin  driven,* 
Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven  - 
Oh!  if  yet  worse  mi.-hap  and  woe. 
My  ma.ster's  house  must  imdergo, 
Or  aught  but  weal  to  Ellen  fiiir, 
Brood  in  these  accents  of  despair. 
No  future  bard,  sad  Harp!  shall  fling 
Trimnph  or  rapture  from  thy  string ; 
One  .short,  one  final  strain  shall  flow, 
Fraught  with  unutterable  woe, 
Tlien  sliivcr'd  shall  thj'  fragments  lie, 
Thy  master  cjist  him  down  and  die  1" 

IX. 
Soothing  she  answer'd  him,  "  Assuage, 
Mine  honor'd  friend,  the  fears  of  age ; 
AU  melodies  to  thee  are  known, 
That  harp  has  nuig,  or  pipe  has  blown. 
In  Lowland  vale  or  Highland  glen. 
From  Tweed  to  Spey — what  marvel,  then. 
At  times,  unbidden  notes  should  rise, 
Confusedly  bound  in  memory's  ties, 
Entangling,  as  they  rush  along, 
Tlie  war-march  with  the  funeral  song? — 
Small  groiuid  is  now  for  l)oding  fear ; 
Obscure,  but  safe,  we  rest  us  here. 
My  sire,  m  native  virtue  great. 
Resigning  lordship,  lands,  and  state. 
Not  then  to  fortune  more  resign'd, 
Tlian  yonder  oak  might  give  the  wind; 
Tlie  graceful  foliage  storms  may  reave, 
llie  noble  stem  they  cannot  grieve. 
For  me," — she  etoop'd,  and,  looking  round, 
Pluck'd  a  blue  hare-bell  from  the  ground, — 
"  For  me,  whose  memorj'  scarce  conveys 
An  image  of  more  splendid  days. 
Tills  little  flower,  that  loves  the  lea. 
May  well  my  simple  emblem  be ; 
It  drinks  heaven's  dew  as  blithe  as  rose* 
Tliat  in  the  king's  own  garden  grows; 
Ajid  when  I  place  it  in  my  hair, 
Allan,  a  bard  is  bound  to  swear 
He  ne'er  saw  coronet  .so  fair." 
Then  playfully  the  chaplet  wild 
She  wreath'd  in  her  dark  locks,  and  Btuiled 

*  Pec  Appendix.  Note  O. 

*  MS. — "  No  blither  dew-drop  cheen  tlie  rase  " 


I 


ANTO  II. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


195 


X. 

Her  smile,  her  speech,  with  winning  sway, 
Wiled  the  old  harper's  mood  away. 
With  such  a  look  as  hermits  throw, 
When  angels  stoop  to  soothe  their  woe, 
lie  gazed,  till  fond  regret  and  pride 
Tlu-ill'd  to  a  tear,  then  thus  replied : 
"  Loveliest  and  best  !  thou  little  loiow'st 
Th(!  rank,  the  honors,  thou  hast  lost  i 
O  might  I  live  to  see  thee  grace, 
In  Scotland's  com-t,  thy  birth-right  place. 
To  Sep  my  favorite's  step  advance,* 
The  Ughtest  in  the  courtly  dance, 
The  cause  of  every  gallant's  sigh. 
And  leatling  star  of  every  eye. 
And  theme  of  every  minstrel's  art, 
The  Lady  of  the  Bleeding  Heart !"" 

XL 

"  Fair  dreams  are  these,"  the  maiden  cried, 
(Light  was  her  accent,  yet  she  sigh'd ;) 
"  Yet  is  this  mossy  rock  to  me 
Worth  splendid  chair  and  canopy  ;* 
Nor  would  my  footsteps  spring  more  gay 
La  courtly  dance  than  bhthe  strathspey, 
Nor  half  so  pleased  mine  ear  incline 
To  royal  minstrel's  lay  as  tliine. 
And  then  for  suitors  proud  and  high, 
To  bend  before  my  conquering  eye, — 
Thou,  flattering  bard !  thyself  wilt  say, 
That  grun  Sir  Roderick  owns  its  sway. 
The  Saxon  scourge,  Clan- Alpine's  pride, 
The  terror  of  Loch  Lomond's  side. 
Would,  at  my  suit,  thou  know'st,  delay 
A  Lennox  foray — for  a  day." 

XIL 

The  ancient  bard  his  glee  repress'd : 
"  111  hast  thou  chosen  them  for  jest ! 
For  who,  through  all  this  western  wild. 
Named  Black  Sir  Roderick  e'er,  and  smiled 
In  Holy-Rood  a  knight  he  slew  ■* 
I  saw,  when  back  the  du-k  he  drew. 
Courtiers  give  place  before  the  stride 
Of  the  undaunted  homicide ;' 
And  since,  though  outlaw'd,  hath  his  hana 
FuU  sternly  kept  his  mountain  land. 
Who  else  dared  give — ah !  woe  the  day,* 
That  I  such  hated  truth  should  say — 
The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 

1  This  conplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 
9  The  well-known  cognizance  of  the  Douglas  fami.y. 
'  MS. — "  This  mossy  rock,  ray  friend,  to  me 
Is  worth  gay  chair  and  canopy." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

s  MS. — "  Courtiers  give  place  with  heartless  stride 
Of  the  retiring  homicide." 

*  MS. — "  Who  else  dared  )*n  the  kindred  claim 


Disown'd  by  every  noble  peer,'' 

Even  the  rude  refuge  we  have  here  ? 

Alas,  this  wild  marauding  Chief 

Alone  might  hazard  our  rehef, 

And  now  thy  maiden  charms  expand, 

Looks  for  his  g-uerdon  in  thy  hand ; 

Full  soon  may  dispensation  sought. 

To  back  liis  suit,  from  Rome  be  brought. 

Then,  though  an  exile  on  the  hiU, 

Thy  father,  as  the  Douglas,  still 

Be  held  in  reverence  and  fear ; 

And  though  to  Roderick  thou'rt  so  dear, 

That  thou  mightst  guide  with  silken  thread. 

Slave  of  thy  will,  this  chieftain  dread  ; 

Yet,  0  loved  maid,  thy  mu'th  refrain ! 

Thy  hand  is  on  a  Hon's  mane." — 

XIIL 
"  Minstrel,"  the  maid  replied,  and  high 
Her  father's  soul  glanced  from  her  eye, 
"  My  debts  to  Roderick's  house  I  know  • 
All  that  a  mother  could  bestow, 
To  Lady  Margaret's  care  I  owe. 
Since  tirst  an  orphan  in  the  wild 
She  sorrow'd  o'er  her  sister's  cliild ; 
To  her  brave  cliieftain  son,  from  ire 
Of  Scotland's  king  who  shrouds  my  sire, 
A  deeper,  hoher  debt  is  owed ; 
And,  could  I  pay  it  with  my  blood, 
AUan !  Sir  Roderick  should  command 
My  blood,  my  life, — but  not  my  hand. 
Rather  will  Ellen  Douglas  dwell 
A  votaress  in  Maronnan's  cell ;" 
Rather  through  realms  beyond  the  sea, 
Seeking  the  world's  cold  charity, 
Where  ne'er  was  spoke  a  Scottish  word, 
And  ne'er  the  name  of  Douglas  heard, 
An  outcast  pilgrim  wiU  she  rove, 
Tlian  wed  the  man  she  cannot  love.' 

XIV. 

"  Thou  shakest,  good  friend,  thy  tresses  gray,— 

Tliat  pleading  look,  what  can  it  say 

But  what  I  own  ? — I  grant  liim  brave. 

But  wild  as  Bracklinn's  thundering  wave ;" 

And  generous — save  vindictive  mood. 

Or  jealous  transport,  chafe  liis  blood : 

I  grant  liim  true  to  friendly  band, 

As  liis  claymore  is  to  liis  hand ; 

But  0 !  that  very  blade  of  steel 

That  bound  him  to  thy  mother's  name  ? 
Who  else  dared  give,"  &c. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  Q.  6  Ibid,  Note  R. 

9  "  Ellen  is  most  exquisitely  drawn,  and  could   not  have 
been  improved   by  contrast.     She  is   beautiful,  frank,  affec- 
tionate, rational,  and  playful,  combining  the  innocence  of  a 
child  with  the  elevated  sentiments  and  courage  of  a  heioinet- 
—  Quarterly  Review. 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 


196                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  ii. 

More  mercy  for  n  foe  would  feel : 

Yet,  by  my  minstrel's  failli,  I  heiutl — 

I  gTiUit  hiiii  liboral,  to  fUii^ 

And  hark  again  !  some  pipe  of  war 

AiiKil^,'  lii^  cl;iii  tlie  Weiiltli  thvy  briii;^, 

.Sends  the  bold  jiibroch  from  af;ir." 

When  Uiik  hy  lake  mul  glen  they  wiml, 

Ami  in  tie;  I^)\vhui(l  leave  bc-hiiui, 

X\I. 

WhiTi'  I'li.i    -iPiiii-  |>li';i-;iiit  haliiti't  Stood, 

Far  uj)  ihi-  IcnglliLii'd  lake  were  npied 

A  IlKl^--  III'  ;i-lii-  --liiki  >l    with   hlooil. 

Four  darkening  sj)ieks  ujxm  the  tide. 

The  luintl  that  for  niy  father  fought, 

That,  slow  enlarging  on  tlie  view. 

I  hoimr,  at  Wn  daii^liter  ouglit ; 

Four  niann'd  and  nuLstid  b.irges  grew, 

I>ut  can  1  cla!*|)  it  reekiii;;  reil, 

And,  bearing  downwards  from  (ih.'ngyle, 

From  poa:Mints  shiughter'd  in  their  slied  f 

Steor'd  full  upon  the  lonely  isle ; 

No!  wildly  wiiile  liis  virtues  gleam, 

The  point  of  Briamlmil  tlicy  pa-s'd, 

They  nuike  his  passions  darker  seem. 

And,  to  the  windward  u.-<  they  east. 

4^nd  fLish  along  his  spirit  high, 

Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine 

Like  lightning  o'er  the  midnight  sky. 

Hie  lx>ld  8ir  Rodericks  banner'd  Pine. 

AVhile  yet  a  cJiild, — and  children  know. 

Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear. 

Instinctive  taught,  the  friend  and  foe, — 

Spear,  pikes,  and  axes  fla.'ih  in  air. 

I  shudder'il  at  ]m  brow  of  gloom, 

Now  might  you  see  the  tartans  brave, 

His  shadowy  jthiid,  and  .^able  j>luinc ; 

And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave : 

A  maiden  grown,  I  ill  could  bear 

Now  see  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise, 

His  haughty  mien  imd  lordly  air: 

As  his  tough  oar  the  rower  plies ; 

But,  if  thou  joui'st  a  suitor's  claim. 

See,  flashijig  at  each  sturdy  stroke, 

In  serious  mix)d,  to  Roderick's  name, 

llie  wave  ascending  into  smoke  ; 

I  thrill  with  iuiguish !  or,  if  e'er 

See  the  proud  pipers  on  the  bow, 

A  Douglas  knew  the  word,  with  fear. 

And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 

To  chjuige  sucli  odious  theme  were  best, — 

From  their  loud  chanters'  down,  and  sweep 

What  think'st  thou  of  our  stranyer  guest  ?" — 

The  furrow'd  Ixisom  of  the  deep. 

As,  rushing  through  the  lake  amain. 

XV. 

Tliey  plied  the  ancient  Highland  strain. 

"  Wliat  think  I  of  him  ? — woe  the  while 

Tliat  brought  such  wanderer  to  our  isle ! 

XVII. 

Thy  father's  battle-brand,  of  yore 

Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud 

For  Tiiie-man  forged  by  fairy  lore,* 

And  louder  rung  the  pibroch  proud. 

What  tune  he  leagued,  no  longer  foes, 

At  first  the  sound,  by  distance  tame. 

Ills  Border  spears  with  Hotspur's  bows. 

Mellow'd  along  the  waters  came. 

Did,  Bclf-unscabbarded,  foreshow 

And,  lingering  long  by  cape  and  bay, 

The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe.' 

Wail'd  every  harsher  uote  away ; 

If  courtly  spy  hath  harbord  here, 

Then  bursting  bolder  on  the  car. 

What  may  we  for  the  Douglas  fear  1 

The   clan's   shrill   Gathering   they   could 

What  for  this  island,  deem'd  of  old 

hear ; 

CliUi- Alpine's  last  and  surest  hold  ? 

Those  thrilling  sounds,  tliat  call  the  might 

If  neither  spy  nor  foe,  I  pray 

Of  old  Clan- Alpine  to  the  light.' 

What  yet  may  jealous  Roderick  say  f 

Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when 

^Nay,  wave  not  thy  disdaiuful  head. 

The  mustering  hundreds  .-ihake  the  glen. 

Bethink  thee  of  the  discord  dread 

And,  hurrying  at  the  signal  dread, 

Tliat  kindled,  when  at  Beltane  game 

The  batter'd  earth  returns  their  tread. 

Tliou  led'st  the  dance  with  Malcolm  GrjEme ; 

Then  prelude  light,  of  livelier  tone, 

Still,  though  thy  sire  the  peace  renew'd. 

Express'd  their  merry  marching  on. 

Smoulders  in  Roderick's  breast  the  feud ; 

Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose. 

Bewiire ! — But  h.ark,  wh.-lt  sounds  are  these  ?' 

With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows; 

My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze, 

And  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward, 

No  weeping  birch,  nor  aspens  wake. 

As  broad-sword  upon  target  jarr'd ; 

Nor  breath  is  dimpling  in  tiie  lake, 

And  groaning  pause,  ere  yet  again. 

Still  ia  the  canna's'  hoary  beard. 

Condensed,  the  battle  yell'd  ajuain; 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  T.             *  Ibid.  Note  U. 

procefwion,  arc  gi%'cn  with  inimitable  fipiril  and  power  of  ev 

"  The  moving  pictore — the  effect  of  the  Miundi — and  Iho 

prewion." — Jeffrey.                 *  Cotlon-gra.w. 

vnd  character  and  strong  pecoliar  ijatiooaHty  of  tlie  whole 

»  The  pipe  of  the  bagpipe.       <  See  Ajipendix,  Note  V. 

CANTO  II. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


197 


The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout, 
Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout, 
And  bursts  of  triumph,  to  declare 
Clan-Alpine's  conquest — all  were  there. 
Nor  ended  thus  the  strain ;  but  slow, 
Sunk  in  a  moan  prolong'd  and  low. 
And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swell, 
For  wild  lament  o'er  those  that  fell. 

XVIII. 
The  war-pipes  ceased ;  but  lake  and  liill 
"Were  busy  with  their  echoes  still ; 
And,  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 
Bade  their  hoarse  chorus  wake  again, 
While  loud  a  hundred  clansmen  raise 
Their  voices  in  their  Cliieftain's  praise. 
Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar. 
With  measured  sweep  the  burden  bore, 
In  such  wild  cadence,  as  the  breeze 
Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees. 
The  chorus  first  could  AUau  know, 
"  Roderick  Vich  Alpine,  ho !  iero !" 
And  near,  and  nearer  as  they  row'd, 
Distinct  the  martial  ditty  floVd. 

XIX. 

aSoat  Song. 

Hail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances ! 

Honor'd  and  bless'd  be  the  ever-green  Pine ! 
Long  may  the  tree,  in  his  banner  that  glances. 
Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line ! 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 
Gayly  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow. 

While  every  Highland  glen 

Sends  our  shout  back  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe !'" 

Om-s  is  no  sapUng,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  at  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade ; 
When  the  whirlwind  has  stripp'd  every  leaf  on  the 
mountain, 
The  more  shall  Clan- Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 
Moor'd  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock. 
Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow ; 
Menteith  and  Breadalbane,  then, 
Echo  his  praise  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe !" 

XX. 
Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thi-ill'd  in  Glen  Fruin, 
And  Bannochar's  groans  to  our  slogan  replied ; 

J  See  Appendix,  Note  W.  2  Ibid.  Note  X. 

s  "  However  we  may  dislike  the  geographical  song  and  cho- 
ros,  half  English  and  half  Erse,  which  is  sung  in  praise  of  the 
warrior,  we  must  allow  that,  in  other  respects,  the  hero  of  a 


Glen  Lnss  and  Ross-dliu,  they  ai-e  smoking  in  ruin, 
And  the  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side.' 

Widow  and  Saxon  maid 

Long  shall  lament  (jur  raid, 
Thinlf  of  Clan-Alpine  witli  fear  and  with  woe; 

Lennox  antl  Leven-glen 

Shake  when  tliey  hear  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dliu,  ho !  ieroe  !" 

Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands  1 

Stretch  to  your  oars,  for  the  ever-green  Pine  ! 
0 !  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands. 
Were  wreathed  in  a  garlarul  around  him  to  twine  1 

0  that  some  seedling  gem, 

Wortliy  such  noble  stem, 
Honor'd  and  bless'd  in  their  shadow  might  grow . 

Loud  should  Clan- Alpine  then 

Ring  from  the  deepmost  glen, 
"  Roderigh  A-^ich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe  !"* 

XXI. 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band. 

Had  Lady  Margaret  sought  the  strand. 

Loose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew. 

And  high  their  snowy  arms  they  tlu-ew, 

As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim, 

And  chorus  wild,  the  Cliieftain's  name  ;* 

While,  promjjt  to  please,  with  mother's  art. 

The  darling  passion  of  his  heart. 

The  Dame  caU'd  Ellen  to  the  strand, 

To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land : 

"  Come,  loiterer  come  !  a  Douglas  thou. 

And  shun  to  wreathe  a  victor's  brow  ?" — 

Reluctantly  and  slow,  the  maid 

The  unwelcome  sununoning  obey'd, 

And,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung. 

In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung : — 

"  List,  AUan-Bane  !  From  mainland  cast, 

I  hear  my  father's  signal  blast. 

Be  ours,"  she  cried,  "  the  skiff  to  guide, 

And  waft  him  from  the  mountain  side." 

Then  Uke  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright, 

She  darted  to  her  shallop  hght. 

And,  eagerly  wliile  Roderick  scann'd. 

For  her  dear  form,  his  mother's  band. 

The  islet  far  behind  her  lay, 

And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

XXIL 

Some  feelings  are  to  mollis  given, 
With  less  of  earth  ia  them  than  heaven : 
And  if  there  be  a  hiunan  tear 
From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 
A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek, 

poem  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  introaucea  with  finei  effect,  flf 
in  a  manner  better  calculated  to  excite  the  cxpectaticns  of  the 
reader,  than  on  the  present  occasion." — Critical  Review, 
*  MS. — "  The  chorus  to  the  chieftain's /aTnc." 


198 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  11 


It  woultl  not  otnin  iin  iiniji^l'!*  clicclt, 
TL*  t!mt  whicli  j)ii)Ui  fathers  i^heJ 
Upon  u  duteous  ilnughter'a  bead  ! 
And  a-s  the  Dnui^InM  to  his  breast 
lib  darling  Klleii  closely  pre**'d, 
Sudi  lioly  drops  her  tresses  steop'd, 
Tliough  'twas  an  hero's  eye  that  weep'iJ. 
Nor  wliilo  on  EUeii's  falterinj,'  tongue' 
Her  filial  welcomes  crowded  hung, 
Mark'd  she,  that  fear  (alTert  ion's  prfX)f) 
Btill  lield  a  gracefid  youth  lUoof ; 
No!  not  till  D(>u;,'his  named  his  name, 
Although  tlie  youth  was  Midcolm  Gra;nie. 

XXIII. 

Allan,  with  wistful  look  the  while, 

Mark'd  Roderick  landing  on  the  isle; 

His  uiiister  piteously  lie  eyed, 

Then  gazed  upon  the  Chieftain's  pride. 

Tlien  dash'd,  witli  ha.'^ty  hand,  away 

From  his  dimm'd  eye  the  gathering  spray ; 

And  Douglas,  as  his  hand  he  laid 

On  Malcolm's  shoulder,  kinilly  said, 

"  Canst  thou,  young  friend,  no  meiuiing  spy 

In  my  poor  follower's  glistening  eye  ? 

I'll  tell  thee : — he  recalls  the  day, 

^\^len  in  my  pndse  he  led  the  lay 

O'er  the  arch'd  gate  of  Bothwell  proud, 

While  many  a  minstrel  answer'd  loud. 

When  Percy's  Norman  pennon,  won 

In  bloody  field,  l>efore  me  shone, 

And  twice  ten  knights,  the  least  a  name 

As  mighty  as  yon  Chief  may  claim. 

Gracing  my  pomp,  beliiud  me  came. 

Yet  trust  me,  Malcolm,  not  so  proud 

Was  I  of  all  that  marshall'd  crowd. 

Though  the  waned  crescent  own'd  my  might, 

And  in  my  train  troop'd  lord  and  knight, 

Though  Blantyre  hymu'd  her  holiest  lays, 

And  Eothwell's  bards  fltmg  back  ray  praise. 

As  when  this  old  man's  silent  tear. 

And  this  pofir  maid's  aflFection  dear, 

A  welcome  give  more  kind  and  true. 

Than  aught  my  better  fortunes  knew. 

Forgive,  my  friend,  a  father's  boast, 

O !  it  out-beggars  all  I  lo.st !" 

XXIV. 
Delightful  praise  '.-ttLike  summer  rose, 
That  brighter  in  the  dew-drop  glows, 
The  bashful  maiden's  cheek  appear'd. 
For  Douglas  spoke,  and  Jlalcohn  heard. 
The  flush  of  shame-faced  joy  to  hide, 

>  MS  — "  Nor  while  on  Ellen '»  faltering  tongoe 
Her  filial  greetings  eager  hang, 
Maik'd  itol  that  atcc  (afleclioii's  proof) 
.*ilill  hell!  yon  gpntle  youth  aloof; 
Ho  !  not  ti'l  Donglas  named  his  name. 


Tile  hounds,  the  hawk,  her  eares  divide; 
The  loved  caresses  of  liie  maid 
The  dogs  with  crouch  jutd  whimper  pjiid  ;' 
And,  at  her  whistle,  on  her  hand 
The  falcon  took  lier  favorite  stand. 
Closed  his  dark  wing,  relax'd  his  eye, 
Nor,  though  iinhiMxled,  sought  to  fly. 
And,  trust,  while  in  sueli  gui.se  she  stood, 
Like  fabled  (Joddess  of  the  wood,* 
That  if  a  fafluT's  partial  tliought 
O'erweigh'd  her  worth  and  l>eauty  aught, 
Well  might  the  lover's  judgment  fail 
To  balance  with  a  justt^r  scale ; 
For  with  each  secret  glance  he  stole, 
The  fond  enthusiast  sent  his  soul. 

XXV. 

Of  stature  tall,  and  slender  frame. 

But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcolm  Gra>me. 

Tlie  belted  plaid  and  tartan  hose 

Did  ne'er  more  graceful  limbs  disclose  ; 

His  flaxen  hair  of  simny  hue, 

Curl'il  closely  roiuul  Iji.s  bimnct  blue. 

Tniin  d  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye 

The  ptarmigim  in  snow  could  spy ; 

Each  pass,  by  mountain,  lake,  and  heath. 

He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menti-ith; 

Vain  was  the  boimd  of  dark -brown  doe, 

When  Malcolm  bent  his  sounding  bow, 

And  scarce  that  doe,  tiiough  wing'd  with  fear, 

Outstripp'd  in  speed  the  momitaineer ; 

Right  uj)  Ben-Lomond  could  he  press, 

And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 

His  form  accorded  with  a  mind 

Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind ; 

A  blither  heart,  till  Ellen  came. 

Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame ; 

It  danced  as  lightsome  in  his  breast, 

As  play'd  the  feather  on  his  crest. 

Yet  friends,  who  nearest  knew  tlie  youth. 

His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth, 

And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold, 

When  khulled  by  the  tales  of  old. 

Said,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown, 

Not  long  should  Roderick  Dhu's  renown 

Be  foremost  vt)iced  by  mountain  fame. 

But  quail  to  that  of  Malcolm  Gra>me. 

XXVI. 

Now  back  they  wend  their  watery  way, 
And,  "  0  my  sire !"  did  Ellen  .^ay, 
"  Why  urge  tiiy  chase  so  far  astray? 
And  why  so  late  return'd  ?     And  why" — 

Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Grcme. 
Then  with  flush' d  check  nnd  doicneast  eye. 
Their  greeting  was  confused  and  shy." 
'  MP. — '•  The  dogs  with  whimprring  notes  repaid," 
=  MS. — •'  Like  fabk-d  huntress  of  the  wood." 


CANTO  ir. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


199 


The  rest  was  in  her  speaking  eye. 

Themselves  in  bloody  toils  were  snared ; 

"  My  child,  the  chase  I  follow  far, 

And  when  the  banquet  they  prepared. 

'Tis  miuiickry  of  noble  wai- ; 

And  wide  their  loyal  portals  flung. 

And  with  that  galLuit  pastime  reft 

O'er  their  own  gateway  struggling  hung. 

Were  aL  of  Douglas  I  have  left. 

Loud  cries  theu"  blood  from  Meggat's  mead. 

I  met  young  Malcolm  as  I  stray'd, 

From  Yarrow  braes,  and  banks  of  Tweed, 

Far  eastward,  in  Glenfinlfs'  shade, 

W  here  the  lone  streams  of  Ettrick  gUde, 

Ifor  stray'd  I  safe ;  for,  all  ai-ound, 

And  from  the  silver  Teviot's  side ; 

Hunters  and  horsemen  scom-'J  the  ground. 

The  dales,  where  martial  clans  did  ride,'' 

Tliis  youth,  though  still  a  royal  ward, 

A-e  now  one  sheep-walk,  waste  and  wide. 

Risk"d  Ufc  and  land  to  be  my  guard, 

This  tyrant  of  the  Scottish  throne, 

And  through  the  passes  of  the  wood, 

So  faithless  and  so  ruthless  known. 

Guided  my  steps,  not  impursued ; 

IS'ow  hither  comes ;  his  end  the  same, 

And  Roderick  shall  Ins  welcome  make, 

The  same  pretext  of  silvan  game. 

Despite  old  spleen,  for  Douglas'  sake. 

W  hat  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 

Then  must  he  seek  Strath-Eudrick  glen, 

By  fate  of  Border  cliivalry.^ 

Nor  peril  aught  for  me  agen." 

Yet  more ;  amid  Glenfinlas  green. 

Douglas,  thy  stately  form  was  seen. 

XXVIL 

This  by  espial  sure  I  know ; 

Sir  Roderick,  who  to  meet  them  came, 

Yom-  counsel  in  the  streight  I  show." 

Redden'd  at  sight  of  Malcolm  Graeme, 

* 

Yet,  not  in  action,  word,  nor  eye, 

XXLX. 

Fail'd  aught  in  hospitality. 

Ellen  and  Margaret  fearfully 

In  talk  and  sport  they  whiled  away 

Sought  comfort  in  each  other's  eye. 

The  morning  of  that  summer  day ; 

Then  turn'd  their  ghastly  look,  each  one, 

But  at  high  noon  a  courier  light 

This  to  her  sire — that  to  her  son. 

Held  secret  parley  with  the  knight. 

The  hasty  color  went  and  came 

Wliose  moody  aspect  soon  declai'ed, 

In  the  bold  cheek  of  Malcolm  Graeme  ; 

That  evil  were  the  news  he  heard. 

But  from  his  glance  it  well  appear'd, 

Deep  thought  seem'd  toiling  in  his  head; 

'Twas  but  for  Ellen  that  he  fear'd ; 

Yet  was  the  evening  banquet  made. 

While,  sorrowful,  but  undismay'd. 

Ere  he  assembled  round  the  flame 

The  Douglas  thus  his  counsel  said : — 

His  mother,  Douglas,  and  the  Graeme, 

"  Brave  Roderick,  though  the  tempest  roar. 

And  Ellen,  too ;  then  cast  around 

It  may  but  thunder  and  pass  o'er ; 

His  eyes,  then  fix'd  them  on  the  ground, 

'Nor  win  I  here  remain  an  hour, 

As  studying  phrase  that  might  avail 

To  draw  the  hghtning  on  thy  bower ; 

Best  to  convey  unpleasant  tale. 

For  well  thou  know'st,  at  this  gray  head 

Long  with  his  dagger's  hilt  he  play'd, 

The  royal  bolt  were  fiercest  sped. 

Then  raised  his  haughty  brow,  and  said : — 

For  thee,  who,  at  thy  King's  command. 

Canst  aid  him  with  a  gallant  band. 

xxvm. 

Submission,  homage,  humbled  pride, 

"  Short  be  my  speech ; — nor  time  affords, 

Shall  turn  the  iionarch's  wrath  aside. 

Nor  my  plain  temper,  glozing  words. 

Poor  remnants  of  the  Bleeding  Heart, 

Kinsman  and  father, — if  such  name 

Ellen  and  I  will  seek,  apart. 

Douglas  vouchsafe  to  Roderick's  claim ; 

The  refuge  of  some  forest  cell ; 

!Mine  honor'd  mother ; — Ellen — why. 

There,  like  the  hunted  quarry,  dwell. 

My  cousin,  turn  away  thine  eye  ? — 

Tin  on  the  mountain  and  the  moor, 

And  Graeme ;  in  whom  I  hope  to  know 

The  stern  pursuit  be  pass'd  and  o'er." — 

Full  soon  a  noble  friend  or  foe, 

When  age  shall  give  thee  thy  command, 

XXX 

And  leading  in  thy  native  laud, — 

"  No,  by  mine  honor,"  Roderick  said. 

List  all ! — The  King's  vindictive  pride 

"  So  "help  me,  heaven,  and  my  good  blade ! 

Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side,' 

No,  never !  Blasted  be  yon  Pme, 

Where  chiefs,  with  hound  and  hawk  who  came 

My  fathers'  ancient  crest  and  mine. 

To  share  their  monai-ch's  silvan  game. 

If  from  its  shade  in  danger  joart 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 

>  MS. — "  The  dales  where  clans  were  wont  to  bide." 

200                                       SC0T1"S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  ii. 

Tlie  linea.,'L>  of  tho  Bleedintj  He-art ! 

One  instiint  rush'd  the  throbbing  blood, 

II I  mo  tliLi  maid 

Tlien  ebbinij;  back,  with  s'udden  sway, 

To  V   ;  .      .                                 .id ; 

I>3ft  its  domain  as  wiuk  ah  clay. 

Tu  Duu<;Iii3,  leagued  witli  Ilodcrick  Dhu, 

"  Roderick,  enough !  enougli !"  he  cried, 

Will  fn                             '  ■  k  ciiow; 

"  My  daM;,ditir  cjumot  be  thy  bride  ; 

IJke  i:i ;  .,   ..    ;  ast,  uiid  grief, 

Not  tluit  the  blusli  to  wooer  dear. 

Will  bind  to  U8  each  Western  Chiet 

Nor  p.'deness  tliat  of  maiden  fear. 

Whvti  the  V                  my  bridal  tell, 

It  may  not  bo — forgive  lier,  Chief, 

T)i.- link- .1"  i      .illhear  the  knell. 

Nor  hazard  aught  for  our  rehef. 

Til.    •  ;..:  1          .1  stun  in  Stirling's  porch; 

Against  liis  sovereign,  Douglas  ne'er 

And,  wlun  1  ligLt  I  he  nuptial  torch. 

Will  hvel  a  rebellinus  spear. 

A  tliin:-:i!i.I  •.  ■''  •■■  ■-  in  flames, 

TAvas  I  tliat  taught  liis  youthfid  hand 

Sli.i!!     .ir.   1                 ,rs  of  King  James  I 

To  rein  a  steed  and  wield  a  brand  ; 

— Nay,  llllen,  blench  not  thus  away. 

I  sec  him  yet,  the  princely  boy  ! 

And,  r.'.other,  cease  these  si^in,  I  pray  ; 

Not  Ellen  more  my  pride  jmd  joy ; 

1  Hi.  ..lit  not  all  my  heart  might  say. — 

I  love  him  still,  despite  my  wrongs, 

Small  need  of  im-oad,  or  of  fight. 

By  hasty  wrath,  and  slanderous  tongues. 

When  tl               ■'       l;i3  may  unite 

0  seek  the  grace  you  well  may  find. 

Ejuh  m                         1  friendly  band. 

Without  a  cause  to  mine  combined." 

To  guard  tl»e  passes  of  their  hind. 

Till  the  fnird  khig,  from  patldess  glen,' 

XXXIII. 

Sludl  Uxdltss  turn  him  liome  agen." 

Twice  through  the  hall  the  Chieftain  strode ; 

The  waving  of  liis  tartans  broad, 

XXXI. 

And  darken'd  brow,  wlierc  wounded  pride 

There  are  who  have,  at  midnight  hour. 

With  ire  and  disappointment  vied, 

Seem'd,  by  the  torch's  gloomy  light, 

And,  on  the  verge  that  beetled  o'er 

Like  the  ill  Demon  of  the  night, 

The  ocean-tide's  incessant  roar. 

Stooping  his  pinion's  shadowy  sway 

Dreani'd  calmly  out  their  dangerous  dream,' 

Upon  the  nightcd  pilgrim's  way : 

Till  waken'd  by  the  morning  beam ; 

But,  unrequited  Love  !  thy  dart 

^\'hen  dazzled  by  the  eastern  glow. 

Plunged  deepest  its  envenomed  smart. 

Such  btiirtler  cast  his  glance  below. 

And  Roderick,  with  tliine  anguisli  stung, 

And  saw  unmeasured  depth  around. 

At  length  the  liand  of  Douglas  wrung, 

And  lieard  unintermitted  sound. 

Wliile  eyes,  that  mock'd  at  tears  before, 

And  thought  the  battled  fence  so  frail, 

With  bitter  drops  were  running  o'er. 

It  waved  like  cobweb  in  the  gale ; — 

The  death-pangs  of  long-cherish'd  hope 

Amid  liis  senses'  giddy  wheel, 

Scarce  in  that  ample  breast  had  scope. 

Did  he  not  desperate  impulse  feel. 

But,  struggling  witli  liis  spirit  j^roud, 

Headlong  to  plunge  himself  below. 

Convulsive  heaved  its  diecker'd  shroud. 

And  meet  the  worst  his  fears  foresliow  ? — 

Wliile  every  sob — so  mute  were  all — 

n»u9,  Ellen,  dizzy  and  astound. 

Was  heard  distinctly  through  the  halL 

As  sudden  ruin  yawn'd  aroimd. 

The  son's  desijaii',  the  mother's  look, 

Bv           ■       '         rs  wildly  toss'd. 

111  might  the  gentle  Ellen  brook ; 

.Sti..                       ,las  fearing  most. 

She  rose,  and  to  her  side  there  came, 

Could  scarce  the  desperate  thought  witlistand, 

To  aid  her  parting  steps,  the  Grccrae 

To  buy  his  safety  with  her  hand. 

XXXIV. 

XXXTT. 

Tlien  Roderick  from  the  Douglas  broke — 

Such  purpose  dread  could  Malcolm  spy 

As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke, 

In  Ellen's  quivering  lip  and  eye. 

Kindling  its  wreaths,  long,  dark,  and  low. 

And  eager  roee  to  speak — but  ere 

To  one  broad  blaze  of  ruddy  glow. 

His  tongue  could  hurry  forth  his  fear. 

So  tlie  deep  anguish  of  despair' 

Had  Douglas  mnrk'd  the  hectic  strife. 

Burst,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air. 

"Where  death  seem'd  combating  with  Ufe ; 

With  stalwart  grasp  his  hand  he  laid 

For  to  her  cheek,  in  feverish  flood. 

On  Malcolm's  breast  and  belted  plaid : 

I  MS.— "Tni  the  foil'd  king,  frora  hill  and  glen." 

'  .MS.—"  The  dce(>-fonc<l  angoinh  ot'dctpatr 

*  MS. — "  Drcam'd  calmly  onl  th»r  de«  >enile  dream." 

Flush'd,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air  " 

<1ANT0  II. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


20J 


"  Back,  beardless  boy !"  he  sternly  said, 

"  Back,  niinion !  hold'st  thou  thus  at  naught 

The  lesson  I  so  lately  taught  ? 

This  roof,  the  Douglas,  and  that  maid, 

Thank  thou  for  punishment  delay'd." 

Eager  as  greyhound  on  his  game, 

Fiercely  with  Roderick  gi-appled  Graeme.' 

"  Perish  my  name,  if  aught  afford 

Its  Chieftain  safety  save  his  sword  !" 

Thus  as  they  strove,  then-  desperate  hand* 

Griped  to  the  dagger  or  the  brand. 

And  death  had  been — but  Douglas  rose. 

And  thrust  between  the  strugghng  foes 

His  giant  strength : — "  Cliieftains,  forego  1 

I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe. — ' 

Madmen,  forbear  yom-  fiantic  jar  ! 

What !  is  the  Douglas  faU'n  so  far. 

His  daughter's  hand  is  doom'd  the  spoil 

Of  such  dislionorable  broil !" 

Sullen  and  slowly  they  unclasp,^ 

As  struck  with  shame,  their  desperate  grasp, 

And  each  upon  his  rival  glared, 

With  foot  advanced,  and  blade  half  bared. 

XXXV. 
Ere  yet  the  brands  aloft  were  flung, 
Margaret  on  Roderick's  mantle  hung, 
And  Malcolm  heard  his  Ellen's  scream, 
As,  falter'd  thi-ough  terrific  dream. 
Then  Roderick  plimged  in  sheath  his  sword, 
And  veil'd  his  wrath  in  scornful  word. 
"  Rest  safe  till  morning ;  pity  'twere 
Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air !' 
Then  mayst  thou  to  James  Stuart  tell, 
Roderick  will  keep  the  lake  and  fell, 
Nor  lackey,  with  his  freeborn  clan. 
The  pageant  pomp  of  earthly  man. 
More  would  he  of  Clan- Alpine  know. 
Thou  canst  our  strength  and  passes  show. — 
Malise,  what  ho  !" — his  henchman  came  f 
"  Give  oiir  safe-conduct  to  the  Graeme." 
Young  Malcolm  answer'd,  calm  and  bold, 
"  Fear  notliing  for  tliy  favorite  hold ; 
The  spot,  an  angel  deign'd  to  grace. 
Is  bless'd,  though  robbers  haimt  the  place. 
Thy  chm-lish  courtesy  for  those 
Reserve,  who  fear  to  be  thy  foes. 
As  safe  to  me  the  mountain  way 
At  midnight  as  in  blaze  of  day. 

1  "  There  is  something  foppish  and  out  of  character  in  Mal- 
2olm's  rising  to  lead  out  Ellen  from  her  own  parlor  ;  and  the 
iort  of  wrestling-match  that  takes  place  between  the  rival 
chieftains  on  the  occasion,  is  humiliating  and  indecorous. " — 
Jbffrey. 

s  MS. — "  Thus  as  they  strove,  each  better  hand 
Grasp'd  for  the  dagger  or  the  brand." 

8  The  Author  has  to  apologize  for  the  inadvertent  appropria- 
tion o'a  whole  line  from  the  tragedy  of  Douglas, 
26 


Though  with  his  boldest  at  his  back 
Even  Roderick  Dhu  beset  the  track. — 
Brave  Douglas, — lovely  Ellen, — nay. 
Naught  here  of  partmg  wiU  I  say. 
Earth  does  not  hold  a  lonesome  glen. 
So  secret,  but  we  meet  agen. — 
Chieftain !  we  too  shall  find  an  hour." — 
He  said,  and  left  the  silvan  bower. 

XXXVI. 
Old  Allan  foUow'd  to  the  strand 
(Such  was  the  Douglas's  command), 
And  anxious  told,  how,  on  the  mom, 
The  stern  Sir  Roderick  deep  had  sworn, 
The  Fiery  Cross  should  circle  o'er 
Dale,  glen,  and  valley,  down  and  moor 
Much  were  the  peril  to  the  Graeme, 
From  those  who  to  the  signal  came ; 
Far  up  the  lake  'twere  safest  land. 
Himself  would  row  him  to  the  strand. 
He  gave  his  counsel  to  the  wind. 
While  Malcolm  did,  vuiheeding,  bind. 
Round  dirk  and  pouch  and  broadsword  roll'd. 
His  ample  plaid  in  tighten'd  fold, 
And  stripp'd  his  limbs  to  such  array 
As  best  might  suit  the  watery  way, — 

XXXVII. 
Then  spoke  abrupt :  "  Farewell  to  thee, 
Pattern  of  old  fidelity !" 
The  Minstrel's  hand  he  kindly  press'd, — 
"  O  !  could  I  point  a  place  of  rest ! 
My  sovereign  holds  in  ward  my  land, 
My  imcle  leads  my  vassal  band  ; 
To  tame  his  foes,  his  friends  to  aid, 
Poor  Malcolm  has  but  heart  and  blade. 
Tet,  if  there  be  one  faithful  Graeme, 
Who  loves  the  Cliieftain  of  liis  name, 
Not  long  shall  honor'd  Douglas  dwell, 
Like  hunted  stag  in  mountain  cell ; 
Nor,  ere  yon  pride-swoUn  robber  dare, — 
I  may  not  give  the  rest  to  ah  ! 
Tell  Roderick  Dhu  I  owe  him  naught. 
Not  the  poor  service  of  a  boat. 
To  waft  me  to  yon  moimtaui-side." 
Then  plunged  he  in  the  flashing  tide.'' 
Bold  o'er  the  flood  his  head  he  bore. 
And  stoutly  steer'd  him  from  the  shore  ; 
And  Allan  strain'd  his  anxious  eye, 

"  I  bold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe." 

— JVote  to  the  second  edition, 

<  MS. — "  Sullen  and  slow  the  rivals  bold 

Loosed,  at  his  best,  their  desperate  hold. 
But  either  still  on  other  glared,"  &o. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 
'  MS. — "  He  spoke,  and  plunged  into  the  tide." 


20: 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  HI. 


Far  'mill  the  luko  his  form  to  spy. 
Darki'nir.i»  oitosh  ench  puny  wuvo, 
T       ■     ■     ■  1    •      •  ,ve, 

Tlio  swimmer  pliod  oai'li  active  limb; 
T       '      •  lit  dell, 

1. .  (elL 

The  Miitxtrel  heard  the  far  hidl<>o, 
And  joyful  from  the  shore  withtlrew. 


^\}c  £ai}]}  of  tl)c  £a\\c. 


CANTO  TllIKP. 


irt)c  C5ntl)cvfnfl. 

I. 
TiMK  rolls  his  ceai«ele9s  course.    The  race  of  yore,' 

Who  danced  our  infancy  upon  their  knee, 
And  told  our  marvcllinjj  boyhood  lef^ends  store, 

Of  their  strange  ventures  happ'd  by  land  or  sea, 
IIow  are  they  blotted  from  the  things  that  be ! 

IIow  few,  all  weak  and  wither'd  of  their  force, 
Waif  on  the  verge  of  dark  eternity. 

Like  stranded  wrecks,  the  tide  returning  hoarse, 
To  sweep  tlum  from  our  sight!     Time  rolls  bis 
coiuioless  course. 

Yet  live  there  still  who  can  remember  ■well. 

How,  when  a  mountain  chief  his  bugle  blew, 
Both  field  and  forest,  dingle,  cliflF,  and  dell, 

And  solitary  heath,  the  signal  knew; 
And  fast  the  faithful  clan  around  him  drew, 

\Sliat  time  the  warning  note  was  keenly  wound. 
What  time  aloft  their  kindred  banner  flew, 

While  clamorous  war-pipes  ycU'd  the  gathering 
sound. 
And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor, 
rourni' 

11. 

The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 

To  purple  ch.ingcd  Loch  Katrine  blue ; 

Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 

Just  ki-'-i'd  the  Lake,  just  stirr'd  the  trees, 

And  the  pleased  lake,  like  maiden  coy, 

Trembled  but  dimpled  not  for  joy ; 

1  "  ThPiT  an*  no  pepara'je  introHactions  to  the  cantos  of  this 
poem  ;  bot  oacd  of  them  l>ogin!i  with  one  or  two  otanza*  in  the 
mea.<orc  of  S|>en»or,  D<aally  containing  pomc  reflcctiona  con- 
nected with  the  sabject  nboQt  to  be  entered  on  ;  and  written, 
for  the  mo<t  part,  with  great  tendemcm  and  beauty.  The  fol- 
iowin;,  we  think,  ii  among  the  mort  striking." — JcrrRcv. 

'  See  Appendix.  Note  2  C. 

'  MS. — "  The  doc  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

BegemmM  with  dewdrops,  led  her  fawn  ; 


The  mountain-shadows  on  her  breast 

Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest ; 

In  bright  1  ity  they  lie, 

Likefiitiii'  '  Kuney's  eye. 

llie  water-lily  to  the  light 

Her  elmlice  rear'd  of  silver  bright; 

Tlie  doe  awoke,  luid  to  the  lawn, 

Bcgemm'd  with  dew-drops,  led  her  fawn ; 

llic  gray  mi^t  left*  the  iiioiiiitain  side, 

The  torrent  show'il  its  glistening  j)ride  ; 

Invisible  in  flecked  sky, 

Tlie  lark  sent  d(jwn  her  revelry ; 

The  bhickbird  and  the  speckled  thrush 

Good-morrow  gave  from  brake  and  brush  :* 

In  aiLswer  coo'd  the  cushat  dove 

Uer  notes  of  peace,  and  rest,  tuul  love. 

in. 

No  thought  of  peace,  no  thought  of  rest. 
Assuaged  the  storm  in  Ro<lerick's  breast 
With  sheathed  broadsword  in  his  hand. 
Abrupt  he  paced  the  islet  strand. 
And  ejed  the  rising  sun,  and  laid 
His  hand  on  his  impatient  blade. 
Beneath  a  rock,  his  vassals'  care* 
Was  prf>mpt  the  ritual  to  prepare. 
With  deep  and  deathful  meaning  fraught ; 
For  such  Antiquity  had  taught 
Was  preface  meet,  ere  yet  abroad 
The  Cross  of  Fire  should  take  its  road. 
Tlie  (-hrijiking  band  stood  oft  aghast 
At  the  impatient  glance  he  cast ; — 
Such  glance  the  mountain  eagle  threw, 
As,  from  the  cliffs  of  Benvenue, 
She  s])read  her  dark  sails  on  the  wind, 
And,  high  in  middle  heaven,  reclined, 
With  her  broad  shadow  on  the  lake. 
Silenced  the  Avarblers  of  the  brake. 

IV. 
A  heap  of  wither'd  braghs  was  piled. 
Of  juniper  and  rowan  wild, 
Mingled  with  shivers  from  the  oak. 
Rent  by  the  lightning's  recent  stroke. 
Bri:ui,  the  Hermit,  by  it  stood, 
Barefooted  in  lus  frock  and  hood. 
His  grislud  beard  and  matted  hair 
Obscured  a  visage  of  despair ; 
His  naked  arms  and  legs,  geam'd  o'er. 

Invisible  in  fleecy  clood, 

The  lark  wnt  doxvn  her  matins  load  ; 

The  1  s-ht  mist  left,'    &c. 

* "  The  green  h.ds 

Arc  clothed  with  early  blossoms  ;  throngli  the  gra« 
The  (]uick-eyed  lizard  riistlcx,  and  the  bills 
Of  summer  birds  sing  welcome  as  ye  pass." — Ckilde  ffareim. 
»  MS. — "  Il.ird  by,  his  vassals'  early  care 
The  mystic  ritual  prepare." 


I 


CANTO  III. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


203 


The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore. 

Tliat  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face,* 

The  mipending  danger  of  his  race 

Had  drawn  from  deepest  sohtude, 

Far  in  BenliarroVs  bosom  rude. 

Not  liis  the  mien  of  Clu'istian  priest, 

But  Druid"?,  from  the  grave  released, 

Whose  harden'd  heart  and  eye  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look ; 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore 

Mix'd  in  the  charms  he  mutter'd  o'er. 

The  hallow'd  creed  gave  only  worse'* 

And  deadlier  emphasis  of  curse  ; 

No  peasant  sought  that  Hermit's  prayer, 

His  cave  the  pilgrim  shunn'd  with  care, 

Tlie  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound, 

And  ia  mid  chase  call'd  off  liis  hound ; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath. 

The  desert-dweller  met  his  j^ath. 

He  pray'd,  and  sign'd  the  cross  between, 

While  terror  took  devotion's  mien.' 

V. 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told.* 

His  mother  watch'd  a  midnight  fold, 

Built  deep  withm  a  dreary  glen. 

Where  scatter'd  lay  the  bones  of  men, 

In  some  forgotten  battle  slain, 

And  bleach'd  by  driftijig  wind  and  rain. 

It  might  have  tamed  a  warrior's  heart,* 

To  view  such  mockery  of  his  art ! 

The  knot-grass  fetter  d  there  the  hand, 

Wliich  once  could  bm-st  an  iron  band ; 

Beneath  the  broad  and  ample  bone. 

That  buckler'd  heart  to  fear  unknown, 

A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest. 

The  field-fare  ii-amed  her  lowly  nest ; 

There  the  slow  blind-worm  left  his  sUme 

On  the  fleet  limbs  that  mock'd  at  time ; 

And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull,' 

Still  wreathed  with  chaplet,  flush'd  and  fuU, 

For  heath-bell  with  her  pm'ple  bloom, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 

2  MS. — "  While  the  bless'd  creed  gave  only  worse." 

3  MS. — "  He  pray'd  with  many  a  cross  between, 

And  terror  took  devotion's  mien." 
■1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 
6  "  There  is  something  of  pride  in  the  perilous  hour, 

Whate'er  be  the  shape  in  which  death  may  lower; 

For  Fame  is  there  to  say  who  bleeds, 

And  Honor's  eye  on  daring  deeds  ! 

But  when  all  is  past,  it  is  humbling  to  tread 

O'er  the  weltering  field  of  the  tombless  dead, 

And  .see  worms  of  the  earlh,  and  fowls  of  the  air, 

Beasts  of  the  forest,  all  gathering  there  ; 

All  regarJing  man  as  their  prey. 

All  rejoicing  in  his  decay." — Byron — Siege  of  Corinth. 
•  "  Remove  yon  skull  from  out  the  scattered  heaps. 

Is  that  a  temple  where  a  god  may  dwell  % 

Why,  even  the  worm  at  last  disdains  her  shattered  cell ! 


Supphed  the  bonnet  and  the  plmne.^ 
All  night,  in  this  sad  glen,  the  maid 
Sate,  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade : 
— She  said,  no  shepherd  sought  her  side, 
No  htmter's  hand  her  snood  imtied. 
Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 
The  vu-gin  snood  did  AUce  wear  ;* 
Gone  was  her  maiden  glee  and  sport, 
Her  maiden  girdle  all  too  short. 
Nor  sought  she,  from  that  fatal  night, 
Or  holy  church  or  blessed  rite. 
But  lock'd  her  secret  in  her  breast, 
And  died  in  travail,  tmconfess'd. 

VI. 
Alone,  among  his  yoimg  compeers, 
Was  Brian  fi-om  his  infant  years ; 
A  moody  and  heart-broken  boy. 
Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy, 
Bearing  each  taimt  which  careless  tongue 
On  his  mysterious  lineage  flung. 
WTiole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale, 
To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail. 
Till,  fi-antic,  he  as  truth  received' 
"^^Tiat  of  his  bn-th  the  crowd  believed. 
And  sought,  in  mist  and  meteor  fire, 
To  meet  and  know  his  Phantom  Sire  1 
In  vain,  to  soothe  his  wayward  fate. 
The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate ; 
In  vain,  the  learning  of  the  age 
Unclasp'd  the  sable-letter'd  page ; 
Even  in  its  treasiu-es  he  could  find 
Food  for  the  fever  of  his  mind. 
Eager  he  read  whatever  teUs 
Of  magic,  cabala,  and  spells. 
And  every  dark  pm-suit  allied 
To  cm'ious  and  presimaptuous  pride ; 
Till  with  fired  brain  and  nerves  o'er- 

strung, 
And  heart  with  mystic  horrors  wrung, 
Desperate  he  sought  Benharrow's  den, 
And  liid  him  from  the  haimts  of  men. 

Look  on  its  broken  arch,  its  rnin'd  wall, 
Its  chambers  desolate,  and  portals  foul  ; 
Yet  this  was  once  Ambition's  airy  hall. 
The  dome  of  thought,  the  palace  of  the  sonl ; 
Behold  through  each  lack-lustre,  eyeless  hole, 
The  gay  recess  of  wisdom  and  of  wit, 
And  passion's  host,  that  never  brook'd  control . 
Can  all  saint,  sage,  or  sophist  ever  writ. 
People  this  lonely  tower,  this  tenement  refit  ?" 

Childe  Harold. 

7  "  These  reflections  on  an  ancient  field  of  battle  afford  iha 
most  remarkable  instance  of  false  taste  in  all  Mr.  Scott's 
writings.  Yet  the  brevity  and  variety  of  the  images  serve 
well  to  show,  that  even  in  his  errors  there  are  traces  of  a 
powerful  genius." — jE^rREy. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  F. 

^  SIS. — "  Till,  driven  to  phrensy,  he  believed 
The  legend  of  his  birth  received." 


204                                       SCO'lTS  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi. 

VII. 

And  Htrimge  an<l  mingled  feelings  woke, 

Hie  (l(?«ort  giive  liim  vUiuns  wild, 

White  his  miiithenia  he  K{Kike. 

Such  n.*  nii^^lit  »\ut  tin-  c|>fctro's  chilil.' 

Wlioro  wiih  bliick  clitfs  tho  torrciit.H  toilf 

IX. 

llo  wiitcliM  the  whefliny  eclilies  b<»il, 

"  Woo  to  the  clansman,  who  chall  view 

Till,  from  tluir  foam,  hi-*  tiiixzlud  eyes 

This  synilxil  (»f  sepulchral  yew, 

~Ik'hol(l  the  Hiver  Demon  rise; 

Forgetful  that  its  branches  grew 

The  tnouiitmn  mist  took  form  lunl  limb, 

Where  weep  the  heavens  their  liohest  dew 

Of  lUKHitidu  lm{^,  or  goblin  grim  ; 

On  .Mpiii.'s  dwelling  low  1 

The  miiliiight  wiiul  cuiue  wilil  mid  ilreiul, 

Deserter  of  liis  Chieftains  trust, 

Swell'd  with  tliu  voico.s  tif  tlie  dcud ; 

He  ne'er  shall  mingle  with  their  dust, 

far  on  the  future  battle  heath 

Ituf,  from  his  sires  and  kindred  thrust, 

lli.s  ey6  bchelil  thu  ranks  of  death: 

luicli  clansman's  execration  just' 

Thu8  the  louu  Seer,  from  miuikind  hurl'd. 

Shall  doom  him  wrath  and  woe." 

Shaped  forth  a  disembodied  world. 

II(!  paused  ; — the  word  the  vassals  took. 

Oiu"  Ungeriiig  sympathy  of  mind 

AVith  forward  step  and  fiery  look. 

Still  bt)uiul  him  to  the  mortal  kind; 

On  high  their  naked  brands  they  shook, 

Tlie  only  jtarent  be  could  chum 

Tlieir  clattering  targets  wildly  strook ; 

Of  ancient  Alpine's  liueiige  came. 

And  first  in  murmur  low,' 

L;ite  luul  he  heanl,  in  prophet's  dream. 

Then,  like  the  billow  in  his  course. 

■)    Tlic  fatal  Ben-Sliic's  boding  scream ;' 

That  far  to  seaward  finds  his  source, 

Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 

And  flings  to  shore  his  iniister'd  force. 

Of  charging  .steed's  careering  f;uit 

Burst,  with  loud  roar,  their  answer  hoarse, 

Along  Bcnliarrow's  shingly  side, 

"  Woe  to  the  traitor,  woe  I" 

Where   mortal   horseman   ne'er    might 

Ben-an's  gray  scal[)  the  accents  knew, 

ride ;' 

The  joyous  wolf  from  covert  drew. 

Tlie  thuiiderl)olt  had  split  the  pine, — 

The  e.xulting  eagle  scream'd  afar, — 

All  augur'd  ill  to  Alpine's  line. 

They  knew  the  voice  of  Alpine's  war. 

He  girt  his  loins,  and  came  to  show 

Tlie  signals  of  impending  woe, 

X. 

..\nd  now  .«tood  j)rompt  to  bless  or  bun, 

Tlic  shout  wa.s  hush'd  on  lake  and  fell, 

As  bade  the  Chieftain  of  lus  clan. 

Tlie  monk  resumed  liis  mutter'd  spell: 

Dismal  and  low  its  accents  came. 

VIII. 

The  while  he  scjithed  the  Cross  with  flame; 

'Twiis  all  prepared  ; — and  from  the  rock. 

And  the,  few  words  that  reach'd  the  air. 

A  goat,  the  patriarch  of  the  fl<x;k. 

Although  the  holiest  name  was  there,' 

Before  the  kindling  pile  was  laid, 

Had  more  of  blasphemy  than  prayer. 

Arul  pierced  by  Roderick's  ready  blade. 

But  when  he  shook  above  the  crowd 

Patient  the  bickening  victim  eyed 

Its  kindled  points,  he  spoke  aloud : — 

Tlie  Ufe-blood  ebb  in  crimson  tide. 

"  Woe  to  the  wretch  who  fails  to  rear 

Down  his  clogg'd  beard  and  .shaggy  limb, 

At  this  dread  t-ign  the  ready  spear ! 

Till  darkness  ghued  his  eyeballs  dun. 

For,  as  the  flames  this  symbol  sear, 

The  grisly  priest,  with  murmuring  prayer, 

Her  home,  the  refuge  of  liis  fear. 

A  slender  crosslet  form'd  with  care. 

A  kindred  fate  shall  know ; 

A  cubit's  length  in  measure  duo  ; 

Far  o'er  its  roof  the  voluiiied  flame 

The  shaft  and  limbs  were  rods  of  yew, 

Clan- Alpine's  vengeance  shall  proclaim. 

Will.-.              ' -  in  Inch-Cailliacli  wave* 

While  maids  and  matrons  on  his  name 

Til  ;it                   o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave, 

Shall  call  down  wretchedness  and  sliame, 

And  answering  Lomond's  breezes  deep, 

And  infamy  and  woe." 

Sixithe  many  a  chieftain's  endless  .sleep. 

Tlien  rose  the  cry  of  f<!males,  shrill 

Tlie  Cross,  thus  form'd,  he  held  on  high, 

As  goss-hawk's  whistle  on  the  hill. 

With  wasted  hand  anrl  haggard  eye, 

Denouncuig  misery  and  ill. 

I  See  Aopendut.  Note  2  G. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 

5  MS— "The  fatal  Ben-Sliie'd  dinmnl  ■.orram  ; 

'  MS. — "  Our  warriors  on  his  worthless  bust 

Anil  been  Iut  wrinkleil  fonn,  the  niffn 

Sh.ill  ii|>eak  disgrace  and  woe." 

Of  woe  and  death  to  Alpine's  line." 

•  MS.—"  Their  clattering  targets  hardJy  strook  ; 

— See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 

And  first  they  mutter' d  low." 

>  Bx  Appendix,  Note  2  I. 

'  MS. — "  Although  Uie  holy  name  viaa  there." 

CANTO  III.                             THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                          205 

Mingled  with  diildbood'3  babbling  trill 

Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat. 

Of  curses  stammer'd  slow ; 

Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  stili. 

Answering,  with  imprecation  dread, 

Wlien  it  had  near'd  the  mainland  hill ; 

"Sunk  be  liis  home  in  embers  red! 

And  from  the  silver  beach's  side 

And  cursed  be  the  meanest  shed 

Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide. 

That  e'er  shall  hide  the  houseless  head, 

When  hghtly  bounded  to  the  laud 

We  doom  to  want  and  woe  !" 

The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 

A  sharp  and  slirieking  echo  gave, 

Coir-Uriskin,  thy  goblin  cave  ! 

XIIL 

And  the  gray  pass  where  birches  wave, 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  dun  deer's  hide 

On  Beala-nam-bo. 

On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied.^ 

Speed,  MaUse,  speed  !  such  cause  of  haste 

XL 

Thine  active  sinews  never  braced. 

Then  deeper  paused  the  priest  anew. 

Bend  'gain.st  the  steepy  hill  thy  breast, 

And  hard  his  laboring  breath  lie  drew, 

Burst  down  like  torrent  from  its  crest ; 

Wliile,  with  set  teeth  and  clenclied  hand, 

With  short  and  springing  footstep  pass 

And  eyes  that  glow"d  like  fiery  brand. 

The  trembluig  bog  and  false  morass ; 

He  meditated  curse  more  dread, 

Across  the  brook  Uke  roebuck  bound. 

f  And  deadher  on  the  clansman's  head, 

And  thread  the  brake  hke  questing  hound  j 

Who,  summon'd  to  Ms  Chieftain's  aid. 

The  crag  is  high,  the  scam*  is  deep. 

The  signal  saw  and  disobey'd. 

Yet  shrink  not  from  the  desperate  leap : 

The  crosslet's  points  of  sparkling  wood 

Parch'd  are  thy  burning  Ups  and  brow, 

He  quench'd  among  the  bubbling  blood, 

Yet  by  the  fountain  pause  not  now  ; 

And,  as  again  the  sign  he  rear'd, 

Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear,* 

HoUow  and  hoarse  liis  voice  was  heard : 

Stretch  onward  iu  thy  fleet  career ! 

"  WTien  flits  this  Cross  from  man  to  man, 

The  womided  huid  thou  track'st  not  now. 

Vich- Alpine's  summons  to  his  clan, 

Pursuest  not  maid  tlu-ough  greenwood  bough. 

Burst  be  the  ear  that  fails  to  heed  ! 

Wor  phcst  thou  now  thy  flying  pace. 

Palsied  the  foot  that  shuns  to  speed  I 

With  rivals  in  the  mountain  race ; 

May  ravens  tear  the  careless  eyes. 

But,  danger,  death,  and  wan'ior  deed. 

Wolves  make  the  cowai-d  heart  their  prize ! 

Are  in  thy  coiu-se — speed,  MaUse,  speed ! 

As  sinks  that  blood-stream  in  the  earth. 

So  may  his  heart's-blood  drench  his  hearth ! 

XIV. 

As  dies  in  hissing  gore  the  spark, 

Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  flies. 

Quench  thou  his  light,  Destruction  dark, 

In  arms  the  huts  and  hamlets  rise  ; 

And  be  the  grace  to  him  denied. 

From  wmding  glen,  from  upland  brown. 

Bought  by  this  sign  to  all  beside  !" 

They  pour  d  each  hardy  tenant  down. 

He  ceased ;  no  echo  gave  agen 

Nor  slack'd  the  messenger  his  pace  ; 

The  mm-mur  of  the  deep  Amen.* 

He  show'd  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 

And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wmd. 

xn. 

Left  clamor  and  surprise  behind.^ 

Then  Roderick,  with  impatient  look,        ^-- 

The  fisherman  forsook  the  strand. 

From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took : 

The  swarthy  smith  took  dirk  and  brand ; 

"Speed,  Malise,  speed!"  he  said,  and  gave 

With  changed  cheer,  the  mower  blithe 

The  crosslet  to  his  henchman  brave. 

Left  in  the  half-cut  swathe  the  scythe  [ 

"  The  muster-place  be  Lanrick  mead — " 

The  herds  without  a  keeper  stray'd. 

Instant  the  time — speed,  Malise,  speed !" 

The  plough  was  in  mid-furrow  staid, 

Like  heath-bu-d,  when  the  hawks  pursue. 

The  falc'ner  toss'd  his  hawk  away, 

A  barge  across  Loch  Katrine  flew ; 

The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay ; 

High  stood  the  henchman  on  the  prow ; 

Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms. 

So  rapidly  the  barge-men  row, 

Each  son  of  Alpine  rush'd  to  arms ; 

The  bubbles,  where  they  launch'd  the  boat, 

So  swept  the  ttmiult  and  affray 

1  MS.— "The  slowly  mutter'd  deep  Amen." 

Thou  track'st  not  now  the  stricken  doe, 

»  MS. — "  Marlagan  is  tfe  spot  decreed." 

Nor  maiden  coy  through  greenwood  bough." 

s  See  Appendi.v,  Note  2  L. 

s  "  The  description  of  the  starting  of  the  '  fiery  cross'  bean 

*  MS. — "  Dread  messenger  of  fate  and  fear,    > 
Herald  of  danger,  fate,  and  fear,     ( 

more  marks  of  labor  than  most  of  Mr.  Scotl's  poetry,  and 

borders,  perhaps,    upon  straining  and  exaggeration ;    yet   > 

Stretch  onward  iu  thy  fleet  career  1 

shows  great  power." — Jeffrky. 

206                                     SCOITS  POETICAL  WORKS.                            canto  ui. 

Along  the  margin  of  Acliray. 

Tlie  autumn  winds  ruslung 

All-,  ?h  "1  IdvlIv  liiko  !  that  o'er 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest. 

'J'lr.   1  .i!.k-i  .xhoulil  echo  soiuuIh  *if  feiir  1 

But  our  flower  wius  in  rtiit.liiiig. 

n>c  rocks,  the  bosky  thickets,  sleep 

When  l)lighting  was  nearest. 

So  stilly  on  thy  bo.Hon»  ilfcp, 

The  lark'i*  blithe  enrol,  from  the  cloud, 

Fleet  f<Hit  on  the  correi,* 

Seems  for  the  scene  too  gayly  loutl.' 

Sago  counsel  in  cumber, 

Red  hand  in  tlie  foray, 

X\'. 

Hiiw  sound  is  thy  sltimber! 

Speed,  Muliso,  8]ieed !  tlie  hike  is  pjist. 

Like  the  dew  on  tlie  mountiun. 

DniirniLriran's  huts  appear  at  last, 

T-ikc  tlie  foam  mi  the  rivtir. 

Ami  I'll  p,  like  inosn-yrown  nn-kn,  half  seca 

Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain. 

Half  hidden  in  the  copse  so  green  ; 

niou  art  gone,  and  forever  1* 

There  iiiayst  thou  rest,  thy  lal>or  done. 

Their  Lord  shall  speetl  the  sii^nal  on. — 

XVIL 

As  stoops  the  hawk  upon  his  prey, 

See  Stumali,'  who,  the  bier  beside. 

The  heiicliinan  shot  him  down  the  way. 

His  master's  corpse  with  wonder  eyed. 

— ^Vhat  woful  accents  load  the  gide  ? 

I'oor  Stumali !  whom  his  least  halloo 

Tlie  funeral  yell,  the  female  wail  1' 

Could  send  like  lightning  o'er  the  dew, 

A  galhmt  hunter's  sjwrt  is  o'er, 

Bristles  his  crest,  and  pohits  his  ears. 

A  valiiuit  warrior  fights  no  more. 

As  if  some  stranger  step  he  hears. 

Who,  ill  the  battle  or  the  chase, 

'Tis  not  a  mourner's  mufBed  tread. 

At  Roderick's  side  shall  fill  his  place ! — 

Who  comes  to  sorrow  o'er  the  dead. 

Within  the  hall,  where  torches'  ray 

But  headlong  haste,  or  deadly  fear. 

Supj>lies  the  excluded  beams  of  day. 

Urge  the  precipitate  career. 

Lies  Duncan  on  his  lowly  bier. 

All  stand  aghast : — imlieeding  all. 

And  o'er  him  streams  his  widow's  tear. 

Tlie  henchman  bursts  into  the  hall ; 

His  stripling  son  stands  mournful  by. 

Before  the  dead  man's  bier  he  stood; 

His  youngest  weeps,  but  knows  not  why. 

Held  forth  the  Cross  besmear'd  with  blood ; 

Tlic  village  maids  and  matrons  round 

"  Tlio  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead ; 

The  dismjd  coronach  rewound.* 

Speed  forth  the  signal !  clansmen,  speed  1" 

XVI. 

XVHL 

Coionatt). 

Angus,  the  heir  of  Duncan's  line,' 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign. 

lie  is  lost  to  the  forest, 

In  haste  the  strij)liiig  to  his  side 

Like  a  summer-dried  fountain. 

His  father's  dirk  and  broadsword  tied ; 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 

But  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye 

Tlie  font,  reappearmg, 

Watch  liim  in  speechless  agony. 

From  the  rain-drops  shall  borrow. 

Back  to  her  opeu'd  arms  he  flew. 

But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 

Press'd  on  her  lips  a  fond  adieu — 

To  Duncan  no  morrow  1 

"Alas!"  she  sobb'd, — "and  yet,  be  gone, 

The  hand  of  the  reaper 

And  speed  thee  forth,  like  Dimcan's  son !" 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 

One  look  he  cast  upon  the  bier, 

But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Dash'd  from  his  eye  the  gathering  tear. 

Wails  manliood  in  glory. 

Breathed  deep  to  clear  liis  laboring  breast. 

I  MS.—"  SccDU  ill  too  lively  and  too  loud." 

imperceptihlc  by  the  hnrriod  eye  of  the  reader  ;  but  when  th* 

»  M.S. — "  'Ti»  woman'n  Fcream,  'lis  childhood's  wail." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  H  M 

«  Or  corri.     The  hollow  side  of  the  hill,  where  game  nsnal- 

short  lines  are  yoked  in  pairs,  any  dissonance  in  the  jingle,  oi 
interruption  of  the  constrnction,  cannot  fail  to  give  offence 
We  learn  from  Horace,  that  in  the  couive  of  a  long  work,  a 
poet  may  legitimately  indulge  in  a  momentary  slumber ;  bal 

ly  lies. 

we  do  not  wish  to  hear  liiin  snore." — Quarterly  Review. 

*  "  Mr.  Scott  is  snch  a  master  of  versification,  that  the  most 

i  Faithful.     The  name  of  a  dog. 

complicate<l  metrp  does  not,  for  an  inM.int,  arrest  the  progress 

T  MS. — "  Angus,  \\k  first  of  Duncan's  line, 

of  Ills  imagination  ;  its  dilTif-uIties  asnally  operate  as  a  salu- 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign, 

tan-  excitement  to  his  attention,  and  not  unTreqaently  snggest 

.^nd  then  upon  his  kinsman's  bier 

to  him  new  ami  nneipecte<l  graces  of  expresMon.     If  a  care- 

Fell Malise's  suspended  tear. 

less  rhyme,  or  an  ill-oon«trurtcil  phra.«e  occisionally  escape  him 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  hLs  side 

amidit  the  irregolar  torrent  o(  his  slan/a,  the  hlemish  is  often 

Ills  father's  targe  and  falchion  tied." 

^AXTO  ni. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


207 


And  toss'J  aloft  liis  aonnet  crest, 

Tlicn,  like  the  lii^h-lred  colt,  -when,  freed, 

First  he  essays  his  fi  -e  and  speed, 

He  vanish'd,  and  o'ei  moor  and  moss 

Sped  forward  with  tiie  Fiery  Cross. 

Suspended  was  the  "Widow's  tear, 

While  yet  his  footsteps  she  could  hear ; 

And  when  she  mark'd  the  henchman's  eye 

Wet  with  unwonted  sympathy, 

"  Ivinsman,"  she  said,  "  liis  race  is  run, 

That  shoidd  have  sped  tliiiie  errand  on ; 

The  oak  has  fall'n, — the  saphiig  bough 

Is  all  Duncraggan's  shelter  now. 

Yet  trust  I  well,  his  duty  done, 

The  orphan's  God  wiU  guard  my  son, — 

And  you,  in  many  a  danger  true. 

At  Dimcan's  hest  your  blades  that  drew, 

To  arms,  and  guard  that  orplian's  head ! 

Let  babes  and  women  wad  tlie  dead." 

Tlien  weapon-clang,  and  martial  call, 

Resoimded  through  the  funeral  hall, 

Wlule  from  the  walls  the  attendant  band 

Snatch'd  sword  and  targe,  with  hm'ried  hand ; 

And  short  and  flitting  energy 

Glanced  from  the  mourner's  smiken  eye, 

As  if  the  sounds  t©  wai'rior  dear 

Might  rouse  her  Duncan  from  his  bier. 

But  faded  soon  that  borrow'd  force ; 

Grief  claim'd  liis  right,  and  tears  their  course. 

XIX. 
Benledi  saw  the  Cross  of  Fire, 
It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire.' 
O'er  dale  and  hiU  the  sunmious  flew, 
Nor  rest  nor  pause  young  Angus  knew ; 
The  tear  that  gather'd  in  liis  eye 
He  left  the  mountain  breeze  to  dry ; 
Until,  where  Teith's  young  waters  roU, 
Betwixt  liim  and  a  wooded  knoU," 
That  gi'aced  the  sable  strath  with  green, 
The  chapel  of  St.  Bride  was  seen. 
Swoln  was  the  stream,  remote  the  bridge. 
But  Angus  paused  not  on  the  edge  ; 
Though  the  dark  waves  danced  dizzily, 
Though  reel'd  his  sympathetic  eye, 
He  dash'd  amid  the  torrent's  roar ; 
His  right  hand  high  the  crosslet  bore. 
His  left  the  pole-axe  grasp'd,  to  guide 
And  stay  liis  footing  in  the  tide. 
He  stumbled  twice — the  foam  splash'd  high, 
With  hoarser  swell  the  stream  raced  by ; 
And  had  lie  faU'n, — forever  there. 
Farewell  Duncraggan's  orphan  heir  ! 
But  still,  as  if  in  parting  hfe, 
Firmer  he  grasp'd  the  Cross  of  strife, 

I  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N. 

*  M.S. — '^  And  where  a  steep  and  wooded  knoll 


i^ 


Untn  the  opposing  bank  he  gain'd, 
And  up  the  chapel  pathway  strain'd 

XX. 

A  blithesome  rout,  that  morning  tide, 
Had  sought  the  chapel  of  St.  Bride. 
Her  troth  Tombea's  Mary  gave 
To  Norman,  heir  of  Ai'mandave. 
And,  issuing  from  the  Gotliic  arch, 
nie  bridal  now  resumed  their  march. 
In  rude,  but  glad  procession,  came 
Bonneted  su-e  and  coif-clad  dame ; 
And  plaided  youtli,  with  jest  and  jeer, 
Wliich  snooded  maiden  would  not  hear ; 
And  children,  that,  unwitting  why. 
Lent  the  gay  shout  their  shrilly  cry ; 
And  minstrels,  that  in  measures  vied 
Before  the  young  and  bonny  bride. 
Whose  downcast  eye  and  cheek  disclose 
Tlie  tear  and  blush  of  morning  rose. 
With  virgin  step,  and  bashful  hand, 
She  held  the  'kercliief 's  snowy  band ; 
The  gallant  bridegroom  by  her  side, 
Beheld  his  prize  with  victor's  pride. 
And  the  glad  mother  in  her  ear 
Was  closely  whispering  word  of  cheer. 

XXL 

Who  meets  them  at  the  chmxhyard  gate  ? 

The  messenger  of  fear  and  fate  ! 

Haste  m  his  hurried  accent  lies, 

And  grief  is  swhnming  in  his  eyes. 

All  dripping  from  the  recent  flood, 

Panting  and  travel-soU'd  he  stood, 

The  fatal  sign  of  fire  and  sword 

Held  forth,  and  spoke  the  appointed  word : 

"  The  muster-place  is  Lam-ick  mead ; 

Speed  forth  the  signal !  Norman,  speed  1" 

T^id  must  he  change  so  soon  the  hand,' 

Just  link'd  to  liis  by  holy  band, 

For  the  fell  Cross  of  blood  and  brand  ? 

And  must  the  day,  so  bhthe  that  rose. 

And  promised  rapture  in  the  close. 

Before  its  setting  hour,  divide 

The  bridegroom  from  the  phghted  bride  ? 

0  fatal  doom ! — it  must !  it  must ! 

Clan- Alpine's  cause,  her  cliieftain's  trust. 

Her  summons  dread,  brook  no  delay ; 

Stretch  to  the  race — away  !  away ! 

XXIL 

Yet  slow  he  laid  his  plaid  aside. 
And,  lingering,  eyed  his  lovely  bride, 
Until  he  saw  the  starting  tear 
Speak  woe  he  might  not  stop  to  cheer ; 

Graced  the  dark  strath  with  emerald  green." 
5  MS. — "  And  mnst  he  then  exchange  the  band  " 


208 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  HI. 


Tlien,  trusting  not  n  second  look. 
In  Juuitc  he  spoil  him  up  tlie  brinik, 
Nor  UuV         '     '  1.  till  on  tlu'  li.nth 

AVIun-  I  iiupplif*  tin-  Toith. 

— Whiit  in  the  nu'iT'i*  lx>son»  ^tirr'l^  f 
111.  •'  li<i|H'  (li'f.rr'il, 

Ani  torturing;  triiin' 

or  nil  luM  nioniin^  visioiu  vtiin. 
MiiiiCli'(|  with  love's  inip:ilii-iic(',  rnmo 
The  manly  thirst  for  nisirtial  funic; 
lilt  stormy  joy  of  mountuineera. 
Ere  yet  they  ru-^h  upni  the  spears; 
And  r.eal  for  Chin  and  Chieftain  burning, 
And  hope  from  well-fought  field  returning, 
With  Wiirs  red  honors  on  liis  crest, 
To  clasp  his  Mary  to  his  breast. 
Stung  by  sucli  thoughts,  o'er  bank  and 

brae. 
Like  fire  from  flint  he  glanced  away, 
While  liigli  resolve,  and  feeling  strong, 
Burst  into  voluntary  song. 

XXIIT. 

S  0  II  Q . 

Tlie  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 
Tlio  bracken'  curtain  for  my  head. 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 

Far,  far,  from  love  and  thee,  Mary  ; 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid, 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid, 
My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  nuiid! 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary  ! 
I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now' 
The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow, 
I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow. 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 
No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know; 
Wlien  bursts  Clan-Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 

HLs  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 

A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught, 
For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought. 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary.* 
And  if  retum'd  from  concjuer'd  foes, 
liow  blithely  will  tlie  evening  close. 
How  sweet  the  linnnt  sing  repose. 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary  I 

•  MS. — "  And  memory  brou/rht  the  tortoring  train 
or  all  his  morning  viiionii  vain  ; 
Bdi  mingled  with  impatipnce  came 
The  manlr  love  of  martial  fame." 

»  Bracken. — Fern. 

'  M.-'. — "  1  may  not,  d.ire  not.  imnjre  now." 

•MS.—  "  A  lime  will  come  for  love  and  faith, 

For  >hoald  thy  bridegroom  yield  hii  breath, 


xxrv. 

Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 

HaUpiiddiT,  ppeod.s  the  midnight  blaze,' 

Rushing,  in  ciilhigration  ntrong. 

Thy  decji  ravines  and  dells  along, 

Wra|iping  thy  difT^  in  inirple  glow. 

And  reddening  the  dark  lakes  below; 

Nor  faster  speeds  it,  nor  so  far, 

As  o'er  thy  heatln  the  voice  of  war.* 

The  signal  roused  to  martial  coil 

Tlie  sullen  margin  of  I.^)cli  Voil, 

Waked  still  LfK'h  Doiiie,  and  to  the  source 

Alarm'd,  Halvaig,  thy  swampy  c<iurse; 

Tlience  southward  tnrn'd  its  rapid  road 

Adown  Stratli-Gartney's  valley  broad. 

Till  rose  in  arms  each  man  might  claim 

A  portion  in  Clan- Alpine's  name. 

From  the  gray  sire,  whose  trembling  hand 

Could  liardly  buckle  on  his  brand. 

To  the  raw  boy,  whose  shaft  and  bow 

Were  yet  .scarce  terror  to  the  crow. 

Each  valley,  each  sequester'd  glen, 

Muster'd  its  little  horde  of  men, 

Tlvit  met  as  t<jrrcnts  from  the  height 

In  higldand  dales  their  streams  unite. 

Still  gathering,  as  they  pour  along, 

A  voice  more  loud,  a  tide  more  strong, 

Till  at  the  rendezvous  they  stood 

By  hundreds  prompt  for  blowi  and  blood ; 

Each  train'd  to  arms  since  life  began, 

Owning  no  tic  but  to  his  clan. 

No  oath,  but  by  his  chieftain's  hand, 

No  law,  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command.' 

XXV. 
Tluit  summer  mom  had  Roderick  Dhu 
Survey'd  the  skirts  of  Benvenuc, 
And  sent  his  scouts  o'er  hill  and  heath 
To  view  the  frontiers  of  Menteith. 
All  backward  came  with  news  of  truce  ; 
Still  lay  each  martial  Graeme  and  Bruce, 
In  Rednoch  courts  no  horsemen  wait, 
No  banner  waved  on  Cardross  gate, 
On  Ducliray's  towers  no  beacon  shone. 
Nor  scared  the  herons  from  Loch  Con ; 
All  secm'd  at  peace. — Now,  wot  ye  why 
Tlie  Chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye. 
Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair, 
Tliis  western  frontier  scann'd  with  care? — 
In  Benvenue's  most  darksome  cleft, 

'Twill  cheer  him  in  the  honr  of  death, 
The  boasted  right  to  thee,  Mary." 

t  Bee  Appendix,  Note  3  O. 

■  "  The  eager  fidelity  with  which  this  fatal  aignal  ii  bairlMi 
on  and  obeyed,  is  represented  with  great  spirit  and  felicit)r."— 
Jeffret. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 


CANTO  rrr. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


209 


A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  vras  left ; 
For  Douglas,  to  his  promise  true, 
That  morning  from  the  isle  withdrew, 
And  in  a  deep  sequester'd  dell 
Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 
By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 
Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin  been  sung;' 
A  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave. 
And  call'd  the  grot  the  Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 

It  was  a  wild  and  strange  retreat, 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell,  upon  the  mountain's  crest, 
Yawn'd  like  a  gasli  on  warrior's  breast ; 
Its  trench  had  staid  full  many  a  rock. 
Hurl  d  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Benvenue's  gray  summit  wild, 
And  here,  in  random  ruin  piled. 
They  frown'd  incumbent  o'er  the  spot. 
And  form'd  the  rugged  silvan  grot.' 
The  oak  and  birch,  with  mingled  shade, 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made. 
Unless  when  short  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone. 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 
Gains  on  thy  depth.  Futurity. 
No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still, 
Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill ; 
But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake, 
A  sullen  sound  would  upward  break. 
With  dashing  hollow  voice,  that  spoke 
The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 
Suspended  cUffs,  with  hideous  sway, 
Scera'd  uodding  o'er  the  cavern  gray. 
From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung, 
In  such  the  wild-cat  leaves  her  young ; 
Yet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair 
Sought  for  a  space  their  safety  there. 
Gray  Superstition's  whisper  dread 
Debarr'd  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread ; 
For  there,  she  said,  did  fays  resort, 
And  satj-rs'  hold  their  silvan  court. 
By  moonlight  tread  their  mystic  maze, 
And  blast  the  rash  beholder's  gaze. 

XXVII. 
tiow  eve,  with  western  shadows  long, 
Floated  on  Katrine  bright  and  strong, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q.. 

3  "  After  landing  on  the  skirts  of  Benvenue,  we  reach  the 
eave  (or  more  properly  the  cobc)  of  the  goblins,  by  a  steep  and 
narrow  defile  of  a  tew  liundred  yards  in  length.  It  is  a  deep 
circular  amphitheatre  ot"  at  least  600  yards  of  e.\tent  in  its 
tipper  diameter,  gradually  narrowing  towards  the  base,  hem- 
med in  all  ronnd  bj'  steep  and  towering  rocks,  and  rendered 
impenetrable  to  the  rays  of  the  sun  by  a  close  covert  of  luxu- 
riant trees.  On  the  south  and  west^t  is  bounded  by  the  pre- 
cipitous shoulder  of  Benvenue,  to  the  height  of  at  least  500 
27 


When  Roderick,  with  a  chosen  few, 

Repass'd  the  heights  of  Benvenue. 

Above  the  Goblin-cave  they  go. 

Through  the  wild-pass  of  Beal-nam-bo  :* 

The  prompt  retainers  speed  before, 

To  laimch  the  shallop  from  the  shore. 

For  cross  Loch  Katrine  lies  his  way 

To  view  the  passes  of  Achray, 

And  place  his  clansmen  in  array. 

Vet  lags  the  chief  in  musing  mind. 

Unwonted  sight,  his  men  beliind. 

A  single  page,  to  bear  hia  sword. 

Alone  attended  on  his  lord ;' 

The  rest  their  way  through  thickets  break, 

And  soon  await  him  by  the  lake. 

It  was  a  fair  and  gallant  sight, 

To  view  them  from  the  neighboring  height, 

By  the  low-lcvell'd  sunbeams  light ! 

For  strength  and  stature,  from  the  clan 

Each  warrior  was  a  chosen  man, 

As  even  afar  might  well  be  seen. 

By  their  proud  step  and  martial  mien, 

Tlicir  feathers  dance,  their  tartaus  float, 

Their  targets  gleam,  as  by  the  boat 

A  wild  and  warlike  group  they  stand. 

That  well  became  such  movmtain-strand. 

XXVIII. 

Tlieir  Cliief,  with  step  reluctant,  still 
Was  lingering  on  the  craggy  hill, 
Hard  by  where  turn'd  apart  the  road 
To  Douglas's  obscure  abode. 
It  was  but  with  that  dawning  morn. 
That  Roderick  Dim  had  proudly  sworn 
To  drown  his  love  in  war's  wild  roar,' 
Nor  think  of  Ellen  Douglas  more ; 
But  he  who  stems  a  stream  with  sand. 
And  fetters  flame  with  flaxen  band, 
Has  yet  a  harder  task  to  prove — 
By  firm  resolve  to  conquer  love ! 
Eve  finds  the  Chief,  like  restless  ghost. 
Still  hovering  near  liis  treasure  lost ; 
For  though  liis  haughty  heart  deny 
A  parting  meeting  to  his  eye. 
Still  fondly  strains  his  anxious  ear, 
The  accents  of  her  voice  to  heai". 
And  inly  did  he  curse  the  breeze 
That  waked  to  sound  the  rustling  trees. 
But  hark !  what  mingles  in  the  strain  ? 

feet ;  towards  the  east,  the  rock  appears  at  some  former  period 
to  have  tumbled  down,  strewing  the  whole  course  of  its  fall 
with  immense  fragments,  which  now  serve  only  to  give  shellei 
to  foxes,  wild-cats,  and  badgere." — Dr.  Graham. 

°  The  Vrisk,  or  Highland  satyr.     See  Note  on  I  he  previoai 

Canto. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R.  =  Ibid.  Note  2  S. 

6  MS. — "  To  drown  hh  grief  in  war's  wild  roar, 
Nor  think  oi love  and  Ellen  more." 


210                                     SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  iv 

It  U  the  liiirp  of  Allan  Biino, 

And  eastward  helil  their  hasty  way, 

'Hint  wiiki-:*  itji  ineiudire  hIkw  aal  lu^b. 

Till,  with  the  Litest  beams  of  light, 

Atturu'.l  to  wicrcd  niiif^tnlsy. 

The  biuid  arrived  on  Lanrick  height. 

Wluit  iiioltiiig  voice  attiiuiit  the  strings  t 

Where  muster'd,  in  the  vsile  below,* 

"1  u  Kllen,  or  an  luigel  Hiiigs. 

Chui-Alpijiu'ri  men  in  nuirtial  show. 

XXIX. 

XXXI. 

Jppmn  to  tbt  Tfrflfn. 

A  various  scene  the  clansmen  made. 

A  If  Miir'ta  !  uiaitleii  luilil  1 

Some  sate,  some  stood,  sfjme  slowly  stray'd  ; 

Listen  to  a  nuiiiien's  prayer ! 

But  most  with  mantles  folded  round. 

'Ilioii  cjxnst  hear  though  Irnni  the  wild, 

Were  couch'd  to  rest  up<jn  the  ground. 

Tl»ou  canst  save  ainiil  despair. 

Scarce  to  be  known  by  curious  eye. 

Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  tliy  care, 

From  the  deep  heather  wliere  they  lie. 

niough  bjuii.-hd,  outou^t,  and  reviled — 

So  well  wits  match'd  the  tartan  screen 

iliuden !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer ; 

With  heath-bell  dark  and  brackens  green ; 

Motlier,  hear  a  euppliant  child  I 

I^niess  where,  hero  and  there,  a  blade, 

Ave  Maria  ! 

Or  lance's  point,  a  glimmer  made. 

Like  glow-worm  twinkUng  tlirough  the  shade 

Ave  .}f(iria  !  imdefiled  ! 

But  when,  advancing  through  the  gloom, 

Tlie  flinty  couch  we  now  must  share' 

Tliey  saw  the  Cliieftain's  eagle  plume. 

Shall  seem  with  down  of  cider  piled, 

Tlieir  shout  of  welcome,  slu-ill  and  wide, 

If  tliy  protection  hover  there. 

Shook  the  steep  mountain's  steady  side. 

llie  murky  cavern's  heavy  air' 

Tlirice  it  arose,  and  lake  and  fell 

Shall  breathe  of  balm  if  thou  hast  smiled ; 

Tlire«  times  rcturn'd  the  martial  yell ; 

Tluii,  Maiden!  hear  a  maiilen's  prayer; 

It  dieil  upon  Boch;istle's  plain, 

ilotlier,  hjt  a  suppliant  cliild  ! 

And  Sileiu't!  claiin'd  her  evening  reign. 

Ave  Maria  1 
Ave  Maria  !  stainless  styled  1 

Foul  demons  of  the  earth  and  air, 

^\)t  £tiLiij  of  tijc  £ake. 

From  this  their  wonted  haunt  exiled, 

Shall  flee  before  thy  presence  f:ur. 

"We  bow  us  to  our  lot  of  care. 

Beneath  thy  guidance  reconciled  ; 
llcar  for  a  maid  a  maiden's  prayer. 

CANTO  FOURTH. 

And  for  a  father  liear  a  child ! 

ClJC   i3ropt)cc2. 

Ave  Maria! 

I. 

XXX. 

"  The  rose  is  fairest  when  'tis  budding  new. 

Died  on  the  harp  the  closing  hymn — 

And  hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from  fears ;' 

Unmoved  in  attitude  and  limb, 

Tlie  rose  is  sweetest  wash'd  with  morning  dew. 

As  list'ning  still.  Clan- Alpine's  lord 

And  love  is  loveliest  when  embalni'd  in  tears. 

Stoo<l  leajiing  on  liis  heavy  sword, 

0  wilding  rose,  whom  fancy  thus  endears, 

Until  the  page,  with  humble  sign. 

I  bid  your  blos.soms  in  my  bonnet  wave. 

Tv/icc  pf)iiited  to  the  sun's  dechne. 

Emblem  of  hope  and  love  through  future  years !" 

Then  wliile  liis  plaid  he  round  him  cast. 

Tims  spoke  young  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 

"  It  is  the  List  time— 'tis  the  last," 

What  time  the  sun  arose  on  Vemiachar's  broad 

lie  mutter'd  thrice, — "  the  last  time  e'er 

wave. 

lluit  angel  voice  shall  Roderick  hear  1 ' 

It  wa.^  a  ijoading  thought — liis  stride 

IL 

Hied  h.'L-ticr  down  the  mountain  side 

Such  fond  conceit,  half  said,  half  sung, 

Sullen  he  flung  him  in  the  boat, 

Love  prompted  to  the  bridegroom's  tongue. 

And  instant  Vrops  the  lake  it  shot. 

All  while  he  stripp'd  the  wild-rose  spray, 

They  landed  in  that  silvery  bay. 

liis  axe  and  bow  beside  liim  lay. 

•  MS. — "  The  flintj  cooch  aiy  $ire  miul  ihare." 

»  MS.—"  Where  broad  extending  far  below, 

Muster'd  Clan-Alpine's  martial  t'low.'' 

»  MS.— "Thj  mnrlij  grotto' $  nejiou*  air." 

*  MS. — "  And  rapture  dearest  when  oincured  by  fean." 

CANTO  IV.                               THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                        211 

For  on  a  pass  'twixt  lake  and  wood, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war.'' 

A  wakeful  sentinel  he  stood. 

Duncraggan's  milk-white  bull  they  slew." 

Hark !  on  the  rock  a  footstep  rung, 

And  uistant  to  his  arms  he  sprung. 

MALISE. 

"  Stand,  or  thou  diest ! — What,  Mali33  ? — soon 

"  Ah  !  well  the  gallant  brute  I  knew ! 

Art  thou  return'd  from  Braes  of  Doune. 

Tiie  choicest  of  the  prey  we  liad. 

By  thy  keen  step  and  glance  I  know. 

When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad.' 

Thou  bring'st  us  tidings  of  the  foe." 

His  hide  was  snow,  his  horns  were  dark, 

(For  wliile  tlie  Fiery  Cross  hied  on. 

His  red  eye  glow'd  like  fiery  spark ; 

On  distant  scout  had  Mahse  gone.) 

So  fierce,  so  tameless,  and  so  fleet. 

"  Where   sleeps  the   Chiel  V   the   hencliman 

Sore  did  he  cumber  our  retreat, 

said. — 

And  kept  our  stoutest  kernes  in  awe, 

"  Apart,  in  yonder  misty  glade ; 

Even  at  the  pass  of  Beal  'malia. 

To  liis  lone  couch  I'll  be  your  guide." — 

But  steep  and  fluity  was  the  road, 

Then  caU'd  a  slumberer  by  his  side, 

And  shai'p  the  hurrying  pikemen's  goad, 

And  stirrd  him  with  his  slacken'd  bow — 

And  when  we  ctmie  to  Demian's  Row, 

"  Up,  up,  Glentarkin !  rouse  thee,  ho ! 

A  child  might  scatheless  stroke  his  brow." — 

We  seek  the  Cliieftain ;  on  the  track. 

Keep  eagle  watch  till  I  come  back." 

V. 

NORMAN. 

III. 

"  That  bull  was  slain :  his  reeking  hide 

Together  up  the  pass  they  sped : 

They  stretch'd  the  cataract  beside. 

"  WTiat  of  the  foeman  ?"  Norman  said. — 

Whose  waters  their  wild  tmnult  toss 

•*  Varying  reports  from  near  and  far ; 

Adown  the  black  and  ci-aggy  boss 

This  certain, — that  a  band  of  war 

Of  that  huge  cliff,  whose  ample  verge 

Has  for  two  days  been  ready  boime. 

Tratlition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.'' 

At  prompt  command,  to  march  from  Doime ; 

Couch'd  on  a  shelve  beneath  its  brink, 

King  James,  the  while,  with  princely  powers. 

Close  where  the  thmidering  torrents  sink, 

Holds  revelry  in  Stu-hng  towers. 

Rocking  beneath  their  headlong  sway, 

Soon  will  this  dark  and  gathering  cloud 

And  drizzled  by  the  ceaseless  spray. 

Speak  on  our  glens  m  thunder  loud. 

Mdst  groan  of  rock,  and  roar  of  stream, 

Inured  to  bide  such  bitter  bout. 

Tlie  wizard  waits  proplietic  dream. 

The  warrior's  plaid  may  bear  it  out ; 

Nor  distant  rests  the  Chief; — but  hush! 

But,  Norman,  how  wilt  thou  provide 

See,  glidmg  slow  thi-ough  mist  and  bush. 

A  shelter  for  thy  bonny  bride  ?" 

ITie  hermit  gains  yon  rock,  and  stands 

"  What !  know  ye  not  that  Roderick's  care 

To  gaze  upon  our  slumbering  bands. 

To  the  lone  isle  hath  caused  repair 

Seems  he  not,  Malise,  like  a  ghost. 

Each  maid  and  matron  of  the  clan, 

That  hovers  o'er  a  slaughter'd  host  ? 

And  every  child  and  aged  man 

Or  raven  on  the  blasted  oak, 

Unfit  for  arms ;  and  given  liis  charge, 

Tliat,  watching  wliile  the  deer  is  broke,' 

Nor  skiiF  nor  shallop,  boat  nor  barge. 

His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  ?" 

Upon  these  lakes  .shall  float  at  large, 

But  all  beside  the  islet  moor. 

MALISE. 

That  such  dear  pledge  may  rest  secure  ?" — 

— "  Peace !  peace  !  to  other  than  to  me, 

Thy  words  were  evil  augury ; 

IV. 

But  stiU  I  hold  Sir  Roderick's  blade 

"  'Tis  well  advised — the  Chieftain's  plan' 

Clun-Alpuie's  omen  and  her  aid. 

Bespeaks  the  father  of  his  clan. 

Not  aught  that,  glean'd  from  heaven  or  bell. 

But  wherefore  sleeps  Sir  Roderick  Dha 

Yon  fiend-begotten  monk  can  tell. 

Apart  from  all  his  followers  true  ?" 

Tlie  Chieftain  joins  him,  see — and  now, 

"  It  is,  because  last  evening-tide 

Together  they  descend  the  brow." 

Brian  an  augury  hath  tried, 

Of  that  dread  kind  wliich  must  not  be 

VI. 

Unless  in  dread  extremity, 

And,  as  they  came,  with  Alpine's  Lord 

The  Taghairm  call'd  ;  by  which,  afar, 

The  Hermit  Monk  held  solemn  word : — 

•  MS.—"  'Tis  well  advised— a  prudent  plan, 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T.                »  Ibid.  Note  2  V. 

Worthy  the  father  of  liis  clau." 

<  Ibid.  Note  2  V.                               »  Ibid,  Note  2  W. 

212 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


CANTO  IV 


"  lUxK-rick  !  it  i*  a  ffiirful  strife, 

For  man  t-nJowVI  with  mortiil  life, 

Wlii-M"  ^liriuiii  iif  st'hticiU  cl;iy  can  still 

Feel  ftvrrir<h  piui^  iuul  faiiitiiijj  eliill. 

Whose  eye  ojui  utari'  in  stony  tmnco, 

Whiwc  hair  cufi  nmso  liko  warrior's  lancc, — 

Tim  hiirti  for  «ufh  to  view,  utifurl'd, 

'llio  curtain  of  the  future  world. 

Yet,  witiU'M  every  quakini;  liiiil), 

My  BUiikeii  puliH",  n>y  eyeballs  iliin. 

My  soul  with  harrowing  nnjfuish  torn, — 

lliij*  for  my  Chieftain  have  I  l)<)rne ! — 

llie  sluijtes  that  sou;,'ht  my  fuiu-ful  couch, 

An  liuman  tonjuc  may  ne'er  avouch ; 

No  mortal  man, — save  he,  wiio,  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead, 

T«  gifted  b<'yond  nature's  law, — 

Had  e'er  surviveil  to  say  ho  saw. 

At  length  the  fatal  answer  came, 

In  cluiracters  of  living  flame  ! 

Not  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazeil  in  scroll. 

But  borne  and  branded  on  my  soul ; — 

WllIC  H  8PILI.S  THK  FOKEMOST  FOEMAN's  LIFK," 

That  rARTV  conquers  in  the  8tri*-e  !" — * 

VII. 

"  Tlianks,  Brian,  for  thy  zeal  and  care ! 
OwkJ  is  thine  augury,  and  fair. 
Clan-Alpine  ne'er  in  battle  st(K>d, 
But  first  our  broadswords  tasted  blood, 
A  surer  victim  still  I  know, 
Self-ofTcrd  to  the  auspicious  blow : 
A  spy  has  sought  my  land  this  mom, — 
No  eve  shall  witness  his  return ! 
My  followers  guard  each  pa-ss's  mouth, 
To  east,  to  westward,  and  to  south  ; 
Red  Murdoch,  bribed  to  be  his  guide,* 
Has  cliarge  to  lead  Ids  steps  aside, 
TiU,  in  deep  path  or  dingle  brown. 
He  light  on  those  shall  bring  him  down.* 
— But  see,  who  comes  his  news  to  show  1 
Malise  I  what  tidings  of  the  foe  ?" — 

VI  [I. 
At  Doune,  o'er  many  a  spear  and  glaive 
Two  Barons  proud  their  banners  wave, 
f  s.nw  the  Moray's  silver  star. 
And  niark'rl  the  sable  pale  of  Mar." — 

»  MS. — "  Wliich  foremOBt  »pilU  a  fooman's  life." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

»  MS.-  -"  The  clansman,  vainly  decm'il  lii«  gnlde." 
«  MS. — "  He  light  on  those  shall  stab  him  down." 

•  MS.-"  '  When  move  they  on  t'  |  '  I'"' '""  I  at  nooa 

I     To-nny     \ 

'Tbi  said  will  sec  them  raart-h  from  Donne.' 
'  To-morrow  then  J  f  meeting  item.' " 

•  Far  battle  bmne — ready  for  battle. 


"  By  Alpine's  soul,  high  tidings  those  ! 

I  h>ve  to  hear  of  worthy  foe.s. 

AVhen  n»ove  they  on  ?" — "To-morrow's  nuuuP 

Will  see  them  here  for  battle  lx)une." — * 

"  Tlien  (ihall  it  see  a  meeting  stern  ! — 

But,  for  till-  jilace — say,  could^t  thou  learn 

Naught  of  the  friendly  clans  of  luirn  ? 

Strengthen'd  by  them,  we  well  might  bido 

The  battle  on  Benledi's  side. 

Thou  couldst  not  if — Well !  Clan- Alpine's  men 

Shall  man  the  Trosjich's  .-^hiiggv  glen  ; 

Within  Loch  Katrine's  gorge  we'll  fight, 

All  in  our  mai<ls'  and  matrons'  sight, 

Each  for  liis  hearth  and  hou.sehold  fire, 

Father  for  child,  and  son  for  sire — 

Lover  for  maid  beloved  ! — But  why — 

Is  it  the  breeze  affects  mine  eye  ? 

Or  dost  thou  come,  ill-omen'd  tear ! 

A  mes.senger  of  doubt  or  fear  ? 

No !  sooner  m.iy  the  Saxon  lance 

Unfix  Benledi  from  his  stance, 

Than  doubt  or  terror  c;in  pierce  through 

The  unyiehling  heart  of  Roderick  Dhu  ! 

'Tis  stubborn  a.«  his  trusty  targe. — ' 

Each  to  his  post ! — all  know  their  charge." 

Ilie  pibroch  souml.s,  the  bands  advjuice, 

The  broadswords  gleam,  the  banners  dance, 

Obedient  to  the  Chieftain's  glance. 

— I  turn  me  from  the  martial  roar. 

And  seek  Coir-UrLskin  once  more. 

IX. 

Wliere  is  the  Douglas  ? — he  Is  gone  ; 
And  Ellen  sits  on  the  gray  stone 
Fast  by  the  cave,  and  makes  her  moan ; 
While  vainly  Allan's  words  of  cheer 
Are  pour'd  on  her  unheeding  ear. — 
"  He  will  return — Dear  lady,  trust ! — 
With  joy  return  ; — he  will — lie  must. 
Well  w:ls  it  time  to  seek,  afar. 
Some  refuge  from  impending  war. 
When  e'en  Clan-Alpine's  rugged  .swarm 
Are  cow'd  by  the  approaching  storm. 
I  saw  their  boat-s,  with  m.any  a  fight, 
Flwating  the  live-long  yesternight, 
Shifting  like  flivshes  darted  forth' 
By  the  re<l  streamers  of  the  north; 
I  mark'il  at  morn  how  close  they  ride, 

'  MS. — "  'Tis  stubborn  .i.i  hit  HirrhJanil  targe." 

»  MS.—"  Thick  aa  the  Hashes  darted  forth 

By  niorrice-ilanccrs  of  the  north  ; 

A     I  .  .L   •    4  b.nrges  ride. 

And  saw  at  mom  their  <  ,.    ,    . 

I  little  fleet, 

Close  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side. 

Fince  this  rude  r.ice  dare  not  abide 

Upon  their  native  mountain  side, 

'Tin  lit  thai  I)uugla.s  should  |irovide 

For  his  dear  child  some  sale  abo<le, 

And  soon  he  comes  to  point  the  road." 


CANTO  IV.                              THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                          213 

Thick  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side, 

Tlunk  of  the  stranger  at  the  isle. 

Like  wild-ducks  couching  iu  the  fen, 

And  think  upon  the  harpinga  slow. 

Wlien  stoops  tlie  hawk  upon  tlie  glen. 

That  presaged  tliis  approaching  woe  i 

Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 

Sootli  was  my  proplutcy  of  fear  ; 

The  peril  on  the  mainland  side, 

Believe  it  wlien  it  augurs  cheer. 

Shall  not  thy  noble  father's  care 

Would  we  had  left  this  dismal  spot  I 

Some  safe  retreat  for  thee  prepare  ?" — 

111  luck  still  haunts  a  fairy  gr'  t. 

Of  such  a  wondrous  tale  I  knc  r — 

X. 

Dear  lady,  change  that  look  of  woe. 

ELLEX. 

My  harp  was  wont  thy  grief  to  cheer." — 

"  No,  Allan,  no !  Pretext  so  kind' 

My  wakeful  terrors  could  not  blind. 

ELLEN. 

When  in  such  tender  tone,  yet  grave. 

"  Well,  be  it  as  tliou  wilt ;  I  hear. 

Doiiglas  a  parting  blessing  gave, 

But  cannot  stop  the  bursting  tear." 

The  tear  that  glisten'd  in  Ids  eye 

Tlie  Mmstrel  tried  his  simple  art. 

Drown'd  not  liis  purpose  fix'd  on  high. 

But  distant  far  was  Ellen's  heart. 

My  sold,  though  feminine  and  weak, 

Can  image  Ids ;  e'en  as  the  lake. 

XIL 

Itself  distm-b'd  by  shghtest  stroke,' 
Reflects  the  invulnerable  rock. 

aSaUatJ.^" 

He  hears  report  of  battle  rife. 

ALICE   BRAND. 

He  deems  himself  the  cause  of  strife. 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 

I  saw  liim  redden,  when  the  theme 

When  the  mavis^  and  merle*  are  singin{j, 

Turn'd,  Allan,  on  thine  idle  dream 

W  hen  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hoimds  are 

Of  Malcolm  Grteme,  in  fetters  bound. 

in  cry, 

Which  I,  thou  saidst,  about  him  wound. 

And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

Think'st  thou  he  trow'd  thine  omen  aught  ? 

Oh  no !  'twas  apprehensive  thought 

"  0  Alice  Brand,  my  native  land 

For  the  kind  youth, — for  Roderick  too — 

Is  lost  for  love  of  you ; 

(Let  me  be  just)  that  friend  so  true  ; 

And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold, 

In  danger  both,  and  in  our  cause  ! 

As  outlaws  wont  to  do. 

Minstrel,  the  Douglas  dare  not  pause. 

Why  else  that  solemn  warning  given. 

"  0  Alice,  'twas  all  for  thy  locks  so  bright 

'  If  not  on  earth,  we  meet  in  heaven !' 

And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue. 

Why  else,  to  Cambus-kenneth's  fane, 

That  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight, 

If  eve  return  him  not  again. 

Thy  brother  bold  I  slew. 

Am  I  to  hie,  and  make  me  known  ? 

Alas !  he  goes  to  Scotland's  throne. 

"  Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beech 

Buys  his  friend's  safety  with  his  own ;  — 

The  hand  that  held  the  glaive. 

He  goes  to  do — what  I  had  done. 

For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed, 

Had  Douglas'  daughter  been  Ids  son !' — 

And  stakes  to  fence  our  cave. 

XL 

"  And  for  vest  of  pall,  thy  fingers  small, 

"  Nay,  lovely  Ellen ! — dearest,  nay ! 

That  wont  on  harp  to  stray, 

If  aught  should  his  retiu-n  delay. 

A  cloak  must  sheer  from  the  slaughter'cj 

He  only  named  yon  holy  fane 

deer. 

As  fitting  place  to  meet  again. 

To  keep  the  cold  away." — 

Be  sure  he's  safe ;  and  for  the  Graeme, — 

Heaven's  blessing  on  Ids  gallant  name  ! — 

"  0  Richard  !  if  my  brother  died. 

My  vision'd  sight  may  yet  prove  true. 

'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance ; 

Nor  bode  of  ill  to  him  or  you. 

For  darkhng  was  the  battle  tried. 

When  did  my  gifted  dream  beguile  ? 

And  fortune  sped  the  lance.' 

MS. — "  No,  Allan,  tio  !  His  words  so  kind 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

Were  but  ^jretexts  my  fears  to  blind. 
When  in  such  solemn  tone,  and  grave, 

*  Thrush.                                6  Blackbird. 

Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave." 

•  MS.—"  'Twas  but  a  midnight  chance  ; 

"  MS         ^ts«l(  distarb'd  by  sliglitest  shock. 

For  blindfold  was  the  battle  plied. 

Reflects  the  adamantine  rock." 

And  fortune  held  the  lance." 

214                                      SCOrrS  poetical  works.                            camo  IV. 

*•  If  pall  luul  vair  no  more  I  wear, 

"  And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand. 

Nor  thou  the  crlnis<iii  shec-n, 

'Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer." — 

As  wiirni,  we  11  ony,  is  the  rus-sct  gniy, 

As  gay  the  forest  green. 

"Now  loud  thou  lic-t,  thou  lx)ld  of  ni"K)(l! 

It  (•leave'<  unto  hi''  hand, 

"  And,  Richard,  if  our  lot  lie  luirJ, 

Tlie  stain  of  thine  own  kindly  blood, 

And  lost  thy  native  Ijiiid, 

The  blood  of  Ethcrt  Brand." 

Still  Alice  luis  her  own  Riehard, 

And  he  his  Alice  iiriuid." 

Tlien  forward  stopp'd  she,  Alice  Brand, 

And  made  the  Imly  sign, — 

xiri. 

"And  if  there's  bUntd  nn  Richard's  luind. 

Unlink  rontfnurt. 

A  spotless  liind  is  mine. 

Tis  merry,  'ti.^  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 

So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  singing ; 

"And  I  conjure  thee.  Demon  elf. 

On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side, 

By  Uim  whom  Demons  fear. 

Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

To  show  us  wlience  thou  art  thyseH 

And  what  tliine  errand  here  ?" — 

Up  spoke  the  ni(X)dy  Elfin  King, 

Who  won'd  within  the  hill, — ' 

XV. 

Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruiiid  church, 

3Sc-ill<i1]  coiitrnucti. 

llis  voice  was  ghostly  jJuill. 

"'Tis  merry,  'tis  ineriy,  in  Fairy -land, 

Wlien  fah-y  birds  are  singing. 

"  WHiy  sounds  jou  stroke  on  beech  and  oak. 

Wlien  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monarch's 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  C 

side, 

Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

With  bit  and  bridle  ringing : 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queeri  f' 

Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

"  And  gayly  shines  the  Fairy-land, — 

llie  fairies  fatal  green  V 

But  all  is  glistening  show," 

Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 

"  Up,  Urgan,  up !  to  you  mortal  hie. 

Can  dart  on  ice  and  enow. 

For  thou  wert  christen'd  man  ;° 

For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly, 

"  And  fading,  like  that  varied  gleam, 

For  mutter'd  word  or  ban. 

Is  our  inconstant  shape. 

Who  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem, 

"  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  wither'd  heart, 

And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eye ; 

Till  he  wish  and  pray  that  liis  life  would  part, 

"  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 

Nor  yet  find  leave  to  die." 

When  the  Fairy  King  has  power, 

1'hat  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray. 

XIV. 

And,  'twixt  hfe  and  death,  was  suatch'd  away 

UnllaTi  continucB. 

To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower.'' 

'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood. 

Though  the  birds  have  still'd  their  singing ; 

"  But  wist  I  of  a  woman  bold. 

The  evening  blaze  doth  AUce  raise, 

Who  tlu-ice  my  brow  durst  sign, 

And  Ricliard  is  fagots  briiiging. 

I  miglit  regain  my  mortal  mold, 

As  fair  a  form  as  thine." 

Up  Urgan  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf, 

Before  Lord  Ricliard  stands, 

She  cross'd  liim  once — she  cross'd  liim  twic«— 

And,  as  he  cross'd  and  blcss'd  himself, 

Tliat  lady  was  so  brave  ; 

"  I  fear  not  sign,"  quoth  the  grisly  elt 

The  ffjuler  grew  his  goblin  hue, 

"  That  is  made  with  bloodv  hands." 

The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 

She  cross'd  liim  thrice,  that  lady  bold  j 

That  woman,  void  of  fear, — 

He  rose  beneath  her  hand 

1  See  ApppnJix,  Note  2  Z. 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A.                <  Ibid.  Note  6  n. 

2  iMS.— "  '^ar  fairj  ringlet' >  iicroen." 

2'Ibid.Aou3C.        •  Ibid.  NoR-3D.        ■  Ibid.  Note  3  E 

II 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


215 


The  fairest  knight  on  Scottish  mold, 
Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand  ! 

Merry  it  is  in  good  greenwood, 

"Wheu  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing. 

But  merrier  were  they  in  Dunfermluie  gray, 
\Yhcn  all  the  bells  were  ringing. 

XVI. 

Just  as  the  minstrel  sounds  were  staid, 

A  stranger  climb'd  the  steepy  glade 

His  martial  step,  liis  stately  mien, 

His  hmiting  suit  of  Lincohi-greeu, 

His  eagle  glance,  remembrance  claims — 

'Tis  Snowdoun's  Knight,  'tis  James  Fitz-James. 

Ellen  beheld  as  in  a  dream. 

Then,  starting,  scarce  suppress'd  a  scream: 

"  O  stranger  !  in  such  hoiu*  of  fear, 

What  evil  hap  has  brought  thee  here  J" — 

"  An  evil  hajj  how  can  it  be. 

That  bids  me  look  again  on  thee  ? 

By  promise  bound,  my  former  guide 

Met  me  betunes  this  morning  tide, 

And  marshall'd,  over  bank  and  bom"ne, 

The  happy  path  of  my  return." — 

"  The  happy  path ! — what !  said  he  naught 

Of  war,  of  battle  to  be  fought. 

Of  guarded  pass  ?" — "  No,  by  my  fiiith  ! 

Nor  saw  I  aught  could  augur  scathe." — 

"  0  haste  thee,  Allan,  to  the  kern, 

— Yonder  his  tartans  I  discern  ; 

Learn  thou  liis  purpose,  and  conjure 

That  he  wiU  guide  the  stranger  sure ! — 

What  prompted  thee,  unhappy  man  ? 

The  meanest  serf  in  Roderick's  clan 

Had  not  been  bribed  by  love  or  fear. 

Unknown  to  him  to  guide  thee  here." — 

XVII. 

"  Sweet  EUen,  dear  my  life  must  be. 
Since  it  is  worthy  care  from  thee ; 
Yet  life  I  hold  but  idle  breath. 
When  love  or  honor's  weigh'd  with  death. 
Then  let  me  profit  by  my  chance. 
And  speak  my  purpose  bold  at  once. 
I  come  to  bear  thee  from  a  wild. 
Where  ne'er  before  such  blossom  smiled; 
By  this  soft  hand  to  lead  thee  far 
From  frantic  scenes  of  feud  and  war. 
Near  Bochastle  my  horses  wait ;' 
They  bear  us  soon  to  Sihling  gate. 
I'll  place  thee  in  a  lovely  bower, 

I'll  guard  thee  like  a  tender  flower" 

"  O  hush,  Sk  Knight,  'twere  female  art. 
To  say  I  do  not  read  thy  heart ; 

1  MS. — "  By  Cambusmore  my  horses  wait." 
'  MS. — "  Was  idly  fond  thy  praise  to  hear." 


Too  much,  before,  my  selfish  ear 

Was  idly  soothed  my  praise  to  hear.* 

That  fatal  bait  hath  Im-ed  thee  back, 

Li  deathful  hour,  o'er  dangerous  track 

And  how,  0  how,  can  I  atone 

The  wreck  my  vanity  brought  on ! — 

One  way  remams — I'll  tell  liim  all — 

Yes,  struggling  bosom,  forth  it  shall ! 

Thou,  Avhose  hght  folly  bears  the  blame. 

Buy  tliine  own  pardon  with  thy  sliamu ! 

But  first — my  father  is  a  man 

Outlaw'd  and  exiled,  under  ban  ; 

The  price  of  blood  is  on  his  head. 

With  me  'twere  infamy  to  wed. — 

Still  wouldst  thou  speak  ? — then  hear  the  truth  1 

Fitz-James,  there  is  a  noble  youth, — 

If  yet  he  is ! — exposed  for  me 

Aud  mine  to  dread  extremity — 

Thou  hast  the  secret  of  my  heart ; 

Forgive,  be  generous,  and  depart !" 

XVIII. 
Fitz-James  knew  every  wily  train 
A  lady's  fickle  lieart  to  gain ; 
But  here  he  knew  and  felt  them  vain. 
There  shot  no  glance  from  EUeu's  eye, 
To  give  her  steadfast  speech  the  he ; 
In  maiden  confidence  she  stood. 
Though  mantled  in  her  cheek  the  blood. 
And  told  her  love  with  such  a  sigh 
Of  deep  and  hopeless  agony. 
As  death  had  seal'd  her  Malcolm's  doom, 
And  she  sat  son-owing  on  liis  tomb. 
Hope  vanish'd  from  Fitz-James's  eye, 
But  not  with  hope  fled  sympathy. 
He  proffer'd  to  attend  her  side. 
As  brother  would  a  sister  guide. — 
"  0  !  httle  know'st  thou  Roderick's  heart  I 
Safer  for  both  we  go  apart. 
O  liaste  thee,  and  from  Allan  learn. 
If  thou  mayst  trust  yon  wily  kern." 
With  hand  upon  his  forehead  laid, 
The  conflict  of  his  miiad  to  shade, 
A  parting  step  or  two  he  made ; 
Then,  as  some  thought  had  cross'd  his  braui. 
He  paused,  and  turn'd,  and  came  jigain. 

XIX. 
"  Hear,  lady,  yet,  a  parting  word ! — • 
It  chanced  in  fight  that  my  poor  sword 
Preserved  the  hfe  of  Scotland's  lord. 
Tliis  rmg  the  grateful  Monarch  gave,' 
And  bade,  when  I  had  boon  to  crave. 
To  bring  it  back,  and  boldly  clauu 
The  recompense  that  I  would  name. 

s  MS. — "  This  ring  of  gold  the  monarch  gave.' 


?16 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV 


Ellen,  I  am  no  courtly  lord, 

lliit  '   ,  livi'S  l>y  Imicc  and  swurJ, 

Wl  :••  is  lii.t  lii'lm  uiiil  hhii'Kl, 

Ilis  lonlnhip  tin;  oinlKittleil  fii'ltl. 

Wliiit  rinin  11  priiKV  ciiii  I  (.K-iiiaiiil, 

Win.  IK  iiliir  ri'ik  of  .stiito  iior  Imul  I 

Ellon,  thy  Imiul — tho  ring  is  thino ;' 

Eiu'li  i^uanl  ami  usher  knows  the  sign. 

Seek  tliou  tlie  kiip^  without  delay;' 

T\m  8ii,niet  shall  secure  thy  way  ; 

And  elaini  thy  ."^ilt,  whate'er  it  be, 

As  ransom  of  his  j>ledi;e  to  me." 

He  phiced  the  golden  circlet  on, 

Paused — ki^.sM  her  hand — and  then  was  gone. 

llie  aged  Minstrel  stood  nghast, 

So  lia-stily  Fitz-Jamea  shot  past. 

lie  join'd  his  guide,  and  wending  down 

The  ridges  of  the  mountain  brown, 

Across  the  stream  they  took  their  way, 

lliat  joins  Loch  Katrine  to  Aclu-ay. 

XX. 

All  in  the  Trosach's  glen  was  still, 
Nixmtide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill; 
Sudden  his  guide  whoop'd  loud  and  liigh — 
"Murdocli !  was  that  a  signal  cry  ?" — 
He  stammcr'd  forth — "  I  shout  to  scare* 
Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare." 
lie  look'd — he  knew  the  raven's  prey, 
His  own  brave  steed : — "  Ah !  gallant  gray  ! 
For  tliee — for  me,  perchance — 'twere  well 
We  ne'er  had  seen  the  Trosach's  delL — 
JIurdoch,  move  first — but  silently; 
Whistle  or  whoop,  and  thou  shalt  die  1" 
Jealous  and  sullen  on  they  fared, 
Each  silent,  each  upon  his  guard. 

XXI. 
Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Around  a  precipice's  edge. 
When  lo !  a  wasted  female  form. 
Blighted  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm, 
In  tatter'd  weeds  and  wild  array,* 
Stood  on  a  cliff  beside  the  way, 
And  gl.incing  round  her  restless  eye. 
Upon  the  wotxl,  the  rock,  the  sky, 
Scem'd  naught  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy. 
Her  brow  was  wreath'd  with  gaudy  broom ; 
With  gesture  wild  she  waved  a  plume 
Of  feathers,  wliich  the  eagles  fling 

>  MS. — "  Peniiil  ihU  hand — the  nng  u  thine." 
-  MS. — "  ■  Seek  tliou  the  King,  and  on  thy  knee 
Pat  fortli  thy  toit,  whate'er  it  bo, 
As  ransom  of  hij  pledge  to  me  : 
My  name  and  thia  •h.iU  make  thy  way.' 
He  pat  the  little  lignct  on." 
•  MS. — "  He  etanimcr'd  forth  eonfnsod  reply  t 
'Saion,  j 

'Sir  Knight,  \ 


:  I  ihoDted  bat  to  acare 


To  crag  luid  clifT  from  dusky  wing; 
Such  sjxiils  her  despi-rate  step  had  souglit, 
Where  scarce  was  fixiting  fur  the  goat. 
1'he  tartiui  plaid  »he  first  descried, 
And  shrii'k'd  till  all  the  rocks  replied; 
As  loud  she  laugliM  when  near  they  drew, 
I'nr  then  the  Lowland  garb  she  knew; 
Anil  thiMi  her  hands  she  wiMly  wruiig, 
And  then  she  wejit,  and  then  she  sung — 
She  sung ! — the  voice,  in  better  time, 
Perchiuice  to  Jiarj)  or  lute  might  chime; 
And  now,  though  strain'd  and  roughen'd,  still 
Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  luid  hill. 

XXII. 
JS  0  nfl. 
Tliey  bid  me  sleep,  they  bill  mo  pray, 

They  say  my  brain  is  warp'd  and  wrung — 
I  caimot  sleep  oti  Highlan<I  brae, 

I  cannot  pray  in  Highland  tongue. 
Cut  were  I  now  wheie  Allan*  glides, 
Or  heard  my  native  Devan's  tides, 
So  sweetly  would  I  rest  and  pray 
That  Heaven  would  close  my  wintry  day  1 

'Twos  thus  my  hair  they  bade  me  braid. 
They  made  mc  to  the  church  repair ; 

It  was  my  bridal  morn  they  said, 

And  my  true  love  would  meet  me  there. 

But  woe  betide  the  cruel  guile 

That  drown'd  in  blood  the  morning  smile  I 

And  woe  betide  the  fairy  dream  1 

I  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream. 

XXIII. 
"  Wlio  is  this  maid  ?  what  means  her  lay  f 
She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way, 
And  flutters  wide  her  mantle  gray. 
As  the  lone  heron  spreads  liis  wing, 
By  twilight,  o'er  a  haunted  spring." — 
"  'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,"  Murdoch  said, 
"  A  crazed  and  captive  Lowland  maid,' 
Ta'en  on  the  nif)rn  she  was  a  bride, 
"WHien  Roderick  foray'd  Devan-side. 
The  gay  bridegroom  resistance  made. 
And  felt  our  Cliief 's  unconquer'd  blade. 
I  marvel  she  is  now  at  large, 
But  oft  she  'scapes  from  Maudlin's  charge. — 
Hence,  brain-sick  fool !" — He  raised  his  bow : — 
"  Now,  if  thou  strik'st  her  but  one  blow. 

Yon  raven  from  liis  dainty  fare.'  " 
*  MS.—"  Wrapp'd  in  a  tatter'd  mantle  gray." 
'  The   JlUnn   and    Devan   are   two  Iwantiful  ntreamii,  the 
latter    celebrated    in    the     poetry    of    Burns,    which    descend 
from   the  hills  of  Pertlishire  into  the  great  carsc  or  plain  of 
Stirling. 

«  MS. — "  '  A  Saxon  born,  a  crazy  maid — 

'Tis'Clanche  of  Duvaii.'  Murdoch  said." 


OANTO  IV. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


217 


I'll  pitch  thee  from  the  cliff  as  far 

As  ever  peasant  pitch'd  a  bar!" 

"  Thanks,  chaniijioii,  thanks  i"  the  Maniac  cried, 

Aad  press'd  her  to  Fitz-Jaraes's  side. 

"  See  tlie  gray  peiuions  I  prepare,* 

To  seek  my  true-love  tl)rough  the  air  ? 

I  will  not  lend  that  savage  groom,' 

To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plmne  ! 

No  ! — deep  amid  disjointed  stones. 

The  wolves  sliall  batten  on  his  bones, 

And  then  shall  his  detested  plaid, 

By  bush  and  brier  in  mid  air  staid, 

Wave  forth  a  banner  fair  and  free. 

Meet  signal  for  their  revelry." — 

XXIV. 
Hush  thee,  poor  maiden,  and  be  still !" — 
"  0  !  thou  look'st  kintUy,  and  I  will. — 
Mine  eye  has  dried  and  wasted  been, 
But  still  it  loves  the  Lmcoln-gi-een ; 
And,  though  mine  ear  is  all  unstrung, 
Still,  stUl  it  loves  the  Lowland  tongue. 

For  0  my  sweet  William  was  forester  true,* 
He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away  ! 
His  coat  it  was  all  of  the  greenwood  hue. 
And  so  bUthely  he  trill'd  the  Lowland  lay ! 

"  It  was  not  that  I  meant  to  tell  . . . 
But  thou  art  wise  and  guessest  welL" 
Then,  in  a  low  luid  broken  tone, 
And  hurried  note,  the  song  went  on. 
Still  on  the  Clansman,  fearfully, 
She  fix'd  her  apprehensive  eye ; 
Then  turn'd  it  on  the  Knight,  and  then 
Her  look  glanced  wildly  o'er  the  glen. 

XXV. 

"  Tlie  toils  are  pitch'd,  and  the  stakes  are  set. 

Ever  sing  merrily,  merrily ; 
Th  i  bows  they  bend,  and  the  knives  they  whet. 

Hunters  live  so  cheerUy. 

"  It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  of  ten,* 
Bearing  its  branches  sturdily ; 

MS. — "  With  thee  these  pennons  will  I  share, 

Then  seek  my  true  love  through  the  air.' 
•  MS. — "  But  I'll  not  lend  that  savage  groom, 
To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume ! 
Deep,  deep  'mid  yon  disjointed  stones. 
The  wolf  shall  batten  on  his  bones." 

3  MS. — "  Sweet  William  was  a  woodman  true. 

He  stole  poor  Blani;he's  heart  away  ! 
His  coat  was  of  the  forest  hue, 

And  sweet  he  sung  the  Lojvland  lay." 

4  Havng  ten  branches  on  his  antlers. 

^  "  Kri  machinery  can  be  conceived  more  clumsy  for  effecting 
the  delijrfance  of  a  distressed  hero,  than  the  introduction  of  a 
jBad  w(  1  lan,  who,  without  knowing  or  caring  about  the  wan- 
derer, ■*  uns  him  by  a  nong,  to  take  care  of  the  ambusli  that 
28 


He  came  stately  down  the  glen, 
Ever  sing  hardily,  hai-dily. 

"  It  was  there  he  met  with  a  wounded  doe. 
She  was  bleeding  deathfully  ; 
%    She  warn'd  liim  of  the  toils  below, 
0,  so  fciithfully,  faithfully  ! 

"  He  had  an  eye,  and  he  could  heed, 

Ever  sing  warily,  waiily ; 
He  had  a  foot,  and  he  could  .speed — 

Hunters  watch  so  uaiu'owly."'' 

XXVL 

Fitz-James's  mind  was  passion-toss'd. 
When  Ellen's  hints  and  fears  were  lost ; 
But  Murdoch's  shout  suspicion  wrought, 
And  Bknchc's  song  conviction  brought. — 
JN'ot  like  a  stag  that  spies  the  snare, 
But  lion  of  the  hunt  aware. 
He  waved  at  once  his  blade  on  high, 
"  Disclose  thy  treachery,  or  die  !" 
Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  flew," 
But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  drew. 
The  shaft  just  grazed  Fitz-James's  crest, 
And  thrUl'd  in  Blanche's  faded  breast.— 
Murdoch  of  Alpine  !  prove  thy  speed. 
For  ne'er  had  Alpine's  son  such  need  1 
With  heart  of  fii'e,  and  foot  of  wind, 
The  fierce  avenger  is  behind  1 
Fate  judges  of  the  rapid  strife — 
The  forfeit  death — the  prize  is  life  1 
Thy  kindred  ambush  hes  before. 
Close  couch'd  upon  the  heathery  moor : 
Them  couldst  thou  reach  ! — it  may  not 

be—' 
Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  see. 
The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee  ! 
— Resistless  speeds  the  deadly  thrust, 
As  hghtning  strikes  the  pme  to  dust ; 
With   foot   and   hand   Fitz-James   must 

strain. 
Ere  he  can  win  his  blade  again. 
Bent  o'er  the  fall'n,  with  falcon  eye,* 
He  grunly  smiled  to  see  Irim  die ; 

was  set  for  him.  The  maniacs  of  poetry  have  indeed  hud  a 
prescriptive  right  to  be  musical,  since  the  days  of  Ophelia 
downwards  ;  but  it  is  rather  a  rash  extension  of  this  privilege 
to  make  them  sing  good  sense,  and  to  make  sensible  people  oe 
guided  by  them." — Jeffrey. 

'  MS. — "  Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  went ; 
But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  bent, 
Halted — and  back  an  arrow  sent." 

'  MS. "  It  may  not  he — 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee, 
Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  seef 
Resistless  as  the  liglitning's  flame, 
The  thrust  betwixt  his  shoulder  came." 
8  MS. — "  Then  o'er  him  hung,  with  I'alcon  eye. 
And  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die." 


218                                     SCOrrS  poetical  works.                            casto  IV. 

Tlien  glower  wen(lotl  back  liw  way, 

"  By  Him  who.«ie  word  is  truth  I  I  swear, 

^\'LL•re  the  pttor  iiiiiiik'u  blueclmg  lay. 

No  other  favor  will  I  wear, 

Till  this  wid  token  I  imbrue 

XXVII. 

In  tiie  best  bltMxl  of  Uo.jcrick  Dhu ! 

She  rote  beneath  the  birclien-tree, 

— But  hark !  what  means  yon  faint  liallo  f 

lliT  fUxiw  rt-'i             '    r  kiu'o  ; 

Tlie  chiLse  is  iij>,^ — but  they  shall  know, 

She  h.iii  withili                 liilul  clmft, 

Tins  stag  at  l)ay  's  a  dangerous  foe." 

.\ii(l  gazi'tl  (III  it,  untl  ffibly  laiijjh'cl ; 

Barr'd  from  the  known  but  guarded  way, 

1!                '      ■'        11  ami  f<'iitlu'r.'<  j^ay, 

Through  copse  ami  clifTs  Fit/.-James  must  !<»*«J 

I'                                ',  bi'siilt!  lior  lay. 

And  oft  must  change  his  desperate  track, 

The  Kni;;lit  to  standi  the  lifo-stroam  tried, — 

By  stream  luid  precipice  turn'd  back. 

"  -                 it  is  ill  vain  !"  ulie  crietl. 

Heartless,  fati^.,'ned,  and  faint,  at  length. 

"  1              I  of  death  ha^  given  me  more 

From  lack  of  food  and  loss  of  strength, 

Of  reason's  power  than  years  before ; 

He  couch'd  him  in  a  thicket  hoar, 

For.  as  these  ebbiiiLf  veins  decay, 

And  tlionght  his  toils  and  perils  o'er: — 

My  jilirensied  visit nw  fade  away. 

"Of  all  my  rash  adventures  past, 

A  helpless  injured  wretch  I  die,' 

Tliis  frantic  freak  must  prove  the  last ! 

And  soincthiiii;  tells  me  in  thine  eye, 

Who  e'er  so  mad  but  might  have  gucss'd. 

That  thou  wert  mine  avenger  born. — 

That  all  tliis  Highland  hornet's  nest 

Seeat  thou  tliis  tre.ss? — 01  still  I've  worn 

Would  muster  up  in  swarms  so  soon 

This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair, 

As  e'er  they  lieard  of  bands  at  Doune  ? — 

Through  danger,  phreiisy,  and  despair ! 

Like  Woodhounds  now  they  search  me  out,— 

It  once  was  briglit  and  clear  as  tliiiie, 

Hark,  to  the  -wliistlc  and  the  .shout ! — 

l{ut  blfKHl  and  tears  have  dimin'd  its  bhine. 

If  farther  tlirougli  the  wilds  I  go, 

I  will  not  tell  tliee  when  'twas  slu-ed, 

I  only  fall  upon  the  foe: 

Xor  from  what  guiltless  victim's  head — 

111  couch  mc  here  till  evening  gray. 

My  brain  would  turn ! — but  it  shall  wave* 

Then  darkling  try  my  dangerous  way." 

Like  plumage  on  thy  helmet  brave, 

Till  sun  luid  wind  sliall  bieacli  the  stsiin, 

XXIX. 

And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again. — 

Tlie  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down. 

I  waver  still. — 0  Gwl !  more  bright 

The  woods  are  wrapt  in  deeper  brown, 

Let  reason  beam  her  parting  light ! — 

Tlie  owl  awakens  from  her  dell, 

0  !  by  thy  kiiighth'jod's  honor'd  sign, 

The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell ; 

And  for  thy  life  preserved  by  mine, 

Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light 

Wlien  thou  shalt  see  a  darksome  man, 

To  guide  the  waJiderer's  steps  aright. 

Who  boiists  him  Cliief  of  Alpuie's  Clan, 

Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 

With  tartan's  broad  and  .shadowy  plume, 

His  figure  to  the  watchful  foe. 

And  hand  nf  blofid,  and  brow  of  gloom, 

With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awake, 

Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong, 

He  'climbs  the  crag  and  threads  the  brake ; 

And  wreak  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong ! 

And  not  the  summer  solstice,  there, 

niey  •watcli  for  tliee  by  pass  and  fell  . . . 

Temper'd  the  midnight  mountfuji  air. 

Avoid  Uie  paih  ...  0  God !  .  .  .  farewclL" 

But  every  breeze,  that  swept  the  wold. 

Benumb'd  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold- 

XXVIIL 

In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone. 

A  kindly  heart  had  brave  Fitz-James ; 

Famisird  and  chill'd,  through  ways  nnknowiv 

Fast  p^mr'd  his  eyes  at  pity's  claims, 

Tangled  and  steep,  he  joumey'd  on ; 

And  now  with  mingled  grief  and  ire, 

Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turn'd, 

He  saw  the  murdcr'd  maid  expire. 

A  watch-fire  close  before  him  burn'd. 

"  G3d,  in  my  need,  be  my  relief,' 

As  I  wTeak  this  on  yonder  Chief!" 

XXX. 

A  lock  from  Blanche's  tre.sses  fair 

Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear,* 

He  blended  with  her  bridegroom's  hair ; 

I?ask'd,  in  liis  plaid,  a  mountaineer ; 

The  mingled  bnud  in  bkxtd  he  dyed, 

Ami  U])  ho  sprung  with  sword  in  hand, — 

And  placed  it  on  his  Ixinnet-inide: 

"  Thy  name  and  purpose  !  Saxon,  stand  1" — 

»  M.-^. — "  A  gailUeM  injured  wretch  I  die." 

Ai  I  wreak  this  on  Roderick  Dhu," 

»  MS. — •'  Bnl  now,  my  clLimpion,— it  thall  wave." 

*  MS. — "  By  Ihp  dcc.nying  name  was  laid 

'  M.S. — "  God,  in  my  need,  to  me  be  true, 

A  warrior  in  his  Highland  plaid." 

CANTO  V. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


219 


"  A  stranger." — "  What  dost  thou  require  ?" — 

TJU  past  Clan- Alpine's  outmost  guard. 

"  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 

As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford ; 

My  hfe's  beset,  my  path  is  lost, 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword."— 

The  gale  has  chill'd  my  hmbs  with  frost." — 

"  I  take  thy  coiutesy,  by  heaven. 

"  Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick  ?"— "  No."— 

As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given  1" — 

"  Tliou  darest  not  call  thyself  a  foe  ?"— 

"  Well,  rest  thee ;  for  the  bittern's  cry 

"  I  dare  !  to  hun  and  all  the  band' 

Suigs  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby." 

He  brings  to  aid  his  mm-derous  hand." — 

With  that  he  shook  the  gather'd  heath. 

"  Bold  words ! — but,  though  the  beast  of  game 

And  spread  liis  plaid  upon  the  wreath  ; 

The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim, 

And  the  brave  foemen,  side  by  side, 

Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 

Lay  peaceful  down,  like  brothers  tried, 

Ere  hound  we  sUp,  or  bow  we  bend, 

And  slept  vmtil  tlie  dawning  beam* 

Who  ever  reck'd,  where,  how,  or  when, 

Purpled  the  moimtaiu  and  the  stream, 

The  prowhng  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slain  ?" 

Thus  treacherous  scouts, — yet  sure  they  lie, 

Who  say  thou  earnest  a  secret  spy  !" 

"  They  do,  by  heaven ! — Come  Roderick  Dhu, 

. 

And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two, 

%Ca^BoftljeCaxe 

And  let  me  but  till  morning  rest. 

T  "writp  +}ip  fnlqplmoH  on  thpir  Pi*p<it, " 

A     \\  1  ItC     LUC    Itl^OCllVJUU    \Jll    LXlLll     I^ICOL. 

'•  If  by  the  blaze  I  mark  aright, 

CANTO  FIFTH. 

Thou  bear  st  the  belt  and  spur  of  Knight. — 

"  Then  by  these  tokens  mayst  thou  know 
Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe." — 

2ri)e  ©ombat. 

"  Enough,  enough ;  sit  down  and  share 

L 

A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare." 

Fair  as  the  earliest  beam  of  eastern  b'ght, 

When  first,  by  the  bewilder'd  pilgrim  spied. 

XXXI. 

It  smiles  upon  the  dreary  brow  of  night. 

He  gave  him  of  his  Highland  cheer, 

And  sdvers  o'er  the  torrent's  foaming  tide, 

The  harden'd  flesh  of  mountain  deer ;' 

And  lights  the  fearful  path  on  mountain-side  ; — • 

Dry  fuel  on  the  fire  he  laid. 

Fair  as  that  beam,  although  the  fairest  far. 

And  bade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid. 

Givuig  to  horror  grace,  to  danger  pride. 

He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest, 

Shine  martial  Faith,  and  Com-tesy's  bright  star, 

Then  thus  his  farther  speech  address'd. 

Through  all  the  wreckful  storms  that  cloud  tha 

"  Stranger,  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 

brow  of  Wai-, 

A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true  : 

Each  word  against  liis  honor  spoke, 

II. 

Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke ; 

That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen. 

Yet  more, — upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said. 

Was  twinkling  tlirough  the  hazy  screen. 

A  mighty  augury  is  laid. 

When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 

It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn, — 

The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed, 

Thou  art  with  nimi.bers  overborne  ; 

Look'd  out  upon  the  dappled  sky. 

It  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand, 

Mutter'd  their  soldier  matuas  by. 

Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand : 

And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  steal. 

But,  not  for  clan,  nor  kinch'ed's  cause, 

As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 

Will  I  depart  from  honor's  laws ; 

That  o'er,  the  Gael"  around  him  threw 

To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame. 

His  gracefid  plaid  of  varied  hue. 

And  stranger  is  a  holy  name ; 

And,  true  to  promise,  led  the  way, 

(juidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire. 

By  thicket  green  and  mountain  gray. 

In  vain  he  never  must  require. 

A  wddering  path  ! — they  winded  now 

Then  rest  thee  here  tUl  da  wn  of  day ; 

Along  the  precipice's  brow, 

Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way. 

Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath. 

O'er  stock  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 

The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith, 

'  MS. — "  I  dare  !  to  him  aiK*  al'  tbj  FA-irm 

*  MS. — "  And  slept  nntil  the  dawning  streak 

He  brings  to  aid  liis  mTdcroai  arm." 

Purpled  tlie  mountain  and  tlic  lake." 

s  MS.—"  And  lights  the  fearful  way  along  its  side." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V. 

f'  The  Scottish  Higlilander  calls  himself  Gael,  or  Gau.,  and 

»  See  Anpendix,  Note  3  O. 

terms  the  Lowlanders,  Sassenach,  or  Saxons. 

220 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAN 10  V 


Ami  nil  t}iL>  vult*8  bi-nvutli  Uiat  lie, 

Till  Stirlin^'tt  turrets  melt  iii  ^k_v  ; 

T!  '  '  ,  tliiir  farliifst  (^liiiicc 

t'  -.ill  (if  linrM'iiiiurtt  liUice. 

Twu.1  oft  «o  »it«ep,  the  f<K)t  wii;*  fuiii 

A  frnin  tin-  liiiinl  tit  ^aiii ; 

S'  I  lift,  timt,  lnir>tiii^  liiroii;^)), 

Rich  luiwtluirii  uJied  licr  (tliowern  of  clew, — 

That  tliaiiiniitl  ilcw.  m>  |>uro  uiul  cleur, 

It  ri\a!^  all  liiit  Itiuiiiy's  trar. 

HI. 
At  Iiiiijlli  tliey  came  w  liere,  bteru  juid  btecp,' 
Tlie  liill  .Hiiiks  down  uintii  tlie  deep. 
Here  \'emiacliiir  in  silver  flttws. 
There,  riil;,'e  on  ridge,  Beiiledi  rose; 
Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on. 
Beneath  steep  bauk  and  threatening  stune  ; 
An  hundreil  men  mi;^iit  hold  the  iwst 
With  hardihood  aji^aiu.st  a  host. 
I'hc  rugged  mountain's  scanty  cloak 
AViis  ilwarlit^h  !<liruhs  of  binh  and  oak,* 
AVith  t-hingle!;  hare,  and  cLills  between, 
And  patches  bright  of  bracken  green. 
And  heather  black,  that  waved  so  liigh, 
It  held  the  cttpse  in  rivalry. 
But  where  the  lake  slept  deep  and  still, 
Dank  osiers  fringed  the  .-wamp  and  hill; 
And  oft  botli  path  and  hill  were  turn, 
Where  wintry  torrents  downi  had  borne, 
And  heap'd  iifKni  the  cumberil  huid 
Its  wreck  of  gravel,  rock.s,  and  sand. 
So  toiLiome  was  the  road  to  trace, 
The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace, 
Led  slowly  tlirough  the  pass's  jaws, 
And  a.«k'd  Fitz-James,  by  what  strange  cause 
He  sought  these  wilds  ?  traversed  by  few, 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

IV. 

"Brave  Gael,  my  pa.ss  in  danger  tried. 
Hangs  in  my  belt,  juid  by  my  side  ; 
Yet,  60<jth  to  tell,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  I  dreamt  not  now  to  claiiii  its  aid.' 
When  here,  but  three  days  since,  I  Ciune, 
Bcwililer'd  in  pursuit  of  game, 
All  scem'd  as  peaceful  and  a.s  .«till. 
As  the  ini.sl  slumbering  on  yon  hill ; 
lliy  diUJgerous  Chief  was  then  afar, 
Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war. 
Tlius  said,  at  lea.st,  my  mountain  guide, 
Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villain  lied." — 

'  MS. — "  At  Icngtli  they  iiactl  the  inonntain's  side, 

And  saw  licn'-alh  llip  walem  wide." 
t  .MS  — "The  nigged  monnl.iin'»  nunte*!  ncrecn 

Waa  dwarfish  J  "      "  '  with  clifli  belween." 
(   copae    1 


"  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try  ?" — 
"  .V  warrior  thou,  iu»d  ask  me  why! — 
Moves  our  free  course  by  such  tix'd  cauae, 
A.s  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws} 
Enough,  1  sought  to  drive  away 
The  lazy  hiiur.i  of  jteaceful  ilay  ; 
Sli;,'lit  cause  will  then  sutlice  to  guide 
A  Knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide, — * 
A  falcon  flown,  a  greyhound  stray 'il. 
The  merry  glance  of  mountain  maid  : 
Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known, 
The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone." —     -^ 

Y. 

"  Tliy  secret  keep,  I  urge  thee  not ; — * 
Yet,  ere  agaiii  ye  sought  this  spot. 
Say,  heard  ye  naught  of  Lowland  war, 
Against  Clan-Alpine,  raised  by  Mar  if" 
— "No,  by  my  word; — of  bands  prejtarcd 
To  gusu-d  King  James's  sjxirts  I  heard  ; 
Nor  doubt  I  aught,  but,  when  they  hear 
Tliis  muster  of  the  mi>untainecr, 
Their  j)ennons  will  abroad  be  Hung, 
Which  else  in  Doune  had  jjcaceful  hung." — * 
"  Free  be  they  Hunt;  I — for  we  were  loth 
Their  silken  fold.s  should  feast  the  motL 
Free  be  they  flung  I — as  free  shall  wave 
Clan- Alpine's  pine  in  banner  brave. 
But,  Stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came, 
Bewilder'd  in  the  mountain  game. 
Whence  the  Ijold  boa.'^t  by  which  j'ou  show 
Vich-Alpine's  vow'd  and  mortal  foe  T — 
"  W^arrior,  but  yester-morn,  I  knew 
Naught  of  thy  Cliieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 
Save  as  an  outlaw'il  desperate  man. 
The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan, 
"Who,  in  the  Regent's  court  and  sight, 
With  ruffian  dagger  stabb'd  a  knight: 
Yet  this  alone  might  from  his  part 
Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart" 

VL 

Wrothful  at  such  arraignment  foul. 

Dark  lower'd  the  clansman's  .'^able  scowL 

A  space  he  paused,  then  sternly  said, 

"  And  heard'st  thou  why  he  drew  his  blade  I 

Heard'st  thou  that  shameful  word  and  blow 

Brought  Roderick's  vengeance  on  liis  foe  ? 

What  reck'd  the  Cliieftain  if  he  stood 

On  Highland  heath,  or  Holy-Rood  ? 

He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given. 

If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven." — 


•  MS. — "  I  dreamM  not  now  to  draw  my  blade." 

*  MS.—-  .My  tminl  foot.«tcp9  I  „ 

.,.,,,,,  ,    .        1  lar  ana  wiue. 

A  knight  »  hold  wandf-nnps  ' 

'■  MS. — "  Thy  secret  keep,  I  axk  it  not." 

'  MS. — "  Which  else  in  halt  had  peaceful  bong." 


CANTO  V.                               THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                       12\ 

"  Still  was  it  outrage ; — yet,  'tis  true, 

Is  aught  but  retribution  true  ? 

Not  then  claim'd  sovereignty  liis  due ; 

Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu." — 

"Wliiio  Albany,  -with  feeble  hand. 

Ilelii  borrow'd  truncheon  of  command,' 

VIIL 

Tlie    young    King,   meVd    in    Sth-ling 

Answer'd  Fitz-James, — "  And,  if  I  sought, 

tower. 

Tliink'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought  ? 

Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power. 

What  deem  ye  of  my  patli  waylaid  ? 

But  then,  thy  Chieftain's  robber  life ! — 

My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  ?" — 

Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife, 

"  As  of  a  meed  to  raslmess  due  : 

Wrencliing  from  ruin'd  Lowland  swain 

Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, — 

Ilis  herds  and  harvests  rear'd  in  vain. — 

I  seek  my  hound,  or  falcon  stray'd. 

Metliinks  a  soul,  like  thine,  should  scorn 

I  seek,  good  faith,  a  Highland  maid, — 

The  spoils  from  such  foul  foray  borne." 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go: 

* 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 

VII. 

Nor  yet,  for  tliis,  even  as  a  spy. 

Tlie  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while, 

Hadst  thou,  unheard,  been  doom'd  to  die. 

And  answer'd  with  disdainful  smile, — 

Save  to  fulfil  an  augury." — 

"  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high. 

"  Well,  let  it  pass ;  nor  will  I  now 

I  mark'd  thee  send  delighted  eye. 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow. 

Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 

To  chafe  thy  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow. 

Extended  in  succession  gay. 

Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

Deep  waving  fields  and  pastui'es  green. 

To  match  me  witli  this  man  of  pride  : 

With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between : — 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan-Alpine's  glen 

Tliese  fertile  plains,  that  soften'd  vale, 

In  peace ;  but  when  I  come  agen. 

Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael ; 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow, 

Tlie  stranger  came  with  iron  hand. 

As  leader  seeks  liis  mortal  foe. 

And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 

For  love-lorn  swaui,  in  lady's  bower. 

Where  dwell  we  now !    See,  rudely  swell 

Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 

Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  feU. 

As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread, 

This  rebel  Cliieftain  and  his  band !"— ' 

For  fatten'd  steer  or  household  bread ; 

Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry. 

IX. 

And  well  the  mountain  might  reply, — 

"  Have,  then,  thy  wish !" — he  whistled  shrill. 

'  To  you,  as  to  youi-  sires  of  yore, 

And  he  was  answer'd  from  the  liill ; 

Belong  the  target  and  claymore  I 

Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 

I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast. 

From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew.* 

Your    own    good    blades    must   win    the 

Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 

rest.' 

Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows  ; 

Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below. 

Think'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth. 

Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe ; 

To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may. 

From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start. 

And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey  ? 

The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart,* 

Ay,  by  my  soul ! — While  on  yon  plain 

The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 

Tlie  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain ; 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand. 

Wliile,  of  ten  thousand  herds,  there  strays 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life' 

But  one  along  yon  river's  maze, — 

To  plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 

The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir. 

That  whistle  garrison'd  the  glen 

Shall,. with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share.* 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men. 

Where  live  the  mountain  Chiefs  who  hold. 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

That  plundering  Lowland  field  and  fold 

A  subterranean  host  had  given.^ 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H.                         2  Ibid.  Note  3  L 

That  whistle  manned  the  lonely  glen 

»  MS.-"  This  dark  Sir  Roderick  )                         „ 

Witli  full  five  hundred  armed  men." 

Tins  savage  Clueftaia    S 

'  The  Monthly  reviewer  says — "  We  now  come  to  the  chef' 

♦  MS. — "  From  cuipsc  to  copse  the  signal  flew. 

d'wnvrc  of  Walter  Scott, — a  scene  of  more  vigor,  nature,  and 

Instant,  through  copse  and  crags,  arose." 

animation,  than  any  other  in  all  his  poetry."     Another  anony- 

6 MS.—"  The  bracken  bush  shoots  forth  the  dart." 

mous  critic  of  the  poem  is  not  afr.aid  to  quote,  with  reference 

»  MS. — "  And  each  lone  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 

to  the  effect  of  this  passage,  the  sublime  lansuage  of  the  Pro- 

To plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 

phet  Ezekiel : — "Then  said  he  unto  me,  Prophesy  unto  (be 

ooo 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOliKS. 


CANTO  V. 


Watoliing  tlicir  leader's  In-ok  ami  will,' 

All  .-(iliMit  there  they  stiKid,  iiiul  wtiil. 

Like  the  1ik)so  crag.-*,  wliiwe  tl>reiiteiiing  iiiasH 

Liiy  tottering  o'er  the  Ltillow  jmims. 

As  if  ai)  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  [)a.'»s4»ge  down  the  verge, 

\\'ith  ctep  and  weajnin  forward  rtung, 

I'lMin  the  niountain-tiide  they  hung. 

'I'lie  Mountaineer  east  glance  of  pride 

Along  ISenledi's  living  side, 

Tlun  fix'd  his  oye  luid  sable  brow 

Full  on  Fitz-.Ianies — "How  say'st  thou  now? 

These  are  Clau-Aljiine's  warriors  true; 

And,  Siixon, — I  ain  Roderick  Dhu !" 


Fifz- James  wjls  brave : — Tliough  to  liis  heart 

The  life-blood  thrill'd  with  sudden  start. 

He  uiaiui'd  himself  with  dauntless  ;ur, 

Return'd  the  Cliief  his  haughty  stare, 

His  baok  against  a  rock  he  bore, 

And  lirndy  placed  his  foot  before : — 

"  Come  one,  come  all !  tliis  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  iia  I."' 

Sir  Roderick  mark'd — and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  foci 

III  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel 

Short  space  he  stood — then  waved  his  hand : 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  Vjand  ; 

Each  warrior  vanish'd  where  he  stood, 

In  brfKim  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood ; 

Sunk  bnmd  aud  spear  and  bended  bow, 

In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low ; 

It  scem'd  as  if  their  mother  Earth 

Had  swallow'd  up  her  warlike  birth. 

Tlie  wind's  last  breath  had  toss'd  in  air, 

Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair, — 

Tlie  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side, 

"Where  he.'ith  and  fern  were  waving  wide  : 

71»c£un's  last  glance  was  glinted  back, 

From  spear  and  gUiive,  from  targe  and  jack, — 

wind,  proplicsf ,  «on  of  man,  and  say  to  the  wind,  Thus  saitli 
the  Lord  God  ;  Come  from  the  four  winds,  O  breath,  and 
hrealhe  0|)On  ihew  slain,  that  they  may  live.  So  I  prophesied 
*«  he  commanded  me,  and  the  br^>ath  came  into  them,  and  they 
ived,  and  «too<l  up  upon  their  feel,  an  exceeding  great  army." 
—Chap,  xxxvii.  v.  9,  It). 
1  .Md. — "  All  nilenl,  loo,  they  ntood,  and  >lill. 

Watching  their  leader'"  heck  and  will. 
While  forward  ulep  and  wesjion  rIiow 
They  long  to  rush  upon  the  foe, 
Like  the  loose  crag^,  who^e  tottering  roan 
Ilnng  threatening  o'er  the  hollow  pa-ss." 
5  David  de  Ktrathbogie  Earl  of  Alhole,  when  about  lo  en- 
gage Pir  Andrew  Moray  at  the  battle  of  Kilhlenc,  in  1335,  in 
which  he  was  <i1ain,  made  an  npostropif  of  the  same  kind  : — 
" — At  a  little  path  w.ih  there 
All  samen  they  a.wemblp4  were 
Even  ir  tlie  path  was  Earl  Davy 


'llio  next,  all  unreflected,  slione 

On  bracken  green,  lutd  cold  gray  stono. 

XI. 

Fitztlmnes  hnik'd  rrtund — yet  sciircc  believed 

The  witness  tliat  his  sight  received; 

Such  a])parition  well  might  seem 

Delusion  of  a  dreatlful  dream. 

Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed, 

And  to  his  look  the  Cliief  rejilietl : 

'•  I'ear  natight — luiy,  that  I  need  not  say — 

Rut — doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 

Thou  art  my  guest ; — I  pledged  my  word 

As  far  as  Cgilantogle  ford  : 

Nor  Would  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 

For  aid  agiunst  one  valiant  hand,' 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 

Rent  by  the  Saxon  fnnu  the  Gael.* 

So  move  we  on ; — I  only  meant 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 

Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue     i 

Without  a  pxss  from  Roderick  Dim."'    ' 

They  moved : — I  said  Fitz-Jamcs  was  brave. 

As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive ; 

Yet  dare  not  say,  that  ni>w  his  blood 

Kept  on  its  wont  and  temper'd  flood. 

As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 

Tliat  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through, 

"Which  yet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife 

"With  lances,  that,  to  take  his  hfc, 

"Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide. 

So  late  dishonor'd  and  ilelied. 

Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eye  sought  round 

The  vanish'd  guardians  of  the  groimd. 

And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  deep. 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep,* 

And  in  the  plover's  .slu-illy  strain. 

The  signal  wlJstle  heard  again. 

Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 

Tlie  pass  was  left ;  for  then  they  wind 

Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 

"Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 

And  to  a  great  stone  that  lay  by 
lie  said  By  God  lii.i  face,  we  twa 
The  flight  on  ua  shall  samcn*  ta." 
5  MS. — "  For  aid  again?t  one  brave  man's  hand." 

*  "Thi?  scene  is  c.^cellenlly  dejcrihed.  The  franknew  and 
high-poulcd  courage  of  the  two  warriors, — the  rrlianec  whicn 
the  Lowlandur  places  on  the  word  of  the  Highlander  to  gnida 
him  safely  on  his  way  the  next  morning,  allliou(,'h  he  liaa 
spoken  threatening  and  violent  words  against  Roderick,  whose 
kinsman  the  mountaineer  professes  himself  to  he, — these  cir- 
cnra-stances  are  all  admirably  imagined  and  related.^' — Monthig 
Review. 

»  tree  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

•  MS. — "  And  still,  from  cop3e  and  heather  bnsh, 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadswoid  rush." 


•  Al  lhi»  namit  time  or  to^jpther. 
I       Note  in  IA«  jtutfior^t  MS.  not  ajised  to  any/ormer  edition  q^  tht 


CANTO  V, 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


223 


Xor  rush  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near, 
To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear, 

XII. 
The  Chief  in  silence  strode  before, 
And  rcach'd  that  torrent's  sounding  shore, 
Wliich,  daughter  of  three  mighty  lakes. 
From  Vennachar  in  silver  breaks, 
Sweeps  through  the  plaui,  and  ceaseless  mines 
On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines,' 
Wliere  Rome,  the  Empress  of  the  world. 
Of  yore  her  eagle  wings  unfurl'd.^ 
And  here  his  course  the  Cliieftain  staid, 
Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid, 
And  to  the  Lowland  warrior  said : — 
"  Bold  Saxon !  to  his  promise  just, 
Vich- Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 
Tliis  murderous  Chief,  this  ruthless  man, 
This  head  of  a  rebeUious  clan, 
Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward. 
Far  past  Clan-Alpine's  outmost  guard. 
Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 
A  Cliieftam's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feeh 
See  here,  all  vantagelcss  I  stand, 
Arm'd,  Uke  thyself,  with  single  brand :' 
For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 
And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword." 

XIII. 

The  Saxon  paused : — "  I  ne'er  delay'd. 

When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade ; 

Nay,  more,  brave  Cliief,  I  vow'd  thy  death: 

Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith, 

And  my  deep  debt  for  hfe  preserved, 

A  butter  meed  have  well  deserved : 

Can  naught  but  blood  our  feud  atone  ? 

Are  there  no  means  ?" — "  No,  Stranger,  none  ! 

And  hear, — to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal, — 

The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel ; 

For  thus  spoke  Fate,  by  prophet  bred 

Between  the  Uving  and  the  dead ; 

'  "UTio  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 

His  party  conquers  in  the  strife.' " — 

"  Then,  by  my  word,"  the  Saxon  said, 

"  The  riddle  is  already  read. 

Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff, — 

There  hes  Red  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 

Thus  Fate  has  solved  her  prophecy, 

Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me. 

To  Jtmies,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go, 

1  MS  — "  On  Bochastle  the  martial  lines." 
a  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L.  =  Ibid.  Note  3  M. 

*  MS.—"  In  lightning  flash'd  the  ChiePs  dark  eye." 
6  MS. — "  He  stoops  not,  he,  to  James  nor  Fate." 

0  "  The  two  principal  fignres  are  contrasted  with  uncommon 
felicity.  Fitz-James,  who  more  nearly  resembles  the  French 
Henry  the  Fourth  than  the  Scottish  James  V.,  is  gay,  amor- 


When,  if  thou  wilt  be  still  his  foe, 
Or  if  the  King  shall  not  agree 
To  grant  thee  grace  and  favor  free, 
I  plight  mine  honor,  oath,  and  word. 
That,  to  thy  native  strengths  restored, 
With  each  advantage  shalt  thou  stand. 
That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  laud." 

XIV. 
Dark  hghtning  flash'd  from  Roderick's  eye — * 
"  Soars  thy  presumption,  then,  so  high. 
Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew. 
Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dhu  ? 
He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  Fate  !* 
Tliou  add"st  but  fuel  to  my  hate : — 
My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge. 
Not  yet  prepared  ? — By  heaven,  I  change 
My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valor  light 
As  that  of  some  vain  carpet  knight. 
Who  ill  deserved  my  comteous  care, 
And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 
A  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair." — 
"  I  thank  thee,  Roderick,  for  the  word ! 
It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword ; 
For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 
In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 
Now,  truce,  farewell !  and,  ruth,  begone  ! — 
Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone, 
Proud  Chief  1  can  courtesy  be  shown ; 
Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn. 
Start  at  my  wliistle  clansmen  stern, 
Of  this  small  horn  one  feeble  blast 
Would  fearful  odds  against  thee  cast. 
But  fear  not — doubt  not — which  thou  wilt — 
We  try  this  qu;u'rel  liilt  to  hilt." — 
Tlien  each  at  once  liis  falcliion  drew. 
Each  on  the  ground  liis  scabbard  threw. 
Each  look'd  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again ; 
Then  foot,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed, 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed.' 

XV. 
Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw,' 
Wliose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-hide 
Had  death  so  often  dash'd  aside ; 
For,  train'd  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz-James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. 
He  practised  every  pass  and  ward, 

ons,  fickle,  intrepid,  impetuous,  aflectionate,  courteous,  grace- 
ful, and  dignified.  Roderick  is  gloomy,  vindictive,  arrogant, 
undaunted,  but  constant  in  his  afi'ections,  and  true  to  his  en- 
gagements ;  and  the  whole  passage  in  wliich  these  personages 
are  placed  in  opposition,  from  their  first  meeting  to  their  final 
conflict,  is  conceived  and  written  with  a  sublimity  which  ha* 
been  rarely  equalled." — Quarterly  Review,  1810. 
'  See  Appendi.x,  Note  3  N. 


224 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  T 


To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  <»Tinrd ; 
^Vllilt•  1.  --  .  x|)trt,  tlK)Uj,'h  .«tri>u;^er  far, 
llw  Gael  iniuntuin'd  unetiual  war.' 
Thni;  tiiiie-*  in  •  '  'nd-  fiicy  stfMKl, 

Aii'l  tliriee  llie  ■  ,  ie  tiraiik  blooJ; 

Nutitinteil  (iruiigiit,  no  M'unty  tide, 
Tl;  '  i    r  n.Kxl  tlie  tartiiiH  dyed. 

I"i.  .lick  flit  liie  fatal  drain, 

And  sliiiwer'd  his  blows  like  wintry  rain; 
.\i"l   :i'  firm  PK'k,  fir  castleronf, 
A,   in~i  the  winter  .shower  is  prcKif, 
The  f<H\  invulneriible  still, 
Foil'd  his  wild  riv^c  by  steady  skill; 
Till,  at  advantages  ta'i'n,  his  brand 
Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand, 
And  baekwaril  Ijorne  npon  the  lea, 
llriiii'^'ht  the  pniiid  CliieftiUii  to  liis  kiicc* 

XVI. 

"  Now  yield  Ihec,  or  by  Ilim  who  made 
The  world,  thy  heart's  bl<x)d  dyes  my  blade  !"- 
"Thy  threat'*,  thy  mercy,  I  defy  ! 
Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die.'"* 
— Like  adiler  dartinjj  from  his  coil. 
Like  Wolf  tliat  dashes  through  the  toil. 
Like  nionnfuin-cat  who  guards  her  young, 
Full  at  Fitz-James's  tliroat  he  sprung,* 
Received,  l>ut  rcck'd  not  of  a  wound. 
And  lock'd  his  arms  his  focman  roinid. — 
Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own  I 
No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown  ! 
That  desperate  gra«p  thy  frame  might  feci. 
Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel ! 
They  tug,  they  strain  !  down,  down  they  go, 
The  Gael  above,  Fitz-.Jamcs  below. 
Tlic  Chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  comprcss'd. 
His  knee  was  planted  in  his  breast; 
His  dotted  Imrks  he  backwanl  threw, 
AiToss  his  brow  his  hand  he  ilrew, 
Frtini  blfK)d  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight, 
Tlien  glcam'd  aloft  his  dagger  bright ! — 
— lint  hate  and  fury  ill  supplied 
llie  stream  of  life's  e.\hausted  tide, 
And  all  t<.)o  late  the  advantage  came, 
To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game  ; 
For,  while  the  dagger  gleam'd  on  high, 
lleel'd  soul  and  sense,  reel'd  br:un  and  eye. 
Down  came  the  blow  !  but  in  the  heath 
Tlie  erring  bla<le  foimd  bloodless  sheath. 
Till'  struggling  foe  may  now  uncla«p 
Th(>  fainting  Chief's  reLi.\ing  grasp; 

1  MS. — "  Not  Rtxlorick  thnu,  thoiigli  ulrongcr  far, 
Morp  tijil,  ami  mor«>  ifiure'l  to  war." 

'  Thi<i  roaplpt  in  not  in  llii"  Mf. 

»  See  Ajipfmlix,  Note  3  O. 

*  MS  — "  '  YSkM  tliey  alone  wlio  fear  to  die.* 

Like  cnouniain-cat  who  guaiiU  her  yonng. 
Foil  at  Fitz-Jamo't  tliroat  lie  aprung." 


Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 
But  breatliless  jUl,  Fitz  Jiunes  arose.*    ^ 

XVIL 
lie  fidter'd  thanks  to  Heaven  for  life, 
Redcem'd,  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife  ;* 
Ne.\t  on  his  fue  his  look  he  CiLst, 
Whose  every  gasp  apjiear'd  his  last; 
In  lioderiek's  gore  he  dipt  the  braid, — 
"I'oor  lUanchel  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  j>aiil : 
Yet  with  thy  foe  nnist  ilie,  or  live. 
The  praise  that  Faith  and  \'alor  give." 
With  that  he  blew  a  bugle-note. 
Undid  the  collar  from  his  throat, 
Unbonnetcd,  and  by  the  wave 
Sate  down  his  brow  and  hands  to  lave. 
Then  faint  afar  arc  heanl  the  feet' 
Of  ru.shing  steeds  in  gallop  fleet; 
The  sounds  increase,  and  n<iw  are  seen 
Four  moimted  squires  in  Linctjln -green; 
Two  w1k>  bear  lance,  and  two  who  lead, 
By  loosen'd  rein,  a  saddled  steed; 
Each  onward  held  his  headlong  course. 
And  by  Fitz-Janies  rein'd  up  his  horse, — 
With  wonder  view'd  the  bloody  spot — 
— '■  K.\claim  not,  gallants!  question  not. — 
You,  Herbert  and  Luffncss,  alight. 
And  bind  the  wounds  of  yonder  knight ; 
Let  the  gray  palfrey  bear  his  weight, 
We  destined  for  a  fairer  freight. 
And  bring  liim  on  to  Stirling  straight; 
I  will  before  at  better  speed. 
To  seek  fresh  hor.se  and  fitting  weed. 
The  sun  rides  high ; — I  must  be  boime, 
To  sec  the  archer-game  at  noon; 
But  lightly  Bayard  clears  the  lea. — 
I)c  Vaux  and  Hcrrics,  follow  me. 

XVIIL 
"  Stand,  Bayard,  stand  !" — the  steed  obey'd, 
With  arching  neck  and  bended  head, 
And  glancing  eye  and  quivering  ear, 
As  if  he  loved  his  lord  to  bear. 
No  foot  Fitz-James  in  stirrup  staid, 
No  grasp  upon  the  saddle  laid. 
But  wreathed  his  left  hand  in  the  mane, 
And  lightly  bounded  from  the  plain, 
Turn'd  on  the  horse  his  armed  heel. 
And  .stirr'd  his  courage  with  the  steeL 
Bounded  the  fiery  steed  in  air, 
The  rider  sate  erect  and  fair, 

M3. — "  I'anting  and  breathless  on  the  sands. 
But  all  unwonnded,  now  he  stands." 
•  MS. — "  Redeemed,  unhoped,  from  deaiUy  strife  ; 

Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  )   ,       ' 
'  threw. 

Whose  every  breath  appear'd  his  la«t." 

'  M?. — ''  Faint  and  afar  are  heard  the  feet." 


CANTO  V. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


225 


Then  like  a  bolt  from  steel  crossbow 
Forth  lauuch'd,  along  the  plain  they  go. 
They  dash'd  that  rapid  torrent  through, 
And  up  Carhouie's  hill  they  flew, 
Still  at  the  gallop  prick'd  the  Knight, 
His  merry-men  follow'd  as  they  might. 
Along  thy  banks,  swift  Teith !  they  ride, 
And  in  the  race  they  mock  thy  tide  ; 
Torry  and  Lendrick  now  are  past. 
And  Deanstown  lies  beliind  them  cast ; 
They  rise,  the  banner'd  towers  of  Doune,' 
They  sink  in  distant  woodland  soon ; 
Blair-Drummond  sees  the  hoofs  strike  fire,' 
They  sweep  like  breeze  through  Ochtertyre ; 
They  mark  just  glance  and  disappear 
The  lofty  brow  of  ancient  Kier  ; 
They  bathe  their  coursers'  sweltering  sides, 
Dark  Forth !  amid  thy  sluggish  tides. 
And  on  the  opposing  shore  take  ground, 
With  pla^h,  with  scramble,  and  with  bound. 
Right-hand  they  leave  thy  cliffs,  Craig-Forth  P 
And  soon  the  bulwark  of  the  North, 
Gray  Stirling,  with  her  towers  and  to'rni, 
Upon  thek  fleet  career  look'd  down. 

XIX. 

As  up  the  flinty  path  they  strain' d* 

Sudden  his  steed  the  leader  rein'd  ; 

A  signal  to  his  squire  he  flung. 

Who  uistant  to  liis  stirrup  sprung : — 

"  Seest  thou,  De  Vaux,  yon  woodsman  gray, 

Who  townward  holds  the  rocky  way. 

Of  stature  tall  and  poor  array  ? 

Miirk'st  thou  the  firm,  yet  active  stride. 

With  wliich  he  scales  the  mountam-side  ?* 

Know'st  thou  from  whence  he  comes,  or 

whom  ?" — 
"  No,  by  my  word  ; — a  burly  groom 
He  seems,  who  in  the  field  or  chase 
A  baron's  train  would  nobly  grace." — 
"  Out,  out,  De  Vaux  !  can  fear  supply, 
And  jealousy,  no  sharper  eye  ? 
Afar,  ere  to  the  hill  he  drew, 
That  stately  form  and  step  I  knew ; 
Like  form  in  Scotland  is  not  seen, 
Tread.^-  not  such  step  on  Scottisli  gi-een. 
'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  Saint  Serle  !' 
The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  Eixrl. 

>  The  rui  s  of  Doune  Castle,  formerly  the  residence  of  the 
Earls  oI'Menteiih,  now  the  property  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  are 
Gtaated  at  the  confluence  of  the  Ardoeh  and  the  Teith. 

2  MS. — "  Dlair-Drummond  sate  their  hoofs  ofjire." 

3  It  may  be  worth  noting,  that  the  Poet  marks  the  progress 
of  the  King  hy  naming  in  succession  places  familiar  and  dear 
to  his  own  early  recollections — Blaii-Drummond,  the  seat  of 
the  Homes  of  Kaimes  ;  Kier,  that  of  the  principal  family  of 
the  name  of  Stirling  ;  Ochtertyre,  that  of  John  Ramsay,  the 
woll-known  antitjiKiry,  and  correspondent  of  Burns;  and 
Craiglorth,  that  of  the  Callenders  of  Craigforth,  almost  under 

29 


Away,  away,  to  court,  to  show 

The  near  approach  of  dreaded  foe  : 

The  King  must  stand  upon  his  guard ; 

Douglas  and  he  must  meet  prepared." 

Tiien  right-hand  wheel'd  their  steeds,  and  strai/^ht 

They  won  the  castle's  postern  gate. 

XX. 
The  Douglas,  who  had  bent  his  way 
From  Cambus-Kenneth's  abbey  gray, 
Now,  as  he  clunb'd  the  rocky  shelf, 
Held  sad  communion  with  himself: — 
"  Yes !  all  is  true  my  fears  could  frame ; 
A  prisoner  lies  the  noble  Graeme, 
And  fiery  Roderick  soon  will  feel 
The  vengance  of  the  royal  steel. 
I,  only  I,  can  ward  their  fate, — 
God  grant  the  ransom  come  not  late '. 
The  Abbess  hath  her  promise  given, 
My  child  shall  be  the  bride  of  Heaven ;— 
— Be  pardon'd  one  repining  tear ! 
For  He,  who  gave  her,  knows  how  dear. 
How  excellent !  but  that  is  by, 
And  now  my  business  is — to  die. 
— Te  towers !  within  whose  circuit  dread 
A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled  ; 
And  thou,  0  sad  and  Mai  moimd  T 
That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound, 
As  on  the  noblest  of  the  land 
Fell  the  stem  headsman's  bloody  hand, — 
The  dungeon,  block,  and  nameless  tomb 
Prepare — for  Douglas  seeks  his  doom ! 
— But  hark !  what  bhthe  and  jolly  peal 
Makes  the  Franciscan  steeple  reel  ? 
And  see !  upon  the  crowded  street. 
In  motley  groups  whaLmasquers  meet ! 
Baimer  and  pageant,  pipe  and  drum. 
And  merry  morrice-daucers  come. 
I  guess,  by  all  tliis  quaint  array, 
The  biu-ghers  hold  their  sports  to-day." 
James  will  be  there  ;  he  loves  such  show. 
Where  the  good  yeomen  bends  his  bow. 
And  the  tough  wrestler  foils  his  foe, 
As  well  as  where,  in  proud  career, 
The  high-born  tilter  shivers  spear. 
I'll  follow  to  the  Castle-park, 
And  play  my  prize ; — King  James  sliall  mark 
If  age  has  tamed  these  sinews  stark, 

the  walls  of  Stirling  Castle  ; — all  hospitable  roofs,  under  which 
he  had  spent  many  of  his  younger  days. — Ed. 

4  MS. — "  As  up  the  stecpy  path  they  strain'd." 

5  MS. — "  With  which  he  gains  the  mountain-side." 

e  Tlie  Edinburgh  Reviewer  remarks  on  "  that  unhappy 
coujilet,  where  the  King  himself  is  in  sncb  distress  for  a  rhyme 
as  to  he  obliged  to  apply  to  one  of  the  obscurest  saints  in  th« 
calendar."     The  reading  of  the  MS.  is — 

"  'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  my  word. 
The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  Lord." 
T  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P.  «  Ibid.  Note  1  O 


22G                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  v. 

Wiosc'  fuRi-  SO  oft,  ill  happier  days, 

Friar  Tuck  whh  quarterstaff  and  cowl. 

Ilia  boyish  wonder  loved  to  praLio." 

Old  Scathelocke  with  liis  surly  scowl. 

ilaid  Marion,  fair  as  ivory  l>one, 

XXI. 

Scarlet,  and  Mutch,  imd  Little  John; 

Tlio  Caatlo  gates  were  open  flung, 

llieir  bugles  cliidlcnge  all  that  will, 

The  (juiveriiig  (lr!iwhriilf,'e  hk-IcM  iind  rung, 

In  archery  to  prove  tlieir  ("kill. 

Ami  eclioM  loud  the  flinty  street 

The  Doughw  bent  u  bow  of  might, — 

Beneath  the  coursers'  cluttering  feot, 

His  first  shaft  centcr'd  in  the  wliite, 

As  slowly  down  the  steep  descent 

And  when  in  turn  he  sliot  again, 

Fair  Scotliuid's  King  mid  nobles  went,' 

His  second  split  the  first  in  twain. 

While  all  along  the  crowded  way 

From  the  King's  hand  must  Dougla-s  take 

Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 

A  silver  dart,  the  archer's  stake  ; 

And  ever  James  was  bending  low. 

Fondly  he  watch'd,  with  watery  eye,* 

To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-bow, 

Some  luiswering  glance  of  sympathy,^ 

Dnffiiig  his  cap  to  city  dame. 

No  kind  emotion  made  reply  ! 

Who  smiled  luid  blush'd  for  priile  and  shiune. 

Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight. 

And  well  the  simjjerer  might  be  vain, — 

'llii;  monarch  gave  tlie  arrow  bright. 

lie  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train. 

Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 

XXIIL 

Commends  each  j)ageanl's  quaint  attire, 

N«>w,  clear  the  ring  !  for,  hand  to  hand. 

Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud, 

Tlie  manly  wrestlers  take  their  stand. 

And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd, 

Two  o'er  the  rest  superior  rose. 

Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims, 

And  proud  demanded  mightier  foes, 

"  Long  live  the  Commons'  King,  Khig  James !" 

Nor  call'd  in  vain ;  for  Douglas  came. 

Beliiiid  the  King  throng'd  peer  and  knight, 

— For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame  ; 

.\nd  noble  dame  and  dam>el  bright. 

Scarce  better  J(jhn  of  Alloa's  fare. 

Whose  fiery  steeds  ill  brook'd  the  stay 

TVIiom  senseless  home  his  comrades  bear. 

Of  the  steep  street  and  crowdeil  way. 

Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 

— But  in  the  train  you  might  discern 

To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring,' 

Dark  lowering  brow  and  visage  stem  ; 

While  coldly  gliuiced  his  eye  of  blue, 

Qliere  nobles  mourn'd  their  pride  restrain'd,' 

As  frozen  drop  of  wintry  dew. 

And  the  mean  burgher's  joys  disdain'd ; 

Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  liis  breast 

And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan, 

His  struggling  soul  his  words  suppress'd; 

Were  each  from  home  a  banish'd  man. 

Indii,Miant  tlien  he  turn'd  him  where 

Tliere  thought  upon  their  own  gi'ay  tower, 

Their  arms  the  brawny  yeomen  bare. 

Tlieir  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 

To  hurl  the  massive  bar  in  air. 

And  decm'd  themselves  a  shameful  part 

WHien  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shown, 

Of  pageant  which  they  cursed  in  heart. 

The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone 

From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high, 

XXII. 

And  sent  the  fragment  through  the  sky. 

Now,  in  the  Castlc-park,  drew  out 

A  rood  beyond  the  farthest  mark; — 

Tlieir  checker'd  bands  the  joyous  rout. 

And  still  ui  Stirling's  royid  park, 

lliere  morricers,  with  bell  at  heel, 

ITie  gray-hair'd  sires,  who  know  the  past, 

And  blade  in  hand,  their  mazes  wheel;* 

To  strangers  point  the  Douglas-cast, 

But  chief,  beside  the  butts,  there  stand 

And  moralize  on  the  decay 

Bold  Robin  Hood^  and  all  his  band, — 

Of  Scottish  strength  in  modern  day.* 

•  MS.—"  King  James  and  all  his  nobles  went .  . 

B  The  MS.  a<ld8  :— 

Ever  the  King  icas  bending  low 

"  With  awkward  stride  there  city  groom 

To  his  white  jennel's  saddlu-bow. 

Would  pan  of  fabled  knight  a«Dme." 

Dolling  his  cap  to  burgher  dame, 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

fVho  smiling  blush'd  for  pride  and  shame." 

»  MS.—"  Fondly  he  watch'd,  with  watery  eye. 

*  MS. — "  Nobles  leho  monm'd  their  poicrr  restrain'd. 

For  answering  glance  of  sympathy, — 

And  the  poor  burgher's  joys  disdain'd  ; 

But  no  emotion  made  reply  ! 

Dark  chief,  who,  hostage  for  his  clan, 

Indifferent  as  to  vrthnoten        i      .  . 

wif'ht 
Cold  as  to  unknown  yeoman  S       "     ' 

Was  from  his  home  a  banish'd  man. 

IVho  thought  upon  his  own  gray  tower. 

The  king  gare  forth  tJie  arrow  bright." 

The  waving  woods,  his  feudal  bower. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 

And  deora'd  Aim.T«//a  Bhamcful  part 

'  Ibid.  Note  3  T. 

Of  pageant  that  he  cnned  in  heart." 

'  MS.—"  Of  mortal  strength  in  modem  day." 

CANTO  V.                               THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                        227 

XXIV. 

Came  up,  and  with  his  leash  unbound, 

The  vale  with  loud  applauses  rang, 

In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 

The  Ladies'  Rock  sent  back  the  clang. 

— The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn. 

The  luug,  with  look  unmoved,  bestow'd 

Tlie  Ivuig's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 

A  purse  well  fiU'd  with  pieces  broad.' 

And  last,  and  worst  to  spfrit  proud, 

Indignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud, 

Had  borne  tlie  pity  of  the  crowd  ; 

And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd,'' 

But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred. 

Who  now,  with  anxious  wonder,  scan, 

To  share  his  board,  to  watch  liis  bed. 

And  sharper  glance,  the  dark  gray  man  ; 

And  oft  would  EUen  Lufra's  neck 

Till  ~  hispers  rose  among  the  throng. 

In  maiden  glee  with  garlands  deck ; 

That  heart  so  free,  and  hand  so  strong, 

They  were  such  playmates,  that  with  nai£« 

Must  to  the  Douglas  blood  belong ; 

Of  Lufra,  Ellen's  image  came. 

The  old  men  niark'd,  and  shook  the  head. 

His  stifled  wi-ath  is  brmimhig  high, 

To  see  his  hair  with  silver  spread, 

Li  dai-ken'd  brow  and  flashing  eye ; 

And  wink'd  aside,  and  told  each  son, 

As  waves  before  the  bark  divide, 

Of  feats  upon  the  Enghsh  done. 

The  crowd  gave  way  before  liis  stride ; 

Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand' 

Needs  but  a  buffet  and  no  more. 

Was  exiled  from  his  native  land. 

The  groom  hes  senseless  in  liis  gore. 

The  women  praised  liis  stately  form, 

Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 

Though  wreck'd  by  many  a  winter's  storm  ;* 

Though  gaimtleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

The  youth  with  awe  and  wonder  saw 

His  strength  sm-passiug  Nature's  law. 

XXVL 

Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd, 

Then  clamor'd  loud  the  royal  train," 

Till  murmur  rose  to  clamors  loud. 

And  brandish'd  swords  and  staves  amain. 

But  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 

But  stern  the  Baron's  warning — "  Back  1' 

Of  peers  who  circled  round  the  King, 

Back,  on  your  lives,  ye  menial  pack ! 

With  Douglas  held  conmimiion  kind, 

Beware  the  Douglas. — Yes  1  behold. 

Or  call'd  the  bauish'd  man  to  mind  -j^ 

King  James !  the  Douglas,  doom'd  of  old. 

No,  not  from  those  who,  at  the  chase, 

And  vainly  sought  for  near  and  far. 

Once  held  his  side  the  honor'd  place, 

A  victim  to  atone  the  war. 

Begirt  his  board,  and,  m  the  field, 

A  willing  victim,  now  attends, 

Found  safety  miderneath  his  shield ; 

Nor  craves  thy  grace  but  for  liis  friends." — 

For  he,  whom  royal  eyes  disown, 

"  Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid  ? 

When  was  liis  form  to  courtiers  known  I 

Presmiiptuous  Lord !"  the  monarch  said ; 

"  Of  thy  mis-proud  ambitious  clan. 

XXV. 

Thou,  James  of  BothweU,  wert  the  man, 

Tlie  Monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag, 

The  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe 

And  bade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag. 

My  woman-mercy  would  not  know : 

Whose  pride,  the  holiday  to  crown. 

But  shall  a  Monarch's  presence  brook* 

Two  favorite  greyhounds  should  pull  down, 

Injurious  blow,  and  haughty  look  ? — 

That  venison  free,  and  Bordeaux  wine, 

What  ho  !  the  Captain  of  oui"  Guard  1 

Might  serve  the  archery  to  dine. 

Give  the  offender  fitting  ward. — 

But  Lufra, — whom  from  Douglas'  side 

Break  off  the  sports !" — for  tumult  rose. 

Nor  bribe  nor  thi-eat  could  e'er  divide, 

And  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows, — 

The  fleetest  hound  in  aU  the  North, — 

"  Break  off  the  sports !"  he  said,  and  frown'd, 

Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darted  forth. 

"  And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground." 

She  left  the  royal  hounds  mid-way, 

And  dashing  on  the  antler'd  prey. 

XXVIL 

Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  liis  flank. 

Tlien  uproar  wild  and  misarray 

And  deep  the  flowhig  hfe-blood  drank. 

Marr'd  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 

The  Kmg's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 

Tlie  horsemen  prick'd  among  the  crowd. 

By  strange  intruder  broken  short. 

RepeU'd  by  threats  and  insult  loud  ;• 

1  M.S. — "  A  purse  meigh'd  down  with  pieces  broad." 

1  MS. — "  But  stem  the  warrior's  warning — '  Back  !'  " 

2  MS. — "  Scattered  the  gold  among  the  crowd." 
9  MS. — "  Ere  James  of  Dovglas^  stalwart  hand." 
<  MS. — "  Though  worn  by  many  a  winter  storm." 
6  5IS  — "  Or  call'd  his  stately  form  to  mind." 

8  MS. — "  But  in  my  court,  injurious  blow, 

And  bearded  thus,  and  thus  out-dared  ' 
What  ho  !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard  1" 

• 

»  MS. — "  Clamor'd  his  comrades  of  the  train." 

»  MS.—"  Their  threats  repell'd  by  insult  lond." 

228 


SCO'lT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


To  fiuth  are  borne  the  nld  and  weiik. 

Blei«'d  him  who  staid  the  civil  strife  ; 

Tlic  timuruud  fly,  the  women  lOiriek ; 

And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high. 

With  Hint,  with  shaft,  witli  stiilT,  with  bar, 

The  self  devoted  tMiief  to  spy, 

'Hie  ImrtliiT  ur^^e  tumiiltunUM  war. 

Triuinphiuit  over  wrongs  :uid  ire, 

At  once  muml  Douj;hw  thirkly  sweep 

To  whom  t)ie  prattlers  owed  a  sire : 

'I'he  niyiil  .spour.*  in  circK;  th-ep, 

Kveii  the  rough  soldiers  heart  was  moved; 

And  (iliiwly  Hfule  the  piitliwuy  steep; 

As  if  behind  wdne  bier  beloved. 

While  on  the  rear  in  tliunder  pour 

With  trailing  arms  anii  droojiing  head, 

The  rabble  with  di^order'd  roar. 

The  DoiigliLS  up  the  hill  he  led. 

With  ^'rief  the  noble  I)on;,'las  Haw 

And  at  the  Cattle's  battled  verge, 

'llio  Connnons  rise  against  the  law, 

With  sighs  resign'd  his  honor'd  clmrge. 

And  to  the  leading  soldier  sjiid, — 

"Sir  John  of  Hymlford  !  'twiis  my  blade 

XXX. 

That  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid; 

Tlic  ofTended  Monarch  rinle  apart. 

For  that  good  deed,  permit  me  then 

With  bitter  thought  and  swelling  heart, 

A  word  with  these  misguided  mea 

And  would  not  now  vouchs;ife  a'^ain 

Through  ytirling  streets  to  lead  his  train. 

XXVIII. 

"  0  Lennox,  who  would  wish  to  rule 

"  Hear,  gentle  friends  !  ere  yet  for  me, 

This  changeling  crowd,  this  common  ffKil  f 

Ye  break  the  bands  «if  fealty. 

Ib'ar'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  the  loud  acclaim. 

My  life,  my  honor,  and  my  cause, 

With  which  they  shout  the  Dougla-s'  name  t 

I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 

With  like  acclaim,  the  vulgar  throat 

Arc  these  so  weak  as  must  require 

Strain'd  for  King  .James  their  moriiijig  note; 

The  aid  of  your  nii.-»guided  ire  ? 

With  like  iicclaim  they  hail'd  the  day 

Or,  if  I  sufTer  causeless  wrong, 

When  tirst  I  broke  the  Douglas'  sway; 

Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong, 

Anil  like  acclaim  would  Douglaa  greet, 

My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low, 

If  he  could  hurl  me  from  my  seat. 

niat,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe, 

Wlio  o'er  the  herd  would  wi.-^h  to  reign. 

Those  cords  of  love  I  should  unbind. 

Fantastic,  tickle,  tierce,  and  vaiji ! 

Wiich  knit  my  country  and  my  kind » 

Vain  iis  the  leaf  upon  the  stream,* 

Oh  no  !   Believe,  in  yonder  tower 

And  lickle  as  a  changeful  dream; 

It  will  not  soothe  my  captive  hour. 

Fantiistic  :is  a  woman's  mood. 

To  know  tliose  spears  our  foes  should  dread. 

And  fierce  as  I'hrensy's  fever'd  blood. 

For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red ; 

Thou  many-headed  monster  thing," 

To  know,  in  fruitless  brawl  begun, 

0  who  would  wish  to  be  thy  king! 

For  me,  that  mother  waila  her  son ; 

For  me,  that  widow's  mate  expires ; 

XXXI. 

For  me,  that  orphans  weep  their  sires ; 

"  But  soft !  what  messenger  of  speed 

That  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws, 

Spurs  hitherward  his  panting  steed  ? 

And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 

I  guess  his  cognizance  afar — 

0  let  your  patience  ward  such  ill. 

What  from  our  cousin.  John  of  Mar?" — 

And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still !" 

'■  He  prays,  my  liege,  your  sports  keep  bound 

Within  the  safe  and  guarded  ground: 

XXIX. 

For  some  foul  purpose  yet  unknown, — 

Tlie  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  iigain* 

Most  sun-  for  evil  lo  the  tluHme, — 

In  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain. 

The  outlaw'd  Chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 

Witli  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  pray'd 

Ilius  summon'd  his  rebcllio\is  crew; 

For  bles.sings  on  his  generous  head, 

'Tis  said,  in  James  of  Bothwell's  aid 

\Mio  for  his  country  felt  alone. 

These  loose  banditti  stand  array "d. 

And  prized  her  blood  beyond  his  own. 

The  Earl  of  Mar,  this  niorii,  from  Donne, 

Old  men,  upon  the  vcrcre  of  life, 

To  break  their  muster  march'd.  and  soon 

'  MS. — "The  cro\vir»  wild  I'ary  tliliM  iiinain 

Which  wouhl  incryase  U\»  evil,     lie  that  depends 

In  lean,  an  leinpesu  miik  in  rain." 

Upuii  your  favor-i.  s\vim<'  with  finii  ot'li-ad. 

*  M.-5. — "  Vain  as  the  »ick  m»n'»  iille  ilream." 

And  hews  downoak»  with  rushefi.     Hang  ye!     Trnst  yel 

VVtih  cverv  miiiuttr  you  do  chatt^e  a  mind  ; 

» "  VVlio  ilc«crvR«  ••ri-alncss. 

Anil  call  him  noble,  that  WiV"  now  your  hate, 

l)e*erj°»  jour  hale  ;  and  your  atVeciions  are 

Him  vile  that  w.-u  your  garland." 

A  Bck  man's  aiiii<?tite,  »bo  dejires  mo«l  thai 

Coriolanus,  Act.  I.  Beta*  I. 

I 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


229 


You^  grace  will  bear  of  battle  fouglit ; 
But  earnestly  the  Earl  besought, 
Till  for  such  danger  he  provide, 
With  scanty  train  you  will  not  ride." — ' 

XXXII. 
"  Tliou  warn'st  me  I  have  done  amiss, — 
I  should  have  earlier  look'd  to  this : 
I  lost  it  in  tliis  bustling  day. 
— Retrace  with  speed  thj'  former  way ; 
Spare  not  for  spoiling  of  thy  steed. 
The  best  of  mine  shaU  be  thy  meed. 
Say  to  our  faithful  Lord  of  Mar, 
We  do  forbid  the  intended  war  : 
Roderick,  tliis  morn,  in  single  fight. 
Was  made  our  prisoner  by  a  knight ; 
And  Douglas  hath  himself  and  cause 
Submitted  to  our  kingdom's  laws. 
Tlie  tidings  of  their  leaders  lost 
Will  soon  dissolve  the  mountain  host, 
Nor  would  we  that  the  vulgar  feel. 
For  their  Chief's  crimes,  avenging  steeL 
Bear  Mar  our  message,  Braco :  fly  !" 
He  tm'n'd.  his  steed, — "  My  liege,  I  hie, — ■ 
Yet,  ere  I  cross  this  lily  lawn, 
I  fear  the  broadswords  will  be  drawn." 
The  turf  the  flying  courser  spurn'd. 
And  to  his  towers  the  King  retm-n'd. 

XXXIII. 

Ill  with  King  James's  mood  that  day 
Suited  gay  feast  and  minstrel  lay ; 
Soon  were  dismiss'd  the  courtly  throng, 
And  soon  cut  short  the  festal  song. 
Nor  less  upon  the  sadden'd  town 
The  evening  sunk  in  sorrow  down. 
The  burghers  spoke  of  civil  jar, 
Of  rumor'd  feuds  and  mountain  war. 
Of  Moray,  Mar,  and  Roderick  Dhu, 
All  up  in  arms : — the  Douglas  too, 
Tlicy  mo\u-n'd  him  pent  within  the  hold, 
"  Where   stout  Earl   William  was   of 

old"—'' 
And  there  his  word  the  speaker  staid. 
And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid. 
Or  pointed  to  his  dagger  blade. 
But  jaded  horsemen,  from  the  west. 
At  evening  to  the  Castle  press'd ; 
And  busy  talkers  said  they  bore 
Tidings  of  fight  on  Katrme's  shore  ; 
At  noon  the  deadly  fray  begun. 
And  lasted  tiU  the  set  of  sun. 
Thus  giddy  rumor  shook  the  town, 
Till  closed,  the  Night  her  pennons  brown. 

1  MS. — "  On  distant  chase  you  will  not  ride." 
*  Stabbed  by  James  II.  in  Stirling  Castle. 


®l)c  £abj)  of  tlje  Cake. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


STjje  (SuarU^Hoom. 


The  sun,  awakenmg,  through  the  smoky  air 

Of  the  dark  city  casts  a  sullen  glance, 
Rousing  each  cititiff  to  liis  task  of  care, 

Of  sinful  man  the  sad  inheritance ; 
Summoning  revellers  from  tlie  lagging  dance, 

Scaring  the  prowling  robber  to  his  den ; 
Gilding  on  battled  tower  the  warder's  lance. 

And  warning  student  pale  to  leave  his  pen. 
And  yield  his  drowsy  eyes  to  the  kind  nurse  of 
men. 

What  various  scenes,  and,  0  !  what  scenes  of  woe, 

Are  witness'd  by  that  red  and  struggling  beam  1 
Tlie  fever'd  patient,  from  his  pallet  low, 

Through  crowded  hospital  beholds  it  stream ; 
The  ruin'd  maiden  trembles  at  its  gleam, 

The  debtor  wakes  to  thought  of  gyve  and  jail. 
The  love-lorn  wretch  starts    from   tormenting 
dream ; 

The  wakeful  mother,  by  the  glimmering  pale, 
Trims   her  sick  infimt's  couch,  and  soothes  his 
feeble  wail. 

II. 

At  dawn  the  towers  of  Stirlmg  rang 

With  soldier-step  and  weapon-clang. 

While  drmus,  with  rolling  note,  foretell 

Relief  to  weary  sentinel. 

Tlu-ough  narrow  loop  and  casement  barr'd,' 

The  simbeams  sought  the  Court  of  Guard, 

And,  struggling  with  the  smoky  air, 

Deaden'd  the  torches'  yellow  glare. 

In  comfortless  alliance  shone* 

The  lights  through  arch  of  blacken'd  stone, 

And  show'd  wild  shapes  in  garb  of  war. 

Faces  deform'd  with  beard  and  scar. 

All  haggard  from  the  midnight  watch. 

And  fever'd  with  the  stern  debauch ; 

For  the  oak  table's  massive  boai'd. 

Flooded  with  wine,  with  fragments  stored, 

And  beakers  drain'd,  and  cups  o'ertln-own, 

Show'd  in  what  sport  the  night  had  flown, 

Some,  weary,  snored  on  floor  and  bencli ; 

Some  labor'd  still  their  thirst  to  quench ; 

Some,  cliill'd  with  watclihig,  spread  their  hands 

O'er  the  huge  chinmey's  dying  brands, 

3  MS. — "  Thronjfh  blaeken'd  arch  and  oascment  barr'd." 
*  MS. — "  The  ligh'.s  in  strange  alliance  .shone 

Beneath  the  arch  of  blacken'd  stone." 


2no 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


Wliile  round  them,  or  beside  them  flung, 
At  uvcy  stop  tlu'ir  liariiess  runjj. 

HI. 
Ilio-^c  drew  not  for  tlu-ir  fifld»  the  sword, 
1  Jkc  ti'niint-s  of  n  ffudid  lord, 
Nor  (iwii'd  thi<  ]iiitri:trt')iiil  i-hiiin 
Of  Cliieftiiiii  in  tlicir  Ii-udcr'-H  iiaino  ; 
Advonturers  tliey,  from  fur  wlio  roved. 
To  hve  hy  )Kittlo  which  tli.  y  hived.' 
There  tiie  Italiiiii'.-<  ehuidcd  fiiee. 
The  swarthy  Hjianiard's  tlierc  you  trace ; 
Tlie  inouMtaiii-ldving  Switzor  there 
^h)re  freely  breatlied  in  mountain-air: 
'ilie  Fleming  there  despised  the  soil 
That  paid  so  ill  the  lalxiror's  toil; 
llieir  rolls  show'd  French  and  German  name ; 
And  merry  England's  exiles  came, 
To  share,  with  ill-conccal'd  disdain, 
Of  Scotland's  pay  the  scanty  gain. 
All  brave  in  arms,  well  train'd  to  wield 
Tlic  lioavy  halberd,  brand,  and  shield ; 
In  camps  licentious,  wild,  and  bold  ; 
In  pillage  fierce  and  uncontroll'd  ; 
And  now,  by  holytide  and  feast, 
From  rules  of  discipline  released. 

IV. 

Tliey  held  debate  of  bloody  fray, 
Fought  'twixt  Lock  Katrine  and  Achray. 
Fierce  was  their  speech,  and,  'mid  their  words, 
Tlieir  hands  oft  grappled  to  their  swords  ; 
Nor  sunk  their  tone  to  spare  the  ear 
Of  wounded  comrades  groaning  near. 
Whose  mangled  limbs,  and  bodies  gored, 
Bure  token  of  the  mountain  sword. 
Though,  neighboring  to  the  Court  of  Guard, 
Tlieir  prayers  and  feverish  wails  were  heard ; 
Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  joke. 
And  savage  oath  by  fury  spoke  ! — ^   - 
At  length  up  started  John  of  Brent, 
A  yeoman  from  the  banks  of  Trent ; 
A  stranger  to  respect  or  fear, 
In  peace  a  chaser  of  the  deer, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U. 

a  MS.—"  Sad  bnrdcn  to  the  radian  je»t. 

And  rude  oailis  vented  by  the  rest." 

'  Bacchanalian  interjection,  borrowed  from  the  Dutch. 

•  "The  greatest  blemish  in  the  poem,  is  the  ribaldry  and 
(lull  vii!g;iri(y  which  is  put  into  the  moulhs  of  the  soldiery  in 
the  guard-room.  Mr.  Scott  has  condescended  to  write  a  song 
for  them,  which  will  be  read  with  pain,  we  are  persuaded, 
even  by  his  warmest  admirers ;  and  his  whole  gcnins,  and 
even  his  power  of  versification,  seems  to  desert  him  when  he 
attempts  to  re|)eat  iheir  con^<•^'ation.  Here  is  some  of  the 
stuff  which  has  dropped,  in  this  inauspiiious  attempt,  from 
the  pen  of  one  of  the  firrt  of  poets  of  his  age  or  country,"  &c. 
tc. — Jkffrev. 


In  host  a  hardy  mutineer. 

But  still  the  Ixihlest  of  the  crew. 

When  deed  of  dimger  was  to  do. 

He  grieved,  that  day,  their  games  cut  nhort, 

And  niarr'd  the  dieer's  brawling  sport, 

And  sliouted  loud,  "  Renew  the  bowl! 

And,  wliile  a  merry  catch  I  troll. 

Let  eaeli  the  bii.\<>m  chorus  bear, 

Dke  brethren  of  the  brand  and  spear." 


JSoIt)frr'.q  Sonfl. 
Our  vicar  still  preaehes  that  I'eter  and  Poide 
Laid  a  swinging  long  curse  on  the;  Ixjiuiy  brown 

bowl, 
lliat   there's  wrath  and  despair    in   the  jolly 

black-jack. 
And  the  seven  deadly  sins  in  a  flagon  of  sack ; 
Yet  whoop,  Barnaby  !  off  with  thy  liquor. 
Drink  upsees'  out,  and  a  fig  fur  the  vicar ! 

Our  vicar  he  rails  it  damnation  to  sip 
Tlie  ripe  ruddy  dew  r>f  a  woman's  dear  lip. 
Says,  that  Beelzebub  lurks  in  her  kerchief  so  sly 
And  ApoUyon  shoots  darts  from  her  merry  black 

eye; 
Yet  whoop.  Jack  !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker. 
Till  she  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar  ! 

Our  vicar  thus  preaches — and  why  should  he  not  1 
For  tlie  dues  of  his  cure  are  the  placket  and  pot ; 
And  'tis  right  of  his  office  poor  laymen  to  lurch. 
Who  infringe  the  domains  of  our  good  Mother 

Chiu-ch. 
Yet  whoop,  bully-boys !  off  with  your  liquor. 
Sweet  Marjorie's  the  word,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar. 

VL 

Tlie  warder's  challenge,  heard  without, 
Staid  in  mid-roar  the  merry  shout. 
A  soldier  to  the  portal  went, — 
"  Here  is  old  Bertram,  sirs,  of  Ghent ; 
And, — beat  for  jubilee  the  drum  I 
A  maid  and  minstrel  with  him  come." 


"  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  is  said  to  be  inferior,  a-s  a  poem,  to 
Walter  Scott's  former  productions,  but  really  one  hardly 
knows  how  to  examine  such  compoxllions  as  poems.  All 
that  one  can  look  for  is  to  find  beautiful  passages  in  them, 
and  1  own  that  there  are  some  parts  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 
which  please  me  more  than  any  thing  in  Walter  Scott's  foi^ 
mcr  poems.  He  h.i3  a  great  deal  of  imagination,  and  ir*  cer- 
tainly a  very  skilful  painter.  The  meeting  between  nouglas 
and  his  daughter,  the  King  descending  from  Stirling  Caille  to 
assist  at  the  festival  of  the  townsmen  (though  borrowed  in  a 
considerable  degree  from  Dryden's  Pnlnvion  and  Jlrcitt),  and 
the  gnard-room  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  canto,  all  show 
extraordinary  powers  of  description.  If  he  wrote  less  aiid 
more  carefully,  he  would  be  a  very  considerable  poet." — .Si,* 
Samitel  Romillt,  {Oct.  1810.]— /^,»/f,  vol.  ii.  p.  342. 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


231 


Bertram,  a  Fleming,  gray  and  scarr'd, 

"Was  entering  now  the  Coui't  of  Guard, 

A  harper  with  liim,  and  in  plaid, 

All  muffled  close,  a  mountain  maid, 

Who  baclrward  shrunk  to  'scape  the  view 

Of  the  loose  scene  and  boisterous  crew. 

"  What  news  ?"  they  roar'd. — "  I  only  know, 

From  noon  till  eve  we  fought  with  foe, 

As  wild  and  as  mitameable 

As  the  rude  mountahis  where  they  dwell ; 

On  both  sides  store  of  blood  is  lost, 

'Nor  much  success  can  either  boast." — 

"  But  whence  thy  captives,  friend  ?  such  spoil 

As  theirs  must  needs  reward  thy  toil.' 

Old  dost  thou  wax,  and  wars  grow  sharp ; 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp ! 

Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land. 

The  leader  of  a  juggler  band." — * 

VII. 

"No,  comrade ; — no  such  fortune  mine. 

After  the  fight  these  sought  our  Une, 

That  aged  harper  and  the  girl, 

And,  having  audience  of  the  Earl, 

Mar  bade  I  should  pmvey  them  steed. 

And  bring  them  hitherward  with  speed. 

Forbear  your  mirth  and  rude  alarm. 

For  none  shall  do  them  shame  or  harm." — 

"  Hear  ye  liis  boast  ?"  cried  John  of  Brent, 

Ever  to  strife  and  jangling  bent ; 

"  Shall  he  strike  doe  beside  our  lodge, 

And  yet  the  jealous  niggard  grudge 

To  pay  the  forester  his  fee  ? 

I'll  have  my  share,  howe'er  it  be. 

Despite  of  Moray,  Mar,  or  thee." 

Bertram  his  forward  step  withstood  f 

And,  burning  in  liis  vengeful  mood. 

Old  Allan,  though  unfit  for  strife. 

Laid  hand  upon  his  dagger-knife  ; 

But  Ellen  boldly  stepped  between. 

And  dropp'd  at  once  the  tartan  screen : — 

So,  from  his  morning  cloud,  appears 

The  sun  of  May,  through  summer  tears. 

The  savage  soldiery,  amazed,* 

As  on  descended  angel  gazed ; 

Even  hardy  Brent,  abash'd  and  tamed, 

Stood  half  admirmg,  half  ashamed. 

VIII. 

Boldly  she  spoke, — "  Soldiers,  attend ! 
My  father  was  the  soldier's  friend  ; 

1  The  MS.  reads  after  tliis  :— 

"  Get  thee  an  ape,  and  then  at  once 
Thou  mayst  renounce  the  wariler's  lance, 
And  trudge  through  horough  and  through  land, 
Thi;  leader  of  a  juggler  hand." 

'  See  Api  endix,  Note  '.i  V 


Cheer'd  him  in  camps,  in  marches  led, 

And  with  him  in  the  battle  bled. 

Not  from  the  vahant,  or  the  strong, 

Should  exile's  daughter  suffer  wrong." — * 

Answer'd  De  Brent,  most  fonvard  still 

In  every  feat  or  good  or  ill, — 

"  I  shame  me  of  the  part  I  play'd : 

And  thou  an  outlaw's  child,  poor  maid ! 

An  outlaw  I  by  forest  laws, 

And  merry  Needwood  knows  the  cause. 

Poor  Rose, — if  Rose  be  living  now," — * 

He  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow, — 

"  Must  bear  such  age,  I  think,  as  thou. — 

Hear  ye,  my  mates  ; — I  go  to  call 

Tlie  Captain  of  our  watch  to  hall : 

There  lies  my  halberd  on  the  floor ; 

And  he  that  steps  my  halberd  o'er, 

To  do  the  maid  injtirious  part, 

My  shaft  shall  quiver  in  his  heart ! — 

Beware  loose  speech,  or  jesting  rough : 

Ye  all  know  John  de  Brent.     Enough," 

IX. 

Their  Captain  came,  a  gallant  yoimg — 

(Of  Tullibardine's  house  he  sprimg), 

Nor  wore  he  yet  the  spurs  of  knight ; 

Gay  was  his  mien,  his  hmnor  hght. 

And,  though  by  courtesy  controU'd, 

Forward  liis  speech,  liis  bearing  bold. 

Tlie  high-born  maiden  ill  could  brook 

The  scanning  of  his  curious  look 

And  datmtless  eye ; — and  yet,  in  sooth, 

Yoimg  Lewis  was  a  generous  youth ; 

But  EUen's  lovely  face  and  mien, 

HI  suited  to  the  garb  and  scene, 

Might  hghtly  bear  construction  strange, 

And  give  loose  fancy  scope  to  range. 

"  Welcome  to  Stirling  towers,  fan*  maid  ! 

Come  ye  to  sgek  a  champion's  aid, 

On  palfrey  white,  with  harper  hoar, 

Like  errant  damosel  of  yore  ? 

Does  thy  liigh  quest  a  knight  reqinre. 

Or  may  the  venture  suit  a  squhe  ?" — 

Her  dark  eye  flash'd  ; — she  paused  and  sigh'd- 

"  0  what  have  I  to  do  with  pride  ? — 

Through  scenes  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  strife, 

A  suppliant  for  a  father's  life, 

I  crave  an  audience  of  the  King. 

Behold,  to  back  my  suit,  a  ring, 

The  royal  pledge  of  grateful  claims, 

Given  by  the  Monarch  to  Fitz-James.'" 

s  MS.— "  Bertram  5    '"^   <  violence  withstood." 
' such  ' 

*  MS. — "  While  the  rude  soldiery,  amazed." 

'  MS. — "  Should  Ellen  Douglas  sufl'er  wrong." 

'i  MS. — "  '  My  Rose,' — he  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow 

'  Poor  Rose, — if  Rose  he  living  now.'  " 

'  MS. — "  The  Monarch  gave  to  James  Fitz-Jame*    ' 


23^                                     SCOrrS  poetical  works.                            c^nto  vl 

X. 

"  Wo  Southern  men,  of  long  descent ; 

TIjc  .signet  ring  youug  Lcwi^j  took, 

Nor  wot  we  how  a  name — a  worJ — 

Willi  dctp  rt-spect  anil  lUturM  look; 

MiJicH  clansmen  vas-sals  to  a  lorJ : 

Aiul  wiiJ, — "Tliis  ring  our  Julius  own  ; 

Yet  kind  my  imble  landlnnrs  part, — 

Ami  j)arJun,  if  to  worth  unknown, 

Ood  ble.^s  the  liiiuse  of  Beaudes^ert  1 

111  .Hfiiibliinoo  inuiui  <ib:4curily  vuilM, 

And,  but  I  loved  to  drive  the  deer, 

l.Ady,  in  uught  my  fully  fiiil'il. 

More  than  to  guide  the  laboring  steer, 

SiKin  iia  tlio  Jay  flings  wiJe  Im  galea, 

I  had  not  dwelt  lui  outcjist  here. 

The  King  i-hall  know  wlmt  suitor  wiiita. 

Cume,  goiMl  old  Minstrel,  follow  me; 

rk'!i.se  you,  mciuiwliili',  in  lilting  bower 

Thy  Lord  and  Chieftain  ^'halt  ihuu  sec." 

UejKJSo  you  till  IJd  waking  hour  ; 

Fiiiialr  attonJiuico  shall  obey 

XII. 

Y.'ui  l.r.-t,  for  service  or  array. 

llien,  from  a  rusted  iron  hook, 

Permit  I  marshal  you  the  way." 

A  bunch  of  ponderous  keys  he  took, 

But,  ore  she  foUoweJ,  with  the  grace 

Lighted  a  torcli,  and  Allan  led 

AnJ  i>j)en  bounty  of  her  race, 

llirough  grated  ari-h  and  pass:igc  dread. 

She  baJe  her  slcnJer  purse  be  shared 

Portals  tliey  pass'd,  where,  deep  within. 

Among  the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

Spoke  pri.'ioner's  moan,  and  fetters'  din  ; 

Tlio  rest  with  thanks  their  guerJon  took ; 

Through  rugged  vault.s,''  where,  loosely  stoied. 

But  Brent,  with  sliy  and  awkward  look, 

Lay  wheel,  and  axe,  and  headsman's  sword. 

On  tlie  reluctant  maiden's  liold 

And  many  an  hideous  engine  grim, 

Forced  bluntly  back  the  proflfer'd  gold  ; — 

For  wrenching  joint,  and  cru.-iliing'  limb. 

"  Forgive  a  haughty  English  heart. 

By  artist  form'd,  who  deem'd  it  sliame 

And  0  forget  its  ruder  part ! 

And  .-in  to  give  their  work  a  name. 

'Hie  vacant  purse  shall  be  my  share,* 

They  halted  at  a  low-brow'd  porch. 

"Which  in  my  barret-cap  Til  bear, 

And  Brent  to  Allan  gave  the  torch. 

Perchance,  in  jeopardy  of  war, 

"VS'hile  bolt  and  chain  he  backward  roll'd, 

Where  gayer  crests  may  keep  afar." 

Aud  made  the  bar  luihasp  its  hold. 

"With  tluuiks — 'twas  all  she  could — the  maid 

lliey  enter'd : — 'twas  a  prison-room 

llis  rugged  courtesy  repaid. 

Of  stern  security  and  gloom. 

Yet  not  a  dungeon  ;  for  the  day 

XI. 

Through  lofty  gratings  found  its  way, 

W  hen  Ellen  forth  with  Lewis  went, 

And  rude  and  antiq'ue  garniture 

Allan  made  suit  to  John  of  Brent : — 

Dcck'd  the  sad  walls  and  oaken  floor  ,* 

"  My  lady  safe,  0  let  your  grace 

Such  as  the  rugged  days  of  old 

Give  me  to  see  my  master's  face  ! 

Deem'd  fit  for  captive  noble's  hold. 

His  mmstrel  I, — to  share  liis  doom 

"  Here,"  said  De  Brent,  "  thou  mayst  remain* 

Bound  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 

Till  the  Leech  visit  him  again. 

Tenth  in  descent,  since  first  my  sires 

Strict  is  his  charge,  the  warders  tell. 

"Waked  for  liis  noble  house  their  lyres, 

To  tend  the  noble  pri.soner  well." 

Nor  one  of  all  the  race  was  known 

Retiring  then,  the  bolt  he  drew. 

But  prized  its  weal  above  their  own. 

And  the  lock's  murmurs  growl'd  anew. 

"With  the  Chief's  birth  begins  our  cai-e  ; 

Roused  at  the  sound,  from  lowly  bed 

Our  harp  must  soothe  the  infant  heir. 

A  captive  feebly  raised  his  head  ; 

Teach  the  youth  talcs  of  fight,  and  grace 

The  wondering  Minstrel  look'd,  and  knew— 

His  earliest  feat  of  field  or  chase ; 

Not  llis  dear  lord,  but  Roderick  Dhu  I 

In  peace,  in  war,  our  rank  we  keep. 

For,  come  from  where  Clan-Aljiine  fought, 

We  cheer  hLs  board,  we  soothe  liis  sleep. 

They,  erring,  deem'd  the  Chief  he  sought. 

Ni>r  leave  him  till  we  pour  our  verse — 

A  doleful  tribute  ! — o'er  liis  hearse. 

XIIL 

Then  let  me  share  liia  captive  lot ; 

As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore 

It  is  my  right — deny  it  not !" — 

Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 

"  Little  we  reck,"  said  John  of  Brent, 

Deserted  by  her  g;dlant  band. 

'  MS. — "  The  silken  pnrae  shall  scn-e  for  me. 

»  MS. "  Then  mayst  remain 

And  ill  my  harret-cap  ahall  flee." 

And  then,  retiring,  bolt  and  chain, 

»  MS.—"  J.ia  broad  vaulU." 

And  rusty  liar,  lie  drew  a^ain. 

•  MS.—"  Slr-.tMng."          *  MS.-"  Flinty  floor." 

Roused  at  the  sound,"  Sic. 

CANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


233 


Amid  the  breakers  lies  astrand, — 

So,  on  his  couch,  lay  Roderick  Dhu ! 

And  oft  liis  fever'd  limbs  he  threw 

In  toss  abrupt,  as  wlien  her  sides 

Lie  rocking  in  the  advancing  tides, 

Tliat  shake  her  frame  with  ceaseless  beat, 

Yet  cannot  lieave  her  from  her  seat ; — 

0  !  how  unlike  her  course  at  sea !' 
Or  his  free  step  on  liill  and  lea  ! — 
Soon  as  tlie  Minstrel  he  could  scan, 

"  What  of  thy  lady  ?— of  my  clan  ?— 

My  mother  ? — Douglas  ? — teU  me  all ! 

Have  tliey  been  ruin'd  hi  my  fall  ? 

Ah,  yes  !  or  wherefore  art  thou  here  ? 

Yet  speak, — speak  boldly, — do  not  fear." — 

(For  Allan,  who  his  mood  well  knew. 

Was  choked  with  gi-ief  and  terror  too.) — 

"  Wlio  fought — who  fled  ?— Old  man,  be  brief;— 

Some  might — for  they  had  lost  their  Cliief. 

Who  basely  live  ? — who  bravely  died  ?" — 

"  0,  calm  thee,  Chief !"  the  Minstrel  cried, 

"  EUeu  is  safe."—"  For  that,  thank  Heaven  I"— 

"  And  hopes  are  for  the  Douglas  given ; — 

The  Lady  Margaret,  too,  is  well ; 

And,  for  thy  clan, — on  field  or  fell, 

Has  never  harp  of  minstrel  told,' 

Of  combat  fought  so  true  and  bold. 

Thy  stately  Pine  is  yet  unbent. 

Though  many  a  goodly  bough  is  rent." 

XIV. 
The  Chieftain  rear'd  his  form  on  high, 
And  fever's  fire  was  in  liis  eye  ; 
But  ghastly,  pale,  and  livid  streaks 
Checker'd  his  swarthy  brow  and  cheeks. 
— "  Hiu'k,  IVIinstrel !  I  have  heard  thee  play, 
With  measure  bold,  on  festal  day, 
In  yon  lone  isle, . .  .  again  where  ne'er 
Shall  harper  play,  or  warrior  hear  !  . . . 
That  stirring  an*  that  peals  on  high, 
O'er  Dermid's  race  om-  victory. — 
Strike  it  I^ — and  then  (for  well  thou  canst), 
Free  from  thy  minstrel-spirit  glanced, 
Fling  me  the  picture  of  the  fight, 
When  met  my  clan  the  Saxon  might. 
I'll  hsten,  tOl  my  fancy  hears 
The  clang  of  swords,  the  crash  of  spears ! 
These  grates,  these  walls,  sliaU  vauish  then, 
For  the  fair  field  of  fighting  men. 
And  my  free  spu-it  biu-st  away, 
As  if  it  soiu-'d  from  battle  fray." 
The  trembUng  Bard  with  awe  obey'd, — 
Slow  on  the  harp  his  hand  he  laid  ; 
But  soon  remembrance  of  the  sight 

1  MS. — "  Oh  !  liow  unlike  her  course  on  main  ! 

Or  his  tree  step  on  hill  ami  plain  !" 

2  MS. — "  Sliall  never  harp  of  minstrel  tell, 

30 


He  witness'd  from  the  mountain's  height, 
Witli  what  old  Bertram  toid  at  night,* 
Awaken'd  the  full  power  of  song. 
And  bore  him  in  career  along ; — 
As  shallop  laimch'd  on  river's  tide, 
That  slow  and  fearful  leaves  the  side. 
But,  when  it  feels  the  middle  stream, 
Drives  downward  swift  as  lightning's  beant 

XV. 

aSattle  oE  aScal'  an  33uinc.* 

"  Tlie  ilinstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of  Benvenue, 
For,  ere  he  parted,  he  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch  Achray — 
Wliere  shall  he  find,  in  foreign  land, 
So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand ! 
There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  fern, 

K"or  ripple  on  the  lake. 
Upon  her  eyry  nods  the  erne. 

The  deer  has  sought  the  brake  ; 
The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still, 
So  darkly  glooms  yon  thunder  cloud, 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  pm-ple  shroud, 

Benledi's  distant  hill. 
Is  it  the  thunder's  solemn  soimd 
That  mutters  deep  and  dread, 
Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 

The  warrior's  measm-ed  tread? 
Is  it  the  hghtuing's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  streams. 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lance 
The  sun's  retiring  beams  ? 
— I  see  the  dagger-crest  of  Mar, 
I  see  the  Moray's  silver  star, 
Wave  o'er  the  cloud  of  Saxon  war. 
That  up  the  lake  comes  winding  far ! 
To  hero  bound  for  battle-strife. 

Or  bard  of  martial  lay, 
'Twere  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life. 
One  glance  at  thek  array  1 

XVL 

"  Their  light-arm'd  archers  far  and  near 

Smwey'd  the  tangled  groimd. 
Their  centre  ranks,  with  pike  and  spear 

A  twilight  forest  frown'd. 
Their  barbed  horsemen,  in  the  rear. 

The  stern  battalia  crown' d. 
No  cymbal  clash'd,  no  clarion  rang. 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum ; 
Save  heavj'  tread,  and  armor's  clang, 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 


Of  combat  fought  so  fierce  »nd  well.' 
s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  \V.        <  The  MS.  b&s  not  this  Una 
s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 


234 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


There  breathed  no  wiiul  thi-ir  crests  to  shjikc, 

Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 

Or  wave  thfir  flags  abroad  , 

Was  bnindlshing  like  bemn  of  light. 

Scarce  the  frail  as|R'n  «eem'd  to  ijuiiko, 

KuL'h  targe  was  dark  b«'li>w  ; 

Tliat  ."hiidKw'il  u'er  their  road. 

And  with  tlie  ocean's  mighty  »wing, 

Their  vaward  i«couts  no  tidings  bring, 

■Wlien  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing, 

Can  rouse  no  hirking  foe, 

Tlu-y  Imrl'd  them  on  the  foe. 

Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  tiling. 

I  heard  the  hmce's  .-hivering  criwh. 

Save  when  they  stirr'd  the  roc ; 

As  when  Uie  whirlwind  rends  the  ash, 

Tlie  host  moves,  like  a  dee|)-sea  Af  wo. 

I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clung. 

"Where  rise  no  roiks  its  jirido  to  brave, 

As  if  iiu  hundred  anvils  rang  ! 

High-swelling,  dark,  and  slow. 

But  Moray  wheel'd  liis  rearward  rank 

Tlie  lake  is  pass'd,  and  now  they  gain 

Of  horsemen  on  Clan-Al])iiie'»  flank. 

A  niirrow  and  a  broken  plain. 

— '  My  bjmner-nuui,  advimce  ! 

Ik-fore  the  Trosach's  rugged  jaws; 

I  see,'  he  cried, '  their  column  shake. — 

And  lure  the  horse  luid  8j)earmen  pause, 

Now,  gallants!  for  your  ladies'  sake, 

Wliile,  to  exjjlure  the  dangerous  glen, 

Upon  them  with  the  lance !' 

Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

Tlie  horsemen  dash'd  among  the  rout, 

As  deer  break  tlirough  the  broom ; 

XVII. 

Tlieir  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out, 

'•  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 

They  so<jn  make  Ughtsome  nxim. 

Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell. 

Clan-Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne — 

As  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  that  feU, 

\ATicre,  where  was  Roderick  then ! 

Had  poal'd  the  banner-cry  of  hell ! 

One  blast  up(jn  his  bugle-horn 

Forth  from  the  pass  in  tunmlt  driven, 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men ! 

Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 

And  refluent  through  the  p.oss  of  fear* 

Tlie  archery  appear ; 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 

For  life  !  for  life  1  then:  plight  they  ply — 

Vanish'd  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear. 

And  ghriek,  and  .shout,  and  battle-cry, 

Yanish'd  the  mountain-sword. 

And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high, 

As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep, 

And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 

Receives  her  roaring  lixm. 

Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 

As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race, 

Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in, 

Pursuers  and  pursued ; 

So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 

Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase. 

Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass : 

How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place, 

None  linger  now  upon  the  plain. 

The  spearmen's  twilight  wood  ? — 

Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  tight  agaia 

'  Down,  down,'  cried  Mar, '  your  lances  down ! 

Bear  back  both  fi-iend  and  foe !' — 

XIX. 

T.ike  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown. 

"  Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din, 

That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

Tliat  deep  and  doubling  pass  within, 

At  once  lay  levell'd  low ; 

— Minstrel,  away,  the  work  of  fate* 

And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side, 

Is  bearing  on :  its  issue  wait. 

Tlie  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide. — * 

"Where  the  rude  Trosach's  dread  defile 

'  We'll  quell  the  savage  mountaineer, 

Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isle. — 

As  their  TincheP  cows  the  game ! 

Gray  Benvenue  I  soon  repa-ss'd. 

They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer, 

Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  me  cast. 

We'll  drive  them  back  as  tame.* — 

The  sun  Is  set ; — the  clou<ls  are  met, 

The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven 

XVITI 

An  inky  view  of  vivid  blue 

"  Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course, 

To  the  deep  lake  has  given ; 

Tlie  relics  of  the  archer  force, 

Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain-glen 

Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkling  foam, 

Swept  o'er  the  lake,  then  sunk  agen. 

Kight  onward  did  Clan-Alpine  come. 

I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 

'  Tlie  MS.  lias  not  this  conplet. 

•  MS. — "  And  rcflncnt  down  the  darksome  pan 

'  A  circle  of  sportsmen,  wlio.  by  snrronndinj  a  preat  space, 

The  battle's  tide  w.os  pour'd  ; 

and  gradually  narrowing,  brooght  immense  qnantities  of  deer 

There  toil'd  the  siiearinan's  utrugiL'ling  apear 

together,  which  usually  made  desperate  efforts  to  break  through 

There  raged  the  mountain  aword." 

'he  Tinchet. 

«  M3.— "  Away  !  away  !  the  work  of  fate  !" 

iANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


235 


Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Trosacli's  gorge, 
Mine  ear  but  heard  the  sullen  somid, 
Which  like  an  earthquake  shook  the  ground, 
And  spoke  the  stern  and  des2:)erate  strife 
That  parts  not  but  with  parting  hfe,* 
Seeming,  to  nimstrel  ear,  to  toll* 
Tlie  dirge  of  many  a  passing  soul. 
Nearer  it  comes — the  dim-wood  glen 
The  martial  flood  disgorged  agen, 

But  not  in  mingled  tide  ; 
The  plaided  warriors  of  the  North 
High  on  the  mountain  tlnmder  forth 

And  overhang  its  side  ; 
While  by  the  lake  below  appears 
The  dark'ning  cloud  of  Saxon  spears.' 
At  weary  bay  each  shatter'd  band. 
Eyeing  their  foemen,  sternly  stand ; 
Tlieir  banners  stream  like  tatter'd  sail. 
That  flings  its  fragments  to  tlie  gale. 
And  broken  arms  and  disarray 
Mark'd  the  fell  havoc  of  the  day. 

XX. 

"  Viewing  the  moimtain's  ridge  askance. 
The  Saxon  stood  in  sullen  trance. 
Till  Moray  pointed  witli  liis  lance. 

And  cried — '  Behold  yon  isle  ! — 
See !  none  are  left  to  guard  its  strand. 
But  women  weak,  that  wring  the  hand : 
'Tis  there  of  yore  the  robber  band 

Theu  booty  wont  to  pile  ; — 
My  purse,  with  bonnet-pieces  store. 
To  him  wiU  swim  a  bow-shot  o'er, 
And  loose  a  snallop  from  the  shore. 
Lightly  we'll  tame  the  war- wolf  then, 
Lords  of  his  mate,  and  brood,  and  den.' 
Forth  from  the  ranks  a  spearman  sprimg, 
On  earth  his  casque  and  corslet  rung, 

He  plunged  him  in  the  wave  ;— 
All  saw  the  deed — the  piu-pose  knew, 
And  to  their  clamors  Benvenue 

A  mingled  echo  gave  ; 
Tlie  Saxons  shout,  tlieir  mate  to  cheer. 
The  helpless  females  scream  for  fear, 
And  yells  for  rage  the  moimtaineer. 
'Twas  then,  as  by  the  outcry  riven, 
Pour'd  down  at  once  the  lowering  heaven ; 
A  wliirlwind  swept  Loch  Katrine's  breast, 
Her  billows  rear'd  their  snowy  crest. 

1 "  tlip  '.oveliness  in  death 

That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath." 

Byron's  Oiaour. 

*  MS. — "  And  seem'd,  »o  minstrel  ear,  to  toll 

The  par'wig  d'.ge  of  many  a  soul." 

*  MS. — "  While  by  the  darken'd  lake  below. 

File  oui  the  ^pearinen  of  the  foe." 

*  The  MS.  reads— 

"  It  tinged  the  hosts  and  lake  with  flame  " 


Well  for  the  swimmer  swell'd  they  high. 

To  mar  the  Highland  marksman's  eye ; 

For  round  him  shower'd,  'mid  rain  and  hail, 

Tlie  vengeful  arrows  of  the  Gael. — 

In  vain — He  nears  the  isle — and  lo ! 

His  hand  is  on  a  shallop's  bow. 

— Just  then  a  flash  of  lightning  came 

It  tinged  the  waves  and  strand  with  flame  ; — * 

I  mark'd  Dimcraggan's  widow'd  dame, 

Beliind  an  oak  I  saw  her  stand, 

A  naked  duk  gleam'd  in  lier  liand : 

It  darken'd, — but,  amid  the  moan 

Of  waves,  I  heard  a  dying  groan ; 

Another  fla.sh ! — the  spearman  floats 

A  weltering  corse  beside  the  boats, 

And  the  stem  matron  o'er  him  stood. 

Her  hand  and  dagger  streaming  blood, 

XXL 

" '  Revenge  !  revenge !'  the  Saxons  cried, 

The  Gaels'  exulting  shout  replied. 

De.spite  the  elemental  rage, 

Again  they  hurried  to  engage  ; 

But,  ere  they  closed  in  desperate  fight. 

Bloody  with  spurring  came  a  kniglit, 

Sprmig  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag. 

Waved  "twixt  tlie  hosts  a  milk-wliite  flag. 

Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 

Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide, 

While,  in  the  Monarch's  name,  afar 

An  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war. 

For  Bothwell's  lord,  and  Roderick  bold. 

Were  both,  he  said,  in  captive  hold." 

— But  here  the  lay  made  sudden  stand ! — 

The  harp  escaj^ed  the  jVIinstrel's  hand ! — 

Oft  had  he  stolen  a  glance,  to  spy 

How  Roderick  brook'd  his  nunstrelsy : 

At  first,  the  Chieftain,  to  the  chime. 

With  lifted  hand,  kept  feeble  time  ; 

That  motion  ceased, — yet  fechng  strong 

Varied  his  look  as  changed  the  song  ;'' 

At  length,  no  more  his  deafen'd  ear 

The  minstrel  melody  can  hear ; 

His  face  grows  sharp, — liis  hands  are  clench'd, 

As  if  some  pang  his  heart-strings  wrench'd ; 

Set  are  his  teeth,  his  fading  eye' 

Is  sternly  fix'd  on  vacancy ; 

Thus,  motionless,  and  moanless,  drew 

His  parting  breath,  stout  Roderick  Dhu ! — ^ 

The  eight  closing  lines  of  the  stanza  are  interpolated  on  a 
slip  of  paper. 

5  MS. — "  Glow'd  in  his  look,  as  swell'd  the  song." 

6  MS. "  his  I  "'=^"'"2  {  eye." 

(  fiery       ) 

'  "  Rob  Roy,  while  on  his  deathbed,  learned  that  a  person, 
with  whom  he  was  at  enmitj',  proposed  to  visit  him.  '  Rain 
me  from  my  bed,'  said  the  invalid  ;  '  throw  my  plaid  aroand 
me,  and  bring  nie  my  claymore,  dirk,  and  pistols, — it  iball 


230 


SCOUT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  TI. 


Olil  AIliui-Bani-  hxik'il  «in  iif^lio^t, 
Wliilu  j^riiii  luid  titiLl  liU  Hpirit  paHs'd: 
Itut  wlicn  lie  wiw  tlmt  life  \va^  lli'd, 
III-  jKnirM  his  wailiiit,'  ii't-r  tin;  ileUcL 

X  X  1 1. 
Sanieiit. 
"  Aiul  art  tlioii  Cold  mid  lowly  laid,' 
lliv  fooiiian'.H  dread,  tliy  |h'I)|i1i!'s  aid, 
Hrcadalbaiic'8  lioast,  Clan- Al|niie'i4  ^llade  ! 
For  thee  shall  none  u  requiem  say  ? 
— For  thee, — who  lovetl  the  niinstrel'tt  lay, 
For  thee,  of  Bothwell'a  house  the  »tay, 
The  shelter  of  her  exiled  line,' 
F.'en  in  this  prison-house  of  thine, 
I'll  wail  fur  Alpine's  honor'd  Pine! 

"  Wiat  groans  shall  yonder  valleys  fill ! 
■What  shrieks  of  ^rief  shall  rend  yon  hill ! 
What  tears  of  burninj^  rjige  shall  thrill, 
When  mourns  thy  tribe  thy  b.ittles  done, 
lliy  fall  bef'ire  the  race  was  won, 
Thy  sword  ungirt  ere  set  of  sun  ! 
There  breathes  not  clansman  of  thy  line. 
But  would  have  fjfiven  his  life  for  thine. — 
O  woe  for  Alpine's  honor'd  Pine  ! 

"  ."^ad  was  thy  lot  on  mortal  stage  ! — 
The  captive  thrush  may  brook  the  cage, 
Tlie  prison'd  eagle  dies  for  rage. 
Brave  spirit,  do  not  scorn  my  strain! 
And,  when  its  notes  awake  again. 
Even  she,  so  long  beloved  in  vain. 
Shall  with  my  harp  her  voice  combine 
And  mix  her  woe  and  tears  with  mine. 
To  wail  Clan- Alpine's  honor'd  Pine." — ' 

XXIII. 
Ellen,  the  while,  with  bursting  heart, 
Remain'd  in  lortlly  bower  apart. 
Where  play'd  with  many-color'd  gleams, 
Tliro'-gh  storied  pane  the  rising  beams. 
In  vain  on  gilded  roof  they  fall, 
And  lighten'd  up  a  tapestried  wall. 
And  for  her  use  a  menial  train 


never  be  saiil  tliat  a  foeman  law  Rob  Roy  MacUregordcfence- 
le<<»  and  un^rniwl.'  Ui»  fotinan,  eoiiji.'ctun-il  to  be  one  of  tlie 
Marl^irriix  U-lbre  and  after  mentioned,  entered  and  paid  ]m 
conijilinienW,  inquiring  after  the  lieallb  of  \m  formidable  neigh- 
bor. Rob  Roy  tnaintaineil  a  cold,  baugbty  civility  durin" 
iheir  short  conference  ;  and  fc  soon  lu  he  hud  left  the  honee, 
'Now,'  he  said,'  'all  is  over:  let  the  piper  play,  JIa  til  mi 
tulidh'  [we  retnm  no  more],  and  he  is  laid  to  have  expired 
before  the  dirge  was  finished." — Introduction  to  Holt  Hoy. 
H'apcrlcy  J^^ovclf,  vol.  vii.  p.  85. 

1  M."'. — "  '  And  art  Ihou  gone,'  the  Minxtrel  laid." 

5  .M?. — "The  mightii^t  of  a  mighty  line." 

^  M."*. —  To  the  Printer. — "  I  have  three  pages  ready  to  be 
copied,  yoa  may  send  for  them  in  about  an  hour.     The  rest 


A  rich  collation  spread  in  vain. 

n»e  banquet  proud,  the  chamber  gay,* 

Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  a.'<truy  ; 

Or,  if  hhu  liMik'd,  'twas  but  to  say, 

With  better  omen  dawn'd  the  day 

In  that  loiu-  isle,  where  waved  on  high 

Till'  dun-deer's  hi<le  for  canopy  ; 

Where  oft  her  noble  father  shared 

The  simple  meal  her  aire  prepared. 

While  Lufra,  crouching  by  her  side, 

His  station  claim'd  with  jealous  ]iridc. 

And  Douglas,  bent  on  w(M>dlaiid  game,* 

Spoke  of  the  clia.Hc  to  Malcolm  (Jrjeme, 

Whose  answer,  oft  at  random  made, 

The  wandering  of  his  thoughts  betray'd, — 

Those  who  such  simph;  joys  have  known. 

Are  taught  to  prize  them  when  they're  gone 

But  sudden,  see,  she  lifts  lier  head  ! 

The  window  seeks  with  aiutious  tread. 

What  distant  music  has  the  j)ower 

To  win  her  in  this  wofid  hour! 

'Twas  from  a  turret  that  o'erhung 

Iler  latticed  bower,  the  strain  was  sung. 

XXIV. 
Han  of  t|)c  JriiiprfBoncT)  ?l)uiitsinan. 
"  My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  Iiood, 
My  idle  greyhound  loathes  his  food, 
My  horse  is  weary  of  his  stall. 
And  I  am  sick  of  captive  thralL 
I  wish  I  were,  as  I  have  been, 
Hiniting  the  hart  in  forest  green, 
"W'ith  bended  bow  and  bloodhound  free, 
For  that's  the  life  is  meet  for  me.* 
I  hate  to  learn  the  ebb  of  time, 
From  yon  dull'  steeple's  drowsy  chime. 
Or  mark  it  its  the  sunbeams  crawl, 
Inch  after  inch,  along  the  wall. 
The  lark  was  wont  my  matins  ring," 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sing ; 
These  towers,  although  a  king's  they  be. 
Have  not  a  hall  of  joy  for  me.' 
No  more  at  dawning  morn  I  rise. 
And  sun  myself  in  Ellen's  eyes, 
Drive  the  fleet  deer  the  forest  through, 


of  my  flax  is  on  the  spindle,  but  not  yet  twisted  into  propel 
yam.  I  am  glad  you  like  the  battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine.  It  i; 
rather  loo  long,  but  that  was  unavoidable.  I  hope  yon  will 
pnsh  on  the  notes.  To  save  time  1  shall  send  the  cojiy  vvhei 
ready  to  St.  John  Street.— \V.  S." 

4  MS. — "  The  banquet  gay,  the  chamber's  pride. 
Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  tuide," 

6  MS. — "  Earnest  on  his  game." 

'  M.S. "  was  meant  for  me." 

'  MS.—"  From  darken'd  steeple's." 

*  MS. — "  The  lively  lark  my  matins  rung. 

The  sable  rook  my  vesjii-rs  sung." 
»  MS. — "  Have  not  a  hall  should  harbor  me." 


OANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


>37 


And  homeward  wend  with  evening  dew ; 
A  blithesome  welcome  blithely  meet, 
And  lay  my  tropliies  at  her  feet, 
While  fled  the  eve  on  wing  of  glee, — ■ 
That  life  is  lost  to  love  and  me  1" 

XXV. 
The  heart-sick  lay  was  hardly  said,  ] 
The  list'ner  had  not  turn'd  her  head, 
It  trickled  still,  the  starting  tear, 
When  hght  a  footstep  struck  her  ear, 
And  Snowdoun's  graceful  knight  was  near. 
She  turn'd  the  hastier,  lest  again 
The  prisoner  should  renew  his  strain. — 
"  0  welcome,  brave  Fitz-James  !"  she  said ; 
"  How  may  an  almost  orphan  maid 

Pay  the  deep  debt" "  O  say  not  so ! 

To  me  no  gratitude  you  owe. 
Not  mine,  alas  !   the  boon  to  give. 
And  bid  thy  noble  father  hve ; 
I  CiUi  but  be  thy  guide,  sweet  maid, 
With  Scotland's  king  thy  suit  to  aid. 
No  tyrant  he,  though  ire  and  pride 
May  lay  his  better  mood  aside. 
Come,  Ellen,  come !  'tis  more  than  time, 
He  holds  his  court  at  morning  prime." 
With  beating  heart,  and  bosom  wrung. 
As  to  a  brother's  arm  she  clung. 
Gently  he  d-iad  the  falhng  tear. 
And  gently  whisper'd  hope  and  cheer ; 
Her  faltermg  steps  half  led,  half  staid, 
Through  gallery  fair,  and  high  arcade, 
Till,  at  its  touch,  its  wings  of  pride 
A  portal  arch  unfolded  wide. 

XXVI. 
Witliin  'twas  brilliant  all  and  light,' 
A  thronging  scene  of  figures  bright ; 
It  glow'd  on  Ellen's  dazzled  sight, 
As  when  the  setting  sun  has  given 
Ten  thousand  hues  to  summer  even. 
And  from  then-  tissue,  fancy  frames 
Aerial  knights  and  fairy  dames. 
Still  by  Fitz-James  her  footing  staid ; 
A  few  faint  steps  she  forward  made. 
Then  slow  her  drooping  head  she  raised. 
And  fearful  round  the  presence  gazed ; 
For  liim  she  sought,  who  own'd  this  state," 
The  dreaded  prmce  whose  will  was  fate. 
She  gazed  on  many  a  princely  port. 
Might  well  have  ruled  a  royal  court ; 
On  many  a  splendid  garb  she  gazed, 
Then  turn'd  bewLlder'd  and  amazed. 
For  all  stood  bare  ;  and,  in  the  room, 

>  MS.— "Within  'twas  brilliant  all.  and  bright 
Tlie  vision  glow'd  on  Ellen's  sight." 
»  MS. — "  For  him  who  own'd  this  royal  state." 


Fitz-James  alone  wore  cap  and  plimie. 

To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent ; 

On  him  each  courtier's  eye  Wixs  bent; 

Midst  furs,  and  silli-s,  and  jewels  sheen. 

He  stood,  m  simple  Luicoln-green, 

The  centre  of  the  glittering  ring. 

And  Snowdoun's  Knight  is  Scotland's  King !' 

XXVII. 

As  wreath  of  snow,  on  mountain-breast, 

Slides  from  the  rock  that  gave  it  rest, 

Poor  Ellen  glided  from  her  stay,* 

And  ai  the  Monarch's  feet  she  lay ; 

No  word  her  choking  voice  commands, — 

She  show'd  the  ring,  she  clasp'd  her  hands. 

0  !  not  a  moment  could  he  brook. 

The  generous  prince,  that  suppliant  look  ! 

Gently  he  raised  her;  and,  the  while, 

Check'd  with  a  glance  the  circle's  smile  ; 

Graceful,  but  grave,  her  brow  he  kiss'd, 

And  bade  her  terrors  be  dismiss'd : — • 

"  Yes,  Faur ;  the  wandering  poor  Fitz-James 

The  fealty  of  Scotlanil  claims. 

To  liim  thy  woes,  thy  wishes  bring ; 

He  will  redeem  his  signet  ring. 

Ask  naught  for  Douglas ;  yester  even, 

His  prmce  and  he  have  much  forgiven. 

Wrong  hath  he  had  from  slanderous  tongue, 

I,  from  his  rebel  kinsmen,  wrong. 

We  would  not,  to  the  vulgar  crowd. 

Yield  what  they  craved  with  clamor  loud  • 

Calmly  we  heard  and  judged  liis  cause. 

Our  council  aided,  and  our  laws. 

1  stanch'd  thy  father's  death-feud  stern. 
With  stout  De  Vaux  and  Grey  Glencaim ; 
And  Bothwell's  Lord  henceforth  we  own 
The  friend  and  bulwark  of  our  Throne. 
But  lovely  infidel,  how  now  ? 

What  clouds  thy  misbelieving  brow  ? 
Lord  James  of  Douglas,  lend  tliine  aid ; 
Thou  must  confii-m  this  doubting  maid." 

XXVIIL 

Tlien  forth  the  noble  Douglas  sprung. 
And  on  his  neck  liis  daughter  hung. 
The  Monarch  drank,  that  happy  hour. 
The  sweetest,  holiest  draught  of  Power, — 
When  it  can  say,  with  godlike  voice. 
Arise,  sad  Virtue,  and  rejoice ! 
Yet  would  not  James  the  general  eye 
On  Nature's  raptures  long  should  pry ; 
He  stepp'd  between — "  Nay,  Douglas,  nay. 
Steal  not  my  proselyte  away  1 
The  riddle  'tis  my  right  to  read. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y." 

*  MS. "  shrinking,  quits  her  stay  ' 


00 


38 


SCO'n^S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


Tliat  brouglit  tliis  luippy  cluinco  to  speed. 

Yes,  Ellen,  wla-n  tlisguised  I  atriiy 

III  life's  iiu>re  luw  but  happier  way,' 

Tin  umler  niuiie  wLich  veils  my  jMiwer, 

Nor  fidsely  veils — for  Stirling's  tower 

Of  yore  tlie  mune  of  Snowdoiin  el;iiins,* 

And  Nonniuw  call  me  James  I-itz  James. 

Tims  watdi  I  o'er  ijisuUed  Liws, 

llnis  learn  to  rijjlit  the  injured  cause." — 

Then,  in  a  tone  ajiart  luid  low, — 

"Ah,  little  traitress!  none  must  know 

Wliat  idle  dream,  what  lighter  thought, 

What  vanity  full  dearly  Iniught, 

Join'd  to  tliine  eye's  dark  witchcraft,  drew 

My  spell-bound  steps  to  Renvenue,' 

In  dangerous  hour,  and  all  but  gave 

Thy  Jlonarch's  life  to  mountain  glaive  !" — 

Aloud  he  sjMike — "  lliou  still  dost  hold 

That  little  tulisuum  of  gold, 

Pledge  of  my  faith,  Fitz-James's  ring — * 

What  seeks  fair  Ellen  of  the  King  ?" 

XXIX 

Full  well  the  conscious  maiden  guess'd 

He  jirobed  the  weakness  of  her  breast; 

But,  with  that  consciousness,  there  came 

A  lightening  of  her  fears  for  Grjeme, 

And'  more  she  deem'd  the  Mouiirch's  ire 

Kindled  'gainst  liim,  who,  for  her  sire, 

Rebellious  broadsword  boldly  drew ; 

And,  to  her  generous  feeling  true. 

She  craved  the  grace  of  Roderick  Dhu. 

"  Forbear  thy  suit : — the  King  of  Kings 

Alone  can  stay  life's  parting  wings, 

1  know  his  heart,  I  know  his  baud. 

Have  shared  his  cheer,  and  proved  Ids  brand : 

My  fairest  earldom  would  I  give 

To  bid  Cliui-Al2)ine'8  Chieftidu  live ! — 

•  MS. — "  In  lowly  life's  more  happy  way." 
3  See  Api>endix,  Note  3  Z. 


•  MS. — "  Thy  fovcreisn  back     ) 


to  Benvenuc." 


Thy  wvertign's  steps  i 

*  MS.—"  Pledge  of  Fitz-James's  faith,  the  ring." 
'  MS. — "  And  in  licr  hreast  strove  maiden  shame  ; 

iMore  deep  she  deem'd  the  monarch's  ire 
Kindled  'gainst  him,  who,  for  her  sire, 
Againiit  his  sovereign  broadsword  ilrew  ; 
And,  with  a  pleading,  warm  and  true. 
She  crave<l  tlie  grace  of  Roiierick  Dlin." 

•  "Malcolm  Grarnie  has  too  in<>ignificant  a  part  assigned 
him,  considering  the  favor  in  whiih  he  is  held  both  by  Ellen 
and  the  author;  and  in  bringing  out  the  sliailed  and  imperfect 
ciiaracter  of  Roderick  Dhu,  as  a  contrast  to  the  purer  virtue  of 
bis  rival,  .Mr.  Scott  seems  to  have  fallen  into  the  common  error, 
of  making  him  more  interesting  than  him  whose  virtues  he  was 
intended  to  set  off,  and  converted  the  villain  of  the  piece  in 
some  measure  into  its  hero.  A  modem  poet,  however,  may 
perhaps  l>e  pardoned  for  an  error,  of  which  Millon  himself  is 
•bought  not  to  have  kept  clear,  and  fur  which  there  feems  so 
natural  a  cause  in  the  difference  between  {loclical  and  amiable 
eharacters." — Jeffrey. 


Ilast  tltou  no  other  boon  to  crave  ? 
No  other  captive  friend  to  sjive  (" 
Rlushing,  ^he  turn'd  her  from  the  King, 
And  to  the  Dougla.'i  gave  tiie  ring, 
As  if  bhe  wL>h'd  Iter  sire  to  speuk 
The  suit  that  stain'd  her  glowing  clieek. — 
"Nay,  tlun,  my  pledge  has  lost  its  force, 
And  stublKirn  ju.'^tice  liolds  her  course. — 
Mali-olm,  Come  fortii ! " — And,  at  the  word, 
Down  knecld  the  (Jra-me"  to  Scotland's  Lord. 
"  For  thee,  rash  youth,  no  sujtpiiunt  sues, 
From  thee  may  Vengeance  claim  her  dues, 
AVho,  nurtured  underneatli  our  smile, 
Hiist  paid  oiu"  care  by  treacherous  wile. 
And  sought  amid  thy  faithful  chin, 
A  refuge  for  an  outlaw'd  man, 
Dislionoring  tlms  thy  loyal  name. — 

Fetters  and  warder  for  the  Gra;me  I" 

His  clnun  of  gold  the  King  unstrung. 
The  links  o'er  Midcolm's  neck  he  flimg, 
Then  gently  drew  the  glittering  band, 
And  hud  the  clasp  on  Ellen's  hand.' 


Haup  of  the  North,  farewell !'    Tlie  hills  grow  dark, 

On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending ; 
In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her  sj)ark. 

The  deer,  half-seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending. 
Resume  thy  wizard  elm !  the  fountain  lending. 

And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy ; 
Thy  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending, 

With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea, 
And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and  hum  of  housing 
bee. 

Yet,  once  again,  farewell,  thou  ilinstrel  harp ! 

Yet,  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway. 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp 

May  idly  cavil  at  an  idle  lay. 

' "  And  now,  waiving  myself,  let  me  talk  to  you  ol 

the  Prince  Regent.  He  ordered  me  to  be  presented  to  him  at 
a  bull;  and  after  some  sayings  |ieculiarly  ple.ising  from  royal 
lips,  a-s  to  my  own  attempts,  he  talked  to  me  of  you  and  your 
immortalities  ;  he  preferred  you  to  every  bard  past  and  present, 
and  asked  which  of  your  works  pleaded  me  most.  It  was  a 
difficult  question.  I  answered,  I  thought  the  '  Lay.'  He  said 
liis  own  opinion  was  nearly  similar.  In  speaking  of  the  otluni, 
I  told  him  that  I  thought  you  more  paniculariy  the  poet  ot 
Princes,  as  t/tcy  never  appeared  more  fascinating  than  in 
'  Marmion'  and  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  He  was  plea-sed  to 
coincide,  and  to  dwell  on  the  description  of  your  James's  as  no 
less  royal  than  poetical.  He  spoke  alternately  of  Homer  and 
yourself,  and  seemed  well  acijuaintcd  with  both,"  &c. — iMtn 
from  Lord  Byron  to  Sir  fValler  Scott,  July  6,  IS12. — By- 
ron's JJfe  and  fVorks,  vol.  ii.  p.  156. 

«  MS. —  To  the  Printer. — "  I  send  the  grand  finale,  and  so 
exit  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  from  the  head  she  has  tormenteil  for 
six  months.  In  canto  vi.  stanza  21 , — stern  and  still,  read  grim 
and  still ;  sternly  occurs  four  hues  higher.  For  a  similar  rea«on, 
stanza  24 — i/un-decr,  read  fleet-deer.  I  will  probably  call  this 
morning. — Youis  txoly, 

W.  S." 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


239 


Much  have  I  owed  thy  strains  on  life's  long  way, 
Through  secret  woes  tlio  world  has  never  known, 

AVlien  on  the  weary  night  dawn'd  wearier  day, 
Anil  bitterer  was  the  grief  devour'd  alone. 

That  I  o'erlive  such  woes,  Enchantress  1  is  thine  own. 

Hark !  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire, 
Some  Spirit  of  the  Air  has  waked  thy  string ! 

*  "  On  a  comparison  of  the  merits  of  this  Poem  with  the  two 
former  productions  of  the  same  unquestioned  genius,  we  are 
inclined  to  bestow  on  it  a  very  decided  preference  over  both. 
It  would  perliaps  be  ditficult  to  select  any  one  passage  of  such 
genuine  inspiration  as  one  or  two  that  might  be  pointed  out  in 
the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel — and  perhaps,  in  strength  and 
discrimination  of  character,  it  may  fall  short  of  Marmion  ;  al- 
though we  are  loth  to  resign  either  tlie  rude  and  savage  gen- 
erosity of  Roderick,  the  romantic  chivalry  of  James,  or  the 
playful  simplicity,  the  affectionate  tenderness,  the  modest  cour- 
age of  Ellen  Douglas,  to  the  claims  of  any  competitors  in  the 
last-mentioned  poem.  But,  for  interest  and  artificial  manage- 
ment in  the  story,  for  geuerxil  ease  and  grace  of  versification, 
and  correctness  of  language,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  must  be 
universally  allowed,  we  think,  to  excel,  and  very  far  excel, 
either  of  her  predecessors." — Critical  Review. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  Mr.  Scott  of  the  severe  and  majestic 
style  of  Milton — or  of  the  terse  and  fine  composition  of  Pope — 
or  of  the  elaborate  elegance  and  melody  of  Campbell — or  even 
of  the  flowing  and  redundant  diction  of  Southey, — but  there  is 
a  medley  of  bright  images  and  glowing,  set  carelessly  and 
loosely  together — a  diction  tinged  successively  with  the  careless 
richness  of  Shakespeare — the  harshness  and  antique  simplicity 
of  the  old  romances — the  homeliness  of  vulgar  ballads  and 
anecdotes — and  the  sentimental  glitter  of  the  most  modern 
poetry, — passing  from  the  borders  of  the  ridiculous  to  those  of 
the  sublime — alternately  minute  and  energetic — sometimes  arti. 
ficial,  and  frequently  negligent,  but  always  full  of  spirit  and 


'Tis  now  a  seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire, 
'Tis  now  the  brush  of  Fiury's  frolic  wing. 

Receding  now,  the  dying  numbers  ring 
Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell, 

And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  brmg 
A  wandering  witcli-note  of  the  distant  spell — 

And  now,  'tis  silent  all ! — Enchtrntress,  fare  the« 
well!^ 

vivacity — .ibonnding  in  images  that  are  striking  at  first  sight  to 
minds  of  every  contexture — and  never  expressing  a  sentiment 
which  it  can  cost  tlie  most  ordinary  reader  any  exertion  to 
corajirehend.  Upon  the  whole  we  are  inclined  to  think  more 
highly  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  than  of  either  of  its  author's 
former  publications.  We  are  more  sure,  however,  that  it  has 
fewer  faults  than  that  it  has  greater  beauties  ;  and  as  its  beau- 
ties bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  those  with  which  tlie  public 
lias  been  already  made  familiar  in  these  celebrated  works,  we 
should  not  be  surjirised  if  its  popularity  were  less  .splendid  and 
remarkable.  For  our  own  parts,  however,  we  are  of  opinion 
that  it  will  be  oftener  read  hereafter  than  either  of  them  ;  and 
that,  if  it  had  appeared  first  in  the  series,  their  reception  would 
have  been  less  favorable  than  that  which  it  has  experienced 
It  is  more  polished  in  its  diction,  and  more  regular  in  its  versi 
fication  ;  the  story  is  constructed  with  infinitely  more  skill  and 
address ;  there  is  a  greater  proportion  of  pleajsing  and  tender 
passages,  with  much  less  antiquarian  detail ;  and,  upon  the 
whole,  a  larger  variety  of  characters,  more  artfully  and  judi- 
ciously contrasted.  There  is  nothing  so  fine,  perhaps,  as  the 
battle  in  Marmion — or  so  picturesque  as  some  of  the  scattered 
sketches  in  the  Lay  ;  but  there  is  a  richness  and  a  spirit  in  the 
whole  piece  which  does  not  pervade  either  of  these  poeiiK — a 
profusion  of  incident,  and  a  sliiftiug  brilliancy  of  coloring,  that 
reminds  us  of  the  witchery  of  Ariosto — and  a  constant  elasticity 
and  occasional  energy,  which  seem  to  belong  more  pecniiarlv  to 
the  autlior  now  before  us." — Jeffrkt. 


240 


SCOTT'd  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


KOTK  A- 

The  krightt  of  Vam-far, 

And  Toutetl  the  citvcm,  if  Aire,  'lis  told, 
Ji  /riant  made  kia  Jen  of  old. — I".  185. 

Ua-var,  »«  llie  iiome  is  pronounced,  or  more  properly  Uaigh- 
mor,  it  a  mountain  to  the  nortlicuit  of  the  village  orCallender 
in  Mi'ntoith.  ilerivingit«  name,  which  »ignifii'«  the  great  den, 
or  cavern,  from  a  wrt  of  retreat  among  the  rocks  on  the  aouth 
(iile.  (aid,  hy  Iradilion,  to  have  hecn  the  ahude  of  a  giant.  In 
latlir  tinii'«,  it  \va»  the  rcl"ngcorroljbcr<  and  banditti,  who  have 
I)  .11  II  :!\  .v  filled  within  these  I'orty  or  fifty  years.  Strictly 
f]..  li,,!!^'.  ti.i-  ~irongtiold  is  not  a  cave,  lu  the  name  would  im- 
ply, hilt  a  .'on  of  tmall  eneloiure,  or  recess,  snrroanded  with 
large  rocks,  and  open  at>ove  lieail.  It  may  have  bc<Mi  originally 
dmigned  a."  a  toil  lor  deer,  who  might  get  in  from  the  outside, 
but  would  lind  it  dilTicnlt  to  return.  Thid  opinion  prevailti 
among  the  old  sportsmen  and  decr«liilkcre  in  llie  neighborhood. 


Note  B. 

Two  dogs  of  black  Sninl  Hubert's  breed, 
Unmatch'dfor  courage,  breath,  and  speed. — P.  186. 

"  The  hounds  which  we  call  Paint  Hubert's  hounds,  are  com- 
monly all  blacke,  yet  neuenlielcss,  the  race  is  so  mingled  at 
the^ie  day:!,  that  we  lind  them  of  all  colours.  These  are  the 
houiwU  which  the  abbuL-t  of  St.  Hubert  hauc  always  kept  some 
of  their  race  or  kind,  in  honour  or  remembrance  of  the  saint, 
which  wa-i  a  hunter  with  S.  Eustace.  Whereupon  we  may 
concciue  that  (by  the  grace  of  God)  all  good  huntsmen  shall 
follow  them  into  paradise.  To  return  vnto  my  former  purpose, 
this  kind  of  dogges  hath  bene  dispersed  tlirougli  the  counties  of 
Hciiaiilt,  Lorayne,  Flanders,  and  Burgoyne.  They  are  mighty 
of  body,  neucrlheless  their  legges  are  low  and  short,  likewise 
ihey  are  not  nwift,  although  they  be  very  good  of  sent,  hunting 
chaces  which  are  farre  straggled,  fearing  neither  water  nor  cold, 
and  doe  more  conel  the  chaccs  that  smell,  as  fo.tes,  bore,  and 
inch  like,  than  other,  because  they  finri  themselves  neither  of 
iwiftnesii  nor  courage  to  hunt  and  kill  the  chaces  that  are  lighter 
and  swilter.  The  bloodliounds  of  this  colour  proue  good,  es- 
pecially those  that  are  cole  blacke.  but  I  made  no  great  account 
to  bn-cd  on  them,  or  to  kcjie  the  kind,  and  yet  I  found  a  book 
wlii';h  a  hunter  did  di-.licate  to  a  prince  of  Loravne,  which 
•eemed  to  lone  hunting  mncli,  wherein  was  a  blason  which  llie 
»anie  hunter  gave  to  hi^i  liloodhoond,  called  ."-'ouyllard,  which 
was  white : — 

'  My  name  came  first  from  holy  Flubcrt's  race, 
Sooyllard  my  sire,  a  liound  of  singular  grace. 

Whcrenpon  we  may  presume  that  some  of  the  kind  prone 
while  sometimes,  but  they  are  not  o(  the  kind  of  the  GrcflierB 
or  l?ou\oi.  which  we  banc  at  these  daycs."  —  The  noble  Jlrl 
of  f'cnrrie  or  Hunting,  trannlated  and  colt reted  for  the  Use 
af  all  M'oblen.n  and  Oc\tlemcn.     Load.  1611.  4to,  p.  15. 


Note  C. 

For  the  death-teound  and  drath-halloo, 

Mualcr'd  his  breath,  hit  whinj/ard  Jieie. — P.  186. 

When  the  stag  turned  to  bay,  the  ancient  hunter  had  the 
perilous  la^k  of  going  in  upon,  and  killing  or  dinabling  the  des 
Iterate  animal.  At  certain  lime*  of  the  year  this  was  held  par- 
ticularly dangerous,  a  wound  received  from  a  stag's  horn  lieing 
then  deemed  |)oisonous,  and  more  dangerous  than  one  from  the 
tUAks  of  a  boar,  as  the  old  rhyme  testifies  : — 

"  If  thou  be  hurt  with  hart,  it  Ijfiiigs  thee  to  thy  bier, 
Uut  barber's  haml  will  boar's  hurt  heal,  therefore  thoa 
need 'at  not  fear." 

At  all  times,  however,  the  ta«k  was  dangerous,  and  to  be  ad- 
ventured U|)on  wisely  and  warily,  either  by  getting  b'-hiiid  the 
stag  while  he  was  gazing  on  the  hounds,  or  by  watching  an  op. 
portunity  to  gallop  roundly  in  upon  him,  and  kill  him  with  the 
sword.  Sec  many  directions  to  this  purpose  in  the  Booke  of 
Hunting,  chap.  41.  Wilson  the  historian  has  recorded  a  prov- 
idential escape  which  befell  him  in  this  hazardous  s|)orl,  while 
a  youth  and  follower  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

"  Sir  Peter  Lee,  of  Lime,  in  Cheshire,  invited  my  lord  one 
summer  to  hunt  the  stagg.  And  having  a  great  siagg  in  chase, 
and  many  geiilleinen  in  the  puntuit,  the  »l.igg  took  soyle.  And 
divers,  whereof  I  was  one,  alighted,  and  stood  with  sword» 
drawnc,  to  have  a  cut  at  him,  at  his  coming  out  of  the  water 
The  staggs  there  being  wonderfully  fierce  and  dangerous,  made 
us  youths  more  eager  to  be  at  him.  But  he  csca)icd  us  all. 
And  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  hindered  of  my  coming  nere 
him,  the  way  being  sliperie,  by  a  falle;  which  gave  occasion 
to  some,  who  did  not  know  mee,  to  speak  as  if  I  had  falna 
through  feare.  Which  being  told  mee,  I  left  the  stagg,  and 
followed  the  gentleman  who  [first]  spake  it.  But  I  found  him 
of  that  cold  temper,  that  it  seems  his  words  made  an  csca|)e 
from  him  ;  as  by  his  denial  and  repentance  it  appeared.  But 
this  made  mee  more  violent  in  the  pursuit  of  the  stagg,  to  re- 
cover my  reputation.  And  I  happened  to  be  the  only  horse- 
man in,  when  the  dogs  sett  him  up  at  bay  ;  and  approaching 
near  him  at  horsebackc,  he  broke  through  the  dogs,  and  run  at 
mee,  and  tore  my  horse's  side  with  his  homes,  close  by  my 
thigh.  Then  I  quitted  my  horse,  and  grew  more  cunning  (for 
the  dogs  had  sette  him  up  againe),  stealing  behind  him  with 
my  sword,  and  cut  his  hamstrings  ;  and  then  got  upon  his  back, 
and  cut  his  ihroaie  ;  which,  as  I  was  doing,  the  company  cam* 
in,  and  blamed  my  nslmcss  for  running  such  a  hazard." — 
Peck's  Desiderata  Curiosa,  ii.  464. 


Note  D. 


And  nom  to  issue  from  the  glen, 
Jfo  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken 
Unless  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 
A  far  projecting  precipice. — P.  187. 

Until  the  present  road  was  made  through  the  romantic  paaa 
which  I  have  presumptuously  attempted  to  describe  in  the  pre- 
ceding stanzas,  there  was  no  mode  of  issuing  out  of  tlie  defile 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


241 


called  the  Tiosachs,  excepting  by  a  sort  of  ladder,  composed  of 
the  branches  and  roots  of  trees. 


Note  E. 


To  meet  with.  Highland  plunderers  here, 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer. — P.  188. 

Tlie  clans  who  inhabited  tlie  romantic  regions  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Loeh  Katrine,  were,  even  until  a  late  period, 
much  addicted  to  predatory  incursions  upon  their  Lowland 
neighbors.  "  In  former  times,  those  parts  of  this  district,  which 
are  situated  beyond  the  Grampian  range,  were  rendered  almost 
inaccessible  by  strong  barriers  of  rocks,  and  mountains,  and 
lakes.  It  was  a  border  country,  ani.',  though  on  the  very  verge 
of  the  low  countrj-,  it  was  almost  totally  sequestered  from  the 
world,  and,  as  it  were  insulated  with  respect  to  society.  'Tis 
well  known  that  in  the  Higlilands,  it  was,  in  former  times,  ac- 
counted not  only  lawful,  but  honorable,  among  hostile  tribes, 
to  commit  depredations  on  one  another ;  and  these  habits  of  the 
age  were  perhaps  strjuglhened  in  this  district,  by  the  circum- 
stances which  have  been  mentioned.  It  bordered  ou  a  country, 
the  inhabitants  of  which,  while  they  were  richer,  were  less 
warlike  than  they,  and  widely  differenced  by  language  and  man- 
ners."— Graham's  Sketches  of  Scenery  in  Perthshire.  Edin. 
1806,  p.  97.  The  reader  will  therefore  be  pleased  to  remem- 
ber, that  the  scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  in  a  time, 

"  When  tooming  faulds,  or  sweeping  of  a  glen, 
Had  still  been  held  the  deed  of  gallant  men." 


Note  F. 


•^  gray-hair' d  sire,  whose  eye  intent. 
Was  on  the  vision^d future  bent. — P.  189. 

If  force  of  evidence  could  authorize  ns  to  believe  facts  incon- 
sistent with  the  general  laws  of  nature,  enough  might  be  pro- 
duced in  favor  of  the  existence  of  the  Second-sight.  It  is  called 
\n  Gaelic  Taishitaraugh,  from  Taish,  an  unreal  or  shadowy 
appearance  ;  and  those  possessed  of  the  faculty  are  called  Taish- 
atrin,  which  may  be  aptly  translated  visionaries.  Martin,  a 
steady  believer  in  the  second-sight,  gives  the  following  account 
of  it:— 

"  The  second-sight  is  a  singular  faculty,  of  seeing  an  other- 
wise invisible  object,  without  any  previous  means  used  by  the 
person  that  used  it  for  that  end  :  the  vision  makes  such  a  lively 
impression  upon  the  seers,  that  they  neither  see,  nor  think  of 
any  thing  else,  except  the  vision,  as  long  as  it  continues  ;  and 
then  they  appear  pensive  or  jovial,  according  to  the  object  tliat 
was  represented  to  them. 

"At  the  sight  of  a  vision,  the  eyelids  of  the  person  are 
erected,  and  the  eyes  continue  staring  tintil  the  object  vanish. 
This  is  obvious  to  others  who  are  by,  when  the  persons  happen 
to  see  a  vision,  and  occurred  more  than  once  to  my  own  obser- 
vation, and  to  otliers  that  were  witlj  me. 

"  There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  acquaintance  observed, 
that  when  he  sees  a  vision,  the  inner  part  of  his  eyelids  turns 
so  far  upwards,  that,  after  the  object  disappears,  he  must  draw 
them  down  with  his  fingers,  and  sometimes  employ  others  to 
draw  them  down,  which  he  finds  to  be  the  much  easier  way. 

"This  faculty  of  the  second-sight  does  not  lineally  descend 
in  a  family,  as  some  imagine,  for  I  know  several  parents  who 
are  endowed  with  it,  but  their  children  not,  and  vice  versa  ; 
neither  is  it  acquired  by  any  previous  compact.  And,  after  a 
strict  inquiry,  I  could  never  leam  tliat  thb  faculty  was  com- 
municable any  way  whatsoever. 

"The  seer  knows  neither  the  object,  time,  nor  place  of  a 
vision,  before  it  appears  ;  and  the  same  object  is  often  seen  by 
diiferent  persons  living  at  a  considerable  distance  from  one  an- 
31 


other.  The  true  way  of  judging  as  to  the  time  and  circum- 
stance of  an  object,  is  by  observation  ;  for  several  persons  of 
judgment,  without  this  faculty,  are  more  capable  to  judge  of 
the  design  of  a  vision,  than  a  novice  that  is  a  seer.  If  an  ob- 
ject appear  in  the  day  or  night,  it  will  come  to  pass  sooner  or 
later  accordingly. 

"  If  an  object  is  seen  early  in  the  morning  (which  is  not  fre- 
quent), it  will  be  accomplished  in  a  few  hours  afterwards.  II 
at  noon,  it  will  commonly  be  accomplished  that  very  day.  11 
in  the  evening,  perhaps  tliat  night ;  if  after  candles  be  lighted, 
it  will  be  accomplished  that  night :  the  later  always  in  accom- 
plishment, by  weeks,  months,  and  sometimes  years,  according 
to  the  time  of  night  the  vision  is  seen. 

"When  a  shroud  is  perceived  about  one,  it  is  a  sure  prog- 
nostic of  death  ;  the  time  is  judged  according  to  the  height  of 
it  about  the  person  ;  for  if  it  is  seen  above  the  middle,  death  is 
not  to  be  expected  for  the  space  of  a  year,  and  perhaps  some 
months  longer ;  and  as  it  is  frequently  seen  to  ascend  higher 
towards  the  head,  death  is  concluded  to  be  at  hand  within  a 
few  days,  if  not  hours,  as  daily  experience  confirms.  Exam- 
ples of  this  kind  were  shown  me,  when  the  persons  of  whom 
the  observations  were  then  made,  enjoyed  perfect  health. 

"  One  instance  was  lately  foretold  by  a  seer,  that  was  a  nov- 
ice, concerning  the  death  of  one  of  my  acquaintance ;  this 
was  communicated  to  a  few  only,  and  with  great  confidence : 
I  being  one  of  the  number,  did  not  in  the  least  regard  it,  until 
the  death  of  the  pereon,  about  the  time  foretold,  did  confirm 
me  of  the  certainty  of  the  prediction.  The  novice  mentioned 
above,  is  now  a  skilful  seer,  as  appears  from  many  late  Instan 
ces  ;  he  Uves  in  the  parish  of  St.  Mary's,  the  most  northern  in 
Skie. 

"  If  a  woman  is  seen  standing  at  a  man's  left  hand,  it  is  a 
presage  that  she  will  be  his  wife,  whether  they  be  married  to 
others,  or  unmarried  at  the  time  of  the  apparition. 

"  If  two  or  three  women  are  seen  at  once  near  a  man's  left 
hand,  she  that  is  next  him  will  undoubtedly  be  his  wife  first, 
and  so  on,  whether  all  three,  or  the  man,  be  single  or  married 
at  the  time  of  the  vision  or  not ;  of  which  there  are  several 
late  instances  among  those  of  my  acquaintance.  It  is  an  ordi- 
nary thing  for  them  to  see  a  man  that  is  to  come  to  the  house 
shortly  after :  and  if  he  is  not  of  the  seer's  acquaintance,  yet 
he  gives  such  a  lively  description  of  his  stature,  complexion, 
habit.  Sec.  that  upon  liis  arrival  he  answers  the  character  given 
him  in  all  respects 

"  If  the  pei'son  so  appearing  be  one  of  the  seer's  acquaint- 
ance, he  will  tell  his  name,  as  well  as  other  particulars,  and  he 
can  tell  by  his  countenance  whether  he  comes  in  a  good  or  bad 
humour. 

"I  have  been  seen  thus  myself  by  seers  of  both  sexes,  at 
some  hundred  miles'  distance ;  some  that  saw  me  in  this  man- 
ner had  never  seen  me  personally,  and  it  happened  according 
to  their  vision,  without  any  previous  design  of  mine  to  go  to 
those  places,  my  coming  there  being  purely  accidental. 

"  It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see  houses,  gardens,  and  trees, 
in  places  void  of  all  three  :  and  this  in  progress  of  time  uses  to 
be  accomplished :  as  at  Mogshot,  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  wliere 
there  were  but  a  few  sorry  cowhouses,  thatched  with  straw, 
yet  in  a  very  few  years  after,  the  vision,  which  appeared  often, 
was  accomplished,  by  the  building  of  several  good  liouses  on 
the  very  spot  represented  by  the  seers,  and  by  the  planting  of 
orchards  there. 

"  To  see  a  spark  of  fire  fall  upon  one's  arm  or  breast,  is  a 
forerunner  of  a  dead  child  to  be  seen  in  the  arms  of  those  per- 
sons  ;  of  which  there  are  several  fresh  instances. 

"  To  see  a  seat  empty  at  the  time  of  one's  sitting  in  it,  is  a 
presage  of  that  person's  death  soon  after. 

"  When  a  novice,  or  one  that  has  lately  obtained  the  second- 
■sight,  sees  a  vision  in  the  night-time  without-doors,  and  he  be 
near  a  fire,  he  presently  falls  into  a  swoon. 

"  Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a  crowd  of  people,  hav- 
ing a  corpse  which  they  carry  along  with  them ;  and  after 
such  visions,  the  seers  come  in  sweating,  and  describe  the  peo- 


242 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


pie  that  a|>|i«aml :  if  there  Iw  any  of  thrir  acquaintance  among 
'fin,  thry  give  an  accooDt  of  their  name*,  ai  alw  of  the  brarvm, 
but  thity  knuw  nutliinj;  conuenii^  .     '  «i. 

"  All  thuM  who  have  the  r<  >lo  not  alwayi  mm 

'  <ii«  at  once,   though  the)    U-   lu^'vllu-r  at  the  time. 

I  who  has  this  lu'iilly.  ih— ii-M'-lly  touch  hi«  IcUow- 

Ktrf  tiL  iliv  iiLilant  of  a  vision'*  n  licii  tlic  Mt-oiiil  Mf* 

il  aa  well  a*  the  tint ;  anil  tliii  i-  '  >  iliiu-enii'il  l>y  lliow 

Ihal  nrv  near  them  on  nuch  occ.ii>iun». " — Makti.n'h  Uctcrip- 
tion  of  the  H'€atfrn  Islands,  1716,  8vo,  p.  IttM),  tt  stq. 

To  theie  (Mtrticulan  innumerable  exainplca  might  be  adileil, 
all  aile«tv<l  by  grave  and  cretlible  authon.  Uut,  in  deapilu  of 
evidence  which  neither  Uacon,  Boyle,  nor  Johnson  weru  able 
to  re^Ut,  the  Taisch,  with  all  it»  visionary  prop<Tlics,  seems  to 
be  now  uiiivcnally  abandoned  to  the  use  of  poi'lry.  The  ex- 
'  <';iutil°ul  |K«em  of  Lochicl  will  at  once  occur  to  the 
I  ..  of  every  reailer. 


Note  G. 


Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour. 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  boiccr. — P.  190. 

The  Celtic  chieftains,  whose  lives  were  continually  e.\poscd 
to  peril,  had  usually,  in  the  most  retired  spot  of  their  domains, 
•ome  place  of  retreat  for  the  hour  of  necessity,  which,  as  cir^ 
cumstanccs  would  admit,  was  a  tower,  a  cavern,  or  a  rustic 
hut,  in  a  strong  and  secluded  situation.  One  of  these  last 
gave  refuge  to  the  unfortunate  Charles  Edward,  in  his  jicrilous 
wanderings  after  the  battle  of  Cullodcn. 

"It  was  situated  in  the  face  of  a  very  rough,  high,  and 
rocky  mountain,  called  Lcltemilichk,  still  a  part  of  Bcnaldcr, 
full  of  great  stones  and  crevices,  and  some  scattered  wood  in- 
tersperwd.  The  habitation  called  the  Cage,  in  the  face  of  that 
monntain.  was  within  a  small  thick  bus-li  of  wood.  There 
were  first  some  rows  of  trees  laid  down,  in  order  to  level  the 
floor  for  a  habitation  ;  and  as  the  place  was  steep,  this  raised 
the  lower  side  to  an  equal  height  with  the  other :  ami  these 
trees,  in  the  way  of  joists  or  planks,  were  levelled  with  earth 
and  gravel.  There  were  betwixt  the  trees,  growing  naturally 
on  their  own  roots,  some  stakes  fised  in  the  earth,  which,  with 
the  trees,  were  interwoven  with  ropes,  made  of  heath  and  birch 
twigs,  up  to  the  top  of  the  Cage,  il  being  of  a  round  or  rather 
oval  shape  ;  and  the  whole  thatched  and  covered  over  with 
fog.  The  whole  fabric  hung,  as  it  were,  by  a  large  tree,  which 
reclined  from  the  one  end,  all  along  the  roof,  to  the  other,  and 
which  gave  it  the  name  of  the  Cage ;  and  by  chance  there 
happened  to  be  two  stones  at  a  small  distance  from  one  anoth- 
er, in  the  side  next  the  precipice,  resembling  the  pillars  of  a 
chimney,  where  the  fire  was  placed.  The  smoke  had  its  vent 
out  here,  all  along  the  fall  of  the  rock,  which  was  so  much  of 
the  same  color,  that  one  could  discover  no  difference  in  tlie 
clearest  day." — IIome's  History  of  the  Rebellion,  Lond. 
Icoe,  4to.  p.  381. 


Note  a 


Stout  ho  was  and  fen, 

Vcrnagn  he  higliU 
Of  iUbiloun  the  soudan 
ThiiliT  huM  kende  giin. 

With  King  Chnrl->  to  fight. 
So  hani  ho  wan  to  fond> 
That  no  dint  of  brund 

No  grvued  him,  aplight. 
lie  lindilc  twciiti  men  strengths 
And  forti  fet  of  lenglho, 

ThIIke  painim  lit-de,' 
And  four  feet  in  (ho  face, 
Y-metcn>  in  the  place, 

And  fiAeen  in  bn.'de.< 
His  nose  was  a  fot  and  more  ; 
His  brow,  a*  bristle*  wore  ;* 

He  that  it  seigho  il  sede. 
He  loked  lotheliche, 
And  was  swart"  as  any  piche, 

Of  iiim  men  might  adrcde." 

Romance  of  Charlemagne,  I.  461-484 
Auchinleck  MS.,  folio  265. 

Ascipott,  or  Ascabart,  makes  a  very  material  figure  in  the 
History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton,  by  whom  ho  was  conquered. 
His  ctligies  may  be  seen  guarding  one  side  of  a  gale  at  South- 
ampton,  while  the  other  is  occupied  by  Sir  Uevis  himself. 
The  dimensions  of  Ascabart  wore  little  inferior  to  tho«o  of  Fcr- 
ragus,  if  the  following  description  bo  correct : — 

'  They  metten  with  a  geaunt, 
With  a  lotheliche  semblannt. 
He  was  wondorliche  strong, 
Rome'  thrctti  fole  long 
His  herd  was  hot  gret  and  rowe  ;* 
A  space  of  a  fot  bctweene  is"  browe ; 
His  dob  was,  to  yeuc>'>  a  strok, 
A  lite  bodi  of  an  oak.'t 

"  Beues  hadde  of  him  wonder  gret, 
And  askede  him  what  a  hct," 
And  yaf "  men  of  his  contrti 
Were  ase  meehe'^  aso  was  he. 
'  Me  name,'  a  sede,"  '  is  Ascopard, 
Garci  me  sent  hiderward. 
For  to  bring  this  quene  ayen. 
And  the  Beues  her  of-slen." 
Icliam  Garci  isi'  cliampioun. 
And  was  i-driue  out  of  me'*  toun 
Al  for  that  ich  was  so  lite." 
Eucri  man  me  wolde  smite, 
Ich  was  so  lite  and  so  merugh,*-" 
Eueri  man  me  clepede  dwcrugh,si 
And  now  icham  in  this  londe, 
I  wax  nior^  icli  understonde. 
And  stranger  than  oilier  lene  ;23 
And  that  schel  on  ns  be  sene." 

Sir  Bcvis  of  Hampton,  I.  2512. 
Auchinleck  MS.  fol.  189. 


^jf  sire's  tail  form  might  grace  the  part 
Of  Fcrragus  or  Ascabart. — P.  190. 

These  two  sons  of  Anak  flourished  in  romantic  fable.  The 
first  is  well  known  to  the  admirers  of  Arioslo,  by  the  name  of 
Ferran.  He  was  an  antagonist  of  Orlando,  and  was  at  length 
slain  by  him  in  single  combat.  There  is  a  romance  in  the 
Aachinleck  MS.,  in  which  Fertagus  is  thus  described  : — 

"  On  a  day  come  tiding 
Unto  Charls  the  King, 

Al  of  a  doughti  knight 
Was  comen  to  Navers, 


Note  L 
Though  all  unask'd  his  birth  and  name. — P.  191. 

The  Highlanders,  who  carried  hospitality  to  a  pnnctihous 
excess,  are  said  to  have  considered  it  as  churlish,  to  ask 
a  stranger  his  name  or  lineage,  before  he  liad  taken  refresh- 
ment. 

1  Found,  proved 2  Had.— 3  McBiured.— 4  Breadth.— 5  Were. — G  BIn«k. 

—7  Fully.— S  Rough.— 9  His 10  Give.— 11  The  ilem  of  «  little  oak-tree. 

— ISIIe  hight,wo»  called.— 13  If.— 14  Great.— 15  He  loid.— 16SI»t.— 
n  Hu.— 13  lly.— 19  Little.— 20  Lean.— 21  Dwarf.— 22  Greater,  UUer  — 
WTen. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


2-13 


Fends  were  so  frequent  among  them,  that  a  contrary  rule  would 
in  many  cases  have  produced  the  discovery  of  some  circum- 
stance, which  might  have  excluded  the  guest  from  the  benefit 
of  the  assistance  he  stood  in  need  of. 


Note  K. 
-and  still  a  harp  unseen, 


Fill'd  up  the  symphony  between. — P.  191. 

"They"  (meaning  the  Highlanders)  "  delight  much  in  mu- 
sicke,  but  chiefly  in  harps  and  clairschoes  of  their  own  fashion. 
The  strings  of  the  clairschoes  are  made  of  brass  wire,  and  the 
strings  of  the  liarps,  of  sinews  ;  which  strings  tliey  strike  either 
with  their  nayles,  growing  long,  or  else  with  an  instrument  ap- 
pointed for  that  use.  They  take  great  pleasure  to  decke  their 
harps  and  clairschoes  with  silver  and  precious  stones  ;  the  poore 
ones  that  cannot  attayne  hereunto,  decke  them  with  cbristall. 
Tliey  sing  verses  prettily  compound,  contayning  (for  the  most 
part)  prayses  of  valiant  men.  There  is  not  almost  any  other 
argument,  whereof  their  rhymes  iutreat.  They  speak  tlie  an- 
cient French  language  altered  a  little."' — "  The  harp  and 
clairschoes  are  now  only  heard  in  the  Highlands  in  ancient  song. 
At  what  period  these  instruments  ceased  to  be  used,  is  not  on 
record  ;  and  tradition  is  silent  on  tl)is  head.  But,  as  Irish  liarp- 
ers  occasionally  visited  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles  till 
lately,  the  harp  might  have  been  extant  so  late  as  the  middle 
of  the  last  century.  Thus  far  we  know,  that  from  remote 
times  down  to  the  present,  harpers  were  received  as  welcome 
guests,  particularly  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland  ;  and  so  late 
as  the  latter  end  of  the  si.xteenth  century,  as  appears  by  the 
above  quotation,  the  liarp  was  in  common  use  among  the  na- 
tives of  the  Western  Isles.  How  it  happened  that  the  noisy 
and  nnharmonious  bagpipes  banished  the  soft  and  expressive 
harp,  we  cannot  say  ;  but  certain  it  is,  that  the  bagpipe  is  now 
the  only  instrument  that  obtains  universally  in  the  Highland 
districts." — Campbell's  Journey  through  J^orth  Britain. 
Loud.  1808,  4to.  I.  175. 

Mr.  Gunn,  of  Edinburgh,  has  lately  published  a  curious  Es- 
say upon  the  Harp  and  Harp  Music  of  the  Highlands  of  Scot- 
land. That  the  instrument  was  once  in  common  use  there,  is 
most  certain.  Clelland  numbers  an  acquaintance  with  it  among 
the  few  accomplishments  which  his  satire  allows  to  the  High- 
landers : — 

"  In  nothing  they're  accounted  sharp, 
Except  in  bagpipe  or  in  harp." 


Note  L. 


Mom's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  gray. — P.  193. 

Tliat  Highland  chieftains,  to  a  late  period,  retained  in  their 
service  the  bard,  as  a  family  officer,  admits  of  very  easy  proof. 
The  author  of  the  Letters  from  the  North  of  Scotland,  an  offi- 
cer of  engineers,  quartered  at  Inverness  about  1720,  who  cer- 
tainly cannot  be  deemed  a  favorable  witness,  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  office,  and  of  a  hard  whom  he  heard  exer- 
cise his  talent  of  recitation  : — "  The  bard  is  skilled  in  the  gene- 
alogy of  all  the  Highland  famihes,  sometimes  preceptor  to  the 
young  laird,  celebrates  in  Irish  verse  the  original  of  the  tribe, 
the  famous  warlike  actions  of  tlie  successive  heads,  and  sings 
his  own  lyricks  as  an  opiate  to  the  chief  when  indisposed  for 
sleep ;  but  poets,  are  not  equally  esteemed  and  honored  in  all 
countries.  I  happened  to  be  a  witness  of  the  dishonor  done  to 
the  muse  at  the  house  of  one  of  the  chiefs,  where  two  of  these 
bards  were  set  at  a  good  distance,  at  the  lower  end  of  a  long 
table,  with  a  parcel  of  Highlanders  of  no  extraordinary  appear- 

1  Vide, "  CertJiyno  Matters  concerning  the  Realme  of  Scotland,  &c.  as 
they  were  Anno  Domiii  1597.  Lond.  1603."    4to. 


ance,  over  a  cup  of  ale.  Poor  inspiration !  They  were  not 
asked  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  at  our  table,  though  the  whole 
company  consisted  only  of  the  great  man,  one  of  his  near  re- 
lations, and  myself.  After  some  little  time,  the  chief  ordered 
one  of  them  to  sing  me  a  Highland  song.  The  bard  readily 
obeyed,  and  with  a  hoarse  voice,  and  in  a  tune  of  few  various 
notes,  began,  as  I  was  told,  one  of  his  own  lyricks  ;  and  when 
he  liad  proceeded  to  the  fourth  or  fifth  stanza,  I  perceived,  by 
the  names  of  several  persons,  glens,  and  mountains,  which  I 
had  known  or  heard  of  before,  that  it  was  an  account  of  soma 
clan  battle.  But  in  his  going  on,  the  chief  (who  piques  him- 
self upon  his  school-learning),  at  some  particular  passage,  bid 
him  cease,  and  cried  out,  '  There's  nothing  like  that  in  Virgil 
or  Homer.'  I  bowed,  and  told  him  I  believed  so.  This  vou 
may  believe  was  very  edifying  and  delightful." — Letters,  u 
167. 


Note  K 


-The  Grceme.—V.  194. 


The  ancient  and  powerful  family  of  Graham  (which,  for  met- 
rical reasons,  is  here  spelt  after  the  Scottish  pronunciation) 
held  extensive  possessions  in  the  counties  of  Dumbarton  and 
Stirling.  Few  families  can  boast  of  more  historical  renown, 
having  claim  to  three  of  the  most  remarkable  characters  in  the 
Scottish  annals.  Sir  John  the  Grsme,  the  faithful  and  un- 
daunted partaker  of  the  labors  and  patriotic  warfare  of  Wal- 
lace, fell  in  the  unfortunate  field  of  Falkirk,  in  1298.  The  cel- 
ebrated Marqnis  of  Montrose,  in  whom  De  Retz  saw  realized 
his  abstract  idea  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity,  was  the  second  of 
these  worthies.  And,  notwithstanding  the  severity  of  his  tem- 
lier,  and  the  rigor  with  which  he  executed  the  oppressive  man- 
dates of  the  princes  whom  he  served,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  name 
as  a  third,  John  Grsme  of  Claverhouse,  Viscount  of  Dundee, 
whose  heroic  death  in  the  arms  of  victory  may  be  allowed  to 
cancel  the  memory  of  his  cruelty  to  the  non-conformists,  during 
the  reigns  of  Charles  II.  and  James  II, 


Note  N. 


This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  sway'd. — P.  194. 

I  am  not  prepared  to  show  that  Saint  Modan  was  a  pei^ 
former  on  the  harp.  It  was,  however,  no  unsaintly  accom- 
plishment ;  for  Saint  Dunstan  certainly  did  play  upon  that 
instrument,  which  retaining,  as  was  natural,  a  portion  of  the 
sanctity  attached  to  its  master's  character,  announced  future 
events  by  its  spontaneous  sound.  "  But  laboring  once  in 
these  mechanic  arts  for  a  devout  matrone  that  had  sett  him 
on  work,  his  violl,  that  hung  by  him  on  the  wall,  of  its  own 
accord,  without  anie  man's  helpe,  distinctly  sounded  this  an- 
thime : — Gaudent  in  cwlis  animce  sanctorum  qui  Christi 
vestigia  sunt  secuti ;  et  quia  pro  eius  amore  sangitincni 
suum  fnderunt,  idea  cum  Christo gaudent  cettrnum.  Where- 
at all  the  companie  being  much  astonished,  turned  tlieir  eyes 
from  beholding  him  working,  to  looke  on  lliat  strange  acci- 
dent." *  «  *  "  Xot  long  after,  manie  of  the  court  that 
hitherunto  had  borne  a  kind  of  fayned  friendship  towards  him, 
began  now  greatly  to  envie  at  his  progress  and  rising  in  good- 
nes,  using  manie  crooked,  backbiting  meanesto  diffame  his  ver- 
tues  with  the  black  maskes  of  hypocrisie.  And  the  better  to 
authorize  their  calumnie,  they  brought  in  this  that  happened 
in  the  violl,  affirming  it  to  have  been  done  by  art  magiok. 
What  more  1  This  wicked  rumour  increased  dayly,  till  the 
king  and  others  of  the  nobilitie  taking  hould  thereof,  Dnnstan 
grew  odious  in  their  sight.  Therefore  he  resolued  to  leaue  the 
court  and  go  to  Elphegus,  surnamed  the  Bauld,  then  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  who  was  his  cozen.  Which  his  enemies  under- 
standing, they  layd  wayt  for  him   in   the  way,  and  haain^ 


244 


SCOTT'.^  POETICAL  WORKf^. 


Ihrowno  liiin  otT  liis  lionr,  heme  liiin,  n     '    'i  ■  '  -• 

dart  in  the  moat  iiiUrrabl«  maiincr,    i 

llilll,    tlS'l    li"  I 

Wll*"  rrt     liv   ».!•.  fx    llU- 

IM3M-  An'!   -i'.  \  ..il.  li" 

►  luiiM  ••*   liu  v:. 

I)  ■  "  —  ytavir  oj  ' 

the   most  rrnoienni  Saincli  of  t'tigland,  SeoUamt,  nnil  Irr- 

lanii,  by  tkr  R.  Katiikk  IIikhomk  I'ukter.     Doway,  1032, 

4to.  tome  i.  p.  438. 

The  •ame   •ii|H-niBlun>l  rircumMaiice  ia  Blludnl  to  Ity  the 
anonymous  author  of  "  Grim,  tlio  Collier  of  Croyiloii." 


-[DuKftan' a  harp  sounds  on  the  icair]. 


"  Forest.  Hark,  li.irk,  my  lords,  tlic  holy  abbol'a  harp 
Soondi  by  ilo'lfiio  liaiigiri);  on  the  wall ! 

"  iJunstan.  ITiiballowM  man,  that  scom'Ht  the  »acrcd  redo. 
Hark,  how  the  testimony  of  my  truth 
Soundi  heavenly  muKie  wiili  an  angcl'i  band, 
To  testify  Duiistan's  integrity 
And  prove  thy  active  boaat  of  no  ctTcct." 


Note  0. 


Kre  Douglases,  to  ruin  driven, 

Were  ezUed  from  their  native  heaven. — P.  194. 

The  downfall  of  the  Douglases  of  the  bouse  of  Angus  during 
the  reign  of  James  V.  is  the  event  alluded  to  in  the  text.  The 
Earl  of  Angus,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  married  the  queen 
dowager,  and  availed  himself  of  the  right  which  he  thus  ac- 
quired, as  well  as  of  his  extensive  power,  to  retain  the  king 
in  a  !<ort  of  tutelage,  which  approached  very  near  to  captivity. 
Several  open  atteinpU  were  made  to  rescue  James  from  this 
thraldom,  wi«<i  which  he  was  well  known  to  be  deeply  dis- 
gusted ;  but  the  valor  of  tlie  Dougliises  and  their  allies  gave 
llictn  the  victory  in  every  conflict.  At  length  the  King,  while 
ri-«i(ling  at  Falkland,  contrived  to  escape  by  night  out  of  liis 
own  court  and  palace,  and  rode  full  speed  to  Stirling  Castle, 
where  the  governor,  who  was  of  the  opposite  faction,  joyfully 
received  him.  Being  thus  at  liberty,  James  speedily  sum- 
moned around  him  such  peers  as  he  knew  to  be  most  inimical 
to  the  domination  of  Angus — and  laid  his  com])l^int  before 
them,  says  Pitscottie,  "  with  great  lamentation  ;  showii^g  to 
them  how  he  was  holdcn  in  subjection,  thir  years  bygone,  by 
the  Earl  of  Angus  and  his  kin  and  friends,  wlio  oppressed  the 
^'  'y  and  spoiled  it,  under  the  pretence  ofjustice  and 

1  .  ;  and  had  slain  many  of  his  lieges,  kinsmen,  and 

I  "«  they  would  have  had  it  mended  at  their  hands, 

•'at  liberty,  as  he  ought  to  have  been,  at  the  coun- 
sel of  his  whole  lords,  and  not  have  been  subjected  and 
corrected  with  no  particular  men,  by  the  rest  of  his  nobles. 
Therefore,  said  he,  I  dcaire,  my  lords,  that  I  may  be  satisfied 
of  the  said  earl,  his  kin,  and  friends  ;  for  I  avow  that  Scotland 
shall  not  hold  us  both  while  [i.  e.  till]  I  be  revenged  ou  him 
and  his. 

"  The  lords,  hearing  the  king's  complaint  and  lamentation, 
and  also  the  great  rage,  fury,  and  malice  that  he  bore  towards 
the  E.irl  of  Angus,  hLs  kin  and  friends,  they  concluded  all,  and 
thnnght  it  bo«t  that  he  should  he  summoned  to  underly  the 
law  ;  if  he  found  no  caution,  nor  yet  compear  himself,  that 
he  should  be  put  to  the  horn,  with  all  his  kin  and  friends,  so 
many  as  were  contained  in  the  letters.  And  farther,  the  lords 
ordained,  by  advice  of  his  majesty,  thai  his  brother  and  friends 
should  be  snmmoned  to  find  caution  to  nndcHy  the  law  within 
a  certain  Jay,  or  else  be  pat  to  the  horn.  But  the  earl  ap- 
peared not,  nor  none  for  him  ;  and  so  he  was  put  to  the  horn, 
with  all  his  kin  and  friends :  so  many  as  were  contained  in 
the  sammons  that  compeared  not  were  banished,  and  holdcn 
traitors  to  the  king." 


Note  P. 
In  UoJg-Hood  a  h'nii'ht  he  slew.— I'.  1U5. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  oeeurrenoe  in  th* 
•  '  lice  of  the  i>ovenMKn  hinisplf 

■  lid  inveterate  fi-udu  which 
•  1  ninuiig  till-  Sciiiti-h 
I  I  ill'  murder  uf  Sir  Wil- 

liam >7lunrt  of  t '  'ci    y'Ar  lUiinilti,  hy  the  eeleliritM 

Krariiin,  Karl  of  I  may   he  prolcireil  among  many  ; 

but  tut  thn  ulfence  given  in  the  royal  court  will  hanlly  bear  a 
veniacular  tmnidalion,  I  nhall  leave  the  utory  in  Johnsluno'i 
Latin,  referring  for  farther  particulars  to  the  naked  simplicity 
of  Birrell's  Diary,  30th  July,  1588. 

'*  Mors  imjirnlii  hominia  non  tarn  ipsa  immtrila,  quam 
petsimo  eirmpio  in  publicum,  fa-iIe  perpetrata.  Oulirtmus 
Stunrlus  Jllkiltrius,  Jlrani  frater,  naturd  ae  moribus,  cu- 
jus  siepiiis  mnnini,  rulgo  propter  sitem  sang-uinia  sangui- 
narius  dirtus,  A  Uothcelin,  in  Sanetus  Crucis  liefrii,  eiarde- 
scenle  ird,  mrnJneii  prubro  laeeasitus,  olisra-iium  osculum 
librrius  rrtorqurbal  ;  lintheelius  banc  contumeliam  tacitui 
tulit,  sed  ingcnlum  irarum  molem  animo  concrpit.  Ulrin- 
que  postridie  Edinburgi  convcntum,  tolidcm  numero  comiti- 
bus  armatis , prasidii  causa,  etacriter  pugnatum  est  ;  ctrle- 
ris  amicis  et  elitntibus  metu  torpentibus,  aut  vi  abslerritis, 
ipse  Slunrtus  forlissime  dimical ;  tandem  eieasso  gladin  4 
rtothvclio,  Scythicd  firitnte  Iran.ifoditur,  sine  cujuiiquam 
miacricordid  ;  habu.it  ilaque  qacm  dcbuit  czitum.  JJiirnus 
erat  Sluarlus  qui  patcretur  ;  Bothueliits  qui  faeerct.  l-'ul- 
giia  sangviticm  sanguine pradicnbit ,  el  horum  cruore  innuc- 
varum  mnnibua  egrcgir  parentntum." — Joii.nstom  J/ialoria 
Herum  Britannicarum,  ab  anno  1572  ad  annum  1028.  Ara- 
stclodami,  1655,  fol.  p.  135. 


Note  Q. 


The  J)ouplas,  tike  a  striclicn  deer, 
Jiisown'd  by  every  noble  peer. — P.  195. 

The  exile  state  of  tliis  powerful  race  is  not  exaggerated  in 
this  and  subsequent  passages.  The  hatred  of  James  against 
the  race  of  Douglas  was  so  inveterate,  that  numerous  a.s  their 
allies  were,  and  disregarded  as  the  regal  authority  had  usually 
been  in  similar  cases,  their  nearest  friends,  even  in  the  most 
remote  parts  of  Scotland,  durst  not  entertain  them,  unless  un- 
der the  strictest  and  clo.sest  disguise.  Jnmes  Douglas,  son  of 
the  banished  Earl  of  Angus,  afterwards  well  known  by  the 
title  of  Earl  of  Morton,  lurked,  during  the  exile  of  his  family, 
in  the  north  of  Scotland,  under  the  assumed  name  of  James 
Innes,  otherwi.se  James  the  Orieve  (i.  e.  Reve  or  Bailifl"). 
"  And  as  he  bore  the  name,"  says  Godscroft,  "  so  did  he  al.so 
execute  the  office  of  a  grieve  or  overseer  of  the  lands  and 
rents,  the  corn  and  cattle  of  him  with  whom  he  lived."  From 
the  habits  of  frugality  and  observation  which  he  acquired  in 
his  humble  situation,  the  historian  traces  that  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  |iopular  character  which  enabled  him  to  ri^ 
so  high  in  the  state,  and  that  lionontble  economy  by  which  he 
repaired  and  establislicd  tlic  shattered  estates  of  Angus  and 
Morton. —  History  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  Edinburgh, 
1743,  vol.  ii.  p.  100. 


Note  R. 


-Maronnan's  cell. — P.  195. 


The  parish  of  Kilmaronook,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Loch 
Lomond,  derives  its  name  from  a  cell  or  chapel,  dedicated  to 
Saint  Maronock,  or  IVIamock,  or  Maronnan,  aboit  whose 
sanctity  very  little  is  now  remembered.  There  is  a  fountain 
devoted  to  him  in  the  same  p.irish  ;  but  its  virtues,  lika  the 
merits  of  it"  patron,  have  fallen  into  oblivion. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


245 


KOTE  S. 
-Bracklinn's  thundering  wave. — P.  195. 


This  is  a  beautiful  cascade  made  by  a  moiiiitaiii  stream 
called  the  Keltie,  at  a  place  called  the  Bridge  of  Hrackliiin, 
about  a  mile  from  tlie  village  of  Callender  in  Meiiteith.  Above 
a  chasm,  where  the  brook  precipitates  itself  from  a  heigiit  of 
at  least  fifty  feet,  there  is  thrown,  for  the  convenience  of  the 
neighborhood,  a  rustic  footbridge,  of  about  three  feet  in 
breadth,  and  without  ledgej,  which  is  scarcely  to  be  crossed 
by  a  stranger  without  awe  and  apprehension. 


Note  T. 


For  Tine-man  forged  brj  fairy  lore. — P.  196. 

Archibald,  the  third  Earl  of  Douglas,  was  so  unfortunate 
in  all  his  enterprises,  that  he  acquired  the  epithet  of  Tine- 
man,  because  lie  tilted,  or  tost,  his  followers  in  every  battle 
which  he  fought.  He  was  vanquished,  as  every  reader  must 
remember,  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Homildon-hill,  near  Wooler, 
where  he  himself  lost  an  eye,  and  was  made  prisoner  by  Hot- 
spur. He  was  no  less  unfortunate  when  allied  with  Percy, 
being  wounded  and  taken^i  at  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury.  He 
was  so  unsuccessful  in  an  attempt  to  besiege  Roxburgh  Castle 
that  it  was  called  the  Foul  Raid,  or  disgracel'ul  expedition. 
His  ill  fortune  left  him  indeed  at  the  battle  of  Beaug6  in 
France  ;  but  it  was  only  to  return  with  double  emphasis  at  the 
subsequent  action  of  Vernoil,  the  last  and  most  unlucky  of 
his  eneountei-s,  in  which  he  fell,  with  the  flower  of  the  Scot- 
tish chivalry,  then  serving  as  auxiliaries  in  France,  and  about 
two  thousand  common  soldiers,  a.  d.  1424. 


Note  U. 


Did,  self-uitscabbarded,  foreshow 
The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe. — P.  196. 

The  ancient  warriors,  whose  hope  and  confidence  rested 
chiefly  in  their  blades,  were  accustomed  to  deduce  omens 
from  them,  especially  from  such  as  were  sujijjosed  to  have 
been  fabricated  by  enchanted  skill,  of  which  we  have  various 
instances  in  the  romances  and  legends  of  the  time.  The  won- 
derful sword  Skofnung,  wielded  by  the  celebrated  Hrolf 
Kraka,  was  of  this  description.  It  was  deposited  in  the  tomb 
of  the  monarch  at  his  death,  and  taken  from  thence  by  Skeg- 
go,  a  celebrated  pirate,  who  bestowed  it  upon  his  son-in-law, 
Kormak,  with  the  following  curious  directions  : — "  '  The  man- 
ner of  using  it  will  appear  strange  to  you.  A  small  bag  is  at- 
tached to  it,  which  take  heed  not  to  violate.  Let  not  the  rays 
of  the  sun  touch  the  upper  part  of  the  handle,  nor  unsheathe 
it,  unless  thou  art  ready  for  battle.  But  when  thou  comest  to 
the  place  of  fight,  go  aside  from  the  rest,  grasp  and  extend  the 
Bword,  and  breathe  upon  it.  Then  a  small  worm  will  creep 
out  of  the  handle  ;  lower  the  handle,  that  he  may  more  easily 
return  into  it.'  Kormak,  after  having  received  the  sword,  re- 
turned home  to  his  mother.  He  showed  the  sword,  and  at- 
tempted to  draw  it,  as  unnecessarily  as  ineflectually,  for  he 
conld  not  pluck  it  out  of  the  sheath.  His  mother,  Dalla,  ex- 
claimed, 'Do  not  despise  the  counsel  given  to  thee,  my  son.' 
Kormak,  however,  repeating  his  efforts,  pressed  down  the  han- 
dle with  his  feet,  and  tore  off  the  bag,  when  Skofnung  emitted 
a  hollow  groan  :  but  still  he  could  not  unsheathe  the  sword. 
Kormak  then  went  out  with  Bessus,  whom  he  had  cliallenged 
to  fight  with  him,  and  drew  apart  at  the  place  of  combat.  He 
Bat  down  upon  the  ground,  and  ungirding  the  sword,  wliich  he 
bore  above  his  vestments,  did  not  remember  to  shield  the  hilt 
from  the  rays  of  the  sun.  In  vain  he  endeavored  to  draw  it, 
till  he  placed  his  foot  against  the  hilt ;  then  the  worm  issued 
from  it.    Bnt  Kormak  did  not  rightly  handle  the  weapon,  in 


consequence  whereof  good  fortune  deserted  it.  As  he  un- 
sheathed Skofnung,  it  emitted  a  hollow  murmur." — Bartho- 
lini  de  Causis  ContcmptcB  a  IJanis  adhuc  Oentilibus  Mortis, 
Libri  Tres.     Hofiiiw,  1689,  4to.  p.  574. 

To  the  history  of  this  sentient  and  prescient  weapon,  I  beg 
leave  to  add,  from  memory,  the  following  legend,  for  wliich  I 
cannot  produce  any  better  authority.  A  young  nobleman,  of 
high  hopes  and  fortune,  chanced  to  lose  his  way  in  the  town 
which  he  inhabited,  the  capital,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  a  German 
province.  He  had  accidentally  involved  himself  among  the 
narrow  and  winding  streets  of  a  suburb,  inhabited  by  the  low- 
est order  of  the  people,  and  an  approaching  thunder-shower 
determined  him  to  ask  a  short  refuge  in  the  most  decent  hab- 
itation that  was  near  him.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  which 
was  opened  by  a  tall  man,  of  a  grisly  and  ferocious  aspect, 
and  sordid  dress.  The  stranger  was  readily  ushered  to  a  cham- 
ber, where  swords,  scourges,  and  machines,  which  seemed  to 
be  implements  of  torture,  were  suspended  on  the  wall.  One 
of  these  swords  dropped  from  its  scabbard,  as  the  nobleman, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  crossed  the  threshold.  His  host 
immediately  stared  at  him  with  such  a  marked  expression, 
that  the  young  man  could  not  help  demanding  his  name  and 
business,  and  the  meaning  of  his  looking  at  him  so  fixedly. 
"  I  am,"  answered  the  man,  "  the  public  executioner  of  this 
city ;  and  the  incident  you  have  observed  is  a  sure  augury 
that  I  shall,  in  discharge  of  my  duty,  one  day  cut  ofl'  your 
head  with  the  weapon  which  has  just  now  spontaneously  un- 
sheathed itself."  The  nobleman  lost  no  time  in  leaving  his 
place  of  refuge  ;  but,  engaging  in  some  of  the  plots  of  the 
period,  was  shortly  after  decapitated  by  that  very  man  and 
instrument. 

Lord  Lovat  is  said,  by  the  author  of  the  Letters  from  Scot- 
land, to  have  affirmed,  that  a  number  of  swords  that  hung  np 
in  the  hall  of  the  mansion-house,  leaped  of  themselves  out  of 
the  scabbard  at  the  instant  he  was  born.  The  story  passed 
current  among  his  clan,  but,  like  that  of  the  story  I  have  just 
quoted,  proved  an  unfortunate  omen. — Letters  from  Scotland, 
vol.  ii.  p.  214. 


JSTOTE  V. 


Those  thrilling  sounds  that  call  the  might 
Of  old  Clan- Alpine  to  the  fight.— V.  196. 

The  connoisseurs  in  pipe-music  affect  to  discover  in  a  weSR 
composed  pibroch,  the  imitative  sounds  of  march,  conflict, 
flight,  pursuit,  and  all  the  "current  of  a  heady  fight."  To 
this  opinion  Dr.  Beattie  has  given  his  suffrage,  in  the  following 
elegant  passage  : — "  A  pibroch  is  a  species  of  tune,  peculiar, 
I  think,  to  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles  of  Scotland.  It 
is  performed  on  a  bagpipe,  and  ditfei-s  totally  from  all  other 
music.  Its  rhythm  is  so  irregular,  and  its  notes,  especially  in 
the  quick  movement,  so  mixed  and  huddled  together,  that  a 
stranger  finds  it  impossible  to  reconcile  his  ear  to  it,  so  as  to 
perceive  its  modulation.  Some  of  those  pibrochs,  being  in- 
tended to  represent  a  battle,  begin  with  a  grave  motion  resem- 
bling a  march  ;  then  gradually  quicken  into  the  onset ;  run  off 
with  noisy  confusion,  and  turbulent  rapidity,  to  imitate  the 
conflict  and  pursuit ;  then  swell  into  a  few  flourishes  of  trium- 
phant joy  ;  and  perhaps  close  with  the  wild  and  slow  wailingd 
of  a  funeral  procession." — Essay  on  Laughter  and  Ludi- 
crous Composition,  cliap.  iii.  Note. 


Note  W. 

Roderigh  Vieh  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroc! — P  197. 

Besides  his  ordinary  name  and  surname,  which  were  chiefly 
used  in  the  intercourse  with  the  Lowlands,  every  Highlai>' 


240 


SCO'lT'S  POETICAL  WOllKS. 


^live  of  hw  patriarclial  dignity  ai 

.  wu  comiuou  lo  all  liu  |iri-<l<*>.'t'«- 

.  ■■  !'       •,  or  Ar- 

1  |(Olro- 


'.  Iiu\vr\cr,    U    »"    lirriM'ii 

I.  TV  of  Minio  ^n<at  Trat ; 

:   ol'  Ilio  Macki'iuin,  or  (.'Inii-Ki-n- 

1..      I I    ii  ■i^fop,  or  Hack's  Head,  a*  rvpr*- 

•cii'stim   ot'  I'oliii    Ki!/-'ralil.    loiinclrr  o(  tlio   family,    who 
•aviol    tliv  t<c«>uuti   ki-   •  •■mloiij;i'n-<l   by   a  "ta}}.     Uut 

Im^kIc*  iIiii  liilo,  will'  lo  lii.'i  oirici:  uml  itigiiity,  Ui« 

r  iiliar  to  hliiiM-lf,  which  cli»- 

I  iia  of  the  Kiiiif  nice.     Thia 

»  111   cuiii|i1f.iion,    M  dhu   or  roy ; 

».  -r  mirr  ;  n!  oiIht  liim>s  from  nomc 

I  '   iialiit  ur  a|>|)vai^ 

a:  I  _        .    % 

Itlack  Roderick,  Uio  descendant  of  Alpine. 

The  wn;  iuelf  ii  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  jorramg, 
or  bo*t-song«,  of  the  llighlandon,  which  were  uaually  coni- 
|MM.-d  in  honor  of  a  favorite  chief.  They  are  so  adapted  as 
Ii'  '     '  i  of  the  oars,  and  it  is  easy  to  dis- 

i  led  to  he  »ung  to  the  oars  of  a 

(.'  .u    1.1    lengthened    and    doubled,    as    it 

u  ,  were  timed  to  tlie  rowcn  of  an  ordi- 

nal; buat. 


Note  X. 


The  bett  of  Loeh  lA>mond  lie  dead  on  her  tide. — P.  197. 

The  Lennox,  as  iho  district  is  c.illcd,  which  encircles  tho 
lower  eitremity  of  Loch  Lomond,  was  peculiarly  exposed  to 
ill-  iiKUr-iotn  of  the  mountaineers,  who  inhabited  the  inac- 
1  iicsscs  nt  the  upper  end  of  llic  lake,  and  the  neigh- 

l ,   ..  ;.-i-l  of  Loch  Katrine.     These  were  often  marked  by 

cimunistances  of  great  ferocity,  of  which  the  noted  confllut  of 
Glcn-fmin  is  a  celebrated  instance.  This  was  a  clan-battle,  in 
which  the  Macgregors,  headed  by  Allaster  Macgregor,  chief  of 
the  clan,  encountered  the  sept  of  Colquhouns,  commanded 
by  Sir  Hnin|ibry  Tolquhoun  of  Luss.  It  is  on  all  liands 
n  ■:  was  desperately  fought,  ami  that  the 

<  ited  with  great  slaughter,  leaving  two 
I                                        'liad  upon  the  field.     Hut  popular  tra- 

<  '  liorrors  to  llie  tale.  It  is  said  that  Sir 
Humphry  L°oii|uhonn,  who  was  on  horseback,  escaped  to  the 
ca-tle  of  Ili-ncclira,  or  lianochar,  and  was  next  day  dragged 
out  and  moriiT-d  by  the  victorious  Macgregors  in  cold  blood, 
(tui'hanan  of  Auchroar,  however,  speaks  of  his  slaughter  as  a 
•ulwiincnt  event,  and  as  (lerpetrated  by  the  Macfarlanes. 
Asain,  it  is  reported  that  ti  urt  murdurcd  a  number 
of  youths,  whom  r>-port  of  ■  .  battle  had  brought  to 
be  'pecutors,  and  whom  tliu  L'uii(iiliour».  anxious  for  tlicir 
•aloty,  had  shut  op  in  !\  bim  to  lio  out  of  danger.  One  ac- 
connt  of  the  .M.i  ince  entirely  :  an- 
oilit-r  ascribi-s  it  :••  r-ly  disposition  of  a 
tingle  individoal,  the  bastani  brother  of  the  Laird  of  Macgregor, 
whoarausc<l  himself  with  Uiis  second  moiisacre  of  tho  innocents, 
in  express  disobedience  lo  tbcir  chief,  by  whom  he  was  left 
their  guardian  during  the  pnrsnil  of  the  Colquhouns.  It  is 
added,  that  Margregor  bitti-Hy  lamented  this  atrocious  action, 
and  prophesied  the  ruin  which  it  must  bring  upon  thr'ir  niifient 
clan.  The  following  account  of  the  coTillii't,  wliiih  i<  indied 
drawn  np  by  a  friend  of  the  Clan-Ori-jor,  i»  .ilio:.'ithir  "lilcnt 
OD  the  murder  of  the  youths.     '•  In  tlif  spring  of  the  year  IGlhJ, 


then)  hopiiened  gn-at  disMtiisioni  and  troubles  between  the  laird 
of  LuM,  chief  of  tho  Colquhounii,  and  Alexander,  laird  of  .Mac- 
gn-gor.  Tho  original  of  tlifi>e  iiuarreU  proceeded  from  iujurn'S 
ami  provocationa  mutually  ^iven  ami  received,  nut  lung  before. 
^;  1  liave  llicm  ended  in  frii-ndly 

of  I  wo  huiiilreil  of  hiH  clan 
lo  l^kdi,  t«liii.li  Uunlci!.  (jii  Liixx,  Ilia  country,  with  a  view  of 
M-ltliiig  niallrr*  by  the  ■iioliatiuii  of  frii'iids  :  but  Luu  bad  no 
such  intention*,  and  pnijicli-il  bis  iiu'a'>uri's  with  a  ilitl'  riiit 
view  ;  fur  ho  privately  drew  together  a  body  of  IttJU  horx-  ami  jiMi 
foot,  coiM|ioiieil  partly  of  his  own  clan  and  tlieir  followen,  and 
partly  of  the  Uuehanans,  his  neighbum,  and  ri-»olved  to  cut  olF 
.M.icgregor  and  his  party  to  a  man,  in  cose  Uie  imue  of  tho  con- 
ference iliil  not  answer  his  inclination.  Uut  niattrro  fell  other- 
wise than  he  ex)>ectcd  ;  and  Uiough  Macgregor  had  prvvioui 
inforinalion  of  his  innidious  design,  yet  di»enibliiig  hu  r<  sent- 
ininl,  he  kejit  the  appointment,  and  ported  good  frieiidii  in 
ap|>earance. 

"  No  sooner  was  he  gone,  than  Luss,  thinking  to  surprise 
him  and  his  party  in  full  security,  and  without  any  dnad  or 
ajiprehension  of  his  treachery,  followed  with  all  spi-ed,  and 
came  up  with  him  at  a  place  called  Glenfroon.  Macgregor, 
upon  the  alarm,  divided  his  men  into  two  parties,  the  great- 
est part  whereof  he  commanded  himself,  and  tiie  other  iie 
committed  to  the  care  of  his  brother  John,  who,  by  his  or- 
ders, led  thcin  about  another  way,  and  attacked  the  Colqu- 
houns in  flank.  Mere  it  was  fought  with  great  bravery  on 
both  si<les  for  a  considerable  time  ;  and,  notwitlistanding  the 
vast  di'proiiortion  of  numbers.  Ma' gregor,  in  the  end,  ob- 
tained an  aosolute  victory.  So  great  was  the  rout,  that  i!00  of 
the  Colquhouns  were  left  dead  upon  the  spot,  most  of  the 
leading  men  were  killed,  and  a  multitude  of  prisoners  taken. 
Uut  what  seemed  most  snrjirLsing  and  incredible  in  this  defeat, 
was,  that  none  of  the  Macgregors  were  missing,  except  John, 
the  laird's  brotlier,  and  one  common  fellow,  though  indeed 
many  of  them  wee  wounded." — Professor  Ross's  Hislory  of 
Uic  family  of  Sutherland,  1C31. 

The  consequences  of  the  battle  of  Glen-fruin  were  very 
cilamitous  to  the  family  of  Macgregor,  who  had  already  l>ceu 
considered  as  an  unruly  clan.  The  widows  of  the  elain  Col- 
quhouns, sixty,  it  is  said,  in  number,  ajipcared  in  doleful  pro- 
cession before  the  King  at  Stirling,  each  riding  upon  a  white 
palfrey,  and  bearing  in  her  hand  the  bloody  shirt  of  her  hus- 
band displayed  upon  a  pike.  James  VI.  was  so  ranch  moved 
by  the  complaints  of  this  "choir  of  mourning  dames,"  that 
ho  let  loose  his  vengeance  against  the  Macgregors,  withoul 
either  bounds  or  moderation.  The  very  name  of  the  claq 
was  proscribed,  and  those  by  whom  it  had  been  borne  werj 
given  up  to  sword  and  fire,  and  absolutely  hunted  down  \ij 
bloodhounds  like  wild  beasts.  Argyle  and  the  Campbells,  on 
the  one  hand,  Montrose,  with  the  Grahames  and  Unclianans, 
on  the  other,  are  said  to  have  been  the  chief  instruments  in 
suppressing  this  devoted  clan.  The  Laird  of  Macgn-gor  sur- 
rendered to  the  former,  on  condition  that  he  would  take  him 
out  of  Scottish  ground.  But,  to  use  Birrell's  expression,  he 
kept  "  a  Ilighlandman's  promise  ;"  and,  although  he  fulfilled 
his  word  to  the  letter,  by  carrying  him  as  far  as  Berwick,  he 
afterwards  brought  him  back  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  WdS 
executed  with  eighteen  of  his  clan." — Birrel's  JJtary,  2d 
Oct.  1G03.  The  Clan-Gregor  being  thus  driven  to  utter  de- 
S|)air,  seem  to  have  renounced  the  laws  from  the  benefit  of 
which  they  were  excluded,  and  their  depredations  produced 
new  acts  of  council,  confirming  the  severity  of  their  jiroscrip- 
tion,  which  had  only  the  effect  of  rendering  them  still  more 
unitc<l  and  desperate.  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  proof  of 
the  ardent  and  invincible  spirit  of  clanship,  that,  notwith- 
standing the  repeated  proscriptions  providently  ordaineil  by 
the  legi-latnre.  "  for  the  timcous  prercnting  the  disorders 
and  oppression  thai  may  fall  out  by  the  said  name  and  cla» 
of  Macgregors,  and  their  followen,"  they  were  in  1715  and 
17-).')  a  giotent  clan,  and  continne  to  subsist  as  a  distinct  and 
numerous  race. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


247 


Note  Y. 

The  Kiriff's  vindictive  pride 

Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side. — P.  199. 

In  1529,  James  V.  made  a  convention  at  Edinburgh  for  the 
purpose  of  considering  the  best  mode  ol'  (juelling  the  Border 
robbers,  who,  during  the  license  of  his  minority,  and  the 
troubles  which  followed,  had  committed  many  exorbitances. 
Accordingly,  he  assembled  a  flying  army  of  ten  thousand 
men,  consisting  of  his  principal  nobility  and  their  followers, 
who  were  directed  to  bring  their  hawks  and  dogs  with  them, 
that  the  monarch  might  refresh  liimself  with  sport  during  the 
intervals  of  military  execution.  With  this  array  he  swept 
through  Ettrick  Forest,  where  he  hanged  over  the  gate  of  his 
own  castle.  Piers  Cockburn  of  Heudcrland,  wlio  had  prepared, 
according  to  tradition,  a  feast  for  his  recejjtion.  He  caused 
Adam  Scott  of  Tushielaw  also  to  be  executed,  who  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  title  of  King  of  the  Border.  But  the  most 
noted  victim  of  justice,  during  that  expedition,  was  John 
Armstrong  of  Gilnockie,i. famous  in  Scottish  song,  who,  con- 
fiding in  his  own  supposed  innocence,  met  the  King,  with  a 
retinue  of  thirty-six  persons,  all  of  whom  were  hanged  at 
Carlenrig,  near  the  source  of  the  Teviot.  'Die  eft'ect  of  this 
severity  was  such,  that,  as  the  vulgar  expressed  it,  "  the  rush- 
bush  kept  the  cow,"  and,  "thereafter  was  great  peace  and 
rest  a  long  time,  wherethrough  the  King  had  great  profit ;  for 
he  liad  ten  thousand  sheep  going  in  tlie  Ettrick  Forest  in 
keeping  by  Andrew  Bell,  who  made  the  King  as  good  count 
of  them  as  they  had  gone  in  the  bounds  of  Fife." — PiscoT- 
tie's  History,  p.  153. 


Note  Z. 


TVhat  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 
By  fate  of  Border  chivalry. — P.  199. 

James  was  in  fact  equally  attentive  to  restrain  rapine  and 
feudal  oppression  in  every  part  of  his  dominions.  "  The  king 
past  to  the  Isles,  and  there  held  justice  courts,  and  purushed 
both  thief  and  traitor  according  to  their  demerit.  And  also  he 
caused  great  men  to  show  their  holdings,  wherethrough  he 
found  many  of  the  said  lands  in  non-entry  ;  the  which  he  con- 
fiscate and  brought  home  to  his  own  use,  and  afterwards  an- 
nexed them  to  the  crown,  as  ye  shall  hear.  Syne  brought 
many  of  the  great  men  of  the  Isles  captive  with  him,  such  as 
Mudyart,  M'Connel,  M'Loyd  of  the  Lewes,  M'Neil,  M'Lane, 
M'lntosh,  John  Mudyart,  M'Kay,  M-Kenzie,  with  many  other 
tliat  I  cannot  rehearse  at  this  time.  Some  of  them  he  put  in 
ward  and  some  in  court,  and  some  he  took  pledges  for  good 
rule  in  time  coming.  So  he  brought  the  Isles,  both  north  and 
south,  in  good  rule  and  peace  ;  wherefore  he  had  great  profit, 
service,  and  obedience  of  people  a  long  time  tliereafter ;  and 
as  long  as  he  had  the  heads  of  the  country  in  subjection,  they 
lived  in  great  peace  and  rest,  and  there  was  great  riches  and 
policy  by  the  King's  justice."— Pitscottie,  p.  152. 


Note  2  A. 


Rest  safe  till  morning ;  pity  'twere 

Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air. — P.  201. 

Hardihood  was  in  every  respect  so  essential  to  the  charac- 
ter of  a  Highlander,  that  the  reproach  of  effeminacy  was  the 
most  bitter  which  could  be  thrown  upon  him.  Yet  it  was 
Bometimes  hazarded  on  what  we  might  presume  to  think 
Blight  grounds.     It  is  reported  of  Old  Sir  Ewen  Cameron  of 

1  See  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i.  p.  392. 


Lochiel,  when  upwards  of  seventy,  that  be  was  surprised  by 
night  on  a  hunting  or  military  expedition.  He  wrapped  him 
in  his  plaid,  and  lay  contentedly  down  upon  the  snow,  with 
which  the  ground  happened  to  be  covered.  Among  his 
attendants,  who  were  preparing  to  take  their  rest  in  the  same 
manner,  he  observed  that  one  of  his  grandsons,  for  his  better 
accommodation,  had  rolled  a  large  snow-ball,  and  placed  it 
below  his  head.  The  wrath  of  the  ancient  chief  was  awakened 
by  a  symptom  of  what  he  conceived  to  be  degenerate  luxury. 
— "  Out  upon  thee,"  said  he,  kicking  the  frozen  bolster  from 
the  liead  which  it  supported  ;  "  art  thou  so  efi'eminate  as  to 
need  a  pillow  1"  The  officer  of  engineers,  whose  curious  let- 
ters from  the  Highlands  have  been  more  than  once  quoted, 
tells  a  similar  story  of  Macdonald  of  Keppoch,  and  subjoins 
the  following  remarks: — "This  and  many  other  stories  are 
romantic  ;  but  there  is  one  thing,  that  at  first  thought  might 
seem  very  romantic,  of  which  I  have  been  credibly  assured, 
that  when  the  Highlanders  are  constrained  to  lie  among  the 
liills,  in  cold  dry  windy  weather,  they  sometimes  soak  the 
plaid  in  some  river  or  burn  (i.e.  brook),  and  then,  holding  up 
a  corner  of  it  a  little  above  their  heads,  they  turn  themselves 
round  and  round,  till  they  are  enveloped  by  the  whole  man- 
tle. They  tlien  lay  themselves  down  on  the  heath,  ujion  the 
leeward  side  of  some  hill,  where  the  wet  and  the  warmth  of 
their  bodies  make  a  steam  like  that  of  a  boiling  kettle.  The 
wet,  they  say,  keeps  them  warm  by  thickening  the  stuff,  and 
keeping  the  wind  from  penetrating.  I  must  confess  I  should 
have  been  apt  to  question  this  fact,  had  I  not  frequently  seen 
them  wet  from  morning  to  night,  and  even  at  the  beginning 
of  the  rain,  not  so  much  as  stir  a  few  yards  to  shelter,  but 
continue  in  it  without  necessity,  till  they  were,  as  we  say,  wet 
through  and  through.  And  that  is  soon  effected  by  the  loose- 
ness and  sponginess  of  the  plaiding  ;  but  the  bonnet  is  fre- 
quently taken  off  and  wrung  Uke  a  dish-clout,  and  then  put 
on  again.  They  have  been  accustomed  from  their  infancy  to 
be  often  wet,  and  to  take  the  water  like  spaniels,  and  this  .is 
become  a  second  nature,  and  can  scarcely  be  called  a  hardship 
to  tliem,  insomuch  that  I  used  to  say,  they  seemed  to  be  of 
tlie  duck  Idud,  and  to  love  water  as  well.  Though  I  never 
saw  this  preparation  for  sleep  in  windy  weather,  yet,  setting 
out  early  in  a  morning  from  one  of  tlie  huts,  I  have  seen  the 
marks  of  their  lodgiiig,  where  the  ground  has  been  free  from 
rime  or  snow,  which  remained  all  round  the  spot  where  they 
had  lain." — Letters  from  Scotland,  Lond.  1754,  8vo.  ii. 
p.  108. 


Note  2  B. 

■  his  henchman  came. — P.  201. 


"  This  oflScer  is  a  sort  of  secretary,  and  is  to  be  ready,  upon 
all  occasions,  to  venture  liis  life  in  defence  of  his  master ;  and 
at  drinking-bouts  he  stands  behind  his  seat,  at  his  haunch, 
from  whence  his  title  is  derived,  and  watches  the  conversa- 
tion, to  see  if  any  one  offends  his  patron.  An  English  officer 
being  in  company  with  a  certain  chieftain,  and  several  other 
Highland  gentlemen,  near  Killichumen,  had  an  argument  with 
the  great  man ;  and  both  being  well  warmed  with  nsky,"  at 
last  the  dispute  grew  very  hot.  A  youth  who  was  henchman, 
not  understanding  one  word  of  English,  imagined  his  chief  was 
insulted,  and  thereupon  drew  his  pistol  from  his  side,  and 
snajiped  it  at  the  officer's  head  :  but  tlie  pistol  missed  fire, 
otherwise  it  is  more  than  probable  he  might  have  suffered  death 
from  the  hand  of  that  little  vermin.  But  it  is  very  disagree- 
able to  an  Englishman  over  a  bottle,  with  the  Highlanders,  to 
see  every  one  of  them  have  his  gilly,  that  is,  his  servant,  stand- 
ing behind  him  all  the  while,  let  what  will  be  the  subject  of 
conversation." — Letters  from  Scotland,  ii.  159. 

2  Wiiisky, 


248 


scorrs  poetical  works. 


Note  2  C. 

And  tchUe  the  Firry  Crott  glanctit,  like  a  meteor,  round. — 

p.auj. 

Wlit'n  a  rliifftain  dcMiriHl  to  fuiumon  lii<  clnn,  n|>on  any 
■oiKIpr  or  iin|ionaii(  emrrgcni-r,  lie  ali-w  a  j;i>at,  ami  making 
B  i-nw*  of  any  lij'lit  wood,  iraml  iu  pxln'inilit<9  in  (lio  firn, 
anil  rxlin^ii  •Ik-'!  tIi.ih  in  the  blood  of  llie  animal.  Tliin  wu 
lalli'l  tlif    '  »,  alao  Crean  Tnrigk,  or  iho  Croas  of 

' '      .>!-   .>.-■>. --.lipncr  to  what  tlio  •ymbol  implinl,  In- 

<^y.     It  wu  dplivcn-il  to  a  awil't  and  truiity  mti>««n- 

•'  "  \  witli  it  to  llif  iifxt  liamli-l,  wlicrr-  lie 

i|ial  porwn,  with  anin^'lc  woril,  iiiijily- 

c  ol   ri.uJi'Zvou».     Hi'  who  receive<l  the  Kyiiibol 

\  ID  (ond  it  I'orward,  with    ei]ual    dUpatch,  to  the 

r  -•  il  with  incredible  celerity  through 

n  ■  ■■       '■  allp-iiance  to  the  chid',  and  bIm) 

ainon:;  hi<  aliie*  and  nei^hbon,  il'  the  danger  wxi  common  to 

them.     At  fight  of  the  Fiery  Cross,  every  man,  from  i«ixteeii 

yean  old  to  sixty,  capable  of  bearing  arms,  was  obliged  in- 

rtanily  to  repair,  in  his  be»t  arms  and  aceoatrements,  to  the 

p!ioe  of  ren-lcT'.vons.     He  who  failed  to  appear  suflcrvd  tJie 

exin-mitii-a  of  lire  and  sword,  which  were  emblematically  de- 

r.ouiK  ed   to  the  disobedient  by  the  bloody  and    burnt    marks 

'  Kil.     During  the  civil  war  of  1745-fi,  the 

i  '  its  circuit ;  «nd  upon  one  occasion  it 

piX-w*  .i   liiru>ia!i   ilio   whole  district  of  Un'adalbane,  a  tract  of 

thir*y-!\vn  nii!>-<,  in  t!m-e  hours.    The  late  Alexander  Stewart, 

lied  to  mo  his  having  »ent  round 

ilirtricl  of  Appine,  during  the  same 

The  coast  was  threatened  by  a  descent  from  two 

I.  _ „ate«,  and  the  flower  of  the  young  men  were  with 

the  army  of  Prioce  Charles  Edward,  then  in  England  ;  yet  the 
•uminons  was  so  efiectaal,  that  even  old  age  and  childhood 
olM'yed  It ;  and  a  force  was  collected  in  a  few  liours,  so  numer- 
ous and  so  enthusiastic,  that  all  attempt  at  the  intended  diver- 
sion upon  the  country  of  the  absent  warriors  was  in  prudence 
abandoned,  as  desperate. 

Thi<  practice,  like  M)me  others,  is  common  to  the  Highland- 
en  with  the  ancient  Scandinavians,  as  will  appear  by  the  fol- 
lowing extract  from  Olaus  Magnus  : — 

"  When  the  enemy  is  upon    the   sea-coast,  or  within  the 

limits  of  nortlicm  kingdomcs,  then  presently,  by  llic  command 

of  the  principal  governouD,  with  the  counsel  and  consent  of 

the  old  soldiers,  who  ore  notably  skilled  in  such  like  business, 

a  slatr  of  three  hands  length,  in  the  common  sight  of  them 

all,  is  carried,  by  the  speedy  running  of  some  octive  yonng 

man,  unto  that  village  or  city,  with  this  command, — that  on 

the  third,  fourth,  or  eighth  day,  one,  two,  or  three,  or  else 

eyort  man  in  p-Tticnlar,  from    lifteen    years  old,  shall   come 

<    for   ten   or   twenty  days,  upon 

■>lmll  be  burnt  (wliich  is  intimated 

.  the  stall';,  or  else  the  master  to  be  hanged 

^  ■     il  by  the  cord  lied  to  it),  to  appear  s|ieedily  on 

m^h  a  bank,  oi  field,  or  valley,  to  hear  the  cause  he  is  called, 

and  to  hear  orden  from  the  said  provincial  governonrs  what 

he  shall  do.      Wherefore   tliat   messenger,  swifter  than   any 

po<t  or  wa?jon,  having   douo  his  commission,  comes  slowly 

back  as.iin,  briniine  a  token  with  him  that  he  hath  done  all 

ii-r  runs  to  every  village, 
'■"     ....     "The 
•ell,  that  arc  to  give  warning 
'.         ,  '■',  mn   firTT-lr  nrifl  swiftly; 

lor  no  snow,  no  rain,  nor  heat  1,1  hold 

tb«m  ;  but  they  will  soon  run  tl  •  The 

Grst  messenger  tells  it  to  the  next  village.*  and  that  to  the 
next;  and  so  tlvi  hubbub  nuu  all  over  till  they  all  know  it 

1  The  Slonilion  agsinat  lh«  R  '  ' "" 

which  I  wu  (ikTored  by  my  U 


in  that  itift  or  territory,  where,  when,  and  wherefore  they  mnsi 
meet."— (Ii.xi'3  HtxONtTs'  Hiitory  of  the  Ootht,  Engli^iud 
by  J.  8.,  l^iid.  1(5M,  book  iv.  chap.  3,  A. 


Note  2  D. 


That  monk,  of  latage  form  and  face. — I'.  203. 

The  state  of  religion  in  the  middle  age*  afTorded  comiderable 
facilitie*  for  those  whoso  ino<lo  of  life  excluded  them  from 
regular  worvhip,  to  secure,  iieverlhelesii,  the  ghostly  ajsistoneo 
of  confi-sxors,  iXTfectly  willing  to  adapt  the  nature  of  their 
\loclrine  to  the  nec(>)uities  and  (leculinr  ein-nni«tan<  i-i  uf  their 
flock.  Robin  Hoo<l,  it  is  well  known,  had  his  celi'br.ited  du- 
liieslie  clinjilain,  Friar  Tuck,  And  that  same  curtal  friar  was 
probably  nintclieil  in  manneni  and  appearance  by  the  ghwtly 
fnlhrrs  of  the  Tyneilalo  robbers,  who  are  thus  de<«rilH-<l  in  an 
excommunication  fulminated  against  their  patrons  by  RichanI 
Fox,  Bishop  of  Durlinm,  tempore  Henrioi  Vltl.  "  We  have 
further  understood,  that  there  are  many  chaplains  in  the  said 
territories  of  Tynedale  and  Redesdale,  who  are  public  and  0|>en 
maintainers  of  concubinage,  irregular,  susjwnded,  excommuni- 
cated, and  intenlictcd  persons,  and  withal  so  utterly  ignorant  of 
letters,  that  it  has  been  found  by  lliose  who  objected  tliii  to 
them,  that  there  were  some  who,  having  celebrated  mass  for 
ten  years,  were  still  unable  to  read  the  sacramental  service. 
We  have  also  understood  there  are  perions  among  them  who, 
although  not  ordained,  do  take  upon  them  the  oflices  of  priest- 
hood ;  and,  in  contempt  of  God,  celebrate  the  divine  aud  sa- 
cred rites,  and  administer  the  sacraments,  not  only  in  i^acred 
and  dedicated  places,  but  in  those  which  ore  profane  and  in- 
terdicted, and  most  wretchedly  ruinous  ;  they  themselves  being 
attired  in  ragged,  torn,  and  most  filthy  vestments,  altogether 
unfit  to  be  used  in  divine,  or  even  in  temjioral  otficcs.  The 
which  said  chaplain'  do  administer  sacraments  and  sacramental 
rights  to  the  aforesaid  manifest  and  infamous  thieves,  robbers, 
depredators,  receivers  of  stolen  goods,  and  plunderers,  and  that 
without  restitution,  or  intention  to  restore,  as  evinced  by  the 
act ;  and  do  also  openly  admit  them  to  the  rites  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal sepulchre,  without  exacting  security  for  restitution,  al- 
though they  are  prohibited  from  doing  so  by  the  sacred  canons, 
as  well  as  by  tlie  institutes  of  the  saints  and  fathers.  All 
which  infers  the  heavy  peril  of  their  own  souls,  and  is  a  per- 
nicious example  to  the  other  believers  in  Christ,  as  well  as  no 
slight,  but  an  aggravated  injury,  to  the  numbers  despoiled  and 
plundered  of  their  goods,  gear,  herds,  and  chattels."! 

To  this  lively  and  picturesque  description  of  the  confessors 
and  churchmen  of  predatory  tribes,  there  may  be  added  some 
curious  particulars  respecting  the  priests  attached  to  the  sci-e- 
ral  sepLs  of  native  Irish,  during  the  reign  of  Cluecn  Elizabeth. 
These  friars  had  indeed  to  plead,  that  the  incursions,  which 
they  not  only  pardoned,  but  even  encouraged,  were  made  upon 
those  hostile  to  them,  as  well  in  religion  as  from  national  on- 
tipathy  ;  but  by  Protestant  writers  they  are  uniformly  alleged 
to  be  the  chief  instruments  of  Irish  insurrection,  the  very  well- 
spring  of  all  rebellion  towards  the  English  government.  Lith- 
gow,  the  Scottish  traveller,  declares  the  Irish  wood-kcme,  or 
predatory  tribes,  to  be  but  the  hounds  of  their  hunting  priests, 
who  directed  their  incursions  by  their  pleasure,  partly  for  sus- 
tenance, partly  to  gratify  animosity,  partly  to  foment  general 
division,  and  always  for  the  better  security  and  easier  domina- 
tion of  the  friars.^  Derrick,  the  liveliness  and  minuteness  of 
whose  descriptions  may  frequently  apologize  for  his  doggerel 
verses,  after  describing  an  Irish  feast,  and  tlie  encouragement  ! 
given,  by  the  songs  of  the  bards,  to  its  termination  in  an  incni^ 
sion   upon  the  parts  of  the  country   more  immediately  under 

i1  T.a(iD,  in  the  Appendix  to  tbe  IntroductioB  to  cne 
No.  Vlf.  vol.  i.  p.  »'I4. 
■J  1.;  I,.-  v.  ,  I  r.ivfU,  first  edition,  p.  431. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


249 


the  dominion  of  the  English,  records  the  no  less  powerful  argu- 
ments ased  by  the  friar  to  excite  their  animosity : — 

'  And  more  t'  augment  the  flame, 

and  rancour  of  tlieir  liarte, 
The  frier,  of  his  eounsells  vile, 

to  rebelles  doth  imparte. 
Affirming  that  it  is 

an  almose  deede  to  God, 
To  make  the  English  subjectes  taste 

the  Irish  rebells'  rodde. 
To  spoile,  to  kill,  to  burne 

this  frier's  couusell  is  ; 
And  for  the  doing  of  the  same, 

he  warrantes  heavenlie  blisse. 
He  tells  a  holie  tale  ; 

the  white  he  tournes  to  black  ; 
And  through  the  pardons  in  his  male, 

he  workes  a  knavishe  knacke." 

The  wreckful  invasion  of  a  part  of  the  English  pale  is  then 
oescribed  with  some  spirit ;  the  burning  of  houses,  driving  off 
cattle,  and  aU  pertaining  to  such  predatory  inroads,  are  illus- 
trated by  a  rude  cut.  The  defeat  of  the  Irish,  by  a  party  of 
English  soldiers  from  the  next  garrison,  is  then  commemorated, 
and  iu  like  manner  adorned  witli  an  engraving,  in  which  the 
frier  is  exhibited  mourning  over  the  slain  chieftain  ;  or,  as  tlie 
rubric  expresses  it, 

"  The  frier  then,  that  treacherous  knave  ;  with  ough  ough- 

hone  lament. 
To  see  his  cousin  Devill's-son  to  have  so  foul  event." 

The  matter  is  handled  at  great  length  in  the  text,  of  which 
the  following  verses  are  more  than  sufficient  sample  : 

'  The  frier  seyng  this, 

laments  that  lueklesse  parte. 
And  curseth  to  the  pitte  of  hell 

the  death  man's  sturdie  hearte  ; 
Yet  for  to  quight  them  with 

the  frier  taketh  paine. 
For  all  the  synnes  that  ere  he  did 

remission  to  obtaine. 
And  therefore  serves  his  booke, 

the  candell  and  the  bell ; 
But  thinke  yon  tlial  such  apishe  toies 

bring  damned  souls  from  hell  1 
It  'longs  not  to  my  parte 

infernall  things  to  knowe  ; 
But  I  beleve  till  later  daie, 

thei  rise  not  from  belowe. 
Yet  hope  that  friers  give 

to  this  rebellious  rout. 
If  that  their  souls  should  channce  in  hell, 

to  bring  them  qnicklie  out, 
Doetli  make  them  lead  suche  lives, 

as  neither  God  nor  man. 
Without  revenge  for  their  desartes, 

perraitte  or  suffer  can. 
Thus  friers  are  the  cause, 

the  fountain,  and  the  spring, 
Of  hurleburles  in  this  lande, 

of  eche  unhappie  thing. 
Thei  cause  them  to  rebell 

against  their  soveraigne  qnene, 
And  through  rebellion  often  tymes, 

their  lives  do  vanish  clone. 
So  as  by  friers  meanes, 

1  This  cnrions  picture  of  Ireland  waa  inserted  by  the  Author  in  the  re- 
publication of  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i.,  in  which  the  plates  hare  been  also 
32 


in  whom  all  follie  swimme, 
The  Irishe  karne  doe  often  lose 
the  life,  with  hedde  and  liiilme."' 

As  the  Irish  tribes,  and  those  of  the  Scottish  Highlands, 
are  much  more  intimately  allied,  by  language,  manners,  dress, 
and  customs,  than  the  antiquaries  of  either  country  hare  be«n 
willing  to  admit,  I  flatter  myself  I  have  here  produced  a  stioKg 
warrant  for  the  character  sketched  in  the  text.  The  followm» 
picture,  though  of  a  different  kind,  serves  to  establish  the  ei- 
istence  of  ascetic  religionists,  to  a  comparatively  late  period,  io 
the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
simplicity  in  the  description,  for  which,  as  for  much  similar  in- 
formation, I  am  obliged  to  Dr.  John  Martin,  who  visited  the 
Hebrides  at  the  suggestion  of  .'-'ir  Robert  Sibbald,  a  Scottish 
antiquarian  of  eminence,  and  early  in  the  eighteenth  century 
published  a  description  of  them,  which  procured  him  admission 
into  the  royal  society.  He  died  in  London  about  1719.  His 
work  is  a  strange  mixture  of  learning,  observation,  and  gross 
credulity. 

"  I  remember,"  says  this  author,  "  I  have  seen  an  old  lay- 
capuchin  here  (in  the  island  of  Benbecula),  called  in  their  lan- 
guage Brahir-bocht,  that  is.  Poor  Brother  ;  which  is  literally 
true  ;  for  he  answers  this  character,  having  nothing  bnt  what 
is  given  him  ;  he  holds  himself  fully  satisfied  with  food  and 
rayment,  and  lives  in  as  great  simplicity  as  any  of  his  order  ; 
his  diet  is  very  mean,  and  he  drinks  only  fair  water  ;  his  liabit 
is  no  less  mortifying  than  that  of  his  brethren  elsewhere  :  he 
wears  a  short  coat,  which  comes  no  farther  than  his  middle, 
with  narrow  sleeves  like  a  waistcoat :  he  wears  a  plad  above 
it,  girt  about  the  middle,  which  reaches  to  his  knee  :  the  plad 
is  fastened  on  liis  breast  with  a  wooden  pin,  his  neck  bare,  and 
his  feet  often  scftoo :  he  wears  a  hat  for  ornament,  and  the 
string  about  it  is  a  bit  of  a  fisher's  line,  made  of  horse-hair. 
This  plad  he  wears  instead  of  a  gown  worn  by  those  of  his  or- 
der in  other  countries.  I  told  him  he  wanted  tlie  flaxen  girdle 
that  men  of  his  order  usually  wear  :  he  answered  me,  that  he 
wore  a  leathern  one,  which  was  the  same  thing.  Upon  the 
matter,  if  he  is  spoke  to  when  at  meat,  he  answers  again  ; 
which  is  contrary  to  the  custom  of  his  order.  This  poor  man 
frequently  diverts  himself  with  angling  of  trouts  ;  he  lies  upon 
straw,  and  has  no  bell  (as  others  have)  to  call  him  to  his  devo- 
tions, but  only  his  conscience,  as  he  told  me." — Martin's 
Description  of  the  Western  Higlilands,  p.  82. 


Note  2  E, 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told. — P.  203. 

The  legend  which  follows  is  not  of  the  author's  invention. 
It  is  possible  he  may  differ  from  modern  critics,  in  supposing 
that  the  records  of  human  superstition,  if  peculiar  to,  and  char- 
acteristic of,  the  country  in  which  the  scene  is  laid,  are  a  legit- 
imate subject  of  poetry.  He  gives,  however,  a  ready  assent  to 
the  narrower  proposition  which  condemns  all  attempts  of  an 
irregular  and  disordered  fancy  to  excite  terror,  by  accumulating 
a  train  of  fantastic  and  incolierent  horrors,  whether  borrowed 
from  all  countries,  and  patched  upon  a  narrative  belonging  to 
one  which  knew  them  not,  or  derived  from  the  author's  own 
imagination.  In  the  present  case,  therefore,  I  appeal  to  the 
record  ^vhich  I  have  transcribed,  with  the  variation  of  a  very 
few  words,  from  the  geographical  collections  made  by  tlie 
Laird  of  Macfarlane.  I  know  not  whether  it  he  necessary  to 
remark,  that  the  miscellaneous  concourse  of  youths  and  maid 
ens  on  the  night  and  on  the  spot  where  the  miracle  is  said  to 
have  taken  place,  might,  even  in  a  credulous  age,  have  some- 
what diminished  the  wonder  which  accompanied  the  concep- 
tion of  Gilli-Doii^Magrevollich. 

inserted,  from  the  only  impressions  known  to  eiist,  belonging  to  the  eopj 
in  the  Advocates'  Library.    See  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i.  pp.  591,  6M. 


250 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS. 


'•f),iiTP  I,  hot  two  royl«*   from  Invprlosliie,  the  church  of 
K  !  •  waa  aiie  church 

1,1  cliiifli.  which 

d.  ;  nntl  B!>  "^Vi 

tji  '.-non  am-  ii-iith 

pan  of  >  myle  Iroin  thit  churoh,  be  crrtaiiie  nicu  which  thvy 
^i,i  ....I  i,...,>v  what  they  were.  AiiJ  long  tyuio  llicivaftcr, 
c-r  uf  that  touuo,  anil  of  the  next  tonne,  called  Un- 

nau.  iKiui  nrnchea  anil  youtlm,  did  on  a  tyma  conveen  wiUl 
olhrri  on  that  hill ;  ami  the  day  bein;  (omewhat  cold,  did 
$■''■'  ihat  were  ila)  nc  lun;;  lynio 

t<  1  liru  to  warm  them.     At 

Ui  .1   iliu  fire,  except  one  maid  or 

w '  ami  the  did  n'mainc  there  for  a 

•l>  r  aloni!,  without  anie  other  cora- 

jvr  il.ove   her  kncoti,  or  thereby,   to 

warm  her ;  a  wind  did  come  and  ca.ite  the  a»he!i  njion  tier,  and 
•he  wai  conceived  of  aiic  man-chrld.  ^-verall  tyiae«  ihere- 
atV-r  ihc  was  vcric  sick,  and  at  last  the  was  knowno  to  bo  with 
chyld.  And  then  her  parents  did  ask  at  her  the  matter  hcirolF, 
which  the  wench  could  not  wecl  answer  whicli  way  to  Ratisfio 
them.  At  lost  she  resolved  them  with  ano  answer.  As  fui^ 
tana  fell  n|ion  her  concerning  thLi  marvellous  miracle,  the 
cli'.  'rne,  his  name  was  called  Oili-doir  Maghrecol- 

li,  <  »ay,  the  Black  Child,  Son  to  the  Bones.     So 

C.I  indfather  sent  him  to  school,  and  so  he  was  a 

go.  r,  and  godlie.     He  did  build  this  church  which 

dooth  now  stand  in  Lochycid,  called  Kilmalic." — Macfar- 
LA.M,  ut  lupra,  ii.  188. 


Note  2  F. 


Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 

The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear. — P.  203. 

The  snood,  or  riband,  with  which  a  Scottish  lass  braided 
her  hair,  had  an  cmblemalical  signifiealion,  and  applied  to  her 
maiden  character.  It  was  exchanged  for  tlie  curch,  toy,  or 
coif,  when  she  passed,  by  marriage,  into  the  matron  state. 
But  if  the  damsel  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose  pretensions  to 
the  name  of  maiden,  without-gaining  a  right  to  that  of  mat- 
ron, she  was  neither  permitted  to  use  the  snood,  nor  advanced 
to  the  graver  dignity  of  the  curch.  In  old  Scottish  songs  there 
occur  manf  sly  allusions  to  such  misfortune ;  as  in  the  old 
words  to  the  popular  tune  of  "  Ower  the  muir  amans;  the 
heather:" 

'  Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 
Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie, 
The  lassie  lost  her  silken  snood, 
That  gaid  her  greet  till  she  was  wearie." 


Note  2  G. 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild. 

Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child. — P.  20J. 

In  adopting  the  legend  concerning  the  birth  of  the  Founder 
of  the  Church  of  Kilmalie,  the  author  has  endeavored  to  trace 
the  effects  which  such  a  belief  was  likely  to  produce,  in  a  bar- 
barous age,  on  the  pcrv>n  to  whom  it  rttalcd.  It  seems  likely 
that  he  must  have  become  a  fanatic  or  an  impostor,  or  that 
mixture  of  both  which  forms  a  more  frequent  character  than 
either  of  them,  as  existing  Kparately.  In  truth,  mad  persons 
are  frequently  more  anxious  to  improM  upon  othera  a  faith  in 
th<>ir  visions,  than  they  arc  themselves  confirmed  in  their  real- 
ity ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  it  i>  difficult  for  the  most  cool- 
headed  impostor  long  to  f)er<onate  an  rnthu<iinst,  without  in 
•ome  degree  believing  what  he  is  so  eager  lo  have  believed. 
It  was  a  natural  attribute  of  inch  a  character  as  the  (np|>osed  j 


lienuit,  lliat  he  should  credit  the  numeroui  iuperelitions  with 
which  the  minds  of  ordinary  Highlanders  are  almost  always 
imbueal.  A  few  of  thew  are  slijililly  alluded  to  in  ihui  stanza. 
The  River  Demon,  or  Kivei^hume,  for  it  is  that  furin  whieh  lit 
coiniiiunly  bmuiiii-s,  is  the  Kelpy  of  the  Lowlaniln,  an  evil  and 
ninlicious  spirit,  delighting  to  forebode  and  to  witiieo  calamity. 
He  frvi|urnu  most  Highland  lakes  and  rivers;  and  one  of  his 
moat  niemorablo  exploits  was  |HTformed  u)iou  Uie  banks  oi 
Loch  Vennachar,  in  the  very  dintrict  which  forms  the  icene 
of  our  action  :  it  consisted  in  the  di->truction  of  a  funeral  pro- 
cession with  all  its  atlendaiiL').  The  "noontide  hag,"  called 
in  Gaelic  Olas-lich,  a  tall,  emaciated,  gigantic  female  figure, 
is  supjiosed  in  particular  to  haunt  the  dinlriet  of  Knoidart.  A 
goblin,  dressed  in  anliijuo  armor,  and  having  one  hand  coven-d 
with  blood,  called  from  that  cireuiiMtance,  J.hnm-dearg,  or 
Red-hand,  is  a  tenant  of  the  fon*U  of  Glenniorv  and  Rothie- 
murcus.  Other  spirits  of  the  desert,  all  frightful  In  hhnpe  and 
malignant  in  disjHMition,  are  believed  lo  fr>M|uent  different 
mountains  and  glens  of  the  Highlands,  where  any  unu^iual 
appearance,  produced  by  mist,  or  the  strange  lights  that  are 
sometimes  thrown  U|ion  particular  objects,  never  fails  to  pre- 
sent an  apparition  to  the  imagination  of  llie  solitary  and  mul- 
ancholv  mountaineer. 


Note  2  H. 


The  fatal  Bcn-Shie's  boding  scream.— P.  204. 

Mo«t  i^at  families  in  the  Highlands  were  lapfiosed  to  have 
a  tutelar,  or  rather  a  domestic  spirit,  attached  to  them,  who 
took  an  interest  in  their  prosperity,  and  intimated,  by  its  Mail- 
ings, any  approaching  disaster.  That  of  Grant  of  Grant  was 
called  May  .Muullnch,  and  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  girl,  who 
had  her  arm  covered  with  hair.  Grant  of  Rolhiemurcns  had 
an  attendant  called  BoJach-an-dun,  or  the  Ghost  of  the  Hill  ; 
and  many  other  examples  might  be  mentioned.  The  Ban- 
Schie  implies  a  female  Fair}',  whose  lamentations  were  often 
snpposctl  to  precede  the  death  of  a  chieftain  of  particular  fam- 
ilies. When  she  is  visible,  it  is  in  the  form  of  an  old  woman, 
with  a  blue  mantle  and  streaming  hair.  A  sufierstition  of  the 
same  kind  is,  I  believe,  universally  received  by  the  inferior 
ranks  of  the  native  Irish. 

The  death  of  the  head  of  a  Highland  family  is  also  som» 
times  supposed  to  be  announced  by  a  chain  of  lights  of  differ- 
ent colors,  called  Dr'cvg,  or  death  of  the  Druid.  The  direc- 
tion which  it  takes,  marks  the  place  of  jhe  funeral.  [See  llie 
Essay  OD  Fairy  Superstitions  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy.] 


Note  2  I. 


Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 

Of  charging  stccd.i,  careering  fast 

Along  Bcnhnrrotc's  shingly  side, 

If  here  mortal  horsemen  ne'er  might  ride. — P.  204. 

A  presage  of  the  kind  alluded  to  in  the  text,  is  still  believed 
to  announce  death  to  the  ancient  Highland  family  of  M'Lean 
of  Lochboy.  The  spirit  of  an  ancestor  slain  in  battle  is  heard 
to  gallop  along  a  stony  bank,  and  then  to  ride  thrice  around 
th«  family  residence,  ringing  his  fairy  bridle,  and  thus  intima- 
ting the  approaching  calamity.  How  easily  the  eye,  as  well 
as  the  ear,  may  be  deceived  upon  such  occasions,  is  evident 
from  the  stories  of  armies  in  the  air,  and  other  spectral  phe- 
nomena with  which  history  abounds.  Such  an  apparition  is 
said  to  have  been  witnessed  upon  the  side  of  Southfell  moun- 
tain, between  Penrilh  and  Keswick,  upon  the  23d  June,  1744, 
by  two  pcr<"ons,  William  Lancaster  of  Blakehills,  and  Daniel 
Slricket,  his  servant,  whose  attestation  to  the  fact,  with  a  full 
account  of  the  apparition,  dated  the  21st  July,  1745,  is  printed 
in  Clarke's  Survey  of  the  Lakes.     The  apparition  coiuisted  of 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


251 


(everal  troops  of  horse  moving  in  regular  order,  with  a  steady 
rapid  motion,  making  a  curved  sweep  around  the  fell,  and 
geeming  to  the  sj)ectators  to  disapjjear  over  tlie  ridge  of  the 
mountain.  Many  persons  witnessed  this  phenomenon,  and 
observed  the  last,  or  last  but  one,  of  the  6up[)0sed  troop,  oc- 
casionally leave  his  rank,  and  pass  at  a  gallo.i  to  th«  front, 
when  he  resumed  the  same  steady  pace.  This  curious  appear- 
ance, making  the  necessary  allowance  for  imagination,  may  be 
perhaps  sufficiently  accounted  for  by  optical  decejilion. — Sur- 
vey of  the  Lakes,  p.  25. 

Supernatural  intimations  of  approaching  fate  are  not,  1  be- 
ieve,  confined  to  Highland  families.  Howel  mentions  having 
eeen  at  a  lapidary's,  in  1632,  a  monumental  stone,  prepared 
for  four  persons  of  the  name  of  0.\enham,  before  the  death  of 
each  of  whom,  the  inscription  staled  a  white  bird  to  have  ap- 
peared and  fluttered  around  the  bed  while  the  patient  was  in 
the  last  agony. — Familiar  Letters,  edit.  1720,  247.  Glanville 
mentions  one  family,  the  members  of  which  received  this  sol- 
emn sign  by  music,  tlie  sound  of  which  floated  from  the  family 
residence,  and  seemed  to  die  in  a  neighboring  wood  ;  another, 
that  of  Captain  Wood  of  Bampton,  to  whom  the  signal  was 
given  by  knocking.  But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the 
kind  occurs  in  the  MS.  Memoirs  of  Lady  Fanshaw,  so  e.xem- 
plary  for  her  conjugal  affection.  Her  husband,  Sir  Richard, 
and  she,  chanced,  during  their  abode  in  Ireland,  to  visit  a 
friend,  the  head  of  a  sept,  who  resided  in  his  ancient  baronial 
castle,  surrounded  with  a  moat.  At  midnight  she  was  awa- 
kened by  a  ghastly  and  supernatural  scream,  and,  looking  out 
of  bed,  beheld,  by  the  moonlight,  a  female  face  and  part  of 
the  form,  hovering  at  the  window.  The  distance  from  the 
ground,  as  well  as  the  circumstance  of  the  moat,  excluded  the 
possibility  that  what  she  beheld  was  of  this  world.  The  face 
was  that  of  a  young  and  rather  handsome  woman,  but  pale  ; 
and  the  hair,  which  was  reddish,  was  loose  and  dishevelled. 
The  dress,  which  Lady  Fanshaw's  terror  did  not  prevent  her 
remarking  accurately,  was  that  of  the  ancient  Irish.  This  ap- 
parition continued  to  exhibit  itself  for  some  time,  and  then 
vanished  with  two  shrieks,  similar  to  that  which  had  first  ex- 
cited Lady  Fanshaw's  attention.  In  the  morning,  with  infinite 
tenor,  she  communicated  to  her  host  what  she  had  witnessed, 
and  found  him  prepared  not  only  to  credit  but  to  account  for 
the  apparition.  "  A  near  relation  of  my  family,"  said  he, 
"expired  last  night  in  this  castle.  We  disguised  our  certain 
expectation  of  the  event  from  you,  lest  it  should  throw  a  cloud 
over  the  cheerful  reception  which  was  due  you.  Now,  be- 
fore such  an  event  happens  in  this  family  and  castle,  the  fe- 
male spectre  whom  you  have  seen  always  is  visible.  She  is 
believed  to  be  the  spirit  of  a  woman  of  inferior  rank,  whom 
one  of  my  ancestors  degraded  himself  by  marrying,  and  whom 
afterwards,  to  expiate  the  dishonor  done  his  family,  he  caused 
to  be  drowned  in  the  castle  moat." 


Note  2  K 


Whose  parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave 
Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave.- 


-P.  204. 


Ineh-Cailliach,  the  Isle  of  Nuns,  or  of  Old  Women,  is  a  most 
beautiful  island  at  the  lowerextremity  of  Loch  Lomond.  The 
church  belonging  to  the  former  nunnery  was  long  used  as  the 
place  of  worship  for  the  parish  of  Buchanan,  but  scarce  any 
vestiges  of  it  now  remain.  The  burial-ground  continues  to  be 
used,  and  contains  the  family  ])laces  of  sepulture  of  several 
neighboring  elans.  The  monuments  of  the  lairds  of  Mae- 
gregor,  and  of  other  families,  claiming  a  descent  from  the  old 
Scottish  King  Alpine,  are  most  remarkable.  The  Highland- 
ers are  as  zealous  of  their  rights  of  sepulture  as  may  be  ex- 
■jected  from  a  ppople  whose  whole  laws  and  government,  if 

I  3'U'a  fire,  or  Whitsunday. 


clanship  can  be  called  so,  turned  npon  the  single  principle  of 
family  descent.  "  May  his  ashes  be  scattered  on  the  water," 
was  one  of  the  deepest  and  most  solemn  imprecations  which 
they  used  against  an  enemy.  [See  a  detailed  description  of 
the  funeral  ceremonies  of  a  Highland  chieftain  in  the  Fair  Maid 
of  Perth.  Waverletj  J^ovels,  vol.  43,  chaps,  x.  and  xi.  Edit. 
1834.] 


Note  2  L. 


the  dun-deer's  hide 


On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied. — P.  205. 

The  present  brogue  of  the  Highlanders  is  made  of  half-dried 
leather,  with  lioles  to  admit  and  let  out  the  water  ;  for  walk- 
ing the  moors  dry-shod  is  a  matter  altogether  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Tlie  ancient  buskin  was  still  ruder,  being  made  of  un- 
dressed deer's  hide,  with  the  liair  outwards;  a  circumstance 
which  procured  the  Highlanders  the  well-known  epithet  of 
Red-shanhs.  The  process  is  very  accurately  described  by  one 
Elder  (himself  a  Highlander)  in  the  project  for  a  union  between 
England  and  Scotland,  addressed  to  Henry  VIII.  "We  go 
a-hunting,  and  after  that  we  have  slam  red-deer,  we  flay  off 
the  skin,  by-and-by,  and  setting  of  our  bare-foot  on  the  inside 
thereof,  for  want  of  cuiming  shoemakers,  by  your  grace's  par- 
don, we  play  the  cobblers,  compassing  and  measuring  so  much 
thereof  as  shall  reach  up  to  our  ankles,  pricking  the  upper 
part  thereof  with  lioles,  that  the  water  may  repass  where  it 
enters,  and  stretching  it  up  with  a  strong  thong  of  the  same 
above  our  said  ankles.  So,  and  please  your  noble  grace,  we 
make  our  shoes.  Therefore,  we  using  such  manner  of  shoes, 
the  rongh  hairy  side  outwards,  in  your  grace's  dominions  of 
England,  we  be  called  Roughfootcd  Scots." — Pinkkrton'* 
History,  vol.  ii.  p.  397. 


Note  2  M. 


The  dismal  coronach. — P.  206. 

The  Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  like  the  Ulalatus  of  the 
Romans,  and  the  Vluloo  of  the  Irish,  was  a  wild  expression  of 
lamentation,  poured  forth  by  the  mourners  over  the  body  of  a 
departed  friend.  When  the  words  of  it  were  articulate,  they 
expressed  the  praises  of  the  deceased,  and  the  loss  the  clan 
would  sustain  by  his  death.  •  The  following  is  a  lamentation  of 
this  kind,  literally  translated  from  the  Gaelic,  to  some  of  the 
ideas  of  which  the  text  stands  indebted.  The  tune  is  so  popu- 
lar, that  it  has  since  become  the  war-march,  or  Gathering  of 
the  clan. 

Coronach  on  Sir  Lauchlan,  Chief  of  Maclean. 

"  Which  of  all  the  Senacbies 
Can  trace  thy  line  from  the  root  up  to  Paradise, 
But  Macvuirih,  the  son  of  Fergus? 
No  sooner  had  thine  ancient  stately  tree 
Taken  firm  root  in  Albion, 
Than  one  of  thy  forefathers  fell  at  Harlaw. — 
'Twas  then  we  lost  a  chief  of  deathless  name. 

"  'Tis  no  base  weed — no  planted  tree. 
Nor  a  seedling  of  last  Autumn  ; 
Nor  a  sapling  planted  at  Beltain  ;' 
Wide,  wide  around  were  spread  its  lofty  branches— 
But  the  topmost  bough  is  lowly  laid  ! 
Thou  hast  forsaken  us  before  Sawaine.* 

"  Thy  dwelling  is  the  winter  house ; — 
Loud,  sad,  sad,  and  mighty  is  thy  death-song ! 

2  Hallowe'ea. 


SCO'n"S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


'^h  *  m>nr*'^n<  rhumjiion  of  Montr 


■i! 
luoro  I 


Th.-  lur^.i.li  111'  iiT  _  _    -!  been  lUiK'noiled  at 

funrraU  by  the  use  ol°  Ibe  bag|ii|>t< ;  anil  (bat  bI'M  i<,  like  many 
otlu'r  llij;bliiml  prvaliontim,  I'ulUnjt  intoUuuM',  imli-v'.  inn-nioto 
diaUicU. 


Note  2  N. 


B<nleJi  taie  Me  Cross  of  Fire, 

It  glanced  iike  lightning  up  Strnth-Ire.—V.  207. 


I 


.if  the  provincial  map  of  Pi-rtlisliin',  or  any  largu 
ni  1,  ~  mil,  will  trice  tlie  progress  of  llic  nignal  tiirougb 
tht>  iimnll  ilistrict  of  lake*  nnil  mountains,  wliicb,  in  ext-n'ise  of 
my  |HX'lical  privilege,  I  have  subjeclcd  to  the  autbonty  of  my 
Imaginary  cbioflain,  and  wbicb,  al  llio  period  of  my  romance, 
wan  rv-ally  occupied  by  a  clan  wlio  claimed  a  descent  from 
Alpine;  a  clan  tlicmotit  unfortanntc,  and  moat  penecuted,  bill 
ocitlicr  tlie  IcaM  ilL>tini;uiiilied,  least  jwwerful,  nor  leant  brave, 
of  ibo  tribes  of  the  Gael. 

"  Sliocb  non  rio°liridli  duebaisach 
Iiba-?<liio9  nn  Uun-Staiobbinish 
Aig  an  roubh  crun  na  Halba  ottioi 
'Stag  a  cbeil  ducbas  fast  ris." 

Tlie  llr>t  stage  of  tbe  Fiery  Cross  is  to  Duncraggan,  a  place 
near  tlie  Brigg  of  Turk,  where  a  short  stream  divides  Loch 
A   '  '   IxKb  Vennacbar.     From   thence,  it   passes  to- 

w  IT.  and  then  turning  to  tbe  left  up  the  pass  of 

Laii;.  ,  :.■>  '.unsigned  to  Norman  at  the  Chapel  of  Saint  Briile, 
wbii-b  rtnot  on  a  fimnll  and  romantic  knoll  in  the  middle  of 
the  valley,  railed  Stratli-Ire.  Touibea  and  Arnamlave,  or 
Animandave,  are  names  of  places  in  the  vicinity.  Tlie  alarm 
is  then  supposed  to  pass  along  the  lake  of  liUbnaig,  and 
tbroogh  the  various  glens  in  tbe  district  of  Bali|uiililer,  in- 
cluding the  neighboring  tracts  of  Glenfinlas  and  Strathgartney. 


Note  2  0. 

V"  '  !''!.iter  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 

I.     ,  ..idder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze. — P.  208. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  tbe  eoutbem  reader,  that  the 
bcatli  on  the  Scottish  moorlands  is  often  set  fire  to,  that  the 
shicp  may  have  the  advantage  of  the  young  berb.ige  jiroduced, 
in  room  of  tbe  tough  old  heather  plants.  This  custom  (exe- 
crated by  •iior''""'fi>  prodocea  occasionally  tbe  most  beautiful 
noitnrnal   n;  similar  almost  to  the  discharge  of  a 

voliano.     Ti  ■  not  new  to  poetry.     The  charge  of  a 

warrior,  in  tiic  line  ballad  of  Hardykuute,  is  said  to  be  "  like 
fire  to  heather  leU" 


Note  2  P. 


^o  onth,  but  by  his  rhirftain's  hand, 

Jt'o  late,  but  Hoderick  iJhu's  command. — P.  208. 

The  deep  ani>  implicit  r«pect  paid  by  the  Highland  clans- 
men to  their  chief,  renilcre<l  tlii'i  both  a  common  .ind  a  .««Ifinn 
oath.  In  other  respcclJi  they  were  like  most  savage  nations, 
capricious  in  their  ideas  concerning  the  obligatory  (lower  of 
oaths.  One  solemn  mode  of  swearing  was  by  ki«stng  the  dirk, 
iinpra;ating  upon  themselves  death  by  that,  or  a  similar  weapon, 


if  they  broke  their  vow.  Hut  for  oatlm  in  tbe  oinal  (vjim,  they 
are  (aid  to  have  little  r<-«|KTt.  As  for  Ibe  reven-nco  duo  to  the 
cbipf,  it  may  be  gui-oi'd  from  the  following  oild  example  of  a 
Higbland  |Kiint  of  honor  :— 

"  Till"  clan  wbrn-lo  the  above-nientioned  tribe  belong*,  is 
tbe  only  one  1  have  bcnni  of,  which  is  without  a  chief;  that 
is,  being  divided  into  families,  under  several  chieftiins,  with- 
out any  jiirticular  patriarch  of  Ibe  whole  name.  And  this  in 
a  great  n-proacb,  aa  may  appear  from  an  nfl'air  that  fell  out  at 
my  table  in  thn  Hl(,'blaiiiln,  between  iiiiu  of  that  name  and  a 
Cameron.  The  provoratinn  given  by  the  latter  was — '  NaniM 
your  chief.' — The  ri'turii  of  it  at  once  was — '  Vou  aro  a  fool.' 
They  went  out  next  iiioriiing,  lint  having  early  notice  of  it,  I 
sent  a  small  parly  of  aoliliepi  after  ibcm,  wbicb,  in  all  proba- 
bility, prevented  some  liiirbarous  ini»i'liii'f  tlint  iniglit  have  en- 
sued ;  for  the  rbielli-M  Iligblaniler,  who  i»  bimwif  a  petty  chiel- 
tain,  was  going  to  the  place  np|K)inteil  with  a  sniull-swnrd  and 
pistol,  whereas  Ibe  Caiyieron  (an  old  man)  took  with  bim  only 
his  broadsword,  acconling  to  the  agreement. 

"  When  all  was  over,  and  I  bad,  at  least  seemingly,  recon- 
ciled them,  I  was  told  the  words,  of  which  I  seemed  to  think 
but  slightly,  were,  to  one  of  the  clan,  the  greatest  of  all  provo- 
cations."— Letters  from  Hcolland,  vol.  ii.  p.  SJ21. 


Note  2  Q. 


a  low  and  lonely  cell. 

Ily  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 
Jlas  Coir-nan- Uriskin  been  sung.- 


P.  209. 


This  is  a  very  steep  and  most  romantic  hollow  in  the  moun- 
tain of  Benvenue,  overhanging  the  southeastern  extremity  of 
Loch  Katrine.  It  is  surrounded  with  stupendous  rocks,  and 
overshadowed  with  birch-trees,  mingled  with  oaks,  with  spon- 
taneous production  of  the  mountain,  even  where  its  clifl's  ap- 
pear denuded  of  soil.  A  dale  in  so  wild  a  situation,  and  amid 
a  i>eoplc  whose  gcnins  bordered  on  the  romantic,  did  not  re- 
main without  appropriate  deities.  The  name  literally  implies 
tbe  Corri,  or  Den,  of  the  Wild  or  Shaggy  men.  I'erbaps  this, 
as  conjectured  by  Mr.  Alexander  Campbell,'  may  have  origi- 
nally only  implied  its  being  the  haunt  of  a  ferocious  banditti. 
But  tradition  has  ascribed  to  tbe  Urisk,  who  gives  name  to 
tbe  cavern,  a  figure  between  a  goat  and  a  man  ;  in  short,  how- 
ever much  the  cla-ssical  reader  may  be  startled,  precisely  that 
of  the  Grecian  Satyr.  The  Urisk  seems  not  to  have  inherited, 
with  the  form,  the  petulance  of  the  silvan  deity  of  the  classics  : 
his  occupation,  on  the  contrary,  resembled  those  of  Milton's 
Lubbar  Fiend,  or  of  the  Scottish  Brownie,  though  he  differed 
from  both  in  name  and  appearance.  "The  Uriahs,"  says 
Dr.  Graham,  "  were  a  set  of  lubberiy  supernaturals,  who,  like 
the  Brownies,  could  be  gained  over  by  kind  attriition,  to  per- 
form the  drudgery  of  the  farm,  and  it  was  believed  that  many 
of  the  families  in  tbe  Highlands  bad  one  of  the  onlcr  attached 
to  it.  They  were  su|)posLd  to  be  dispersed  over  the  Highlands, 
each  in  his  own  wild  reces",  but  the  folemn  stated  meetings  of 
the  order  were  regularly  held  in  this  Cave  of  Benvenue.  This 
turrent  superstition,  no  doubt,  alludes  to  some  circumstance  in 
the  ancient  history  of  this  country." — Scenery  on  the  Southern 
Confines  of  Perthshire,  p.  10,  1806. — It  must  be  owned  that 
tbe  Coir,  or  Den,  does  not,  in  its  present  state,  meet  our  ideas 
of  a  subterraneous  grotto,  or  cave,  being  only  a  small  and 
narrow  cavity,  among  huge  fragments  of  rocks  rudely  pil^.d 
together.  But  such  a  scene  is  liable  to  convulsions  of  nature, 
whic  I  n  Lowlander  cannot  estimate,  and  which  may  have 
choked  up  what  wxt  originally  a  cavern.  At  least  the  name 
and  tradition  warrant  the  author  of  a  fictitious  tale  to  assert  its 
having  been  each  at  the  remote  period  in  which  this  scene  ii 
laid. 

I  Jouncy  bom  Edlnlrargb,  180!,  p.  109. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


253 


Note  2  R. 

The  wild  pass  of  Bcal-nam-bo.—P.  209. 

Bealach-nam-bo,  or  the  pass  of  cattle,  is  a  most  magnificent 
glade,  overlmiig  with  aged  birch-trees,  a  little  higher  up  the 
mountain  than  the  Coir-naii-Uriskin,  treated  of  in  a  former  note. 
The  whole  composes  the  most  sublime  piece  of  scenery  that 
imagination  can  conceive.  . 


Note  2  S. 


j9  single  page,  to  bear  his  sword. 
Alone  atteiided  on  his  lord. — P.  209-. 

A  Highland  chief,  being  as  absolute  in  his  patriarchal  au- 
thority as  any  prince,  had  a  corresponding  number  of  officers 
attached  to  his  person.  He  had  his  body-guards,  called 
Ziuic/ittach,  picked  from  his  clan  for  strength,  activity,  and 
entire  devotion  to  his  person.  These,  according  to  their  de- 
serts, were  sure  to  share  abundantly  in  the  rude  profusion  of 
liis  hospitality.  It  is  recorded,  for  example,  by  tradition,  that 
Allan  MacLean,  chief  of  that  clan,  happened  upon  a  time  to 
liear  one  of  these  favorite  retainers  observe  to  liis  comrade, 
that  their  chief  grew  old.—"  Whence  do  you  infer  that?"  re- 
plied the  other. — "  When  was  it,"  rejoined  the  first,  "  that  a 
soldier  of  Allan's  was  obliged,  as  I  am  now,  not  only  to  eat 
the  flesh  from  the  bone,  but  even  to  tear  off  the  inner  skin,  or 
filament  ?"  T!ie  hint  was  quite  sufficient,  and  MacLean  ne.\t 
morning,  to  relieve  his  followers  from  such  dire  necessity,  un- 
dertook an  inroad  on  the  mainland,  the  ravage  of  which  alto- 
gether effaced  the  memory  of  his  former  expeditions  for  the  like 
purpose. 

Onr  officer  of  Engineers,  so  often  quoted,  has  given  us  a 
distinct  list  of  the  domestic  officers  who,  independent  of 
Luichttach,  or  gardes  dc  corps,  belonged  to  the  establishment 
of  a  Highland  Chief  These  are,  1.  The  Henchman.  See 
these  Notes,  p.  247.  2.  The  Bard.  See  p.  243.  3.  Bladicr, 
or  spokesman.  4.  Gillie-morc,  or  sword-bearer,  alluded  to  in 
the  te.\t.  5.  Gillic-casflue,  who  carried  the  chief,  if  on  foot, 
over  the  fords.  6.  Oillie-comslraine,  who  leads  the  chief's 
horse.  7.  OUlic-Triishanarinsh,  the  baggage  man.  8.  The 
piper.  9.  The  piper's  gillie  or  attendant,  who  carries  the 
bagpipe. 1  Although  this  appeared,  naturally  enough,  very 
ridiculous  to  an  English  officer,  who  considered  the  master  of 
such  a  retinue  as  no  more  than  an  English  gentleman  of  £500 
a-year,  yet  in  the  circumstances  of  the  chief,  whose  strength 
and  importance  consisted  in  the  number  and  attachment  of  liis 
followers,  it  was  of  the  last  consequence,  in  point  of  policy,  to 
have  in  his  gift  subordinate  offices,  which  called  immediately 
round  his  person  those  wlio  were  most  devoted  to  him,  and, 
being  of  value  in  their  estimation,  were  also  the  means  of  re- 
warding them. 


Note  2  T. 


The  Taghairm  eall'd;  by  which,  afar, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war. — P.  211. 

The  Highlanders,  like  all  rude  people,  had  various  supei^ 
stitious  modes  of  inquiring  into  futurity.  One  of  the  most 
noted  was  the  Taghairm,  mentioned  in  tlie  text.  A  person 
was  wrapped  up  in  the  skin  of  a  newly-slain  bullock,  and  de- 
posited beside  a  waterfall,  or  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  or 
in  some  other  strange,  wild,  and  unusual  situation,  where  the 
scenery  around  him  suggested  nothing  but  objects  of  horror. 
In  this  situation,  he  revolved  in  his  mind  the  question  pro- 
posed ;  and  whatever  was  impressed  upon  him  by  his  exalted 
imagination,   passed   for  the  inspiration   of  the  disembodied 

1  Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p  15. 

9  Tlie  reader  rany  ha  ••*  met  vdth  tlie  story  of  the  *'  King  of  the  Catfi," 


spirits,  who  haunt  the  desolate  recesses.  In  some  of  these 
Hebrides,  they  attributed  the  same  oracular  power  to  a  large 
black  stone  by  the  sea-shore,  which  they  approached  with  cer- 
tain solemnities,  and  considered  the  first  fancy  which  came  tto 
their  own  minds,  after  they  did  .so,  to  be  the  undoubted  dictate 
of  the  tutelar  deity  of  the  stone,  and,  a.s  such,  to  3e,  if  posij- 
ble,  punctually  complied  with.  Martin  lias  recon'ed  the  fol- 
lowing curious  modes  of  Highland  augury,  in  which  the 
Taghairm,  and  its  effects  upon  the  persou  who  was  subjected 
to  it,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  text. 

"  It  was  an  ordinary  thing  among  the  over-cnriout  to  con- 
sult an  invisible  oracle,  concerning  the  fate  of  families  and 
battles,  &c.  This  was  performed  three  different  ways :  the 
first  was  by  a  company  of  men,  one  of  whom,  being  detached 
by  lot,  was  afterwards  carried  to  a  river,  which  was  the  boun- 
dary between  two  villages ;  four  of  the  company  laid  Iiold 
on  him,  and,  having  shnt  his  eyes,  they  took  him  by  the  legs 
and  arms,  and  then,  tossing  him  to  and  again,  struck  his  hips 
with  force  against  the  bank.  One  of  them  cried  out.  What 
is  it  you  have  got  here  ?  another  answers,  A  log  of  birch- 
wood.  The  other  cries  again.  Let  his  invisible  friends  appear 
from  all  quartei'S,  and  let  them  relieve  him  by  giving  an  answer 
to  our  present  demands  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  a  number 
of  little  creatures  came  from  the  sea,  who  answered  the  ques- 
tion, and  disappeared  suddenly.  The  man  was  then  set  at 
liberty,  and  they  all  returned  home,  to  take  their  measures 
according  to  the  prediction  of  their  false  prophets  ;  but  the 
poor  deluded  fools  were  abused,  for  their  answer  was  still  am- 
biguous. This  was  always  practised  in  the  night,  and  may 
literally  be  called  the  works  of  darkness. 

"  I  had  an  account  from  the  most  intelligent  and  judicious 
men  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  that  about  sixty-two  years  ago,  the 
oracle  was  thus  consulted  only  once,  and  that  was  in  the  pa- 
rish of  Kilmartin,  on  the  east  side,  by  a  wicked  and  mischie- 
vous race  of  people,  who  are  now  extinguished,  both  root  and 
branch. 

"The  second  way  of  consulting  the  oracle  was  by  a  party 
of  men,  who  first  retired  to  solitary  places,  remote  from  any 
house,  and  there  they  singled  out  one  of  their  number,  and 
wrapt  him  in  a  big  cow's  hide,  which  they  folded  about  him  ; 
his  whole  body  was  covered  with  it,  except  his  head,  and  so 
left  in  this  posture  all  night,  until  his  invisible  friends  relieved 
him,  by  giving  a  projier  answer  to  the  question  in  hand  ;  which 
he  received,  as  he  fancied,  from  several  persons  that  he  found 
about  him  all  that  time.  His  consorts  returned  to  him  at  die 
break  of  day,  and  then  he  communicated  his  news  to  them  ; 
which  often  proved  fatal  to  those  concerned  in  such  unwar- 
rantable inquiries. 

"  There  was  a  third  way  of  consulting,  which  was  a  confir- 
mation of  the  second  above  mentioned.  Tlie  same  company 
who  put  the  man  into  the  hide,  took  a  live  cat,  and  put  him 
on  a  spit ;  one  of  the  number  was  employed  to  turn  the  spit, 
and  one  of  his  consorts  inquired  of  him.  What  are  you  doing  ? 
he  answered,  I  roast  this  cat,  until  his  friends  answer  the  ques- 
tion ;  which  must  be  the  same  that  was  proposed  by  the  man 
shut  up  in  the  hide.  And  afterwards,  a  very  big  cat^  comes, 
attended  by  a  iinmber  of  lesser  cats,  desiring  to  relieve  thn 
cat  turned  upon  the  spit,  and  then  answers  the  question.  If 
this  answer  proved  the  same  that  was  given  to  the  man  in  the 
hide,  then  it  was  taken  as  a  confirmation  of  the  other,  which, 
in  this  case,  was  believed  infallible. 

"  Mr.  Alexander  Cooper,  present  minister  of  Jforth-Vist, 
told  me,  tliat  one  Jolm  Erach,  in  the  Isle  of  Lewis,  assured 
him,  it  was  his  fate  to  have  been  led  by  his  curiosity  with 
some  who  consulted  this  oracle,  and  that  he  was  a  night  within 
the  hide,  as  above  mentioned  ;  during  which  time  he  felt  and 
heard  such  terrible  things,  that  he  could  not  express  them  ;  the 
impression  it  made  on  him  was  such  as  could  never  go  off,  and 
he  said,  for  a  thousand  worlds  he  would  never  again  be  con- 

in  Lord  Littleton's  Letters.    It  is  well  known  in  the  Highlands  as  n  mirsoif 
ta'..,'. 


254 


scorr's  poetical  works. 


wrr.'d  !n  fhc  Mkr  [wrfominiKv*.  for  ttii«  liai!  (linonlcrwl  him  to  a 
I  ' '  I'lil  with  ail  air  of 

V  '111  uiiilrr  a  jiul 

aeiue  uf  ao  gtvtkl  a  cfium  :  ha  drtlaml  (liu  bIhiuI  tivu  yean 
,j......    ,,.,(  I.  .(ill  llvinj;  in  the  Lowii  lor  any  thing  I  know." — 

;  :  ./  the   IVrstcrH   Isltt,  |>.  110.     See  oUk)  I'lC!«- 

.lAM  T<   ■•^oituK  Tour,  vol.  ii.  p.  301. 


Note  2  U. 

The  ckoietit  of  the  prry  tee  hail, 

IVhem  ittrpt  our  mcrrif-mm  Qallangad. — P   211. 

I  know  not  if  it  be  worth  ohtcrvin^,  that  thia  piuunf^e  ii 
takrn  ainuxt  literally  from  the  mouth  of  nn  olil  lli^'liland 
Krm  or  Kritrran,  a*  they  were  calli-cl.  IIo  U'X'il  to  narnito 
the  nitrry  doing*  of  llio  good  old  liino  when  ho  wan  follower 
of  Rob  Roy  MacGregor.  This  leader,  on  one  occoiiion,  thought 
proper  to  make  a  deKcnt  upon  tlic  lower  part  of  the  Loch 
Lomond  district,  and  •ummoned  all  the  huriton  and  farincra 
to  nn-et  at  the  Kirk  of  Drynicn,  to  pay  him  hl.tck-mail,  i.  e. 
tribute  for  forbe.irance  and  protection.  As  thU  invitation  waa 
>U|>|>or(i'd  by  a  band  of  thirty  or  forty  etout  fellows,  only  one 
gi'iitli'Mian,  an  ancestor,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  the  present  Mr. 
Gmliame  of  Gartmore,  ventun'd  to  decline  compliance.  Rob 
Roy  initanlly  iiwept  his  land  of  all  he  could  drive  away,  and 
among  the  ajKiil  waj  a  bull  of  tlic  old  Scottish  wild  breed, 
whoM  ferocity  occasioned  great  plague  to  the  Kctterans.  "  But 
era  we  had  reached  the  Row  of  Dennan,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  a  child  might  have  aoratchcd  his  can."'  The  circumstance 
i*  a  minute  one,  but  it  paints  tlio  times  when  the  poor  bceve 
wa<  compelled 

"  To  hoof  it  o'er  an  many  weary  miles, 
With  goading  pikemcn  hollowing  at  his  heels, 
Ai  o'er  the  bravest  antler  of  the  woods." 

FAhwald. 


Note  2  V. 


That  huge  cliff,  whose  ample  verge 

Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.— V.  211. 

There  is  a  rock  so  named  in  the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas,  by 
which  a  tumultuary  cataract  takes  its  course.  This  wild  place 
is  said  in  former  times  to  have  afTonled  refuge  to  an  outlaw, 
who  was  supplied  with  provisions  by  a  woman,  who  lowered 
them  down  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice  above.  His  water 
he  procured  for  himself,  by  letting  down  a  flagon  tied  to  a 
(tring,  into  the  black  pool  beneath  tlic  fall. 


Note  2  W. 


Raven 

That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke. 

His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  7 — P.  211. 

nroko — (Quartered.— 'E\ery  thing  belonging  to  the  cha.se  was 
matter  of  solemnity  among  our  ancestors ;  but  nothing  was 
jBore  so  than  tlie  mode  of  cutting  up,  or,  as  it  was  technically 
eallcd,  breaking,  the  slanghtenvl  stag.  The  forester  had  his 
allotted  portion  ;  the  hound*  had  .1  certain  allowance  ;  and,  to 
make  the  division  as  pcneral  .-v*  pf»««ili!e.  the  very  birds  had 
their  share  also.  "  There  is  a  little  eri^itle,"  says  Turberville, 
"  which  is  upon  the  spoone  of  the  brisket,  which  we  call  the 
raven's  bono  ;  and  I  have  seen  in  some  place*  a  raven  so  wont 
and  accustomed  to  it,  that  she  would  never  fail  to  croak  and 
cry  for  il  a.,  the  time  yoa  were  in  breaking  up  of  the  deer, 
and  would  not  depart  till  she  had  it."     In  the  very  ancient 

1  This  anccdot«  wns,  id  f"nn*r  Cflilif<ci«,  imwrar»l«)}'  urriftcd  to  Gi^irfn 
tiacptgar  of  Glcog^la,  called  CMunt  Dhu,  or  BUck-koM,  a  relatiuo  of 


metrical  romance  of  Sir  Triatrem,  that  pe«rle«  knight,  who  i« 
(aid  to  have  been  the  very  devinct  of  all  rule*  of  ohaie,  did 
not  oiiiil  tlio  ceremony  : — 

"  The  rauen  ho  yano  his  yifle« 
Sat  on  tlio  fouruhed  tro." 

Sir  TVistrem. 

The  raven  might  also  cliallengc  liia  rightj  by  the  Uuok  of  Si. 
Albans  ;  for  thus  says  Uame  JuUuna  Ilemera  : — 

"  Blitleth  anon 


The  boly  to  the  aide,  from  the  corbyn  bone  ; 
That  is  corbyn's  fee,  at  the  death  he  will  be." 

Jonson,  in  "  The  Sad  Shepherd,"  gives  a  more  poetical  ac- 
count of  the  same  ceremony  : 

"  Marian. — IIo  that  undoes  him, 

Doth  cleave  the  brisket  bone,  upon  the  spoon 

Of  which  a  little  gristle  grows — you  call  il — 

Ilubin  Hood. — The  raven's  bone. 

Marian. — Now  o'er  head  sat  a  raven 
On  a  scro  bough,  a  grown,  gn-at  bird,  and  hooite, 
Who,  all  the  while  the  deer  was  breaking  up, 
So  croak'd  and  cried  for't,  as  all  the  huntomen, 
Esfiecially  old  Scathlock,  tliouglit  it  ominous." 


Note  2  X. 


Which  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life. 
That  party  conquers  in  the  strife. — P.  212. 

Though  this  be  in  the  text  described  as  a  response  of  the 
Taghairm,  or  Oracle  of  the  Hide,  it  was  of  itself  an  augury 
frequently  attended  to.  The  fate  of  the  battle  was  often  an- 
ticipated in  the  imagination  of  the  combatants,  by  observing 
which  party  first  shed  blood.  It  is  said  that  the  Highlandera 
under  Montrose  were  so  deeply  imbued  with  this  notion,  that, 
on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Tippermoor,  they  murdered  a 
defenceless  herdsman,  whom  they  found  in  the  fields,  merely 
to  secure  ao  advantage  of  so  much  consequence  to  their 
party. 


Note  2  Y. 

cilice  Brand.— V.  213. 

This  little  fairy  tale  is  founded  upon  a  very  cnrions  Danish 
ballad,  which  occurs  in  the  Ktrmpe  Viser,  a  collection  of 
heroic  songs,  first  published  in  1591,  and  reprinted  in  1095, 
inscribed  by  Anders  Sofronsen,  the  collector  and  editor,  to 
Sophia,  dneen  of  Denmark.  I  have  been  favored  with  a 
literal  translation  of  the  original,  by  my  learned  friend  Mr. 
Robert  Jamieson,  whose  deep  knowledge  of  Scandinavian  an- 
tiquities will,  1  hope,  one  day  be  displayed  in  illustration  of 
the  history  of  Scottish  Ballad  and  Song,  for  which  no  man 
|K)ssesse3  more  ample  materials.  The  story  will  remind  the 
readers  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy  of  the  tale  of  Young  Tam- 
lane.  Bnl  this  is  only  a  solitary  and  not  very  marked  instance 
of  coincidence,  whereas  several  of  the  other  ballads  in  the 
same  collection  find  exact  counterparts  in  the  Keempe  Viser. 
Which  may  have  been  the  originals,  will  be  a  question  for 
future  antiquaries.  Mr.  Jamieson,  to  secure  the  power  of 
literal  translation,  has  .adopted  the  old  Scottish  idiom,  which 
approaches  so  near  to  that  of  the  Danish,  as  almost  to  give 
wonl  for  word,  as  well  as  line  for  line,  and  indeed  in  many 
verses  the  orthography  alone  is  altered.  As  fVcstcr  Ilnf, 
mentioned  in  the  fint  stanzas  of  the  ball.id,  means  the  IVcst 
Sea,  in  opposition  to  the  Baltic,  or  East  Sea,  Mr.  Jamieson 

Rob  Roy,  but,  ns  I  hnvo  hr-cn  luaan-d,  not  addicted  to  his  predatory  ex- 
cesses.—Ao«  to  Third  Edition. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

255 

inclines  to  be  of  opinion,  that  the  scene  of  the  disenchantment 
is  laid  in  one  of  the  Orkney,  or  Hebride  Islands.     To  each 
verse  in  the  original  is  added  a  burden,  having  a  kind  of  mean- 
'"ng  of  its  own,  but  not  applicable,  at  least  not  unii'orraly  ap- 
plicable, to  tlie  sense  of  the  stanza  to  whicli  it  is  subjoined  : 
<  his  is  very  common  both  in  Danish  and  Scottish  song. 

They  nighed  near  the  hasband'g  honse  ; 

Sae  lang  their  tails  did  hing. 

9. 
The  honnd  he  yowls  i'  tlie  yard, 

Ttie  herd  toots  in  his  liorn  ; 
The  earn  scraighs,  and  the  cock  craws, 

As  the  hnsbande  has  gi'en  him  his  com.i 

THE  ELFIN  GRAY. 

10. 

TRANSLATED   FROM   THE  DANISH  K^MPE  VISER,  p.  1-13, 
AND  FIRST  PUBLISHED  IN  1591. 

The  Elfen  were  five  score  and  seven, 

Sae  laidly  and  sae  grim  ; 
And  they  the  husbande's  guests  mann  be, 

To  eat  and  drink  wi'  liim. 

11. 

The  hnsbande,  out  o'  Villenshaw, 
At  his  winnock  the  Elves  can  see : 

"  Help  me,  now,  Jesu,  Mary's  son  ; 
Thir  Elves  they  mint  at  me !" 

Der  ligger  en  void  i  Vcster  Haf, 

Dcr  agtcr  en  bonde  at  byggi  : 
Hand  furer  did  baade  hug  og  hand, 

Og  agter  der  om  vintcren  at  ligge. 
(De  vilde  didr  og  diurene  cdi  skofven.) 

1. 

There  liggs  a  wold  in  Wester  Haf, 
There  a  husbande  means  to  bigg, 

And  thither  he  carries  baitli  hawk  and  honnd, 
There  meaning  the  winter  to  ligg. 

(The  wild  deer  and  daes  i'  the  shaw  out.) 

2. 

12. 
In  every  nook  a  cross  he  coost, 

In  his  chalmer  maist  ava  ; 
The  Elfen  a'  were  fley'd  thereat. 

And  flew  to  the  wild-wood  shaw. 

He  taks  wi'  him  baith  hound  and  cock, 
The  langer  he  means  to  stay. 

The  wild  deer  in  tlie  shaws  that  are 
May  sairly  rue  the  day. 

(The  wild  deer,  6,-c.) 

13. 

And  some  flew  east,  and  some  flew  west. 
And  some  to  the  norwart  flew  ; 

And  some  they  flew  to  the  deep  dale  down, 
There  still  they  are,  I  trow.2 

3. 

14. 

He's  hew'd  the  beech,  and  he's  fell'd  the  aik, 

Sae  has  he  the  poplar  gray  ; 
And  grim  in  mood  was  the  grewsome  elf, 

That  be  sae  bald  he  may. 

It  was  then  the  weiest  Elf, 

In  at  the  door  braids  he  ; 
Agast  was  the  husbande,  for  that  Elf 

For  cross  nor  sign  wad  flee. 

4. 

15. 

He  hew'd  him  kipples,  he  hew'd  him  bawks, 

Wi'  mickle  moil  and  haste. 
Syne  speer'd  the  Elf  i'  the  knock  that  bade, 

"  Wha's  hacking  here  sae  fast  V 

The  huswife  she  was  a  canny  wife, 
She  set  the  Elf  at  the  board  ; 

She  set  before  him  baith  ale  and  meat, 
Wi'  raony  a  weel-vvaled  word. 

5. 

16. 

Syne  up  and  spak  the  weiest  Elf, 
Crean'd  as  an  immert  sma  : 

"  It's  here  is  come  a  Christian  man  ; — 
I'llfleyhimorhega." 

"  Hear  thou,  Gudeman  o'  Villenshaw, 

What  now  I  say  to  thee  ; 
Wha  bade  thee  bigg  within  our  bounds, 

Without  the  leave  o'  me  ? 

• 

6. 

It's  np  syne  started  the  firsten  Elf, 
And  glower'd  about  sae  grim  : 

"  It's  we'll  awa'  to  the  husbande's  house, 
And  hald  a  court  on  him. 

17. 
"  But,  an'  thou  in  onr  bounds  will  bigg 

And  bide,  as  well  may  be. 
Then  thou  tliy  dearest  huswife  mann 

To  me  for  a  lemraan  gie." 

7. 

18. 

"  Here  hews  he  down  baith  skugg  and  shaw, 
And  works  us  skaith  and  scorn  : 

His  huswife  he  sail  gie  to  me  ; — 

They's  rue  the  day  they  were  born  1" 

Up  spak  the  luckless  hnsbande  then. 
As  God  the  grace  him  gae  ; 

"  Eline  she  is  to  me  sae  dear. 
Her  thou  may  nae-gate  hae." 

8. 

The  Ellen  a'  i'  the  knock  that  were, 
Gaed  dancing  in  a  string  ; 

19. 

Till  the  Elf  he  answer'd  as  he  conth  : 
"  Let  but  ray  huswife  be. 

1  Thit  lingular  quatrain  stands  thus  in  the  original:— 
"  Hunden  hand  gior  i  ^aarden ; 

Hiorden  tud*  i  sit  hom  ; 
(Emen  skriger,  og  hanea  galer, 
Som  bonden  hafd^  gifvet  aitkom." 

J  In  the  Danish  :— 

"  Somrn^  SSyh  oster,  og  sonuni  floy6  vett«r 

Noglft  0oy6  nor  paa ; 
Nogl&  floye  ned  i  dybenft  dal», 
Jeg  troer  de  erk  der  endno." 

And  tak  whate'er,  o'  gade  or  gear, 
U  mine,  awa  vri'  thee." — 


'•TI..-I.   I'll  lllN     1 

■  •.h\  Uim, 

AtH-llll    |I!V    1 

\ 

An.l 

ate  moulo 

A.-  . 

id." 

iJI. 

The  ha«bando  and  hU  hooKdiold  a' 

In  tary  n-de  tliey  join  : 
"  Far  beltft  that  the  be  now  forfoim, 

Nor  tlint  we  a'  thould  tyiio." 


Dp,  will  orrcdc,  the  linsbande  «t00d, 
Wi'  hvart  fu'  »ad  and  Hair  ; 

And  he  has  gien  hi.i  hu-twife  Eline 
Wi'  tlie  young  Elfo  to  fare. 

23. 
Then  blyth  grew  he,  and  vprang  aboot : 

Ho  took  her  in  liis  arm  : 
The  riid  it  left  her  conu-Iy  clict-k. 

Her  heart  was  clein'd  wi'  harm. 

24. 
A  waefo'  woman  then  she  was  ane, 

And  ihe  moody  tears  loot  fa'  : 
"  Go<I  rew  on  me,  oa-iecly  wife, 

II.,w  l,.-,r,l  n  w.'lr.l  I  fa'  f 


"  My  fay  I  plight  to  the  fairest  wight 
That  man  on  mold  mat  sec  ; — 

Maun  I  now  mcll  wi'  a  laidly  El, 
Hiis  light  lemman  to  be  V 

26. 
He  minted  ance — he  minted  twice, 

Wae  wax'd  her  heart  that  syth  : 
Syne  the  laidliesl  fiend  he  grew  tliat  e'er 

To  mortal  ee  did  kyth. 

27. 
When  he  llio  tliirilen  time  can  mint 

To  Mary's  son  «lie  pray'd. 
And  the  Inidly  Elf  was  clean  awa, 

And  a  fair  knight  in  his  stead. 

28. 
Thii  fell  under  a  linden  green. 

That  again  his  shape  he  found, 
O'  wae  and  care  was  the  word  nae  mair, 

A'  were  sac  glad  that  stound. 

29. 
"  O  dearest  Eline,  hear  thou  this. 

And  tlioQ  my  wife  sail  be. 
And  a'  the  good  in  merry  England 

Sae  freely  I'll  gi'e  thee  I 

30. 

"  Whan  I  was  but  a  little  wee  balm. 

My  mither  died  me  fra  ; 
My  stepmithcr  sent  me  awa'  fra  her : 

I  tum'd  till  an  Eljin  Oray. 

31. 
"  To  thy  hnshandc  I  a  gift  will  gic, 
Wi'  mickle  state  and  gear, 


As  mends  for  Eline  his  huswife  ; — 
Thou's  bo  my  heartis  dear." 

"Thou  noliil  kiiVh'lit,  wu  tlinnk  now  God 
That  ban  fni'd  us  frae  kkailh  ; 

^ae  wt-il  tliuii  tlii'i'  a  maiden  five, 
Aud  juy  attend  yo  bailli  I 

33. 

"  Sin'  I  to  thi-«  nae  maik  can  bo 

My  ilocliler  may  be  tbiiie  ; 
And  thy  gud  will  right  to  fulfill, 

Lat  this  be  our  propinc." — 

34. 
"  1  thank  thee,  Eline,  thou  wise  woman ; 

My  praise  thy  worth  sail  ha'o  ; 
And  tliy  love  gin  I  fail  to  win, 

Thou  here  at  hame  sail  slay." 

35. 

The  hnsbande  biggit  now  on  his  tie, 
And  nae  ane  wrought  him  wrang  ; 

His  dochter  wore  crown  in  Engeland, 
And  happy  lived  and  lang. 

30. 
Now  Eline,  the  hunbande's  huswife,  hai 

Cour'd  a'  her  grief  and  harms; 
She's  <iiither  to  a  noble  queen 

That  sleeps  in  a  kingis  arms. 


GLOi?SARY. 

St.  1.   IVold,  a  wood  ;  woody  fastness. 

Husbanilc,  from  the  Dan.  hos,  with,  and  bondr,  s 
villain,  or  bondsman,  who  was  a  cultivator  of  the 
ground,  and  could  not  quit  the  estate  to  which  he 
was  attached,  without  the  pormi'<sion  of  his  lord. 
This  is  the  sense  of  the  word,  in  the  old  Scotlii-h 
records.  In  the  Scottish  "  Burglie  Laws,"  trans- 
lated from  the  Reg.  JVajest.  (Auchinleck  MS.  in 
the  Adv.  Lib.),  it  is  used  indiscriminately  with  the 
Dan.  and  Swcd.  bonde. 

Digg,  build. 

J-'iggt  lie. 

Daes,  does. 

2.  Shaw,  wood. 
Sairly,  sorely. 

3.  Jlik,  oak. 
Orewsomc,  terrible. 
Bald,  bold. 

4.  Kipples  (couples),  beams  joined  at  tlie  top,  for  sup- 

porting a  roof,  in  building. 
Bawks,  balks  ;  cross-beams. 
JUoil,  laborious  industry. 
Spccr'd,  asked. 
Knock,  hillock.  \ 

5.  H'ciest,  smallest. 

Crean'd,  shrunk,  diminished  ;  from  the  Gaelic,  crian, 
very  small. 

Immcrt,  emmet ;  ant. 

Christian,  used  in  the  Danish  ballads,  &c.  in  contra- 
distinction to  demoniac,  as  it  is  in  England  in  con- 
tradistinction to  brute  ;  in  which  sense,  a  person  of 
the  lower  class  in  England,  would  call  a  Jcic  or  » 
Turk  a  Christian. 

Flcy,  frighten. 

6.  Oloiccr'd,  stared. 
Haid,  hold. 

7.  Skugg,  shade. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


^57 


Skaith,  harm. 

8.  J^ighed,  approached. 

9.  Yowls,  howls. 

Toots.— In  the  Dan.  tude  is  applied  both  to  the 

howling  of  a  dog,  and  the  sound  of  a  horn. 
Scraig-hs,  screams. 

10.  Laidly,  loathly  ;  disgustingly  ugly. 
Orim,  fierce. 

11.  Winnock,  window. 
Mint,  aim  at. 

12.  Coost,  cast. 
Chalmer,  chamber 
Maist,  most. 
Ava,  of  all. 

13.  M'orwari,  northward. 
Trow,  believe. 

14.  Braids,  strides  quickly  forward. 

Wad,  would. 

15.  Canny,  adroit. 
jMony,  many. 
TVeel-waled,  well  chosen. 

17.  Mn,  if. 
Bide,  abide. 
Leniman,  mistress. 

18.  J^ae-gate,  nowise. 

19.  Couth,  could,  knew  how  to. 
Lat  be,  let  alone. 

Oude,  goods  ;  property. 

20.  Mncalh,  beneath. 
Dwalling-stead,  dwelling-place. 

21.  Sary,  sorrowful. 

Rede,  counsel ;  consultation. 
Forfairn,  forlorn  ;  lost ;  gone. 
Tyne,  (verb,  neut.)  be  lost ;  perish. 

22.  Will  of  rede,  bewildered  in  thought ;  in  the  Danish 

original  "  vildraadage  ;"  Lat.  "  inops  consilii ;" 
Gr.  uTTopojv.  This  expression  is  left  among  the  de- 
siderata in  the  Glossary  to  Ritson's  Romances, 
and  has  never  been  e.xplained.  It  is  obsolete  in  the 
Danish  as  well  as  in  English. 
Fare,  go. 

23.  Rud,  red  of  the  cheek. 

Clcm'd,  in  the  Danish,  klemt  ;  (which  in  the  north 
of  England  is  still  in  use,  as  the  word  starved  is 
with  us  ;)  brought  to  a  dying  slate.  It  is  used  by 
our  old  comedians. 

Harm,  grief;  as  in  the  original,  and  in  the  old  Teu- 
tonic, English,  and  Scottish  poetry. 

24.  TVaefu',  woeful. 

Moody,  strongly  and  wilfully  passionate. 

Rew,  take  ruth  ;  pity. 

Vnseely,  unhappy  ;  unblest. 

Weird,  fate. 

Fa,  (Isl.  Dan.  and  Swed.)  take  ;  get ;  acquire  ;  pro- 
cure ;  have  for  my  lot. — This  Gothic  verb  answers, 
in  its  direct  and  secondary  significations,  exactly  to 
the  Latin  capio  ;  and  Allan  Ramsay  was  right  in 
his  definition  of  it.  It  is  quite  a  ditTerent  word  from 
/a',  an  abbreviation  of  'fall,  or  befall;  and  is  the 
principal  root  in  fangen,  to  fang,  take,  or  lay  hold 
of. 

25.  Fay,  faith. 

Mold,  mould ;  earth. 

Mat,  mote ;  might. 

Maun,  must. 

Mell,  mix. 

El,  an  elf.    This  term,  in  tlie  Welch,  signifies  what 

has  in  itself  the  power  of  motion  ;  a  moving  prin- 

1  '*  Under  3e." — ^The  oripnal  expression  has  been  preserved  here  and  else- 
where, because  no  other  could  be  found  to  supply  iu  place.    There  is  just  as 
much  meaning  in  it  in  the  translation  as  in  the  original ;  but  it  is  a  standard 
Damsh  ballad  phrase ;  and  as  such,  it  is  hoped,  it  will  be  allowed  to  pass. 
33 


lathe 


ciple  ;  an  intelligence ;  a  spirit ;  an  angel. 
Hebrew  it  bears  the  same  import. 
26.  Minted,  attempted  ;  meant ;  showed  a  mind,  or  in- 
tention to.     The  original  is  — 

"  Hand  mindte  hende  forst — og  anden  gang  ; — 

Hun  giordis  i  hiortet  sa  vee : 

End  blef  hand  den  lediste  deif-vel 

Mand  kunde  med  iiyen  see. 

Der  liand  vilde  minde  den  tredie  gang,"  &c. 
Syth,  tide  ;  time. 
Kylh,  appear. 

28.  Stound,  hour  ;  time  ;  moment. 

29.  Merry  (old  Teut.  mere),  famous ;  renowned  ;  an- 
swering, in  its  etymological  meaning,  exactly  to  the 
Latin  mactus.  Hence  merry-men,  as  the  address  of 
a  chief  to  his  followers  ;  meaning,  not  men  of  mirth, 
but  of  renown.  The  term  is  found  in  its  original 
sense  in  the  Gael,  mara,  and  the  Welsh  mawr,  great ; 
and  in  the  oldest  Teut.  Romances,  mar,  mer,  and 
mere,  have  sometimes  the  same  signification. 

31.  Mends,  amends  ;  recompense. 
33.  Maik,  match  ;  peer ;  e(iual. 
Propine,  pledge ;  gift. 

35.  ue,  an  island  of  the  second  magnitude  ;  an  island  of 
the  first  magnitude  being  called  a  land,  and  one  of 
the  third  magnitude  a  holm. 

36.  Cour'd,  recover'd. 


THE  GHAIST'S  WARNING. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  DANISH  KSTiVE  VISER,    p.   /2l 

By  the  permission  of  Mr.  Jamieson,  this  ballad  is  added 
from  the  same  curious  Collection.  It  contains  somi 
passages  of  great  pathos. 


Svend  Dyring  hand  rider  sig  op  under  oi, 

(Vare  jeg  selver  ung) 
Derfwste  hand  sig  saa  ven  en  moe. 

{Mig  lyster  udi  lunden  at  ride,)  <$•«. 


Child  Dyring  has  ridden  him  up  under  oe,i 

(And  O  gin  I  were  young!) 
There  wedded  he  him  sae  fair^  a  may. 

(/'  the  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 

Thegither  they  lived  for  seven  lang  year, 

(Mnd  O,  <S-c.) 
And  they  seven  bairns  hae  gotten  in  fers 

(/'  the  greenwood,  S-c.) 

Sae  Death's  come  there  intill  that  stead, 
And  that  winsome  Uly  flower  is  dead. 

That  swain  he  has  ridden  him  up  under  de. 
And  syne  he  has  mamed  anither  may. 

He's  married  a  may,  and  he's  fessen  her  hame ; 
But  she  was  a  grim  and  a  laidly  dame. 

When  into  the  castell  court  drave  she, 

The  seven  bairns  stood  wi'  the  tear  in  their  e<» 

The  bairns  they  stood  wi'  dale  and  doubt ;  - 
She  np  wi'  her  foot,  and  she  kick'd  tliem  out. 

2  "  Fair."— The  Pan.  and  Swed.  ven,  van,  or  vsnne,  and  the  GoSLBan, 
in  the  oblique  cases  Ihan  (vaii),  is  Jhe  origin  of  the  Scottish  ionny, 
which  has  so  much  puzzled  all  the  etymologists. 


■^ 

258                                     SCO'n"S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Nor  ale  nor  nwad  to  lh«  b&imi«*  i)ie  gave  : 

"  I  left  aliind  mo  braw  bowaten  bias; 

"  Bat  buiigcr  and  haU)  frwt  lue  y«'»  have." 

My  baimies  are  liggin'  i'  the  bore  slraa. 

She  look  frao  thrm  the  tioWKlcr  blau, 

"  I  left  ye  kjw)  inony  a  groll"  wax  light ; 

And  aaid,  "  Ye  tall  li^g  i'  lliu  baro  •tree  1" 

My  bniruiej  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night. 

She  look  frao  them  Uip  grofl*  wax  li^ht : 

"  Gin  aft  I  como  back  to  vinii  thee, 

8ajr<,  "  Now  ye  utll  ligj;  i'  iho  mirk  a'  night !" 

Wao,  duwy,  and  weary  thy  luck  >hall  be." 

'Twai  lang  !'  the  night,  and  the  bairnira  grat : 

Up  spak  little  Kinitin  in  bed  tliat  lay  : 

Their  millior  iho  under  llie  moola  heard  tliat ; 

"  To  thy  baimies  I'll  do  the  best  I  moy." 

That  heanl  tlie  wife  nmliT  the  onrd  that  Iny  : 

Ayo  when  they  he.irri  ihc  dog  nirr  and  bell, 

"  For  »oolli  luaun  I  x>  my  bainiics  gae  !" 

Sae  ga'e  they  the  baimies  bread  and  ale. 

That  wife  can  stand  ap  at  our  Lord's  knee, 

Aye  whnn  the  dog  did  wow,  in  haste 

And  "  May  I  gang  and  my  boirniM  see  V 

They  croas'd  and  soio'd  tliemscUs  free  the  ghaist. 

She  prigged  soo  sair,  and  ahe  priggea  >ao  lang, 

Ayo  whan  tJie  little  dog  yowl'd,  with  fear 

That  ho  at  tlio  last  ga'e  her  leave  to  gang. 

(^Jliid  O  gin  I  were  young !) 
They  shook  at  the  thought  the  dead  was  near.' 

"  And  Ihoa  sail  come  back  when  the  cock  docs  craw, 

(/'  Ihe  ffreenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 

For  tiiou  nae  langer  sail  bide  awa." 

or, 
(Ftiir  words  sae  many  a  heart  they  cheer  ) 

\Vi'  her  bancs  sae  stark  a  bowt  she  goe  ; 

Sbe'i  riven  bailh  wa'  and  marble  gray.> 

GLOSSARY. 

Whan  near  to  the  dwnlling  she  can  gang, 

St.  1.  May,  maid. 

The  dogs  lliey  wow'd  till  the  lift  it  rang. 

J.istn,  plca.ses. 
2.  Stead,  place. 

When  she  came  till  the  co-slell  yctt, 

3.  Jiairns,  children. 

Her  eldest  dochter  stood  thereat. 

In  fere,  together. 

Winsome,  engaging  ;  giving  joy,  (old  Tent.) 

"  Why  stand  ye  here,  dear  dochter  mine? 

4.  Sync,  then. 

How  are  sma'  britlien  and  sisters  tliine  V — 

5.  Fcssen,  fetched;  brought 

6.  Drave,  drove 

"  For  sooth  ye're  a  woman  bnith  fair  and  fine  ; 

7.  Duic,  sorrow. 

But  ye  are  nae  dear  mither  of  mine." — 

Doul,  fear. 

8.  Bowster,  bolster  ;  coshion  ;  bed. 

"  Och  !  how  should  I  be  fine  or  fair  7 

Jilac,  blue. 

My  cheek  it  is  pale,  and  the  ground's  my  loir." — 

Slrac,  straw. 
10.  Oroff,  great ;  large  in  gut 

"  My  mither  was  white,  wi'  cheek  sae  red  ; 

Mark,  mirk  ;  dark. 

But  thou  art  wan,  and  likcr  ane  dead." — 

11.  iMng  i'  the  night,  late. 
Orat,  wept. 

"  Och  1  how  should  I  be  while  and  red, 

Moots,  mould  ;  earth. 

Sae  lang  as  I've  been  cauld  and  dead  V 

12.  Eard,  earth. 
Oac,  go. 

When  she  cam  till  the  chalraer  in. 

14.  Prigged,  entreated  earnestly  and  perseveringly. 

Down  tlie  bairns'  cheeks  the  tears  did  rin. 

Gang,  go. 
15.  Craw,  crow 

She  bankit  the  tane,  and  she  brnsh'd  it  there ; 

16.  Bancs,  bones. 

She  kem'd  and  plaited  the  tither's  hair. 

Stark,  strong. 

Boict,  bolt ;  elastic  spring,  like  thai  of  a  4<  /{  or  an 

The  thirdcn  she  doodl'd  npon  her  knee. 

row  from  a  bow. 

And  the  fourthen  she  dichtcd  sac  cannilie. 

Rii.-cn,  spilt  asnnder. 
Tfa',  wall. 

She's  ta'en  the  fifthen  npon  her  lap. 

17.  fVoie'd,  howled. 

And  sweetly  sackled  it  at  her  pap. 

Lift,  sky,  firmament ;  air. 
18.  Yctt,  gale. 

Till  her  eldest  dochter  syne  said  die, 

19.  Sma',  small. 

"  Ye  bid  Child  Dyring  come  hero  to  me." 

22.  L,irc,  complexion. 

23.  Cald,  cold. 

Whan  he  cam  till  tlie  clialmer  in, 

24.  Till,  to. 

Wi'  angry  mood  she  said  to  him  : 

Rin,  mn. 
25.  Buskit,  dressed. 

"  I  left  yon  ronth  o'  ale  and  bread : 

Kem'd,  combed. 

My  baimies  qoail  for  hunger  and  need. 

Tither,  the  other. 

1  Tin  original  o/lhu  and  tht  /uUnxrin^  itansa  b  etryjtnt. 

Der  bun  gik  ingcnncm  den  by. 

"  lluntkOd  op  sinfe'rocKlik'-'  '■  --'n. 

Dc  hundi  de  tudi  laa  Kjt  t  iky." 

D«r  revened*  mcnr  o,                     tttm. 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


28.  Routh,  plenty. 

Quail,  are  quelled  ;  des. 
JVeed,  want. 
U9.  Ahind,  behind.  ^ 

Braw,  brave  ;  fine. 
31.  Dowy,  sorrowful. 
33.  JVVrr,  snarl. 
Bell,  bark. 

Sained,  blessed  ;  literally,  signed  with  the  sign  of 
the  cross.     Before  the  introduction  of  Christianity, 
Runes  were  used  in  saining,  as  a  spell  against  the 
power  of  enchantment  and  evil  genii. 
Oliaist,  ghost. 


34. 


KOTE  2  Z. 


the  moody  Elfin  King.— 7.  214. 

In  a  long  dissertation  upon  the  F.iiry  Superstitions,  publish- 
ed in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  the  most  valuable 
part  of  wliich  was  supplied  by  my  learned  and  indefatigable 
friend,  Dr.  John  Leyden,  most  of  tlie  circumstances  are  collect- 
ed whicli  can  throw  light  upon  tlie  popular  belief  which  even 
yet  prevails  respecting  them  in  Scotland.  Dr.  Grahame,  au- 
thor of  an  entertaining  work  upon  the  Scenery  of  the  P^ertli- 
shire  Highlands,  already  frequently  quoted,  has  recorded,  with 
great  accuracy,  tlie  peculiar  tenets  held  by  the  Highlanders  on 
this  topic,  in  the  vicinity  of  Loch  Katrine.  The  learned  author 
is  inclined  to  deduce  the  wliole  mythology  from  tlie  Druidical 
system, — an  opinion  to  which  there  are  many  objections. 

"T!ie  Dnoine  Shi',  or  Men  of  Peace  of  the  Highlanders, 
thougli  not  absolutely  malevolent,  are  believed  to  be  a  ])eevish, 
repining  race  of  beings,  who,  possessing  themselves  but  a  scanty 
portion  of  happiness,  are  supposed  to  envy  mankind  their  more 
complete  and  substantial  enjoyments.  They  an;  supposed  to 
enjoy  in  their  subterraneous  recesses  a  sort  of  shadowy  happi- 
ness,— a  tinsel  grandeur  ;  which,  however,  they  would  willing- 
ly exchange  for  the  more  solid  joys  of  mortality. 

"  They  are  believed  to  inhabit  certain  round  grassy  eminen- 
ces, where  they  celebrate  their  nocturnal  festivities  by  the  light 
of  the  moon.  About  a  mile  beyond  the  source  of  the  Forth 
above  Lochcon,  there  is  a  place  called  Coirslii'av,  or  the  Cove 
of  the  Men  of  Peace,  which  is  still  supposed  to  be  a  favorite 
place  of  their  residence.  In  the  neighl)orliood  are  to  be  seen 
many  round  conical  eminences  ;  particularly  one,  near  the  head 
of  tlie  lake,  by  the  skirts  of  which  many  are  still  afraid  to  pass 
after  sunset.  It  is  believed,  that  if,  on  Hallow-eve,  any  person, 
ftloiie,  goes  round  one  of  these  hills  nine  times,  towards  tlie  left 
hand  (sinistrorsum)  a  door  shall  open,  by  which  he  will  be 
admitted  into  their  subterraneous  abodes.  Many,  it  is  said,  of 
mortal  race,  have  been  entertained  in  their  secret  recesses. 
There  they  have  been  received  into  the  most  splendid  apart- 
ments, and  regaled  with  tlie  most  sumptuous  banquets,  and 
delicious  wines.  Their  females  surpass  the  daughters  of  men 
in  beauty.  The  seemingly  happy  inhabitants  pass  their  time 
in  festivity,  and  in  dancing  to  notes  of  the  softest  music.  But 
unhappy  is  tlie  mortal  who  joins  in  their  joys,  or  ventures  to 
partake  of  their  dainties.  By  this  indulgence,  he  forfeits  for- 
ever the  society  of  men,  and  is  bound  down  irrevocably  to  the 
condition  of  Shi'ich,  or  Man  of  Peace. 

"A  woman,  as  is  reported  in  the  Highland  tradition,  was 
conveyed,  in  days  of  yore,  into  the  secret  recesses  of  the  Men 
of  Peace.  There  she  was  recognised  by  one  who  liad  formerly 
been  an  ordinary  mortal,  but  who  had,  by  some  fatality,  be- 
come associated  with  the  Shi'ichs.  This  acquaintance,  still 
retaining  some  portion  of  human  benevolence,  warned  her  of 
her  danger,  and  counselled  her,  as  she  valued  her  liberty,  to 
abstain  from  eating  and  drinking  with  them  for  a  certain  space 
of  time.  She  complied  with  the  counsel  of  her  friend ;  and 
when  tlie  period  assigned  was  elajised,  she  found  herself  again 


upon  earth,  restored  to  the  society  of  mortals.  It  is  added, 
that  when  she  examined  the  viands  which  had  been  presented 
to  her,  and  which  had  appeared  so  tempting  to  the  eye,  they 
were  found,  now  that  the  enchantment  was  removed,  to  con" 
sist  only  of  the  refuse  of  the  earth." — P.  107-111. 


Note  8  A. 


JVhy  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak. 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ? 
Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer. 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  ? — P.  214. 

It  has  been  already  observed,  that  fairies,  if  not  positively 
malevolent,  are  capricious,  and  easily  offended.  They  are,  like 
other  proprietors  of  forests,  peculiarly  jealous  of  their  rights  ol 
vert  and  venison,  as  appears  from  the  cause  of  offence  taken, 
in  the  original  Danish  ballad.  This  jealousy  was  also  an  attri- 
bute of  the  northern  Ducrgar,  or  dwarfs  ;  to  many  of  whose 
distinctions  the  fairies  seem  to  have  succeeded,  if,  indeed,  they 
are  not  the  same  class  of  beings.  In  the  huge  metrical  record 
of  German  Chivalry,  entitled  the  Helden-Buch,  Sir  Ilildebrand, 
and  the  other  heroes  of  whom  it  treats,  are  engaged  in  one  of 
their  most  desperate  adventures,  from  a  rash  violation  of  the 
rose-garden  of  an  Elfin,  or  Dwarf  King. 

Tiiere  are  yet  traces  of  a  belief  in  this  worst  and  most  mali- 
cious order  of  fairies,  among  the  Border  wilds.  Dr.  Leyden  has 
introduced  such  a  dwarf  into  his  ballad  entitled  the  Cout  of 
Keeldar,  and  has  not  forgot  his  characteristic  detestation  of  the 
chase. 

"  The  third  blast  that  yonng  Keeldar  blew, 
Still  stood  the  limber  fern, 
And  a  wee  man,  of  swarthy  hue, 
Upstarted  by  a  cairn. 

"  His  russet  weeds  were  brown  as  heath 
That  clothes  the  upland  fell  ; 
And  the  hair  of  his  head  was  frizzly  red 
As  the  purple  heather-bell. 

"  An  urchin  clad  in  prickles  red, 
Clung  cow'ring  to  his  arm  ; 
The  hounds  they  howl'd,  and  backward  fled 
As  struck  by  fairy  charm. 

"  '  Why  rises  high  the  stag-hound's  cry, 
Where  stag-hound  ne'er  should  be  1 
Why  wakes  that  liorn  the  silent  morn, 
Without  the  leave  of  me  V — 

"  '  Brown  dwarf,  that  o'er  the  moorland  strays, 
Thy  name  to  Keeldar  tell !' — 
'  The  Brown  man  of  the  Moors,  who  stays 
Beneath  the  heathei^beU. 

"  '  'Tis  sweet  beneath  the  heather-bell 
To  live  in  autumn  brown  ; 
And  sweet  to  hear  the  lav'rock's  swell, 
Far,  far  from  tower  and  town. 

"  '  But  woe  betide  the  shrilling  horn, 
The  chase's  surly  cheer  ! 
And  ever  that  hunter  is  forlorn, 
Whom  first  at  morn  I  hear.'  " 

The  poetical  picture  here  given  of  the  Dnergar  corresponds 
exactly  with  the  following  Northumbrian  legend,  with  which 
I  was  lately  favored  by  ray  learned  and  kind  frien-l  Mr.  Snr- 
tees  of  Mainsforth,  who  has  bestowed  indefatigable  labor  upon 
the  antiquities  of  the  English  Border  counties.    The  subject  if 


260 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


In  it«-:i°»j  conou,  that  tbe  length  of  the  note  will,  I  hope,  be 

••  I  rwofil  to  olTrr  of  ih.  ■■  of  our 

Nor  -r.      Mr  nsmtrii  ii  I.  kbiirti, 

■n  ,,  '  till,  ill  a  t°niM9 

of  t  '     ^vlli'll  1  Bllll, 

tlial  •Iif  i».  l>)  i-ioiially 

liMiue.  but.  lij  I    .  .  >     :   with  a 

faoultx  orMvttig  vUioiu,  antl  tjiectral  apiicanuicc*,  which  ihun 
the  roinmon  ken. 

■■  In  till-  year  heron  tlieprat  rrhellion,  two  jroang  nipn  from 
Hrw  I  till-  lii);li  moon  above  KUilen,  and 

atVr  vfRiI  houn,  ut  down  to  dine  in  a 

,.ui  ol  lilt-  mountain  rtn-nmi.     After  their  re- 
r  tail  ran  to  the  brook  for  wuter,  and  niter  kIoo|>- 
N,  u;u  •uriiri'M-il,  on  lit'lin^  bin  head  again,  bv  lliu  a|>- 
,  I. fa  brown  dwarf,  who  stood  on  a  crag  covered  with 

braekeat,  acro«  the  burn.  This  extraordinary  |><'r«oimge  did 
not  a|i|M'ar  to  be  above  half  the  stature  of  a  common  man,  but 
wai  uncommonly  »lout  and  broad-built,  having  tlie  a|i|>eamnco 
of  vast  utrrngth.  Ilii  drv»s  wu  entirely  brown,  the  color  of 
the  brackens,  and  hia  head  covered  with  frizzled  red  hair.  His 
countenance  wu  exprcMvo  of  the  most  savage  ferocity,  and 
his  eye)  glared  like  a  bull.  It  seems  he  addrcasvd  the  young 
man  lir>t.    '  .'  him  with  his  vengeance,  for  having  trc»- 

pasnt-d  nil  '^,  and  a.'iking  him  if  he  knew  in  who'^; 

pre--  11     The  youth  r»-|die<l,  that  he  now  !'up|iosed 

him  '.  .'rd  of  tlie  nioom  ;  that  he  ollended  thriiugli  ig- 

norance ;  and  olTered  to  bniig  him  the  game  he  hud  killed. 
The  dwarf  wa.*  .1  ';!!''  inuIlitU-d  by  1111.4  iiubiiii<vMon,  but  re- 
marked, that  11'  be  more  olTcnsive  to  him  than  such 
an  ofTer,  as  he  cu  .  -  ;  .  .lie  wild  animals  us  his  subjects,  and 
never  failed  to  avenge  their  destruction.  lie  condescended  fur- 
ther to  inform  him,  that  he  was,  like  himself,  mortal,  though 
of  yean  far  exceetling  the  lot  of  common  humanity  ;  and  (what 
I  should  not  have  had  an  idea  of)  that  he  hoped  for  salvation. 
He  never,  he  addeil,  fed  on  any  thing  that  had  life,  but  lived 
in  the  summer  on  \»-hortle-berries,  and  in  winter  on  nnl.i  and  ap- 
ples, of  which  he  had  great  store  in  the  woods.  Finally,  he  in- 
vited hU  new  acqaaintance  to  accompany  him  home  and  par- 
take his  hospitality  ;  an  ofier  which  the  youth  wa.«  on  the  point 
of  accepting,  and  was  just  going  to  spring  acro.'<s  llic  brook 
(which,  if  he  had  done,  says  Elizabeth,  the  dwarf  would  cei^ 
tainly  have  torn  him  in  pieces),  when  his  foot  was  arrested  by 
the  voice  of  his  companion,  who  thought  he  had  tarried  long ; 
and  on  looking  round  again,  '  the  wee  brown  man  was  fled.' 
The  story  adds,  that  he  was  imprudent  enough  to  slight  the  ad- 
monition, and  to  sport  over  the  moors  on  his  way  homewards  ; 
but  soon  after  his  return,  be  fell  into  a  lingering  disorder,  and 
died  wiilua  the  year." 


Note  3  B. 


Who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies'  fatal  green  ?—V.  214. 

As  the  Daoine  .SAi',  or  Men  of  Peace,  wore  green  habits, 
they  were  sDp|ioscd  to  take  offence  when  any  mortals  ventured 
to  assume  their  favorite  color.  Indeed,  from  sonie  reason 
which  .las  been.  |>prha|is,  originally  a  general  snpen".ition, 
green  is  held  ir,  -  'p  be  unlucky  to  particular  tribes  and 

coonties.     Th.-  i  :iicn,  who  hold  this  belief,  allege  as 

a  rca.son,  that  tluir  Uan'i-  wore  that  color  when  they  were  cut 
off  at  the  battle  of  Flodden ;  and  for  the  same  reason  they 
avoid  crossing  the  Ord  on  a  Monday,  being  the  day  of  the  week 
on  which  their  ill-omeneil  array  set  forth.  Green  'is  also  di»- 
bked  by  those  of  the  name  of  Ogiivy  ;  but  more  especially  u  it 
held  fatal  to  the  whole  clan  of  Gnihamo.  It  is  rrmcmbcrcd  of 
an  age<l  gentleman  of  that  name,  that  when  bis  hone  fell  in  a 
fox-chase,  he  accounted  for  it  at  once  by  observing,  tlial  t.'ie 
whipcord  attached  to  his  lasb  was  of  tliis  nnlncky  color. 


Note  3  C. 
Fur  Ikou  icert  ckritlen'd  man. — P.  214. 

The  elves  wen  iup|iOM-d  gnratly  to  envy  the  privilege*  ao> 
quinil  by  Christian  initiation,  and  they  gave  to  tlioM)  iiiortuls 
who  had  (alien  inlii  their  jKiwer  a  certain  prece<lence,  fuuinlrd 
U|ioii  this  uitvaiilageouii  distinction.  Tamlanc,  in  the  old  bu- 
lail,  describes  his  own  rank  in  the  fairy  procession : — 

"  For  I  ride  on  a  milk-white  itcod, 
And  aye  nean-at  the  town  ; 
Because  I  was  a  eliri>ten'd  knight, 
They  gave  me  that  renown." 

1  |>resume  that,  in  the  Danish  ballad  of  the  FJfin  Oray  (sl-o 
Appendix,  Note  3  A),  the  obstinacy  of  the  "  WViest  Elf," 
who  would  not  fli-e  for  cross  or  sign,  is  to  be  derived  from  the 
circuni'-tancc  of  his  having  been  "  ehristen'd  man." 

Iluw  eager  the  Elves  were  to  obtain  for  their  offspring  the 
prerogatives  of  Christianity  will  be  proved  by  the  following 
story  : — "  In  the  district  called  Haga,  in  Iceland,  dwelt  a  no- 
bleman called  Sigward  Foniter,  who  had  an  intrigue  with  one 
of  the  subterranean  females.  The  elf  became  pregnant,  and 
exacted  from  her  lover  a  firm  promise  that  he  would  procure 
the  baptism  of  the  infant.  At  the  apjiointed  time,  the  mother 
came  to  the  churchyard,  on  the  wall  of  whieli  she  placed  a 
golden  cup,  and  a  stole  for  the  priest,  agreeable  to  the  custom 
of  making  an  olTering  at  baptism.  Site  then  stood  a  little  apart. 
When  the  jiriest  left  the  church,  he  inquired  the  meaning  of 
what  he  saw,  and  demunded  of  Sigward  if  he  avowed  himself 
the  father  of  the  child.  But  Sigward,  a.>.hamed  of  the  connec- 
tion, denied  the  paternity.  He  was  then  interrogated  if  he  do- 
sired  that  the  child  should  be  baptized  ;  but  this  also  he  an- 
swered in  the  negative,  lest,  by  such  request,  he  should  admit 
himself  to  be  the  father.  On  which  the  child  was  left  un- 
touched and  unbaptized.  Whereujion  the  mother,  in  extreme 
wrath,  snatched  up  the  infant  and  the  cup,  and  retired,  leaving 
Uic  priestly  cojie,  of  which  fragments  are  still  in  preservation. 
But  this  female  denounced  and  ini|)Osed  u|>on  Sigward  and  hia 
posterity,  to  the  ninth  generation,  a  singular  disease,  with  which 
many  of  his  descendants  are  afflicted  at  lhi>  day."  Thus  wrote 
Einar  Dudinond,  pastor  of  the  pari.sh  ofGarpsdale,  in  Iceland, 
a  man  profoundly  verseil  in  learning,  from  whose  inannscript  it 
was  extracted  by  the  learned  Torficus, — Historia  Hrotfi.  Kror 
kii,  Hafniit,  1715,  prefatio. 


Note  3  D. 


Jlnd  gayhj  shines  the  Fairy-land — 
But  all  is  glistening  show. — P.  214. 

No  fact  respecting  Fair>'-land  scorns  to  be  better  ascertained 
than  the  fantastic  and  illusory  nalnrc  of  their  apparent  pleasure 
and  splendor.  It  has  been  already  noticed  in  the  former  quo- 
tations from  Dr.  Grahame's  entertaining  volume,  and  may  be 
conlirnicd  by  the  following  Highland  tradition  : — "  A  woman, 
whose  new-bom  child  had  been  conveyed  by  them  into  their 
secret  abodes,  was  also  carried  thither  herself,  to  remain,  how- 
ever, only  until  she  should  suckle  her  infant.  She  one  day, 
during  this  period,  observed  the  Shi'iclis  busily  employed  in 
mixing  various  ingredients  in  a  boiling  caldron  :  and,  as  soon  as 
the  com|>osition  w.is  prepared,  she  remarked  that  they  all  care- 
fully anointed  their  eyes  with  it,  laying  the  remainder  aside 
for  future  use.  In  a  moment  when  they  were  all  absent,  she 
also  attempted  to  anoint  her  eyes  with  the  precious  drug,  bat 
had  time  to  apply  it  to  one  eye  only,  when  the  Daoine  Shi'  re- 
turned. But  with  that  eye  she  was  henceforth  enabled  to  se» 
every  thing  as  it  really  passed  in  their  secret  abodes.  She  saw 
every  object,  not  as  she  hitherto  had  done,  in  deceptive  splen- 
Icr  and  elegance,  but  in  its  genninc  colors  and  form.  Tho 
gaudy  ornaments  of  the  spartmcnt  were  reduced  to  the  walls 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


261 


of  a  gloomy  cavern.  Soon  after,  having  discharged  lier  office, 
she  was  dismissed  to  hor  own  home.  Still,  liowever,  she  re- 
tained the  faculty  of  seeing,  with  lier  medicated  eye,  every 
thing  that  was  done,  anywhere  in  her  presence,  by  the  decep- 
tive art  of  the  order.  One  day,  amidst  a  throng  of  people,  she 
chanced  to  observe  the  SkVich,  or  man  of  peace,  in  whose  pos- 
session she  had  left  her  child  ;  though  to  every  other  eye  invisi- 
ble. Prompted  by  maternal  affection,  she  inadvertently  accosted 
him,  and  began  to  inquire  after  the  welfare  of  her  child.  The 
man  of  peace,  astonished  at  being  thus  recognized  by  one  of 
mortal  race,  demanded  how  she  had  been  enabled  to  discover 
him.  Awed  by  the  terrible  frown  of  his  countenance,  she  ac- 
knowledged what  she  had  done.  He  spat  in  her  eye,  and  ex- 
tinguished it  forever." — Grahame's  Sketches,  p.  llG-118. 
It  is  very  remarkable,  that  this  story,  translated  by  Dr.  Gra- 
hame  from  popular  Gaelic  tradition,  is  to  be  found  in  the  Otia 
Imperialia  of  Gervase  of  Tilbury. i  A  work  of  great  interest 
might  be  compiled  upon  the  origin  of  popular  fiction,  and  the 
transmission  of  similar  tales  from  age  to  age,  and  from  country 
to  country.  The  mythology  of  one  period  would  then  appear 
to  pa.sB  into  the  romance  of  the  next  century,  and  that  ijito  the 
nursery  tale  of  the  subsequent  ages.  Such  an  investigation, 
while  it  went  greatly  to  diminish  our  ideas  of  the  richness  of 
human  invention,  would  also  show,  that  these  fictions,  how- 
ever wild  and  childish,  possess  such  charms  for  the  populace, 
as  enable  them  to  penetrate  into  countries  unconnected  by  man- 
ners and  language,  and  having  no  apparent  intercourse  to  af- 
ford the  means  of  transmission.  It  would  carry  me  far  beyond 
my  bounds,  to  produce  instances  of  this  community  of  fable 
among  nations  who  never  borrowed  from  each  other  any  thing 
intrinsically  worth  learning.  Indeed,  the  wide  diffusion  of 
popular  fictions  may  be  compared  to  the  facility  with  which 
straws  and  feathers  are  dispersed  abroad  by  the  wind,  while 
valuable  metals  cannot  be  transported  without  trouble  and  la- 
bor. There  lives,  I  believe,  only  one  gentleman,  whose  unlim- 
ited acquaintance  with  this  subject  might  enable  him  to  do  it 
justice  ;  I  mean  my  friend,  Mr.  Francis  Douce,  of  the  British 
Museum,  whose  usual  kindness  will,  I  hope,  pardon  my  men- 
tioning his  name,  while  on  a  subject  so  closely  connected  with 
bis  extensive  and  curious  researches. 


Note  3  E. 


1  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 

And,  'twiit  life  and  death,  icas  snatch'd  away 
To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower. — P.  214. 

The  subjects  of  Fairy-land  were  recruited  from  the  regions 
of  humanity  by  a  sort  of  crimping-  system,  which  extended  to 
adults  as  well  as  to  infants.  Many  of  those  who  were  in  this 
world  supposed  to  have  discharged  the  debt  of  nature,  had 
only  become  denizens  of  the  '•  Londe  of  Faery."  In  the 
beautiful  Fairy  Romance  of  Orfee  and  Heurodiis  (Orpheus 
and  Kruydice)  in  the  Auchinleck  MS.  is  the  following  striking 
enumeration  of  persons  thus  abstracted  from  middle  eartli. 
Mr.  Ritson  unfortunately  published  this  romance  from  a  copy 


1  [This  8tory  is  still  ciurent  in  the  moors  of  Staffordshire,  and  adapted 
»y  the  peasantry  to  their  own  meridian.  I  have  repeatedly  heard  it  told, 
•lactly  as  here,  by  rustics  who  could  not  read.  My  last  authority  was  a 
naUer  near  Cheadla. — R.  Jaiiieson.] 

"  One  other  legend,  in  a  similar  strain,  lately  communicated  by  a  very 
intelligent  young  lady,  is  given,  principally  because  it  furnishes  an  oppor- 
tunity of  pursuing  an  ingenious  idea  suggested  by  ilr.  Scott,  in  one  of  his 
le&med  notes  to  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  : — 

["  A  young  man,  roaming  one  day  through  the  forest,  observed  a  num- 
ber of  persons  all  dressed  in  green,-  issuing  from  one  of  those  round  emi- 
nences which  are  commonly  accounted  fairy  hills.  Each  of  them  in  suc- 
cession called  upon  a  person  by  name  to  fetch  his  horse,  A  caparisoned 
steed  instantly  appeared;  they  all  mounted,  and  sallied  forth  into  the  re- 
gion! of  air.    The  young  man,  like  Ali  Baba  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  ven- 


in  which  the  following,  and  many  other  highly  poetical  pa»' 
sages,  do  not  occur  : — 

"  Then  he  gan  biholde  about  al, 

And  seighe  ful  liggeand  with  in  the  wal 

Of  folk  that  were  thidder  y-brought, 

And  thought  dede  and  nere  nought  i 

Some  stode  witliouten  hadde  ; 

And  sum  non  armes  nade  ; 

And  some  thurcli  the  bodi  hadde  wonnde  ; 

And  some  lay  wode  y-bounde  ; 

And  sum  armed  on  hors  sete  ; 

And  sum  astrangled  as  thai  ete  ; 

And  sura  war  in  water  adreynt ; 

And  sum  with  fire  al  forschreynt ; 

Wives  ther  lay  on  childe  bedde  ; 

Sum  dede,  and  sum  awedde  ; 

And  wonder  fele  ther  lay  besides, 

Right  as  thai  slepe  her  undertides  ; 

Eclie  was  thus  in  the  warl  y-nome, 

With  fairi  thidery-come." 


ISOTE  3  F. 


Who  ever  recked,  where,  how,  or  when, 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slain? — P.  219. 

St.  John  actually  used  this  illustration  when  engaged  in  con- 
futing the  plea  of  law  proposed  for  the  unfortunate  Earl  of 
Strafford  ;  "  It  was  true,  we  gave  laws  to  hares  and  deer,  be- 
cause they  are  beasts  of  chase  ;  but  it  was  never  accounted 
either  cruelty  or  foul  play  to  knock  foxes  or  wolves  on  the 
head  as  they  can  be  found,  because  they  are  beasts  of  prey. 
In  a  word,  the  law  and  humanity  were  alike  ;  the  one  being 
more  fallacious,  and  the  other  more  barbarous,  than  in  any 
age  had  been  vented  in  such  an  authority." — Clarendon's 
History  of  the  Rebellion.     Oxford,  1702,  fol.  vol.  p.  183. 


K'OTE  3  G. 
-his  Highland  cheer. 


The  harden' d  flesh  of  mountain-deer. — P.  219 

The  Scottish  Highlanders,  in  former  times,  had  a  concise 
mode  of  cooking  their  venison,  or  rather  of  dispensing  with 
cooking  it,  which  appears  greatly  to  have  surprised  the  French 
whom  chance  made  acquainted  with  it.  The  Vidame  of  Char- 
ters, when  a  hostage  in  England,  during  the  reign  of  Edward 
VI.,  was  permitted  to  travel  into  Scotland,  and  penetrated  as 
far  as  to  the  remote  Highlands  (oa  ^«  fond  dcs  Sauvages). 
After  a  great  hunting  party,  at  which  a  most  wonderful  quan- 
tity of  game  was  destroyed,  he  saw  these  Scottish  Savages 
devour  a  part  of  their  venison  raw,  without  any  farther  prepa- 
ration than  compressing  it  between  two  batons  of  wood,  so  as 


tured  to  pronounce  the  same  name,  and  called  for  his  horse.  The  steed 
immediately  appeared  ;  he  mounted,  and  was  soon  joined  to  the  fairy  choir. 
He  remauied  with  them  for  a  year,  going  about  with  them  to  fairs  and 
weddings,  and  feasting,  though  tmseen  by  mortal  eyes,  on  tlie  victuals  that 
were  exhibited  on  those  occasions.  They  had  one  day  gone  to  a  wedding 
where  the  cheer  was  abimdant.  During  the  feast  the  bridegroom  tneexed. 
The  young  man,  according  to  the  usual  custom,  said,  *  God  bless  you  !' 
The  fairies  were  offended  at  the  pronunciation  of  the  sacred  name,  and  as- 
sured him,  that  if  he  dared  to  repeat  it,  they  would  punish  him.  The 
bridegroom  sneezed  a  second  time.  He  repeated  his  blessing;  they  threat- 
ened more  tremendous  vengeance.  He  sneezed  a  third  time  ;  he  blessed 
him  as  before.  The  fairies  were  enraged ;  they  tumbled  him  from  a  pre- 
cipice ;  hut  he  found  himself  unhurt,  and  was  restored  to  the  society  of 
mortals."— Dr.  Grahanie's  Sketches,  second  edit.  p.  255-7.— ?«e  Note, 
"Fairy  Superstitions,"  Rob  Roy,  N.  edit.J 


202 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


to  force  oat  the  btoml,  ani)  rpmler  it  exirvmely  lianl.  TliU 
Ihf y  rr<'ktiri<-.l  n  grtvil  ilrlioat-y  ;  anil  when  the  Viilmiie  par- 
tiKik   ul'  ii.  hit  ti>iii|>li.tnce  with  their  ta<tv  reiitlcml  liiui  ex- 

Thi«  I'nriou*  tmil   of  n -    ■  i«   rom- 

Miiiw.    lie  Montiiinn-iiry,   a  '   of  the 

\  .  .  ,  t''  lir.uiltinif,  li^  wltdrn  i!  \m  rrcd^.i.-ii  m  ttrs  dea 
//.I   •'.■'       V'ti'Irrf.    />(..,, .iir.    Iwxix.  art.  14.     Tile   proiM'w 


•  TTUtit,  hn^iiif;  niaiii  a  iK*«*r,  m\y*  in  liit  funi- 
-  :  "  SirJ",  or  mannen-r.  vonn  et  nioy  nn»i. 
Voire  ti  nou«  auiuiu  de  feu,  ilit  riuii<liuii.  Par  I'nnir  ile  inon 
|>rn>,  dint  Esluniie,  ie  voua  alourni-ny  rt  culray  a  In  nianioro 
do  nontre  payi  comnie  |iour  chraalier  errant.  Lora  tira  (Oii 
enjiee,  et  >en  vint  a  la  limnclie  dung  arbre,  et  y  fait  vng  grant 
trou,  et  pais  fend  la  branrhe  bien  dieiix  pietlx,  ct  boote  la 
cuiv«v  du  »crf  cntredenx,  ct  puis  prt-nt  Ie  licol  de  son  thrval, 
cl  111  lye  la  bmnche,  et  de^Hraint  si  fort,  que  Ic  sang  el  lee  liu- 
in"iin  de  la  chair  aailleiit  hon,  et  demeurc  la  chair  doulce  et 
f<  iilip.  I^<r«  )>r»>nt  la  chnir,  et  ostc  iu«  Ic  cnir,  ct  la  chairc 
di'ini'un-  !i<-    comiiic  si    co    feusil   dung    chappon. 

Doiit  ili«l  .  Siri',  ic  !a  vons  nyo  cuisto  a  la  gui.ic  de 

men  iiay:*,  vous  en  pouez  ni.aiigcr  luirdycincnt,  car  ie  mange- 
ray  premier.  Lors  met  sa  main  a  sa  soHc  en  vng  lieu  quil  y 
auoit,  ct  tire  hors  acl  ct  poadrc  de  poiurc  ct  gingcmbre,  me^le 
enwrnble,  ct  Ic  iecto  dcsjus,  ct  Ie  frote  uns  bien  fort,  puis  Ie 
coappe  a  nioytie,  et  eu  donne  a  Claodius  I'une  dcs  pieces,  et 
puii  mort  en  I'aatrc  au!s.«i  sauoureusscmcnt  quit  est  adai.<>  que 
il  en  feist  la  pouUlre  voller.  Quant  Claudius  veit  quil  Ie  nian- 
gpoii  I,  il  en  print  grant  faim,  et  commence  a  man- 

ger t:  n«,  ct  dist  a  Estonne :  Par  Tame  de  moy,  ie 

lie  muiii;t^>\  oii>'i|ur«inais  dc  cliair  atournce  dc  telle  guise  : 
mais  dorcsiiiauani  ie  nc  mc  retourncroye  pas  bore  dc  mon 
ehcmin  par  auoir  la  cnitc.  Sire,  dist  Estonne,  quant  is  snis 
en  d»crs  d'Ecosse,  dont  ie  snis  seigneur,  ie  cheuaucheray  huit 
ioun  ou  quinze  que  ie  n'entreray  en  cbastel  ne  en  inaison,  ct 
si  ne  vcrray  feu  ne  personne  viuant  fors  que  besles  sauuages, 
et  de  cellcs  mangcray  atournees  en  ccstc  maniere,  et  mieulx 
me  plaira  que  la  viande  de  rcnipcrcnr.  Ainsi  sen  vont  man- 
gcant  ct  chenauchant  insqnes  adonc  quilz  arrinerent  snr  une 
moult  belle  fonlaine  que  c,>toit  en  vne  valee.  Q.iiant  Estonne 
la  vit  i!  dist  a  Claudius,  aliens  boire  a  ceste  fontaine.  Or  bcu- 
non*.  dist  Estonne,  du  boir  que  Ie  grant  dieu  a  pourueu  a 
tonics  gens,  ct  que  me  plaist  niienlx  que  les  ceruoises  d'Aii- 
gli-li-rre." — La  Trrsflrgantc  Hystoirc  du  tresnobU  Roy 
I'c'crforrst.     Paris,  l.'iSl,  fol.  tome  i.  fol.  It.  vers. 

After  all,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  la  chnire  nostrcc,  for 
M>  the  French  called  the  venison  thus  summarily  prepared,  was 
any  thing  more  than  a  mere  rude  kind  of  decHiani. 


Note  3  H. 


Ao/  Men  einim'd  sovcrci/rnty  his  due 

While  .llbany,  Tcith  feeble  hand. 

Held  borrow'd  truncheon  of  command. — P.  221. 

There  is  scarcely  a  more  disorderly  period  in  Scottish  his- 
tory than  that  which  incceeded  the  battle  of  Flodden,  and 
o<;cnpied  the  minority  of  James  V.  Feada  of  ancient  stand- 
ing broke  out  like  old  wounds,  and  every  quarrel  among  the 
independent  nobility,  wbii-b  occurred  daily,  and  almost  houi^ 
V,  gave  rise  to  fresh  bloo<l-biil.  "There  arose,"  says  Pits- 
cottie,  "  great  trouble  and  '  -  in  many  parts  of  Scot- 

land, l)Oth  in  the  north  ami  .  The  Mailer  of  Forbes, 

n  the  north,  slew  the  Laird  of  Meidmm.  nndcr  Irjst ;"  (i.  e. 
at  an  o/rreed  and  secure  meeting.)  "  Likewise  the  Laird  of 
Prumir.elzier  slew  the  I^ord  Fleming  at  the  hawking  ■  and 
likewise  there  was  slaughter  among  many  other  gn-at  lords." 
— P.  12L  Nor  was  the  matter  much  mcnile<l  under  the  eov- 
emment   of  the   Earl  of  Angus  ;    for  thonjh  he  caused  the 


King  to  ride  through  all  Scotland,  "  under  the  pretence  and 
color  of  jutticr,  to  puniah  thief  and  traitor,  none  were  found 
gn-nler  than  were  in  their  own  company.  And  nurio  n  that 
time  durst  strive  with  it  Douglas,  nor  yet  a  Duu^-lna'a  man 
for  if  lliry  would,  they  got  the  wont.  Tlieivfon-,  nuin-  durat 
I  on,  ihefi,   n-iff,  nor  ►laughter,  done  to 

I  !  -,  or  their  men  ;  in  that  ciiiw  they  wen 

ir<l,  M  luiijj  lu  the  Douglas  had  the  court  in  guiding."— 
|..  133. 


Note  3  I. 

The  Gael,  of  plain  and  rivrr  heir. 

Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  hit  share. — P.  221. 

The  ancient  Highlanders  verilicd  in  their  practice  the  linei 
of  Gray  : — 

"  An  iron  race  the  moantain  cliffs  maintain, 
Foes  to  the  gentler  genius  of  the  plain  ; 
For  where  unwearied  sinews  mutt  be  found, 
With  side-long  plough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground  ; 
To  turn  the  torrent's  swift  descending  flood  ; 
To  tame  the  savage  rushing  from  the  wood  ; 
What  wonder  if.  to  patient  valor  train'd, 
They  guanl  with  .spirit  what  by  strength  they  gain'd  : 
And  while  their  rooky  ramparts  round  ihey  see 
The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty 
(As  lawless  force  from  confiilenco  will  grow), 
Iiisnlt  the  plenty  of  the  vali-s  below  V 

Fragment  on  the  .liliance  of  Education 
and  Oovernment. 

So  far,  indeed,  was  a  Creagh,  or  foray,  from  being  held  dis- 
graceful, that  a  young  chief  was  always  expecteil  to  show  his 
talents  for  command  so  soon  as  he  a.«8umed  it,  by  leading  his 
clan  on  a  successful  enterprise  of  this  nature,  either  against  a 
neighboring  sept,  for  which  constant  feuds  usually  fi'.rni.Hhed 
an  apology,  or  against  the  Sassenach,  Saxons,  or  Lowlaiiders, 
for  which  no  apology  was  necessary.  The  Gael,  great  tradi- 
tional historians,  never  forgot  that  the  Lowlands  had,  at  some 
remote  period,  been  the  property  of  their  Celtic  forefathers, 
which  furnished  an  ample  vindication  of  all  the  ravages  that 
they  could  make  on  the  unfortunate  districts  which  lay  within 
their  reach.  Sir  James  Grant  of  Grant  is  in  pos,ses.<ion  of  a 
letter  of  apology  from  Cameron  of  Lochiel,  whose  men  had 
committed  some  depredation  upon  a  farm  called  Moines; 
occupied  by  one  of  the  Grants.  Lochiel  assures  Grant,  that, 
however  the  mistake  had  happened,  his  instructions  were  pre- 
cise, that  the  party  should  foray  the  province  of  Moray  (a 
Lowland  district),  where,  as  he  coolly  observes,  "  all  men  take 
their  prey." 


Note  3  K. 


-I  only  meant 


To  shoiB  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. — P.  222. 

This  incident,  like  some  other  passages  in  the  [loem,  ill&»- 
tralivc  of  the  character  of  the  ancient  Gael,  is  not  imaginary, 
but  borrowed  from  fact.  The  Highlanders,  with  the  incon- 
sistency of  most  nations  in  the  same  state,  were  alternately 
capable  of  great  exertions  of  generosity,  and  of  cruel  revenge 
and  perfidy.  The  following  story  I  can  only  quote  from  tra- 
dition, but  with  such  an  assurance  from  those  by  whom  it  was 
communicated,  as  permits  me  little  doubt  of  its  authenticity. 
Early  in  the  last  century,  John  Gunn,  a  noted  Citeran,  or 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


263 


Highland  robber,  infested  tiiveriiess-shire,  and  levied  black- 
mail np  to  the  walls  of  the  provincial  capital.  A  garrison  was 
hen  ftiaiiitained  in  the  castle  of  that  town,  and  their  pay 
(country  banks  being  unknown)  was  usually  transmitted  in 
Bpecie,  under  the  guard  of  a  small  escort.  It  clianced  that 
the  officer  who  commanded  this  little  party  was  unexpectedly 
obhged  to  halt,  about  thirty  miles  from  Inverness,  at  a  misei^ 
able  inn.  About  night-fall,  a  stranger,  in  the  Highland  dress, 
and  of  very  [)rei)ossessing  appearance,  entered  the  same  house. 
Separate  accommodations  being  impossible,  the  Englishman 
oftered  the  newly-arrived  guest  a  jiart  of  his  sujjpcr,  which 
was  accepted  with  reluctance.  By  the  con^ei-sation  he  found 
his  new  acquaintance  knew  well  all  the  passes  of  the  country, 
which  induced  him  eagerly  to  request  his  company  on  the  en- 
suing morning.  He  neither  disguised  his  business  and  charge, 
nor  his  apprehensions  of  that  celebrated  freebooter,  John 
Gunn. — The  Higlilander  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  frank- 
ly consented  to  Le  his  guide.  Forth  they  set  in  the  morning  ; 
and,  in  travelling  through  a  solitary  and  dreary  glen,  the  dis- 
course again  turned  on  John  Gunn.  "  Would  you  like  to  see 
him?"  said  the  guide;  and,  without  waiting  an  answer  to 
this  alarming  question,  he  whistled,  and  the  English  officer, 
with  his  small  party,  were  surrounded  by  a  body  of  High- 
landers, whose  numbers  put  resistance  out  of  question,  and 
who  were  all  well  armed.  "  Stranger,"  resumed  the  guide, 
"  I  am  that  very  John  Gunn  by  whom  you  feared  to  be  inter- 
cepted, and  not  without  cause  :  for  I  came  to  the  inn  last  night 
with  the  express  purpose  of  learning  your  route,  that  I  and  my 
followers  might  ease  you  of  your  charge  by  the  road.  But  I 
am  incapable  of  betraying  the  trust  you  reposed  in  me,  and 
having  convinced  you  that  you  were  in  my  power,  I  can  only 
dismiss  you  unplundered  and  uninjured."  He  then  gave  the 
officer  directions  for  his  journey,  and  disappeared  with  his 
party  as  suddenly  as  they  had  presented  themselves. 


Note  3  L. 


On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines 
Where  Rome,  the  Empress  of  the  world, 
Of  yore  her  eagle-wings  unfurVd. — P.  223. 

The  torrent  which  discharges  itself  from  Loch  Vennachar, 
the  lowest  and  eastmost  of  the  three  lakes  which  form  the 
scenery  adjoining  to  the  Trosachs,  sweeps  through  a  tlat  and 
extensive  moor,  called  Bochastle.  Upon  a  small  eminence, 
called  the  Dun  of  Bochastle,  and  indeed  on  the  plain  itself, 
are  some  intrenchments,  which  have  been  thought  Roman. 
There  is,  adjacent  to  Callender,  a  sweet  villa,  the  residence  of 
Captain  Fairfoul,  entitled  the  Roman  Camp. 

["  One  of  the  most  entire  and  beautitul  remains  of  a  Roman 
encampment  now  to  be  found  in  Scotland,  is  to  be  seen  at 
Ardoch,  near  Greenloaning,  about  six  miles  to  the  eastward 
of  Dunblane.  This  encampment  is  supposed,  on  good  grounds, 
to  have  been  constructed  during  the  fourth  cam|)aign  of  Agri- 
cola  in  Britain  ;  it  is  1060  feet  in  length,  and  900  in  breadth  ; 
it  could  contain  26,000  men,  according  to  the  ordinary  distri- 
bution of  the  Roman  soldiers  in  their  encampments.  There 
appears  to  have  been  three  or  four  ditches,  strongly  fortified, 
surrounding  the  camp.  The  four  entries  crossing  the  lines 
are  still  to  be  seen  distinctly.  The  general's  quarter  rises 
above  the  level  of  the  camp,  but  is  not  exactly  in  the  centre. 
It  is  a  regular  square  of  twenty  yards,  enclosed  with  a  stone 
wall,  and  containing  the  foundations  of  a  house,  30  feet  by  20. 
There  is  a  subten-aneous  communication  with  a  smaller  en- 
campment at  a  little  distance,  in  which  several  Roman  helmets, 
epeais,  &c.,  have  been  fonnd.  From  this  camp  at  Ardoch, 
the  great  Roman  highway  runs  east  to  Bertha,  about  14  miles 
distant,  where  the  Roman  army  is  believed  to  have  passed  over 
the  Tay  into  Strathmore." — Grah^me.'] 


Note  3  M. 
See,  here,  all  vantagclcss  I  stand, 
Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand. — P.  223. 

The  duellists  of  former  times  did  not  always  stand  upon 
those  punctilios  respecting  equaUty  of  arms,  which  are  now 
judged  essential  to  fair  combat.  It  is  true,  that  in  former 
combats  in  the  lists,  the  parties  were,  by  the  judges  of  the 
field,  put  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  same  circumstances. 
But  in  private  duel  it  was  often  otherwi.se.  In  that  desperate 
combat  which  was  fought  between  Q,uelus,  a  minion  of  Henry 
III.  of  France,  and  Antraguet,  with  two  seconds  on  each  side, 
from  which  only  two  persons  escaped  alive,  Quclus  complained 
th;it  his  antagonist  had  over  him  the  advantage  of  a  poniaid 
which  he  used  in  parrying,  while  his  left  hand,  which  he  was 
forced  to  employ  for  the  eame  purpose,  was  cruelly  mangled. 
When  he  charged  Autraguet  with  this  odds,  "  Thon  hast  done 
wrong,"  answered  he,  "  to  forget  thy  dagger  at  home.  We  are 
here  to  fight,  and  not  to  settle  punctilios  of  arras."  In  a  similar 
duel,  however,  a  younger  brother  of  the  house  of  Aubanye,  in 
Angoulesme,  behaved  more  generously  on  the  hke  occasion, 
and  at  once  threw  away  his  dagger  when  his  enemy  challenged 
it  as  an  undue  advantage.  But  at  this  time  hardly  any  thing 
can  be  conceived  more  horribly  brutal  and  savage  than  the 
mode  in  which  private  quarrels  were  conducted  in  France. 
Those  who  were  most  jealous  of  the  point  of  honor,  and 
acquired  the  title  of  Jin^iics,  did  not  scruple  to  take  every 
advantage  of  strength,  numbers,  surprise,  and  arms,  to  ac- 
complish their  revenge.  The  Sieur  de  Brantome,  to  whose 
discourse  on  duels  I  am  obhged  for  these  particulars,  ^ives 
the  following  account  of  the  death  and  principles  of  his  friend 
the  Baron  de  Vitaux  : — 

"  J'ay  oui  conter  a  un  Tireur  d'armes,  qui  apprit  a  Millaud 
a  en  tirer,  leqnel  s'appelloit  Seigneur  le  Jacques  Ferron,  de  la 
ville  d' Ast,  qui  avoit  este  a  moy,  il  fut  despuis  tu6  a  Sainete- 
Basille  en  Gascogne,  lors  que  Monsieur  du  3Iayne  I'assiegea 
lui  servant  d'Ingenieur;  et  de  malheur,  je  I'avois  address^ 
audit  Baron  quelques  trois  mois  auparavant,  pour  I'exercer  k 
tirer,  bien  qu'il  en  sceust  prou  ;  mais  il  ne'en  fit  compte  ;  et  le 
laissant,  Millaud  s'en  servit,  et  le  rendit  fort  adroit.  Se  Seig- 
neur Jacques  done  me  raconta,  qu'il  s'estoit  mont6  sar  un 
noyer,  assez  loing,  pour  en  voir  le  combat,  et  qu'il  ne  vist 
jamais  homme  y  aller  plus  bravement,  ny  plus  resolument, 
ny  de  grace  plus  asseur6e  ny  d6termin6e.  II  commenja  de 
marcher  de  cinquante  pas  vers  son  ennemy,  relevant  souvent 
ses  moustaches  en  haut  d'une  main  ;  et  estant  a  vingt  pas  de 
son  ennemy  (non  plustost),  il  mit  la  main  a  I'esp^e  qu'il  tenoit 
en  la  main,  non  qu'il  I'eust  tiree  encore  ;  mais  en  marchant,  il 
fit  voller  le  fourreau  en  I'air,  en  le  secouant,  ce  qui  est  le  beaa 
de  cela,  et  qui  monstroit  bien  nn  grace  de  combat  bien  as- 
seur6e  et  froide,  et  nuUement  t(im6raire,  comme  il  y  en  a  qui 
tirent  leurs  esp6es  de  cinq  cents  pas  de  I'ennemy,  voire  de 
mille,  comme  j'en  ay  veu  aucuns.  Ainsi  mourut  ce  brave 
Baron,  le  parogon  de  France,  qu'on  nomraoit  tel,  a  bien  ven- 
ger  ses  querelles,  par  grandes  et  determinees  resolutions.  I 
n'estoit  pas  seulement  estimfi  en  France,  mais  en  Italie, 
Espaigne,  Allemaigne,  en  Boulogne  et  Angleterre  ;  et  desi- 
roient  fort  les  Etrangers,  venant  en  France,  le  voir ;  car  je 
I'ay  ven,  tant  sa  renommee  volloit.  II  estoit  fort  petit  de 
corps,  mais  fort  grand  de  courage.  Ses  ennemis  disoient  qu'il 
ne  tuoit  pas  bien  ses  gens,  que  par  advantages  et  supercheries. 
Certes,  je  tiens  de  grands  capitaines,  et  mesme  d'ltaliens,  qui 
ont  estez  d'autres  fois  les  premiers  vengeurs  du  monde,  in 
ogni  modo,  disoient-ils,  qui  ont  tenu  cette  maxime,  qo'une 
snpercherie  ne  se  devoit  payer  que  par  semblable  monnoye, 
etn'y  alloit  point  la  de  dfeshonneur." — Oeuvres  de  Braiitome, 
Paris,  1787-8.  Tome  viii.  p.  90-92.  It  may  be  necessary  to 
inform  the  reader,  that  this  paragon  of  France  was  the  most 
foul  assassin  of  his  time,  and  had  committed  many  desperate 
murders,  chiefly  by  the  assistance  of  'is  hired  banditti ;  from 
which  it  may  be  conceived  how  litt.e  the  point  of  honor  of  tlia 
penod  deserved  its  name.     I  have  chosen  to  give  my  heroes 


2G4 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


who  are  in>lM<l  of  an  earlier  j)eriotl,  a  ttrongrr  lincturo  of  ilie 
•pirit  of  chivalry. 


NOTK  3  N. 


Ill  fared  it  then  teitK  Roderick  Dku, 
That  OH  the  field  hit  targe  he  threie. 
For  train'd  abroad  hit  arms  to  trield, 
Fif.-Jamet't  blade  leat  ticurd  and  shield. — P.  223. 

A  rii'ind  tnrr'-t  nf  lijlit  wood,  coveml  willi  (troiif;  li-allicr, 
n  -.or  iron,  was   a   noci-wary   part  of  a 

II  ^  I.     In   charRiii";   n-giilnr   trooiw,   they 

received  the  thruit  of  the  bayoiiel  in  thia  Iniekler,  twistod  it 
aside,  and  o>ed  the  hruadswonl  nguintt  the  encunibercd 
•olUit-r.  In  the  civil  war  of  1745,  most  of  tlie  front  rank  of 
the  clan*  were  thus  armed  :  and  Captain  Groac  iiiforin!i  us, 
that,  in  n^l",  the  privates  of  the  42d  regiment,  then  in  Flan- 
den,  were,  for  the  most  part,  pcrmltlecl  to  carry  targets. — 
Military  .'Intiquitiei,  vol.  i.  p.  104.  A  |)cnion  thus  armed 
had  a  con«iderable  advantage  in  private  fray.  Anion;;  verses 
betwi-<>n  Swift  and  Sheridan,  lately  published  by  Dr.  Barrel, 
tlicrc  is  an  account  of  such  an  encounter,  in  which  the  cir- 
camstancea,  and  consequently  the  relative  gU|)eriority  of  the 
combatants,  are  precisely  tlie  reverse  of  those  in  the  text : — 

"  A  Highlander  once  fought  a  Frenchman  at  Margate, 
The  weapons,  a  rapier,  a  backsword,  and  target ; 
Brisk  Monsieur  advancetl  as  fast  as  he  could. 
Bat  all  hb)  fine  pushes  were  c.inght  in  the  wood. 
And  Sawney,  with  backsword,  did  slash  him  and  nick  him, 
While  t'other,  enraged  that  he  could  not  once  prick  him, 
Crietl,  *  Sirrah,  you  rascal,  you  son  of  a  whore. 
Me  will  fight  you,  be  gar!  if  you'll  come  from  your  door.'  " 

The  use  of  defensive  armor,  and  particularly  of  the  buckler, 
or  target,  was  general  in  Queen  Elizabelli's  time,  although  that 
of  the  single  rapier  seems  to  have  been  occasionally  jiractised 
much  earlier.'  Rowland  Yorke,  however,  who  betrayed  the 
fort  of  Zutphen  to  the  Spaniards,  for  which  good  service  he 
was  aflerwanis  poisoned  by  them,  is  said  to  have  been  the  first 
who  brought  the  rapier  fight  into  general  use.  Fuller,  speak- 
ing of  the  8wa.«h-bncklcrs,  or  bullies,  of  (iucen  Elizabeth's 
time,  says, — "West  >'mithfield  was  formerly  called  Ruffians' 
Hall,  where  such  men  usually  met,  casually  or  otherwise,  to 
try  masteries  with  sword  and  buckler.  More  were  fright- 
ened than  hurt,  more  hurt  than  killed  therewith,  it  being 
accounted  unmanly  to  strike  beneath  the  knee.  But  since  that 
desperate  traitor  Rowland  Yorke  first  introduced  thrusting 
with  rapiers,  swonl  and  buckler  are  disused."  In  "  The  Two 
Angry  Women  of  Abingdon,"  a  comedy,  printed  in  1590,  we 
Save  a  pathetic  complaint: — "Sword  and  buckler  fight  be- 
gins to  fmw  not  of  use.  I  am  sorry  for  it :  1  shall  never  see 
good  i:  -lin.     If  it  be  once  gone,  this  poking  fight  of 

rapier  r  will  come  up  ;  then  a  tall  man,  and  a  good 

sworil-an'i-huckicr  man,  will  be  spitted  like  a  cat  or  rabbit." 
But  the  rapier  had  upon  the  continent  long  superseded,  in 
private  duel,  the  use  of  sword  and  shield.  The  masters  of 
the  noble  science  of  defence  were  chiefly  Italians.  They  made 
great  mystery  of  their  art  and  mode  of  instruction,  never  suf- 
fered any  person  to  lie  present  but  the  scholar  who  was  to  be 
tan!;ht,  and  even  examined  closets,  beds,  and  other  places  of 
po«?ible  concealment.  Their  lessons  often  gave  the  most 
treacherous  atlvantages  ;  for  the  challenger,  having  the  right  to 
choose  his  weapons,  frequently  selected  some  strange,  unusual, 
and  inconvenient  kind  of  arms,  the  use  of  which  he  pm'-ti'"-'l 
under  these  instmctorn,  and  thus  killed  at  hi»  ea«e  hi,> 
nist,  to  whom  it  was  presented  for  the  first  time  on  tm-  i 
batLe.     See   Brantomk'i   Discourte  on   fJueli,  and  the 

6ee  Donee's  lUnstntions  of  Sbaksixuv,  vol.  ii.  p.  (1. 


work  on  the  same  subject,  "si  gentrmenl  ecrit,"  by  tlia 
venerable  Ur.  I'aris  de  I'uteo.  The  Highlanders  continued  to 
use  broadswoni  and  target  until  disarmed  after  llio  affair  ot 
1745-0. 


Note  3  0. 


Thy  threats,  thy  mercy  I  defy! 

Let  recreant  yield,  tcho  fears  to  die. — P.  224. 

I  have  not  ventured  to  render  this  duel  so  savagely  despe 
rale  as  that  of  the  celebrated  Sir  Kwan  of  Lochiel,  chief  ol 
the  clan  Cameron,  called,  from  his  sable  complexion,  Kwan 
Dhu.  He  was  the  last  man  in  Scotland  who  maintained  the 
royal  cause  during  the  great  Civil  War,  and  his  constant 
incursions  rendennl  him  a  very  unpleasant  neighbor  to  the 
republican  garrison  at  Inverlochy,  now  Fort-William.  The 
governor  of  the  fort  detached  a  party  of  three  hunilred  men 
to  lay  waste  I^ochiel's  possessions,  and  cut  down  his  trees  ; 
but,  in  a  sudden  and  desperate  attack  made  upon  them  by 
the  chieftain  with  very  inferior  numbers,  they  were  almost  all 
cut  to  pieces.  The  skirniLsh  is  detailed  in  a  curious  memoir  ot 
Sir  Ewan's  life,  printed  in  the  Appendix  of  Pennant's  Scot- 
tish Tour. 

"  In  this  engagement,  Lochiel  himself  had  several  wonder- 
ful escapes.  In  the  retreat  of  the  English,  one  of  the  strong- 
est and  bravest  of  the  ofUcers  retired  behind  a  bush,  when  he 
observed  Lochiel  pursuing,  and  seeing  him  unaccompanied 
with  any,  i-«  leapt  out,  and  thought  him  his  prey.  They  met 
one  another  with  equal  fury.  The  combat  was  long  and 
doubtful  :  the  English  gentleman  had  by  far  the  advantage  in 
Btrcn"th  and  size;  but  Lochiel,  exceeding  him  in  ninibleness 
and  agility,  in  the  end  tript  the  sword  out  of  his  hand  :  they 
closed  and  wn-stled,  till  both  fell  to  the  ground  in  each  other's 
arms.  The  English  officer  got  above  Lochiel,  and  pressed  him 
hard,  but  stretching  forth  his  neck,  by  attempting  to  disengage 
himself,  Lochiel,  who  by  this  time  had  his  hands  at  liberty, 
with  his  lefl  hand  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  jumping  at  bis 
extended  throat,  he  bit  it  with  liis  teeth  quite  through,  and 
kept  such  a  hold  of  his  grasp,  that  he  brought  away  his 
mouthful :  this,  lie  said,  was  the  stoectcst  bit  he  ever  had  in 
his  lifetime."— 'Vo\.  i.  p.  375. 


Note  3  P. 


Ye  towers !  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglns  by  his  sovereign  bled; 

And  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  niound! 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound. — P.  225. 

An  eminence  on  the  northeast  of  the  Castle,  where  state 
criminals  were  executed.  Stirling  wa.s  often  polluted  with 
noble  blood.     It  is  thus  apostrophized  by  J.  Johnston  : — 

"  Discordia  trislis 


Hen  quotics  proccrum  sanguine  tinxit  humnm  I 
Hoc  uno  infelix,  et  fcli.v  cetera  ;  nusquam 
La'tior  aut  cadi  frons  geniusve  soli." 

The  fate  of  William,  eighth  earl  of  Douglas,  whom  James 
II.  stabbed  in  Stirling  Castle  with  his  own  hand,  and  while 
under  his  royal  safe-conduct,  is  familiar  to  all  who  read  Scot- 
tish history.  Murdack  Duke  of  Albany,  Duncan  Eari  of  Len- 
nox, his  father-in-law,  and  bis  two  sons,  Walter  and  Alexander 
Stuart,  were  executed  at  SliHing,  in  1425.  They  were  be- 
headed upon  an  eminence  without  the  castle  walls,  but  making 
:irt  of  the  same  hill,  from  whence  they  could  behold  their 
-irong  castle  of  Doune,  and  their  extensive  |>ossessions.  This 
"heading  hill,"  as  it  was  sometimes  termed,  bears  commonly 
the  less  terrible  name  of  Ilurly-hackct,  from  its  having  been 
the  scene  of  a  courtly  amusement  alluded  to  by  Sir  David 


APPEx^DIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


265 


Lindsay,  who  says  of  the  pastimes  in  which  the  young  King 
was  engaged, 

"  Some  harled  him  to  the  Hurley-hacket ;" 

which  consisted  in  sliding,  in  some  sort  of  chair  it  may  be 
supposed,  from  top  to  bottom  of  a  smootli  bank.  The  boys  of 
Edinburgli,  about  twenty  years  ago,  used  to  play  at  the  liurly- 
hacket,  on  the  Calton-hill,  using  for  their  seat  a  horse's  skull. 


Note  3  Q. 


The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day. — P.  225. 

Every  burgh  of  Scotland,  of  the  least  note,  but  more  espe- 
cially the  considerable  towns,  had  their  solemn  p/aij,  or  fes- 
tival, when  feats  of  archery  were  exhibited,  and  prizes  distrib- 
uted to  those  who  excelled  in  wrestling,  hurling  the  bar,  and 
the  other  gymnastic  exercises  of  the  period.  Stirling,  a  usual 
place  of  royal  residence,  was  not  likely  to  be  deficient  in  pomp 
upon  such  occasions,  especially  .since  James  V.  was  very  par- 
tial to  them.  His  ready  participation  in  these  popular  amuse- 
ments was  one  cause  of  his  acquiring  the  title  of  King  of  the 
Commons,  or  Rez  Plcbeiorum,  as  Lesley  iias  latinized  it.  The 
usr.al  prize  to  the  best  shooter  was  a  silver  arrow.  Such  a  one 
is  preserved  at  Selkirk  and  at  Peebles.  At  Dumfries,  a  silver 
f;un  was  substituted,  and  the  contention  transferred  to  fire- 
arms. The  ceremony,  as  there  performed,  is  the  subject  of  an 
excellent  Scottish  poem,  by  Mr.  John  Mayne,  entitled  the 
Siller  Gun,  1808,  which  surpasses  the  efforts  of  Fergusson,  and 
comes  near  to  those  of  Burns. 

Of  James's  attachment  to  archery,  Pitscottie,  the  faithful, 
though  rude  recorder  of  the  manners  of  that  period,  has  given 
us  evidence  : — 

"In  this  year  there  came  an  embassador  ont  of  England, 
named  Lord  William  Howard,  with  a  bishop  with  him,  with 
many  other  gentlemen,  to  the  number  of  threescore  horse,  which 
were  all  able  men  and  waled  [picked]  men  for  all  kinds  of 
games  and  pastimes,  shooting,  louping,  running,  wrestling, 
and  casting  of  the  stone,  but  they  were  well  'sa\'ed  [essayed 
or  tried]  ere  they  passed  out  of  Scotland,  and  that  by  their  own 
provocation  ;  but  ever  they  tint :  till  at  last,  the  dueen  of 
Scotland,  the  King's  mother,  favoured  the  English-men,  be- 
cause she  was  the  King  of  England's  sister  ;  and  therefore  she 
took  an  enterprise  of  archery  upon  the  English-men's  hands, 
contrary  her  son  the  king,  and  any  six  in  Scotland  that  he 
would  wale,  either  gentlemen  or  yeomen,  that  the  English-men 
should  shoot  against  them,  either  at  pricks,  revers,  or  buts,  as 
the  Scots  pleased. 

"  The  king,  hearing  this  of  his  mother,  was  content,  and 
gart  her  pawn  a  hundred  crowns,  and  a  tun  of  wine,  upon  the 
English-men's  hands  ;  and  he  incontinent  laid  down  as  much 
for  the  Scottish-men.  The  field  and  ground  was  chosen  in 
St.  Andrews,  and  three  landed  men  and  three  yeomen  chosen 
to  shoot  against  the  English-men, — to  wit,  David  VVemyss  of 
that  ilk,  David  Arnot  of  that  ilk,  and  Mr.  John  Wedderburn, 
vicar  of  Dundee  ;  the  yeomen,  John  Thompson,  in  Leith,  Ste- 
ven Tabumer,  with  a  piper,  called  Alexander  Bailie  ;  they 
shot  very  near,  and  warred  [worsted]  the  English-men  of  the 
enterprise,  and  wan  the  hundred  crowns  and  the  tun  of  wine, 
which  made  the  king  very  merry  that  his  men  wan  the  vic- 
tory."—P.  147. 


Note  8  R. 
Rohin  Hood.—V.  226. 


The  exhibition  of  this  renowned  outlaw  and  liis  band  was 
a  favorite  frolic  at  such  festivals  as  we  are  describing.     This 

1  Book  of  the  Universal  Kirk,  p.  414. 

2  See  Scottish  Historical  and  Romantic  Ballads.    Glasgow,  1808,  vol, 
il.p.UT.  ^ 


sporting,  in  which  kings  did  not  disdain  to  be  actors,  was  pro- 
hibited in  Scotland  upon  the  Reformation,  by  a  statute  of  the 
6th  Parliament  of  dueen  Mary,  c.  CI,  A.  D.  15i5,  which  or 
dered,  under  heavy  penalties,  that  "  na  manner  of  person  be 
chosen  Robert  Hude,  nor  Little  John,  Abbot  of  Unreason, 
dueen  of  May,  nor  otherwise."  But  in  1561,  the  "rascal 
multitude,"  says  John  Knox,  "were  stirred  up  to  make  i 
Robin  Hude,  whilk  enormity  was  of  many  years  left  and 
damned  by  statute  and  act  of  Parliament ;  yet  would  they  not 
be  forbidden."  Accordingly,  they  raised  a  very  serious  tu- 
mult, and  at  length  made  prisoners  the  magistrates  who  en- 
deavored to  suppress  it,  and  would  not  release  them  till  they 
extorted  a  formal  promise  that  no  one  should  be  punished  for 
his  share  of  the  disturbance.  It  would  seem,  from  the  com- 
plaints of  the  General  Assemby  of  the  Kirk,  that  these  profane 
festivities  were  continued  down  to  1592.'  Bold  Robin  was,  to 
to  say  the  least,  equally  successful  in  maintaining  his  ground 
against  the  reformed  clergy  of  England  :  for  the  simjjle  and 
evangelical  Latimer  complains  of  coming  to  a  country  chnrch, 
where  the  people  refused  to  hear  him,  because  it  was  Robin 
Hood's  day  ;  and  his  mitre  and  rochet  were  fain  to  give  way 
to  the  village  pa.stime.  Much  curious  information  on  this  sub- 
ject may  be  found  in  the  Preliminary  Dissertation  to  tlie  late 
Mr.  Ritson's  edition  of  the  songs  respecting  this  memorable 
outlaw.  The  game  of  Robin  Hood  was  usually  acted  in  May  ; 
and  he  was  associated  with  the  morrice-danccrs,  on  whom  so 
much  illustration  has  been  bestowed  by  the  commentators  on 
Shakspeare.  A  very  lively  picture  of  these  festivities,  con- 
taining a  great  de.tl  of  curious  information  on  the  subject  of  the 
private  life  and  amusements  of  our  ancestors,  was  thrown,  by 
the  late  ingenious  Mr.  Strutt.  into  his  romance  entitled  dueen- 
hoo  Hall,  published  after  his  death,  in  1808. 


Note  3  S. 


Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight, 

The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright. — P.  ^6. 

The  Douglas  of  the  poem  is  an  imaginary  person,  a  supposed 
uncle  of  the  Earl  of  Angus.  But  the  King's  behavior  during 
an  unexpected  interview  with  the  Laird  of  Kilspindie,  one  of 
the  banished  Douglases,  under  circumstances  similar  to  those 
in  the  text,  is  imitated  from  a  real  story  told  by  Hume  of 
Godscroft.  I'  would  have  availed  myself  more  fully  of  the 
simple  and  affecting  circumstances  of  the  old  history,  had  they 
not  been  already  woven  into  a  pathetic  ballad  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Finlay.' 

"  His  (the  king's)  implacability  (towards  the  family  of 
Douglas)  did  also  appear  iu  his  carriage  towards  Archibald  of 
Kilspindie,  whom  he,  when  lie  was  a  child,  loved  singularly 
well  for  his  ability  of  body,  and  was  wont  to  call  him  his 
Gray-Steill.3  Archibald,  being  banished  into  England,  could 
not  well  comport  with  the  humor  of  that  nation,  which  he 
thought  to  be  too  proud,  and  that  they  had  too  high  a  conceit 
of  themselves,  joined  with  a  contempt  and  despising  of  all 
others.  Wherefore,  being  wearied  of  that  life,  and  remem- 
bering the  king's  favor  of  old  tov.ards  him,  he  determined  to 
try  the  king's  mercifulness  and  clemency.  So  he  comes  into 
Scotland,  and  taking  occasion  of  the  king's  hunting  in  the  park 
at  Stirling,  he  casts  himself  to  be  in  his  way,  as  he  was  coming 
home  to  the  castle.  So  soon  as  the  king  saw  him  afar  off,  ere 
he  came  near,  he  guessed  it  was  he,  and  said  to  one  of  his 
courtiers,  yonder  is  my  Gray-SteiU,  Archibald  of  Kilspindie, 
if  he  be  alive.  Tlie  other  answered,  that  it  could  not  be  lie, 
and  that  he  durst  not  come  into  the  king's  presence.  The  king 
approaching,  he  fell  upon  liis  knees  aiid  craved  pardon,  and 
promised  from  thenceforward  to  abstain  from  meddling  in 
public  affairs,  and  to  lead  a  quiet  and  private  life.    The  king 

3  A  champion  of  populArromance.    See  HUis^s  iiomonces,  vol,  ilL 


266 


SCO'iT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


rent  by  wit^otlt  •f^vinj  him  anr  aniwcr,  sml  lrnitr<l  n  jood 


axwrt.  ^xt  iu>  Mjoii  St  (lie  i-aalle  gate  M  Uif  king.     Tliriv  lie  ut 

! ...^        ii'..>i     :(     ol \i.![i.illl       ir.il     i-i.jr.  .ir.  il     ItOlllU    of  tllC 

mill  tliintr  ; 
I  ..I  Ml.  > ,  ' ''  liiiii  iiuiip. 

When  llii-  wlial  ho  liad 

h.'  ii.iM  ;;i)iic  J     It  wo» 

I   ilriiik,  and  had  gotten 

i  y  for  thoir  diii<«ui>- 

>.  II  ail  uBih  that  no 
I  lie  Huulil  have  n-ceivcd  biin 

liiiii  Hoini-tiniu  a  man  of  great 

.1.1  '   liini  wuni  to  go  to  Lc-ith,  and  ex|K>ct 

Then  wuio  kiiiMnaii  of  David  Falconer, 

i-r,  that  wan  ulnin  at  Taiitallon,  liogan  to  quancl 

..      ,     Liald  aliout  iho  niatti-r,  wherewith  the  king  nhowcd 

bimM-lf  not  well  pleaMnI  when  hu  lieanl  of  it.     Then  ho  coin- 

1       .!cd  him  to  go  to  France  for  a  certain  tpOL-e,  till  he  heard 

r   from   him.      And   so  he  did,   and  died  shortly  after. 

'  '^ing  of  Knplaiul  (Henry  VIM.)  to 

I  ho  old  sayiiiL'.  Tlinl  a   King'*  face 

>er  were  An- 

.1  actor  of  any 

r  nor  utirrer  up,  but  only  a  follower  of 

•,   noways  cruelly  disjKjscd," — UuMB  of 

Oodjcroft,  a.  107. 


Note  3  T. 


Prize  of  the  icrestling  match,  the  King 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring. — P.  iiO. 

The  UKoa]  prize  of  a  wrctUing  was  a  ram  and  a  ring,  but  the 
animal  would  have  cmliarm.'i'.i'd  my  !<tory.  Thus,  in  the  Cokes 
Tale  of  tiamelyn,  ascribed  to  Chaucer  : 

"  There  happed  to  be  tliere  beside 
Tryed  a  wrestling : 
And  therefore  there  was  y-setten 
A  raiu  and  aU  a  ring." 

Again  the  Litil  Geste  of  Robin  Ilood  : 


'  By  a  bridge  was  a  wrestling, 


And  there  taryed  was  be, 
And  there  was  all  the  best  yemea 

Of  all  the  west  conntrey. 
A  full  fayre  game  there  was  set  up, 

A  while  bull  up  y-pight, 
A  great  courser  with  paddle  and  brydle, 

With  gold  burnisilied  full  brygbt ; 
A  payre  of  gloves,  a  red  golderinge, 

A  pipe  of  wyne,  good  fay  ; 
What  man  bereth  him  best,  I  wis, 

The  prize  shall  bear  sway." 

Ritson's  Robin  Hood,  vol.  i. 


Note  3  U. 


Thete  drete  not  for  their  fieldt  the  trcord. 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 
J^'or  oitn'd  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  Chief toin  in  their  leader's  name; 
^adventurers  they P.  230. 

The  Scottish  armies  confined  chiefly  of  the  nobility  and 
barons,  with  their  vassalj,  who  held  lauds  under  them,  for  mil- 

1  Tbongh  Ins  to  my  parpotc,  I  eaimot  belp  noticinir  ■  fircoDulanre  n- 
tftciiDg  another  of  this  Mr.  lUid's  attouUDta,  which  occotred  during 


iinry  sn-vifr  by  thrmvlves  and  their  tenants.     The  pttriarcnal 
:lie  beads  uf  clanii  in  tne  llighlaiidii  and 
I  .   rent  naturx,  and  koniotinies  at  variancn 

Willi  leudal  priiiciplen.  It  Mowed  from  the  t'atria  I'otrttas, 
exercised  by  the  chieftain  on  n-preMjnling  llie  original  father  of 
the  whole  name,  and  was  oAen  obeyed  in  eonlradietion  to  the 
feudal  auiM-rior.  James  V.  seems  lint  to  have  introduevd,  ia 
addition  to  the  militia  fimiinhed  from  thrav  nource*,  the  servioa 
of  a  tiiiall  number  of  iiierceiiarien,  who  furmcd  a  body-guard, 
calletl  the  Foot-Uaiid.  The  satirical  |iui't,  t^ir  Uavid  LiinUay 
(or  the  penun  who  wrote  the  prologue  to  hi*  play  of  the 
"Three  Kiilailm"),  brii  intriwliiecd  Kiiilay  of  the  Koot-Uniid, 
who,  after  much  su.i  >ii  the  utage,  is  at  lenglii  put 

to  flight  by  the  Fool,  .  ■.  hini  by  nieanit  of  a  ►heeji's 

skull   upon   a  |>ole.     I    have  ratlier  chooen   to  give  them  tliu 
harsh  features  of  tlif  mercenary  noldiers  of  the  |R-riod,  than  of 
thij)  Scottish  Thraiio.     Tlicxo  partook  of  tlic  character  of  tlie 
Adventurous  Companions  of  Froissart  or  the  Condollieri 
Italy. 

One  of  the  be«t  and  liveliest  traits  of  such  mannen  is  the 
last  will  of  a  leader,  called  Gefl'roy  Tele  Noir,  who  having 
been  slightly  wounded  in  a  skirmLih,  hi»  intemperance  brought 
on  a  mortal  diw-ase.  When  he  found  himself  dying,  he  suin- 
nioiied  to  liii  beil.tidc  the  adveuturers  whom  he  commanded, 
and  thus  aililressed  them  : — 

"  Fayre  sirs,  quod  Geflray,  I  knowo  well  ye  have  alwayci 
served  and  honour<Ml  me  as  men  ought  to  serve  their  coveraygne 
and  capitayne,  and  I  shal  be  the  gladder  if  ye  wyll  agre  to 
have  to  your  capitayne  one  that  is  discendcd  of  my  blode. 
Bebolde  i'^re  Aleyno  Roux,  my  cosyn,  and  Peter  his  brother, 
who  are  men  of  amies  and  of  my  b1o<Ie.  I  require  you  to 
make  Aleync  your  capitayne,  and  to  swere  to  bym  faythc, 
obeysaunce,  love,  and  loyalte,  here  in  my  prewnec,  and  also 
to  his  brother:  howe  be  it,  I  wyll  that  Aleyne  have  the  sove- 
rayne  charge.  Sir,  quod  they,  we  are  well  content,  for  ye 
hauve  ryghl  well  chosen.  There  all  the  companyons  made 
them  brekc  no  povnt  of  that  ye  have  ordayncd  and  com- 
raaunded." — Lord  Oerneks'  Froissart. 


Note  3  V. 


Thou  note  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp  ! 
Oct  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land. 
The  leader  of  a  juggler  band. — P.  SSl-r-*. 

The  jongleurs,  or  juggle^  as  we  learn  from  the  elaborate 
work  of  the  late  Mr.  Strutt,  on  the  S|iorU  and  paiilimcs  of  the 
people  of  England,  used  to  call  in  the  aid  of  various  as.«ist- 
ants,  to  render  these  performances  as  captivating  as  possible. 
The  glee-maiden  was  a  neces-sary  attendant.  Her  duty  was 
tumbling  and  dancing;  and  therefore  the  Anglo-Saxon  ver- 
sion of  Saint  Mark's  Go.^pel  states  Herodias  to  have  vaulted 
or  tumbled  before  King  Herod.  In  Scotland,  these  poor  crea- 
tures seem,  even  at  a  late  period,  to  have  been  bondswomen 
to  their  masters,  as  appears  from  a  case  reported  by  Fountain- 
hall  : — "  Reid  the  mountebank  pursues  Scott  of  Harden  and 
his  lady,  for  stealing  away  from  him  a  little  girl,  called  tlie 
tumbliiig-lassic,  that  danced  upon  his  stage  ;  and  he  claimed 
damages,  and  produced  a  contract,  whereby  he  bought  her 
from  her  mother  for  X30  Scots.  But  we  have  no  slaves  in 
Scotland,  and  mothers  cannot  sell  their  bairns  ;  and  physiciatis 
attested  the  employment  of  tumbling  would  kill  her ;  and  her 
joints  were  now  grown  stiff,  and  she  declined  to  return  ;  though 
she  was  at  least  a  'prentice,  and  so  could  not  runaway  from  her 
master  :  yet  some  cited  Moses's  law,  that  if  a  servant  shelter 
himself  with  thee,  against  bis  master's  cruelty,  thou  shalt 
surely  not  dehver  him  up.  The  Lords,  renitcnte  canccUario, 
assoilzied  Harden,  on  the  27th  of  January  (1687).  "—FoCN- 
tainuall'b  Decisions,  vol.  i.  p.  439.' 

Junes  ILis  zeal  for  Catholic  proieiytiun,  and  is  told  by  Foontainhall, 
with  dry  Scotch  irony  :— "  January  nth,  1 687.— Roid  the  mountebank 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


26'7 


The  facetions  qualities  of  the  ape  soon  rendered  him  an  ac- 
ceptable addition  to  the  strolling  band  of  the  jongleur.  Ben 
Jonson,  in  liis  splenetic  introduction  to  the  comedy  of  "  Bar- 
tholomew Fair,"  is  at  pains  to  inform  the  audience  "  that  he 
has  ne'er  a  sword-and-buckler  man  in  his  Fair,  nor  a  juggler, 
with  a  well-educated  ape,  to  come  over  the  chaine  for  the 
King  of  England,  and  back  again  for  the  Prince,  and  sit  still 
on  his  liaunches  for  the  Pope  and  the  King  of  Spaine." 


Note  3  W. 


That  stirrhtg-  air  that  peals  on  high, 
O'er  Dcrmid's  race  our  victory. — 
Strike  it!— P.  233. 

There  are  several  instances,  at  least  m  tradition,  of  persons 
so  much  attached  to  particular  tunes,  as  to  require  to  hear 
them  on  their  deathbed.  Such  an  anecdote  is  mentioned  by 
the  late  Mr.  Riddel  of  Glenriddel,  in  liis  collection  of  Border 
tunes,  respecting  an  air  called  the  "  Dandling  of  the  Bairns," 
for  which  a  certain  Gallovidian  laird  is  said  to  have  evinced 
this  strong  mark  of  partiality.  It  is  popularly  told  of  a  fa- 
mous freebooter,  that  iie  composed  tlie  tune  known  by  the 
name  of  Macpherson's  Rant,  while  under  sentence  of  death, 
and  played  it  at  the  gallows-tree.  Some  spirited  words  have 
been  adapted  to  it  by  Burns.  A  similar  story  is  recounted 
of  a  Welsh  bard,  who  composed  and  played  on  his  deathbed 
the  air  called  Dafyddy  Oarrcgg  Wen.  But  the  most  curious 
example  is  given  by  Brantome,  of  a  maid  of  honor  at  the 
court  of  France,  entitled.  Mademoiselle  de  Limeuil.  "  Dn- 
rant  sa  maladie,  dont  elle  trespassa,  jamais  elle  ne  cessa,  ains 
causa  tousjours ;  car  elle  estoit  fort  grande  parleuse,  brocar- 
deuse,  et  tres-bien  et  fort  &  propos,  et  tres-belle  avec  cela. 
Guand  I'heure  de  sa  fin  fut  venue,  elle  fit  venir  a  soy  son  valet 
(ainsi  que  le  ijlles  de  la  cour  en  ont  chacune  un),  qui  s'ap- 
pelloit  Julien,  et  scavoit  tres-bien  joiier  du  violon.  '  Julien,' 
luy  dit  elle,  '  prenez  vostre  violon,  et  sonnez  moy  tousjours  jus- 
ques  a  ce  que  vous  me  voyez  morte  (car  je  m'y  en  vais)  la 
defaite  des  Suisses,  et  le  mieu.x  que  vous  pouiTez,  et  quand 
vous  serez  sur  le  mot,  "  Tout  est  perdu,"  sonnez  le  par  quatre 
ou  cing  fois  le  plus  piteusement  que  vous  pourrez,'  ce  qui  fit 
I'autre,  et  elle-mesme  luy  aidoit  de  la  voi.v,  et  quand  ce  vint 
'  tout  est  perdu,'  elle  le  reitera  par  deux  fois  ;  et  se  tournant  de 
I'autre  coste  du  chevet,  elle  dit  a  ses  compagnes  :  '  Tout  est 
perdu  .a  ce  coup,  et  &  bon  escient ;'  et  ainsi  d6c6da.  Voila  nne 
morte  joyeuse  et  plaisante.  Je  tiens  ce  conte  de  deux  de  ses  com- 
pagnes, digues  de  foi,  qui  vu'ent  jour  ce  mystere." — Oeuvrcs 
dc  Brantome,  iii.  507.  The  tune  to  which  this  fair  lady  chose 
to  make  her  final  exit,  was  composed  on  the  defeat  of  the 
Swiss  at  Marignano.  The  burden  is  quoted  by  Panurge,  in 
Rabelais,  and  consists  of  these  words,  imitating  the  jargon  of 
the  Swiss,  which  is  a  mixture  of  French  and  German : 

"  Tout  est  verlore, 

La  Tintelore, 

Tout  est  verlore,  bi  Got !" 


H"0XE  3  X. 

Battle  of  Beat'  an  Duine.—V.  233. 

A  skirmish  actually  took  place  at  a  pass  thus  called  in  the 
Trosachs,  and  closed  w'ith  the  remarkable  incident  mentioned 
in  the  text.  It  was  greatly  posterior  in  date  to  the  reign  of 
James  V. 

IB  received  into  thePopisTi  churcli,  and  oneof  hiablackftmoreawas  pprsiis- 
ded  to  accept  of  baptism  fropi  the  Popish  priests,  and  to  turn  Cliristi'm 
papist ;  whicli  was  a  great  trophy  ;  he  was  called  James,  after  the  king 
ftnd  chanceUor,  and  ths  Apostle  James."    Jbid,  p.  440. 


"  fn  this  roughly-wooded  island,'  the  country  people  sp- 
creted  their  wives  and  children,  and  their  most  valuable  ef- 
fects, from  the  rapacity  of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  during  th»ir 
inroad  into  this  country,  in  the  time  of  the  republic.  Tlie^e 
invaders,  not  venturing  to  ascend  by  tlie  ladders,  along  the 
side  of  the  lake,  took  a  more  circuitous  road,  through  the 
heart  of  the  Trosachs,  the  most  frequented  path  at  that  time, 
which  penetrates  the  wilderness  about  half  way  between  Bi- 
nean  and  the  lake,  by  a  tract  called  Yea-chilleach,  or  the  Old 
Wife's  Bog. 

"  In  one  of  the  defiles  of  this  by-road,  the  men  of  the  coun- 
try at  that  time  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the  invading  enemy, 
and  shot  one  of  Cromwell's  men,  whose  grave  marks  the  scene 
of  action,  and  gives  name  to  that  pass.2  In  revenge  of  this 
insult,  the  soldiers  re.solved  to  plunder  the  island,  to  violate 
the  women,  and  put  the  children  to  death.  With  this  brutal 
intention,  one  of  the  party,  more  expert  than  the  rest,  swam 
towards  the  island,  to  fetch  the  boat  to  his  comrailes,  which 
liad  carried  the  women  to  their  asylum,  and  lay  moored  in  one 
of  the  creeks.  His  companions  stood  on  the  shore  of  the  main- 
land, in  full  view  of  all  that  was  to  pass,  waiting  an.tiously  for 
his  return  with  the  boat.  But  just  as  the  swimmer  had  got  to 
the  nearest  point  of  the  island,  and  was  laying  hold  of  a  black 
rock,  to  get  on  shore,  a  heroine,  who  stood  on  the  very  point 
where  he  meant  to  land,  hastily  snatching  a  dagger  from  be- 
low her  apron,  with  one  stroke  severed  his  head  from  the 
body.  His  party  seeing  this  disaster,  and  reliniiuishing  all  fu 
ture  hope  of  revenge  or  conquest,  made  the  best  of  their  way 
out  of  their  jierilous  situation.  This  amazon's  great-grandson 
lives  at  Bridge  of  Turk,  who,  besides  others,  attests  the  anec- 
dote.— S/cetc/i  of  the  Scenery  near  Callendar,  Stirling,  1806, 
p.  20.  I  liave  only  to  add  to  this  account,  that  the  heroin*' 
name  was  Helen  Stuart. 


Note  3  Y. 


And  Snowdoun' s  Knight  is  Scotland's  King. — P.  237. 

This  discovery  will  probably  remind  the  reader  of  the  beauti- 
ful Arabian  tale  of  II  Bondocani.  Yet  the  incident  is  not 
borrowed  from  that  elegant  story,  but  from  Scottish  tradition. 
James  V.,  of  whom  we  are  treating,  was  a  monarch  whose 
good  and  benevolent  intentions  often  rendered  his  romantics 
freaks  venial,  if  not  respectable,  since,  from  his  anxious  at 
tention  to  the  interests  of  the  lower  and  most  oppressed  class 
of  his  subjects,  he  was,  as  we  have  seen,  popularly  tenned 
the  Ki7tg  of  the  Commons.  For  tlie  purpose  of  seeing  that 
justice  was  regularly  administered,  and  frequently  from  the 
less  justifiable  motive  of  gallantry,  he  used  to  traverse  tlw 
vicinage  of  his  several  palaces  in  various  disguises.  The  two 
excellent  comic  songs,  entitled,  "The  Gaberlunzie  man,"  and 
"  We'll  gae  nae  mair  a  roving,"  are  said  to  have  been  founded 
upon  the  success  of  his  amorous  adventures  when  travelling 
in  the  disguise  of  a  beggar.  The  latter  is  perhaps  the  best 
comic  ballad  in  any  language. 

Another  adventure,  wliich  had  nearly  cost  James  his  life, 
is  said  to  have  taken  place  at  the  village  of  Cramond,  near 
Edinburgh,  where  he  had  rendered  his  addresses  acceptable 
to  a  pretty  girl  of  the  lower  rank.  Four  or  five  persons, 
whether  relations  or  lovers  of  his  mistress  is  uncertain,  beset 
the  disguised  monarch  as  he  returned  from  his  rendezvous. 
Naturally  gallant,  and  an  admirable  master  of  his  weapon, 
tlie  king  took  post  on  the  high  and  narrow  bridge  over  tht 
Almond  river,  and  defended  himself  bravely  with  liis  sword. 
A  i>easant,  who  was  thrashing  in  a  neighboring  barn,  came 
out  upon  the  noise,  and  whether  moved  by  compassion  or  by 

1  That  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Loch  Katrme,  so  often  mentioned  in 
the  text. 

2  BeaUach  an  diiine. 


208 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


natnral  gsllBiilry,  took  the  weaker  Me,  anil  laid  about  with 
hit  (lail  H)  rtri-ctunlly,  ai  to  (]ii|M>m  tho  aMailant*,  well 
thra>lifil,  fvni  aL-ounliiig  to  the  letter.  He  llirn  oomluctc' 
till-  kin;;  iiiiu  lii>  bani,  wlii-rv  hit  guni  m|u»li-<l  n  baxiii  niul 
a  luwfl,  to  fpinuvo  l)io  >taiu<  of  tlio  bruil.  Thin  I' 
carrd  with  ilifliciilty,  Jaiiir*  <-in|iluyc<l  himnpir  in 
what  \vu»  the  xuiiiiiill  u(  hi»  ilrlivcnr'f  earthly  wi»lii",  ami 
fouiij  that  tliry  wrrr  boutiilcct  by  tlio  <U»irr  of  |io»«<*»»iiig,  in 
|in>|HTty,  the  farm  of  Brai-heail,  n|H)ii  wliich  ho  labori'tl  a» 
a  IwiiiUnian.  Tho  lamli  chancml  to  lii-lon{;  to  tho  crown  ; 
and  Janir*  directwl  hiui  to  come  to  the  palaco  of  ilolyroixi, 
and  in(|uiro  for  the  Uuidinaii  (i.  e.  farmrr)  of  ltaUi-ii|;ic<-h,  a 
name  by  which  he  was  known  in  hi«  exciimioni,  and  which 
anvwcml  to  the  H  Uondoeani  of  tiaroun  Alrasi-hid.  lie 
|ir<*><'nlrd  himself  acconliiigly,  and  found,  with  due  astonish- 
ment, that  hu  had  (iave<t  his  monnrch's  life,  and  that  hv  was 
to  be  gratified  with  a  crown  charter  of  the  lands  of  Brnehend, 
under  tho  service  of  pri-siMilinj  a  ewer,  ba.-in,  and  towel,  for 
the  king  to  wash  his  hands  when  he  itliall  hajipen  to  pasM  the 
Briilge  of  Cramond.  This  |M'r>on  was  ancestur  of  tlio  Ilowi- 
•ons  of  Brachead,  in  Mid-Lothian,  a  respeclahlu  family,  who 
continue  to  hold  the  lands  (now  passed  into  the  female  line) 
under  the  same  tenure.' 

Another  of  James's  frolics  is  thus  narrated  by  Mr.  Cam|>- 
bell  from  tho  Slnti.«tical  Account : — "  Being  once  benighted 
when  out  a-hunting,  and  separated  from  his  attendants,  he 
happened  to  enter  a  cottage  in  the  midst  of  a  moor  at  the  foot 
of  the  Ochil  hills,  ne.-\r  Alloa,  where,  unknown,  he  was  kindly 
rcceivml.  In  onler  to  n'gale  their  unexpected  guest,  the  piiilr- 
mnn  (r.  e.  landlonl,  farmer)  desired  the  gudcmife  to  fetch  the 
hen  that  roo>ted  nean~it  the  coi'k,  which  is  always  the  plump- 
est, for  the  stranger's  sapper.  The  king,  highly  pleased  with 
bis  night's  lodging  and  hospitable  entertainment,  told  mine 
host  at  parting,  that  he  should  be  glad  to  return  his  civility, 
and  requested  that  the  first  time  he  came  to  Stirling,  he  would 
call  at  the  castle,  and  inquire  for  the  OuUeman  of  liallen- 
guich, 

Donaldson,  the  landlord,  did  not  fail  to  cill  ou  the  Oudcman 
of  liiiilcn<ruUh,  when  his  astonishment  at  finding  that  the  king 
had  been  his  guest  afforded  no  small  amnsement  to  the  merry 
monarch  and  his  courtiers  ;  and,  to  carry  on  the  pleasantry, 
he  was  henceforth  designated  by  James  with  the  title  of  King 
of  the  Moors,  which  name  and  designation  have  descended 
from  father  to  son  ever  since,  and  they  have  continued  in  pos- 
session of  the  identical  spot,  the  property  of  Mr.  Erskine  of 
Mar,  till  very  lately,  when  this  gentleman,  with  reluctance, 
turned  out  the  descendant  and  representative  of  tho  King  of 
the  Moors,  on  account  of  his  majesty's  invincible  indolence, 
and  gri'at  dislike  to  reform  or  innovation  of  any  kind,  although, 
from  the  spiriteil  example  of  his  neighbor  tenants  on  the  same 
estate,  ho  is  convinced  similar  exertion  would  promote  his  ad- 
vantage." 

The  author  requests  permission  yet  farther  to  verify  the  sul>- 
ject  of  his  |«)em,  by  an  extract  from  the  genealogical  work  of 
Buchanan  of  Auchmar,  upon  Scottish  surnames  : — 

"  This  John  Buchanan  of  Auchmar  and  Arnpryor  was  aftei^ 
wanls  termed  King  of  Kip])cn,'''  npon  the  following  account: 
King  James  v.,  a  very  sociable,  debonair  prince,  residing  at 
Eiirling,  in  Buchanan  of  Arnpryor's  time,  carriere  were  very 
frequently  passing  along  the  common  road,  being  near  Arn- 
pryor's house,  will,  neecssnriei  for  the  use  of  the  king's  family  ; 
and  he,  having  some  extraonlinary  occasion,  ordered  one  of 
these  carriers  to  leave  hu  load  at  his  house,  and  he  would  pay 
him  for  it ;  which  the  carrier  refused  to  do,  telling  him  he  was 
.the  king's  carrier,  and  his  load  for  his  majesty's  use;  to  which 
Arnproyer  seemed  to  have  small  regard,  compelling  the  carrier, 

I  Tho  reader  will  flnd  Inif  story  toM  st  irrosler  Icnirlh,  and  with  the 
aJilltion  in  rsftiridsr,  of  th«  llinit  b»in?  r<"i-"STiiK>d,  like  the  Filt-jAmcs 
of  the  Lady  of  the  Tj&ke,  t>y  W\n<£  th«»  f.nly  p-rvin  coTered,  in  the  Firit 
6«net  of  Talcs  of  a  Graodfsther,  vol.  Lii.  )>.  3'.    The  hoir  of  Brnehead 


In  the  end,  to  leave  hit  load  ;  telling  him,  if  King  Jame*  wa< 
King  of  Scotland,  he  wai  King  of  Kip|H-n,  to  that  it  was  iva- 
Mnablo  he  thouhl  tharo  with  hin  neighbor  king  in  some  of 
theto  loada,  to  frequently  carried  that  road.  Tho  carrier  re|i- 
'  and  telling  the  ntory,  at  Arnjiryor  i|>uko 

iig's  servants,  it  came  at  length  to  hit 
iuajr>i>'a  laii.,  who,  »hortly  then-after,  with  a  few  attendants, 
came  to  viNti  his  nei^'ldiur  king,  who  was  in  the  mean  time  at 
dinner.  King  James,  having  sent  a  servant  to  demand  access, 
was  denieil  the  name  by  a  tall  fi-llow  with  a  batth-axe,  who 
slooil  (lortcr  at  the  gale,  telling,  there  couhl  he  no  accen  till 
dinner  wot  over.  Thit  answer  not  satisfying  the  king,  he  tent 
(o  demand  accem  a  aecond  time ;  ujion  which  he  was  desired 
by  the  [>orU-r  to  desist,  otiierwiso  he  would  find  cauic  to  ro- 
|icnt  his  rudcncn.  His  muj<-sty  finding  this  method  would  not 
do,  desin-d  the  porter  to  tell  his  master  that  the  Gooilman  of 
Ballageieh  desin-d  to  sjK-ak  with  the  King  of  KipjK'U.  Tho 
porter  telling  Arnpryor  so  much,  he,  in  all  humble  manner, 
came  and  received  the  king,  and  having  entertained  him  with 
much  sumptnousness  and  jollity,  became  so  agreeable  to  King 
James,  that  he  allowed  him  to  take  so  much  of  any  provision 
he  found  carrying  that  road  as  he  had  occasion  for  ;  and  seeing 
he  made  the  first  visit,  desired  Arnpryor  in  a  few  days  to  retn.Ti 
him  a  second  to  Stirling,  which  he  iicrformed,  and  continued 
in  very  much  favor  with  the  king,  always  thereafter  being 
termed  King  of  Kippen  while  he  lived." — BrciiANAs's  Essay 
upon  the  Familij  of  Huclinnan.     Edin.  lTi5,  8vo.  p.  74. 

The  readers  of  Ariosto  must  give  cn-dii  for  the  amiable  fea- 
tures with  which  he  is  represented,  since  he  is  generally  con- 
sidore<l  as  the  prototype  of  Zerhino,  tho  most  interesting  liero 
of  the  Orlando  Furioso. 


Note  3  Z. 


Slirlin;r's  tower 


Of  yore  the  name  of  Snoicdoun  claims. — P.  238. 

William  of  Worcester,  who  wrote  about  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  calls  Stirling  Castle  Snowdoun.  Pir  David 
Lindsay  bestows  the  same  epithet  upon  it  in  his  complaint  of 
the  Papingo : 

"  Adieu,  fair  Snawdoun,  with  thy  towers  high, 
Thy  chaple-royal,  park,  and  table  round  ; 
May,  June,  and  July,  would  I  dwell  in  thee, 
Were  I  a  man,  to  hear  the  birdis  sound, 
Whilk  doth  againe  thy  royal  rock  rebound." 

Mr.  Chalmcre,  in  his  late  excellent  edition  of  Sir  David  Lind- 
say's works,  has  refuted  tho  chimerical  derivation  of  Snawdoun 
from  sncdding,  or  cutting.  It  was  probably  derived  from  the 
romantic  legend  which  connected  Stirling  with  King  Arthur, 
to  which  the  mention  of  the  Round  Table  gives  countenance. 
The  ring  within  which  justs  were  formerly  practised,  in  the 
castle  park,  is  still  called  the  Round  Table.  Pnawdoun  is  the 
official  title  of  one  of  the  Scottish  heralds,  whose  epithets  seem 
in  all  countries  to  have  been  fantastically  adopted  from  ancient 
history  or  romance. 

It  appears  (See  Note  3  Y)  that  the  real  name  by  which 
James  was  actually  distingnished  in  his  private  excursions, 
was  the  Ooodman  of  Ballengiiich  ;  derived  from  a  steep  pass 
leading  up  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  so  called.  But  the  epithet 
would  not  have  suited  poetry,  and  would  besides  at  once,  and 
prematurely,  have  announced  the  plot  to  many  of  my  country- 
men, among  whom  the  traditional  stories  above  mentioned  are 
still  current. 

diicharged  his  duty  at  the  banquet  g:iven  to  Kiag  George  IV.  in  the  Par 
liament  House  at  Edinburgh,  in  lS!il.— Ed. 

i  A  small  diftrict  of  Perthshire. 


®l)c  bisiou  of  Don  Uobcrick/ 


Quid  dignrnn  memprare  tuts,  Hispania,  terria, 
Voz  humana  valet ! Clacdian. 


PREFACE. 

The  following  Poem  is  founded  upon  a  Spanisli 
Tradition,  pai-ticularly  detailed  in  the  Notes ;  but 
bearing,  in  general,  that  Don  Roderick,  the  last 
Gothic  King  of  Spain,  when  the  Invasion  of  the 
Moors  was  impending,  had  the  temerity  to  descend 
nto  an  ancient  vault,  near  Toledo,  the  opening  of 
yliich  had  been  denounced  as  fetal  to  the  Spanish 
Monarchy.  The  legend  adds,  that  his  rash  curiosity 
was  mortified  by  an  emblematical  representation 
of  those  Saracens  who,  in  the  year  '714,  defeated 
him  in  battle,  and  reduced  Spain  under  their  do- 
minion. I  have  presumed  to  prolong  the  Vision  of 
the  Revolutions  of  Sj^ain  down  to  the  present 
eventful  crisis  of  the  Peninsula ;  and  to  divide  it, 
by  a  supposed  change  of  scene,  uito  Three  Periods. 
The  First  of  these  represents  the  Livasion  of  the 
Moors,  the  Defeat  and  Death  of  Roderick,  and 
closes  with  the  peaceful  occupation  of  the  country 
by  the  Victors.  The  Second  Period  embraces  the 
state  of  the  Peninsula,  when  the  conquests  of  the 
Spaniards  and  Portuguese  in  the  East  and  West 
Indies  had  raised  to  the  highest  pitch  the  renown 
of  their  arms ;  suUied,  however,  by  superstition  and 
cruelty.  An  allusion  to  the  inhumanities  of  the 
Inquisition  terminates  this  pictm^e.  The  Last  Part 
of  the  Poem  opens  with  the  state  of  Spain  previous 
to  the  unparalleled  treachery  of  Bonapakte  ;  gives 

1  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  appeared  in  4to,  in  July  15, 
1811 ;  and  in  tlie  course  of  the  same  year  was  also  inserted  in 
the  second  volume  of  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register — which 
work  was  the  property  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  then  publishers, 
Messrs.  John  Ballantyne  and  Co. 

2  The  Right  Hon.  Robert  Blair  of  Avonloun,  President  of 
the  Court  of  Sessions,  was  the  son  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Blair, 
anther  of  "  The  Grave."  After  long  filling  the  office  of  So- 
licitor-General in  Scotland  with  high  distinction,  he  was  ele- 
Tatcd  to  tlie  Presidency  in  1808.  He  died  very  suddenly  on  the 
20th  >iay,  1811,  in  the  "Otli  year  of  his  age  ;  and  his  intimate 
friend,  Henry  Dundas,  first  Viscount  Melville,  having  gone  into 
Edinburgh  on  purpose  to  attend  his  remains  to  the  grave,  was 
taken  ill  not  less  suddenly,  and  died  there  the  very  liour  tliat 
the  funeral  took  place,  on  the  28lli  of  the  same  month. 

s  In  a  letter  to  J.  B.  S.  Morritt,  Esq.,  Edinburgh,  July  1, 


a  sketch  of  the  usurpation  attempted  upon  that 
unsuspicious  and  friendly  kingdom,  and  terminates 
with  the  arrival  of  the  British  succors.  It  may  be 
farther  proper  to  mention,  that  the  object  of  the 
Poem  is  less  to  commemorate  or  detail  particular 
incidents  than  to  exhibit  a  general  and  impressive 
pictui'e  of  the  several  periods  brought  upon  the  stage. 

I  am  too  sensible  of  the  respect  due  to  the  Public, 
especially  by  one  who  has  already  experienced  more 
than  ordinary  indulgence,  to  offer  any  apology  for 
the  iuferiority  of  the  poetry  to  the  subject  it  is  chiefly 
designed  to  commemorate.  Yet  I  think  it  proper  to 
mention,  that  while  I  was  hastily  executing  a  work, 
written  for  a  temporary  purpose,  and  on  passing 
events,  the  task  was  most  cruelly  interrupted  by  the 
successive  deaths  of  Lord  President  Blair,^  and 
Lord  Viscount  Melville.  In  those  distinguished 
characters  I  had  not  only  to  regret  persons  whose 
lives  were  most  important  to  Scotland,  but  also 
whose  notice  and  patronage  honored  my  entrance 
U2:)on  active  Ufe  ;  and,  I  may  add,  with  melancholy 
pride,  who  permitted  my  more  advanced  age  to 
claim  no  common  share  in  their  fi-iendship.  Under 
such  interruptions,  the  followmg  verses,  Avhich  my 
best  and  happiest  efforts  must  have  left  far  unworthy 
of  then-  theme,  have,  I  am  myself  sensible,  an  appear- 
ance of  neghgence  and  incoherence,  which,  in  other 
chcumstances,  I  might  have  been  able  to  remove.' 

Edinburgh,  June  24,  1811. 

1811,  Scott  saj's — "  I  have  this  moment  got  your  kind  Vtter, 
just  as  I  was  packing  up  Don  Roderick  for  you.  This  jiatri- 
otic  i)uppet-show  has  been  finished  under  wretched  auspices  ; 
poor  Lord  Melville's  death  so  quickly  succeeding  that  of 
President  Blair,  one  of  the  best  and  wisest  judges  that  ever  dis- 
tributed justice,  broke  my  spirit  sadly.  3Iy  official  situation 
placed  me  in  daily  contact  with  the  President,  and  his  ability 
and  candor  were  the  source  of  my  daily  admiration.  As  for 
poor  dear  Lord  Melville,  '  'tis  vain  to  name  liim  whom  we 
mourn  in  vain.'  Almost  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  lie  was  talk- 
ing of  yon  in  the  highest  terms  of  regard,  and  expressing  great 
hopes  of  again  seeing  you  at  Dunira  this  summer,  where  I  pro- 
posed to  attend  you.  Hei  mi/ii!  quid  hci  mi/ii?  humana 
pcrpcssi  sumus.  His  loss  will  be  long  and  severely  felt  here, 
and  Envy  is  already  paying  her  cold  tribute  of  apjilause  to  the 
worth  which  she  maligned  while  it  walked  upon  earth." 


270 


SCO'n"S  POETICAL  WuIlKS. 


<II)c  lliiMon  of  Don  Uocicvick. 


TO 

JOHN   WIIITMORE,  Esq. 

AND   TO   THE 
COMMITTEE    OF    SUBSCRIBERS    FOR   RELIEF    OF   THE    PORTUGUESE    SUFFERERS, 

IN     will  III     HE     rU  ESI  DBS, 

THIS   POEM, 
(THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED    FOR   THE    BENEFIT    OF   THE    FUND    UNDER   THEIR   MANAGEMENT,' 

IS     EE8PECTFULLT     INSCEIBED     BY 

WALTER  SCOTT. 


INTRODUCTION. 


I. 
Lives  there  a  strain,  ■whose  sounds  of  mounting 
fire 
Maj  rise  distinj^uishd  oer  the  din  of  war ; 
Or  died  it  with  yon  Master  of  the  Lyre, 

"Who  sung  beleaguer'd  Ilion's  evil  star  ?'' 
Sucli,  Wkllington,  might  reach  thee  from  afar, 
Wafting  its  descant  wide  o'er  Ocean's  range ; 
Nor  shouts,  nor  clashing  arms,  its  mood  could  mar, 
All  as  it  swell'd  'twixt  each  loud  trumpet- 
change,* 
That  clangs  to  Britain  victory,  to  Portugal  revenge  !* 

'  "  The  letters  of  Scott  to  all  his  friends  have  sufficiently 
■hoivn  tlif  nnflaggirig  interest  with  which,  among  all  his  per- 
sonal lahors  and  anxieties,  he  watched  the  progress  of  the  great 
contrrt  in  the  Peninsala.  It  was  so  earnest,  that  he  never  on 
any  joamey,  not  even  in  his  very  frequent  passages  between 
Edinburgh  and  Ashestiel,  omitted  to  take  with  him  the  largest 
and  best  ni^p  he  had  been  able  to  procure  of  tlie  seat  of  war; 
upon  this  he  was  jierpetoatly  pouring,  tracing  the  marches  and 
connler-marches  of  the  French  and  English  by  means  of  black 
and  white  pins ;  and  not  seldom  did  Mrs.  Scott  complain  of 
th;  '  occupnlion  of  his  attention  and  her  carriage.     In 

ill  ■  of  iHll,  a  committee  was  formed  in  London  to 

collect  suUcriptions  for  the  relief  of  the  Portuguese,  who  liad 
leen  their  land*  wailed,  their  vines  torn  up,  and  their  houses 
bamt  in  the  course  of  Massena's  last  unfortunate  campaign  ; 
and  Scott,  on  reading  the  adverti«cment,  immciliately  addressed 
Mr.  VVhitmore,  the  chairman,  iK-jrcing  that  the  committee 
wonld  allow  him  to  contribute  to  their  fund  the  profits,  to 
whatever  they  might  amount,  of  a  poem  which  he  proposed  to 
write  upon  a  subject  connected  with  the  localities  of  the  patri- 
otic struggle.  His  offer  wa«  of  coar«e  accepted  ;  and  The 
Visio"  OF  Dos  RoBERirK  was  b<enn  as  soon  as  the  Spring 
vacation  enabled  him  to  retire  to  A.ihe9licl. 


II. 

Yes  1  such  a  strain,  with  all  o'er-pouring  mea- 
sure, 
Might  melodize  with  each  tumultuous  sound, 
Each  voice  of  fear  or  triumph,  woe  or  plea- 
sure. 
That  rings  Mondego's  ravaged  shores  around ; 
The   thundering   cry   of  hosts   with   conquest 
crown'd, 
The  female  shriek,  the  ruin'd  peasant's  moan. 
The   shout  of  captives  from  their  chains  un- 
bound. 
The  foil'd  oppressor's  deep  and  sidlen  groan, 
A  Nation's  choral  hymn  for  tyranny  o'erthrown. 

"  The  poem  was  published,  in  4to,  in  July  ;  and  the  imme- 
diate proceeds  were  forwarded  to  the  boanl  in  London.  His 
friend  the  Earl  of  Dalkeith  (afterwards  Duke  of  Buccleuch) 
writes  thus  on  the  occasion: — 'Those  with  ampler  fortunes 
and  thicker  heads  may  easily  give  one  hundred  guineas  to  a 
subscription,  but  the  man  is  really  to  be  envied  who  can  draw 
that  sum  from  hU  own  brains,  and  apply  the  produce  so  bene- 
ficially and  to  BO  exalted  a  purpose.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii. 
pp.  312,  31.5. 

s  MS. — "  Who  snng  the  changes  of  the  Phrygian  jar." 
s  MS. — "  Claiming   thine  ear   'twist  each    loud    trumpet 
change." 

*  "The  too  monotonous  close  of  the  stanza  is  sometimes 
diversified  by  the  adoption  of  fourteen-foot  verse, — a  license  in 
poetry  which,  since  Dryden,  has  (we  believe)  been  altogether 
abandoned,  but  which  is  nevertheless  very  deserving  of  revival, 
BO  long  as  it  is  only  rarely  and  judiciously  used.  The  very 
first  stanza  in  this  poem  aflTords  an  instance  of  it ;  and,  intro- 
duced tlins  in  the  very  front  of  the  battle,  we  cannot  help  con- 
sidering it  as  a  fault,  especially  clogged  as  it  is  with  the  as60> 
ciation  of  a  defective  rhyme — change,  rcvevge." — Critical 
Review,  Jliig.  1811. 


THE  VISION  OF  DOX  RODERICK. 


271 


IIL 

13ut  we,  weak  minstrels  of  a  laggard  day, 

Skill'd  but  to  imitate  an  elder  page, 
Timid  and  raptureless,  can  we  repay' 

The  debt  thou  claim'st  in  this  exhausted  age  ? 
Thou  givest  our  lyres  a  theme,  that  might  en- 
gage [land. 

Those  that  could  send  thy  name  o'er  sea  and 
AVliile  sea  and  laud  shall  last ;  for  Homer's  rage 

A  theme ;  a  theme  for  Milton's  mighty  hand — 
How  much  unmeet  for  us,  a  faint  degenerate  band  ? 

IV. 

Ye    mountains   stern!    within    whose    rugged 
breast 
The  friends  of  Scottish  fi-eedom  found  repose  ; 
Ye  ton-ents  !  whose  hoarse  sounds  have  soothed 
their  rest, 
Retiu-ning  from  the  field  of  vanquish'd  foes ; 
Say,  have  ye  lost  each  wild  majestic  close, 

Tliat  erst  the  choir  of  Bards  or  Druids  flung  ; 
Wliat  time  then  hymn  of  victory  arose,     [rung, 
And  Cattraeth's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph 
And  mystic  Merlin  harp'd,  and  gray-hah-'d  Lly- 
warch  sung  9 

V. 

0  !  if  your  wilds  such  minstrelsy  retain. 

As  sure  yom'  changeful  gales  seem  oft  to  say, 
"When  sweeping  wild  and  sinking  soft  again. 

Like  trumpet-jubilee,  or  harp's  wild  sway ; 
If  ye  can  echo  such  tiiimiphant  lay. 

Then  lend  the  note  to  Mm  has  loved  you  long ! 
Who  pious  gather'd  each  tradition  gray, 

That  floats  your  solitary  wastes  along,    [song, 
And  with  affection  vain  gave  them  new  voice  in 

VI. 

For  not  till  now,  how  oft  soe'er  the  task 

Of  truant  verse  hath  lighten'd  graver  care, 
From  Muse  or  Sylvan  was  he  wont  to  ask, 

In  plirase  poetic,  inspii-ation  fair ; 
Careless  he  gave  his  numbers  to  the  air, 

They  came  unsought  for,  if  applauses  came  ; 
Nor  for  himself  prefers  he  now  the  prayer ; 

Let  but  liis  verse  befit  a  hero's  fame, 
Immortal  be  the  verse  ! — forgot  the  poet's  name. 

VIL 
Hark,  from  yon  misty  caun  their  answer  tost  •* 
"  Minstrel !  the  fame  of  whose  romantic  lyre, 


1  MS.—"  Unforra'd  for  rapture,  how  shall  we  repay." 
s  MS. — "  Thou  givest  our  verse  a  theme  that  mi»ht  engage 
Lyres  that  conld  richly  yield  thee  hack  its  due  ; 
A  theme,  might  kindle  Homer's  mighty  rage; 
A  theme  more  grand  than  Maro  ever  knew — 
Mow  much  unmeet  for  us,  degenerate,  frail,  and  few  !" 


Capricious-swelling  now,  may  soon  be  lost. 

Like  the  Ught  flickering  of  a  cottage  fire  ; 
If  to  such  task  presumptuous  thou  aspne, 

Seek  not  from  us  the  meed  to  wai'rior  due : 
Age  after  age  has  gather'd  son  to  sire, 

Siuce  om'  gray  cliffs  the  din  of  conflict  knew. 
Or,  pealing  tlnough  our  vales,  victorious  bugles 
blew. 

VIIL 
"  Decay'd  our  old  traditionary  lore,  [ring. 

Save  where  the  lingering  fays  renew  their 
By  milk-maid  seen  beneath  the  hawthorn  hoar. 
Or  romid  the  marge  of  iliuchmore's  haimted 
spring  :^  [sing. 

Save  where  their  legends  gray-hau-'d  shepherds 
That  now  scai'ce  win  a  Ustening  eai-  but  thine, 
Of  feuds  obscure,  and  Border  ravaging. 
And  rugged  deeds  recount  in  rugged  Ime, 
Of  moonlight  foray  made  on  Teviot,  Tweed,  oi 
Tyne. 

IX. 

"  No  !  search  romantic  lands,  where  the  near  Sun 

Gives  with  unstinted  boon  ethereal  flame, 
Where  the  rude  villager,  his  labor  done,    [name. 

In  verse   spontaneous*   chants   some  favor'd 
Whether  Olalia's  charms  his  tribute  claim. 

Her  eye  of  diamond,  aud  her  locks  of  jet; 
Or  whether,  kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Grteme,'' 

He  sing,  to  wild  Morisco  measure  set. 
Old  Albin's  red  claymore,  green  Erin's  bayonet ! 

X. 

"  Explore  those  regions,  where  the  flinty  crest 

Of  wUd  Nevada  ever  gleams  with  snows, 
Where  in  the  proud  Albambra's  riun'd  breast 

Barbaric  monuments  of  pomp  repose  ; 
Or  where  the  banners  of  more  ruthless  foes 

Tlian  the  fierce  Moor,  float  o'er  Toledo's  fane, 
From  whose  tall  towers  even  now  the  patriot 
throws 

An  anxious  glance,  to  spy  upon  the  plain 
The  blended  ranks  of  England,  Portugal,  and  Spaia 

XL 

"  Tliere,  of  Nmnantian  fire  a  swarthy  spark 
StUl  Ughtens  in  the  sun-burnt  native's  eye ; 

The  stately  port,  slow  step,  and  visage  dark. 
Still  mark  endm-ing  pride  and  constancy. 


3  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

i  MS. — "  Hark,  from  gray  Needpath's  mists,  the  Brothers' 
cairn. 
Hark,  from  the  Brothers'  cairn  the  answer  tost, 
5  See  Appendix,  Note  B.  «  Ihid.  Note  C. 

7  Ibid.  Note  D. 


:\ 


272 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Aiicl,  if  the  glow  of  feudid  cliividry 

Ikiiin  not,  iw  once,  thy  nt>ljlo!j'  dearest  priJo, 
Iberia !  oft  tliy  crestlesa  peasantry 

Have  seen  the  T  '  '<■    •  >        uit  tlieir  fide, 

llave  seen,  yet   d;.  .dust  fortune 

fuuglit  luid  died. 

XII. 

"  And  dicrish'd  still  by  that  unclianjjing  race,' 

Are   tlieniea  for  minstrelsy  more  liigh  than 
thhie ; 
Of  strange  tradition  many  a  mystic  trace, 

Leiceiid  and  visiuii,  ]>ropliecy  and  sign; 
AVluTe  Wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 

With  Gothic  imager}'  of  darker  sliadc, 
Forming  a  model  meet  for  minstrel  line,     [said: 

Go,  seek  such  theme  !" — Tlie  Momitain  Spirit 
With  filial  awe  I  heard — I  heard,  and  I  obcy'd.' 


(lI)c  IVisiou  of  Don  UoLicrick. 
I. 

Reauint.  their  crests  amid  the  cloudless  skies, 

And  darkly  clustering  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Toledo's  holy  towers  and  spires  arise, 

As  from  a  trembling  lake  of  silver  white. 
Their  mingled  shadows  intercept  the  sight 

Of  the  broad  burial-ground  outstretch'd  below, 
And  naught  disturbs  the  silence  of  the  night; 

All  sleeps  in  sullen  shade,  or  silver  glow, 
All  save  the  heavy  swell  of  Teio's  ceaseless  flow.' 

11. 
All  save  the  rushing  swell  of  Teio's  tide. 

Or,  distant  heard,  a  courser's  neigh  or  tramp  ; 
Their  cluniging  rounds   as  watchful  horsemen 
ride, 
To  guard  the  limits  of  King  Roderick's  camp. 
For,  through  the  river's  night-fog  rolling  damp, 

Was  many  a  proud  pavilion  dindy  secn,^ 
Wliich  glimmer'd  back,  against  the  moon's  fair 
lamp, 


'  M?.— "  And  lingering  still  'mid  that  nnchanging  race." 

»  "The  Introduction,  we  confess,"  says  the  duarterlj'  Re- 
viewer, "  doo«  not  plea«e  uf  to  well  nn  the  rest  of  the  poem, 
thoDgh  the  repljr  of  ihe  Moantain  Spirit  U  cxqni«itely  writ- 
ten." The  Edinhargh  critic,  after  qooting  stanzas  ix.  x.  and 
xi.  says  : — "  The  Introdaction,  though  splendidly  written,  is 
too  long  for  so  short  a  poem  ;  and  the  poet's  dialogue  with  his 
native  mountains  is  somewhat  too  startling  and  unnatural. 
The  most  spirited  part  of  it,  we  think,  is  their  direction  to 
Spanish  themes." 

3  The  Monthly  Review,  for  1811,  in  quoting  this  stanza, 
says — "  Scarcely  any  poet,  of  any  age  or  country,  hasexcelled 
Mr.  Scott  in  bringing  before  our  sight  the  very  scene  which  he 
id  describing — in  giving  a  reality  of  existence  to  every  object  on 


Ti.^hues  of  silk  and  silver  twisted  sheen. 
And  standards  proutUy  pitch'd,  imil  wardtrs  arm'd 
between. 

III. 
But  of  their  Monarch's  person  keeping  ward. 
Since  last  the  dcep-mouth'd   bell  of  vespers 
toird, 
The  chosen  soldiers  of  the  royal  guard 

'llie  jto.st  beneath  the  pr(»iid  Cathedral  hold: 
A  band  unlike  their  Gotliic  sires  of  old, 

Wio,  for  the  cap  of  steel  luid  iron  mace, 
Bear  slender  darts,'  and  casques  bedeck'd  with 
gold, 
"Wliile   silver-studded  belts  their   elioiddera 
grace, 
Wliere  ivory  quivers  ring  in  the  broad  falchion's 
place." 

IV. 
In  the  light  language  of  an  idle  court, 

Tliey  murmur'd  at  their  master's  long  delay, 
And  held  his  lengthen'd  ori.^uns  in  .sport : — 
"  Wliat !  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morning 
stay. 
To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 

And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past. 
For  fair  Florinda's  plunder'd  charms  to  pay  V — ^ 
Then  to  the  east  their  weary  eyes  they  cast, 
And  wish'd   the  lingering  dawn  woidd  glimmer 
forth  at  last.  , 

Y. 
But,  far  witliin,  Toledo's  Prelate  lent 

An  ear  of  fearful  wonder  to  the  King ; 
The  silver  lamp  a  fitful  lustre  sent. 

So  long  that  sad  confession  witnessing : 
For  Roderick  told  of  many  a  hidden  thing, 

Such  as  are  lothly  utter'd  to  the  air, 
Wben  Fear,  Remorse,  and  Shame,  the  bosom 
wring. 
And  Guilt  his  secret  burden  camiot  bear, 
And  Conscience  seeb)  in  speech  a  respite  fi-om  De- 
spair. 


which  he  dwells  ;  and  it  is  on  such  occasions,  especially  salted 
as  they  seem  to  the  habiu  of  his  mind,  that  his  style  itself 
catches  a  character  of  harmony,  which  is  far  from  being  uni- 
versally its  own.     How  vivid,  yet  how  soft,  is  this  jiicturc  I" 

*  MS. — "  For,  slretch'd  beside  the  river's  margin  damp. 

Their  proud  pavilions  hide  the  meadow  green." 
6  MS.—"  Bore  javelins  slight." 

»  The  Critical  Reviewer,  having  quoted  stanzas  i.  ii.  and  iii. 
says — "  To  the  specimens  with  which  his  former  works  abound, 
of  Mr.  Sroit's  nnrivuUed  excellence  in  the  descriptions,  both 
of  natural  scenery  and  romantic  manners  and  costume,  theae 
stanzas  will  be  thought  no  mean  addition." 

'>  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


273 


VL 
Full  on  the  Prelate's  face,  and  silver  hair, 

The  stream  of  failing  light  was  feebly  roll'd  :* 
But  Roderick's  visage,  though  his  head  was  bare. 
Was  shadow'd  by  his  hand  and  mantle's  fold. 
"While  of  his  liiddcn  soul  the  sins  he  told. 

Proud  Alaric's  descendant  could  not  brook,^ 
That  mortal  man  his  bearing  should  behold, 
Or  boast  that  he  had  seen,  vrhen  Conscience 
shook,  [look.' 

Fear  tame  a  monarch's  brow,  Remorse  a  warrior's 

VII. 
The  old  man's  faded  cheek  wax'd  yet  more  pale, 

As  many  a  secret  sad  the  King  be^RTaj^'d  ; 
As  sign  and  glance  eked  out  the  unfinish'd  tale. 

When  in  the  midst  his  faltering  whisper  staid. 
"  Thus  royal  Witiza*  was  slain," — he  said ; 

"  Yet,  holy  Father,  deem  not  it  was  I." 
Thus  stiU  Ambition  strives  her  crimes  to  shade. — 

"  Oil !  rather  deem  'twas  stern  necessity ! 
Self-preservation  bade,  and  I  must  kiU  or  die. 

VIII. 
"  And  if  Florinda's  shrieks  alarm'd  the  air. 

If  she  invoked  her  absent  sire  in  vain. 
And  on  her  knees  implored  that  I  would  spare, 
Yet,  reverend  priest,  thy  sentence  rash  refrain ! 
AU  is  not  as  it  seems — the  female  train 

Know   by   theii"   bearing    to    disguise    their 

mood :" — 

But  Conscience  here,  as  if  in  high  disdain, 

Sent   to   the   Monaixh's  cheek   the   bmidng 

blood —  [stood. 

He  stay'd  his  speech  abrupt — and  up  the  Prelate 

1  MS. — "  The  feeble  lamp  in  dying  lustre  }     ir  i  " 

The  waves  of  broken  light  were  feebly  ) 

!  MS. — "  The  haughty  monarch's  heart  could  evil  brook." 

3  The  Quarterly  Reviewer  says — "The  moonlight  scenery 
of  the  camp  and  burial-ground  is  evidently  by  the  same  pow- 
erful hand  which  sketched  the  Abbey  of  Melrose  ;  and  in  this 
picture  of  Roderick's  confession,  tliere  are  traits  of  even  a 
higher  cast  of  sublimity  and  pathos." 

The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  introduces  his  quotations  of  the  i. 
ii.  V.  and  vi.  stanzas  thus — "  The  poem  is  substantially  di- 
vided into  two  compartments  ; — the  one  representing  the  fabu- 
lous or  prodigious  acts  of  Don  Roderick's  own  time, — and  the 
other  the  recent  occurrences  which  have  since  signalized  the 
game  quarter  of  the  world.  Mr.  Scott,  we  think,  is  most  at 
home  in  the  first  of  these  fields  ;  and  we  think,  upon  the  whole, 
has  most  success  in  it.  The  opening  aftbrds  a  fine  specimen  of 
his  unrivalled  powers  of  description." 

The  reader  may  be  gratified  with  having  the  following  lines, 
from  Mr.  Southey's  Roderick,  inserted  here  : — 


'  Then  Roderick  knelt 


Before  the  holy  man,  and  strove  to  speak  : 
'  Thou  seest,' — he  cried, — '  thou  seest' — but  memory 
And  suffocating  thoughts  represt  the  word. 
And  shndderings,  like  an  ague  fit,  from  head 
To  foot  convulsed  him  :  till  at  length,  subduing 
35 


IX. 
"  0  hardcn'd  offspring  of  an  kon  race !         [say  f 
Wluit  of  thy  crimes,  Don  Roderick,  shall  I 
What  alms,  or  prayers,  or  penaiice,  can  efface 

Mm'der's  dark  spot,  wash  treason's  stain  away ! 
For  the  foul  ravisher  how  shall  I  pray, 

Who,  scarce  repentant,  makes  his  crime  his 
boast  ? 
How  hope  Almighty  vengeance  shall  delay, 

Unless  in  mercy  to  yon  Christian  host, 
He  spare  the  shepherd,^  lest  the  guiltless  sheep 
be  lost." 

X. 

Then  kindled  the  dark  Tyi-ant  in  his  mood, 

And  to  his  brow  return'd  its  dauntless  gloom; 
"And  welcome  then,"  he  cried,  "be  blood  for 
blood. 

For  treason  treachery,  for  dishonor  doom ! 
Yet  will  I  know  whence  come  they,  or  by  whom. 

Show,  for  thou  canst — give  forth  the  fated  key. 
And  guide  me.  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room,' 

Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be. 
His  nation's  futm-e  fates  a  Spanish  King  shall  see."^ 

XI. 

"  Ill-fated  Prince !  recall  the  desperate  word. 

Or  pause  ere  yet  the  omen  thou  obey ! 
Bethink,  yon  spell-boimd  portal  would  afford' 

ISTever  to  former  Monarch  entrance-way ; 
Nor  shall  it  ever  ope,  old  records  say, 

Save  to  a  King,  the  last  of  all  his  line, 
Wliat  time  his  empire  totters  to  decay, 

And  treason  digs,  beneath,  her  fatal  mine. 
And,  high  above,  impends  avenging  wrath  divine." 

His  nature  to  the  effort,  he  exclaim'd. 
Spreading  his  hands,  and  lifting  up  his  face, 
As  if  resolved  in  jjenitence  to  bear 
A  human  eye  upon  his  shame — '  Thou  seest 
Roderick  the  Gotli !     That  name  should  have  sufficed 
To  tell  the  whole  abhorred  history : 
He  not  the  less  pursued, — the  ravisher. 
The  cause  of  all  this  ruin  !' — Having  said, 
In  the  same  jjosture  motionless  he  knelt. 
Arms  straiten'il  down,  and  hands  outspread,  and  eyes 
Raised  to  the  Monk,  like  one  who  from  his  voice 
Expected  life  or  death." — 
Mr.  Pouthey,  in  a  note  to  these  lines,  says,  "  The  vision  ol 
Don  Roderick  supplies  a  singular  contrast  to  the  picture  which 
is  represented  in  this  passage.     I  have  great  pleasure  in  quoting 
the  stanzas  (v.  and  vi.)  ;  if  the  contrast  had  been  intentional, 
it  could  not  have  been  more  complete." 

*  The  predecessor  of  Roderick  upon  the  Spanish  throne,  and 
slain  by  his  connivance,  as  is  affirmed  by  Rodriguez  of  Toledo, 
the  father  of  Spanish  history. 

6  MS. — "  He  spare  to  smite  the  shepherd,  lest  the  sheep  bl 

lost." 
e  MS.—"  And  guide  me,  prelate,  to  that  secret  room." 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 
6  MS. — "  Or  pause  the  omen  of  thy  fate  to  weigh  ! 

Bethink,  that  brazen  portal  would  afford." 


271 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1 


XII. 

'•  I'n'nto!  a  Mniinrch's  fate  br(K>k8  no  delay; 
L' .1 1  on!" — 'ITio  |Riiulorou9  key  tliu  old  nan 
took, 
And  liild  the  wiiikinj;  lamp,  luid  Iml  tliu  way, 

l>y  wiiidinjj  stair,  dark  uixle,  luid  oecret  nook, 
Then  on  on  ancient  (jratcway  Innt  his  look ; 

.\nd,  RA  the  kfV  tiie  despenito  King  e.xsny'd, 
L«"W  nmtter'd  thunders  the  Cathednd  sluxik. 
And  twice  ho  stopp'd,  nud  twice  new  effort 
made,  [bray'd. 

Till  the  huge  bolts  roll'd  back,  and  the  loud  liiiijjcs 

XUl. 
Long,  large,  and  lofty,  was  that  vaulted  hall ; 

Roof,  walla,  and  floor,  were  all  of  marble  stone ; 
Of  poli.-'h'd  marble,  black  as  funeral  j)all, 

Carved  o'er  witli.<i;:ns  aiiil  characters  unknown. 
A  paly  liifht,  lis  of  the  dawning,  shone    [not  spy ; 
Tlinxisjhthe^    ''         1-,  but  whence  they  could 
For  window  to  ;         ,  ,    ''  "ir  was  none; 

Yet,  by  that  light,  Don  Roderick  could  descry 
Wonders  tliat  ne'er  till  then  were  seen  by  mortal 
eye. 

XIV. 
Grim  sentinels,  against  the  uppar  -wall,    [place  • 
Of  molten  bronze,  two   StalB»h   held  their 
Mas^sive  their  nuked  limbs,  their  stature  tall, 

Their  frowning  foreheads  golden  circles  grace. 
Moulded  they  seem'd  for  kings  of  giant  race, 
Tliat  lived  and  sinn'd  before  the   avenging 
flood ; 
This  grasp'd  a  scythe,  tliat  rested  on  a  mace ; 
This  spread  his  wings  for  flight,  that  ponder- 
ing stood,  [mood. 
Each  stubborn  seem'd  and  stem,  immutable  of 

XV. 
Fix'd  wa?  the  right-hand  Giant's  brazen  look 

Upon  liis  brother's  glass  of  shifting  sand, 
A-  if  it-  .  V)b  he  measured  by  a  book, 

\\  1,    ■    iron  volume  loaded  his  huge  hand; 
In  which  was  wrote  of  many  a  fallen  laud, 

Of  empires  lost,  and  kings  to  exile  driven : 
And  o'er  that  pair  their  names  in  scroll  expand — 

"  Ixj,  Destiny  and  Time  !  to  whom  by  Heaven 
The  gmdance  of  the  earth  is  for  a  season  given." — 

XVI. 

Even  while  they  read,  the  sand-glass  wastes 
away ; 

And,  as  the  last  and  lagging  grains  did  creep, 
That  right-hand  Giant  'gan  his  club'  npsway, 

As  one  tliat  startles  from  a  heavy  .'^Icep. 

J  MS.—"  ^rm—mace—€lub." 
i  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 


Full  on  the  upper  wall  the  mace's  sweep 

At  oiu-c  descended  with  the  force  of  thunder 
Aud  hurtling  down  ut  once,  iu  crumbled  hcaii, 
The  marble  lioundary  wius  rent  asunder. 
And  gsive  to  K<Hlerick'«  view  new  (.ii^litn  of  feat 
and  wonder. 

XVII. 

For  they  might  spy,  beyond  that  mighty  breach 
Itealins  as  of  Si)aiii  in  vision'd  prospect  laid. 
Castles  and  towers,  in  due  proportion  eacli. 

As  by  some  skilful  artist's  hand  portray 'd: 
Here,  crossed  by  many  a  wild  Sierra's  shade, 
And  boundless  plains  that  tire  the  traveller's 
eye ; 
niere,  rich  with  vineyard  and  with  olive  glade, 
Or  deep-enibro\vn'd  by  forests  huge  imil  higli. 
Or  wash'd  by  mighty  streams,  that  slowly  uiur- 
mur'd  by. 

xvm. 

And  here,  as  erst  upon  the  antique  stage, 

Piuss'd  forth  the  band  of  ji.  irimly  led. 

In  various  forms,  and  variou-     _    _      e, 

Wliile  fitting  strains  the  hearer's  fancy  fed ; 
So,  to  ead  Roderick's  eye  in  order  spread, 

Successive  pageant;!  lill'd  that  mystic  scene. 
Showing  the  fate  of  battles  ere  they  bled, 

And  i.ssue  of  events  that  had  not  been ; 
And,  ever  and  anon,  str:\rii.''t;  sounds  were  heard 
between. 

XIX. 

First  shrill'd  an  unrepealed  female  sliriek  I — 

It  seem'd  as  if  Don  Roderick  knew  the  Cidl, 
For  the  bold  blood  was  blanching  in  his  check. — 

llien  answer'd  kettle-drum  and  atabal, 
Gong-peal  and  cymbal-clank  the  ear  appal,  , 

The  Tccbir  war-cry,  and  the  Lelie's  yell,' 
Ring  wildly  dissonant  along  the  halL 

Needs   not  to   Roderick  their  dread  import 

tell—  [Tocsin  bell  1 

"  The  Moor  !"  he  cried,  "  the  Moor ! — ring  out  th« 

XX. 

"  Tliey  come !  they  come !  I  see  the  groaning  lanos 

White  with  the  turbans  of  each  Arab  horde ; 
Swart  Zaarah  joins  her  misbelieving  bands, 

Alia  aud  Mahomet  their  battle-word. 
The  choice  they  yield,  the  Koran  or  the  Sword — 

See  how  the  Christians  rush  to  arms  amain  !— 
In  yonder  shout  the  voice  of  conflict  roar'd,' 

The  shadowy  hosts  are  closing  on  the  plain- 
Xi  w,  God  and  Saint  lago  strike,  for  the  good  causo 
Tjf  Spain ! 

>  •■  Oh,  who  could  tell  what  clccda  were  wronglit  Uiat  day  i 
Or  who  endure  to  licar  Uie  tale  of  rage, 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


275 


XXI. 
*  By  Heaven,  the  Moors  prevail !  the  Christians 
yield ! 
Tlieir  cowai'd  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign ! 
Tlie  sceptred  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field — 

Is  not  yon  steed  Orelia  ? — Yes,  'tis  mine  !' 
But  never  -was  she  turn'd  from  battle-line : 
Lo !  where  tlie  recreant  spurs  o'er  stock  and 
stone ! 
Curses  pursue  the  slave,  and  -wrath  divine ! 
Rivers  ingulph  liim !" — "  Hush,"  in  shudder- 
ijig  tone,  [form's  thine  own." 

The    Prelate   said; — "rash   Prince,   yon   vision'd 

XXII. 
Just  then,  a  toiTent  cross'd  the  flier's  course ; 

The  dangerous  ford  the  Kingly  Lilieness  tried ; 
But  the  deep  eddies  whelui'd  both  man   and 
horse, 
Swept  like  benighted  peasant  down  the  tide ;' 
And  the  proud  Moslemah  spread  far  and  wide. 

As  numerous  as  their  native  locust  band ; 
Berber  and  IsmaeFs  sons  the  spoils  divide. 
With  naked  cimeters  mete  out  the  land, 
And  for  the  bondsmen  base  the  freeborn  natives 
orand. 

XXIII.  » 

Then  rose  the  gi'ated  Harem,  to  enclose 

The  lovehest  maidens  of  the  Christian  line ; 
Then,  menials,  to  theh  misbelieving  foes 

Castile's  yoimg  nobles  held  forbidden  wine ; 
Then,  too,  the  holy  Cross,  salvation's  sign. 

By  impious  hands  was  from  the  altar  thrown. 
And  the  deep  aisles  of  the  polluted  shrine 

Echo'd,  for  holy  hymn  and  organ-tone,  [moan. 
The  Santou's  fr-antic  dance,  the  FaJdi-'s  gibbering 

XXIV. 
How  fares  Don   Roderick  ? — E'en  as  one  who 
spies  [woof, 

Flames  dai't  their  glare  o'er  midnight's  sable 
And  heiu-s  aroimd  his  childi'en's  piercing  cries, 

Hatred,  and  madness,  and  despair,  and  fear, 
Horror,  and  wounds,  and  agony,  and  death, 
The  cries,  the  blasphemies,  tlie  shrieks  and  groans, 
And  prayers,  which  mingled  in  the  din  of  arms. 
In  one  wild  uproar  of  terrific  sounds." 

Southey's  Roderick,  vol.  ii.  p.  171. 
1  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

• "  Upon  the  banks 

Of  Sella  was  Orelia  found,  his  legs 
And  flanks  incarnadined,  his  poitrel  sraear'd 
With  froth  and  foam  and  gore,  his  silver  mane 
Sprinkled  with  blood,   vhich  liung  on  every  hair. 
Aspersed  like  dew-drops  ;  trembling  there  he  stood. 
From  the  toil  of  battle,  and  at  times  sent  forth 
His  tremulous  voice,  far-echoing,  loud  and  shrill, 
A  frequent,  anaious  cry,  with  which  he  seem'd 
To  call  the  master  whom  he  loved  so  well, 


And  sees  the  pale  assistants  stand  aloof; 
Wliile  cruel  Conscience  brings  Mm  bitter  proof. 
His  foUy  or  his  crime  have  caused  his  grief; 
And  wliile  above  him  nods  the  criunbUng  roof. 
He   ciu-ses   earth   and  Heaven — himself    in 
chief —  [lief! 

Desperate  of  earthly  aid,  despairing  Heaven's  re- 

XXV. 
That  scythe-arm'd  Giant  turn'd  liis  fatal  glass 
And  twilight   on  the   landscape  closed  her 
wings ; 
Fai'  to  Asturian  lulls  the  war-sounds  pass, 

And  in  their  stead  rebeck  or  timbrel  rings ; 
And  to  the  sound  the  bell-deck'd  dancer  springs, 
Bazaars  resound  as  when  their  marts  are  met, 
In  tourney  hght  the  Moor  his  jerrid  flings. 
And  on  the  land  as  evening  seem'd  to"  set, 
The  Imaum's  chant  was  heard  from  mosque  or 
minaret.* 

XXVI. 

So  pass'd  that  pageant.     Ere  another  came,* 
The  visionary  scene  was  wrapp'd  in  smoke. 
Whose  sulph'rous  wreaths  were  cross'd  by  sheets 
of  flame ; 
With  every  flash  a  bolt  explosive  broke. 
Till  Roderick  deem'd  the  fiends  had  burst  their 
yoke,  [falone ! 

And  waved  'gainst  heaven  the  infernal  gon- 
For  War  a  new  and  dreadful  language  spoke, 
Never  by  ancient  warrior  heard  or  known ; 
Lightning  and  smoke  her  breath,  and  thunder  was 
her  tone. 

XXVII. 

From  the  dim  landscape  roU  the  clouds  away — 
The  Christians  have  regain'd  their  heritage ; 

Before  the  Cross  has  waned  the  Crescent's  ray 
And  many  a  monastery  decks  the  stage. 

And  lofty  church,  and  low-broVd  hermitage. 
Tlie  land  obeys  a  Hermit  and  a  Knight, — 

The  Genii  those  of  Spain  for  many  an  age  ; 

And  who  had  thus  again  forsaken  him. 
Siverian's  helm  and  cuirass  on  the  grass 
Laj'  near ;  and  Julian's  sword,  its  hilt  and  chain 
Clotted  with  blood  ;  bnt  where  was  he  whose  hand 
Had  wielded  it  so  well  that  glorious  day  V 

Southey's  Roderick. 

3  "The  manner  in  which  the  pageant  disappears  is  very 
beautiful." — Quarterly  Review. 

4  "  We  come  now  to  the  Second  Period  of  the  Vision  ;  and 
we  cannot  avoid  noticing  with  much  commendation  the  dex- 
terity and  graceful  ease  with  wliich  the  first  two  scenes  are 
connected.  Without  abruptness,  or  tedious  apology  for  tran- 
sition, they  melt  into  each  other  with  very  liarmonions  effect ; 
and  we  strongly  recommend  this  e.xample  of  skill,  perhaps,  ex- 
Iiihited  without  any  effort,  to  the  imitation  of  contemporary 
poets." — Monthly  Review. 


(_- 


916 


scorrs  poetical  works. 


ThuH  cltid  ilk  suckdutli,  tl>at  iii  ariiuT  bright, 
And   tluit   wild  Valou  uiuut'il,  this  UuioTitv  wiw 
liiglit.' 

XXVIII. 
Valor  wns  luinu!«j*M  likt-  it  cliicf  of  old,  ftjCBt;' 

Ariu'd  nt  nil  |)oiiitts  and  ])riiiii|>t  for  kiii;;htly 
His  Hword  was  toin|M'r'd  in  tlio  I'lhro  cold,        >. 

Mori'iui'rt  caLfh-  phmu'  udi'i'ii'd  iiis  cr<'r<t, 
The  sjKuls  of  Afric'8  lion  bound  hw  broant  ( ^nge ; 

FiiTco  ho  .sti'|)|i'd  forward  and  flun-^' flown  liis 
As  if  of  mortal  kind  to  bravo  tlie  boat. 

Him  foUow'd  his  Companion,  dark  and  »i»ge, 
Afl  bo,  my  Master,  sung  the  tlungcroua  Arcbimagc. 

XXIX. 

Ilaui^bty  of  heart  and  brow  the  Warrior  came, 

111  look  and  language  proud  as  proud  might  be. 
Vaunting  bLs  lord.ship,  lineage,  fights,  and  fame: 

Yet  was  that  barefoot  monk  more  proud  than 
And  as  the  ivy  climbs  the  tallest  tree,  [he: 

So  round  the  loftiest  soid  Ills  toils  he  •wound. 
And  with  liis  spells  subdueil  the  fierce  and  free. 

Till  ermined  Age  luid  Youth  in  arms  rcnown'd, 
Honoring  his  scourge  and  bjdr-cloth,  meeldy  klss'd 
the  ground. 

XXX. 

And  thus  it  dianced  that  Valoh,  peerless  knight. 

Who  ne'er  to  King  or  Kaiser  veil'd  his  crest, 
Victorious  still  in  bull-fea-st  or  in  fight. 

Since  first  liis  limbs  with  miiil  he  did  invest, 
Stoop'd  ever  to  that  Anchoret's  behest ; 

Nor  reason'd  of  the  right,  nor  of  the  wrong. 
But  at  his  bidding  laid  the  lance  in  rest,  [along. 

And  wrought  fell  deeds  the  troubled  world 
For  he  was  fierce  as  brave,  and  pitiless  as  strong. 

XXXI. 
Oft  bis  proud  galleys  sought  some  new-found 
worlil, 
Tliat  latest  sees  the  sun,  or  first  the  morn ; 
Still  at  that  Wizard's  feet  their  spoils  he  hurl'd, — 
Ingots  of  ore  from  rich  Potosi  borne, 

I  "  These  allegorical  personagen.  wliich  arc  thus  described, 
arc  sketched  in  the  true  iiiirit  of  Speiuier ;  but  we  are  not  sure 
tliat  we  altogether  appro%'c  of  the  awociation  of  such  imagi- 
nary beings  with  the  real  cventi  that  para  over  the  Kt.igc :  and 
thew.  aj  well  as  the  form  uf  ambition  which  precedes  the  path 
of  Bonaparte,  have  somewhat  the  air  of  tin;  imniortala  of  the 
Luxemburg  g.tllery,  who«e  naked  liralw  and  tridents,  thunder- 
bolLi  and  caducei,  are  »o  finj^ulnrly  contracted  wilh  the  rufTs 
and  whisken,  the  qneen.<,  archbishops,  and  cardinaLiof  Franco 
and  Navarre." — (Quarterly  Recitw. 

J  "  Armed  at  all  poinLi,  exactly  cap-a-pec." — Hamlet. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

*  "The  third  scene,  a  peaceful  state  of  imlolence  and  ob- 
•cnrily,  where,  though  the  court  was  degenerate,  the  p<».x«ant 
was  merry  and  contented,  is  introduced  wilh  exqnUitc  light- 
van  and  gayety." — Quarterly  Rcvietc. 


Cro^^^l.•^  by  Caciques,  aigrettes  by  Omridu  worn, 
Wrought  of  rare  gems,  but  broken,  rent,  and 
foul; 
Mols  of  gold  frtmi  heathen  temples  torn, 

liedabbled  all  with  blood. — With  tcriwly  ccowl 
Tlio  Hermit  mark'il  the  stains,  and  nmiled  beneath 
bit)  cowl. 

XXXTI. 
llien  did  he  bless  the  offering,  and  bade  maki 
Tribiite  to  lleavcti  of  gratitu<le  ami  praise  ; 
And  at  his  word  the  elioral  liynnis  awake, 

And  many  a  hand  the  silver  censer  sways, 
But  with  the  incense-breath  these  censers  raise, 
Mix  .'•tcaiiis   from   coripscs   siuouldrriiiL,'  in  tho 
lir.-  : 
The  groans  of  prison'd  vii-tiiiis  mar  the  lays, 
And  shrieks  of  Jigony  confomid  the  quire  ; 
Wliile,   'mid   tho   mingled   sounds,   the   darken'd 
Bcencs  expire. 

XXXIII. 

Preluding  light,  were  strains  of  music  heard. 

As  once  again  revolved  that  measured  s.ind ; 
Such  soiuuls  as  when,  for  sylvan  <lance  prepared, 

Gay  Xeres  summons  forth  her  vintage  band ; 
When  for  the  liirht  bolero  ready  stand 

The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met,* 
lie  conscious  of  liis  broider'd  cap  and  band. 

She  of  her  netted  locks  and  light  corsettc. 
Each  tiptoe  perch'd  to  spring,  and  shake  the  Cas- 
tanet. 

XXXIV. 
And  well  such  strains  the  opening  scene  bcc.ime ; 

For  Valor  had  relax'd  hi'^  ardent  look, 
And  at  a  lady's  feet,  like  lion  tame,         [brook; 
Lay  strctch'd,  full  loth  the  weight  of  arms  to 
And  soften'd  Biootry,  upon  his  book, 
Patter'd  a  task  of  little  good  or  ill : 
But  the  blithe  peasant  plied  liis  pruning-hook, 
Whistled  the  muleteer  o'er  vale  and  hill. 
And  rung   from   village-giecn  the  meny  segiii- 
dille.* 

"  The  three  grand  and  compreliensive  pictures  in  which  Mr. 
Scott  has  delineated  the  stale  of  Spain,  during  the  three  |)e- 
riods  to  which  we  have  alluded,  are  conceived  with  much 
genius,  and  executed  with  very  considerable,  though  unequal 
felicity.  That  of  the  Moorish  dominion,  is  drawn,  wo  think, 
wilh  the  greatest  spirit.  The  reign  of  Chivalry  and  Super 
stition  we  do  not  think  so  happily  represented,  by  a  long  and 
labort'd  description  of  two  allegorical  personages  called  Bigotry 
and  Valor.  Nor  is  it  very  easy  lo  conceive  how  Don  Roderick 
was  to  learn  the  fortunes  of  his  country,  merely  by  inspecting 
the  physiognomy  and  furnishing  of  these  two  figurantes.  The 
truth  seems  to  be,  that  .Mr.  Scott  has  been  tempted  on  this  oo- 
casion  to  extend  n  mere  metaphor  into  an  allegory  ;  and  to 
prolong  a  figure  which  might  have  given  great  grace  and  sjiirit 
to  a  single  stanza,  into  th<!  heavy  subject  of  seven  or  eight.  His 
representation  of  the  recent  state  of  Spain,  we  think,  du^r'ayi 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


211 


XXXV. 
Gray  royalty,  growTi  impotent  of  toil,' 

Let  the  grave  sceptre  slip  his  lazy  hold ; 
And,  careless,  sa^v  liis  rule  become  the  spoil 

Of  a  loose  Female  and  her  minion  bold. 
But  peace  was  on  the  cottage  and  the  fold,  [far ; 
From  court  intrigue,  from  bickering  ftiction 
Beneath  the  chestnut-tree  Love's  tale  was  told, 
And  to  the  tinkhng  of  the  light  guitar, 
Sweet  stoop'd  the  western  sun,  sweet  rose  the 
evening  star. 

XXXVL 
As  that  sea-cloud,  in  size  like  himian  hand. 

When  first  from  Carmel  by  the  Tishbite  seen, 
Came  slowly  overshadowing  Israel's  land," 
A   while,   perchance,   bedeck'd    with    colors 
sheen, 
Wliilo  yet  the  sunbeams  on  its  skirts  had  been. 
Limning  with  purple  and  with  gold  its  shroud. 
Till  darker  folds  obscured  the  blue  serene, 
And  blotted  heaven  with  one  broad  sable 
cloud. 
Then  sheeted  rain  burst  down,  and  whirlwinds 
howl'd  aloud : — 

XXXVIL 

Even  so,  upon  that  peaceful  scene  was  pour'd. 
Like  gathering  clouds,  full  many  a  foreign 
band. 
And  He,  their  leader,  wore  in  sheath  liis  sword. 

And  ofFer'd  peaceful  front  and  open  hand, 
Veiling  the  perjured  treachery  he  plann'd. 

By  friendship's  zeal  and  honor's  specious  guise, 
Until  he  won  the  passes  of  the  land ; 

Then  burst  were  honor's  oath,  and  friendship's 

ties !  [his  prize. 

He  clutch'd  his  wdture-grasp,  and  call'd  fair  Spain 

XXXVIIL 
An  Iron  Crown  his  anxious  forehead  bore  ; 

And  well  such  diadem  his  heart  became. 
Who  ne'er  his  purpose  for  remorse  gave  o'er. 

Or  check'd  his  coui-se  for  piety  or  shame ; 
Who,  train'd  a  soldier,  deeni'd  a  soldier's  fame 

Might  flomish  in  the  wreath  of  battles  won. 
Though  neither  truth  nor  honor  deck'd  his  name ; 

the  talent  and  address  of  the  antlior  to  the  gi-eatest  advantage  ; 
tor  the  subject  was  by  no  means  inspiring  ;  nor  was  it  eas)',  we 
sbonld  imagine,  to  make  the  picture  of  decay  and  inglorious  in- 
dolence so  engaging." — Edinburgh  Review,  wliich  then  quotes 
Btanzas  xsxiv.  and  xxxv. 

1  "  The  opening  of  the  third  period  of  the  Vision  is,  perhaps 
necessarily,  more  abrupt  than  that  of  the  second.  No  circum- 
stance, equally  marked  witli  the  alteration  in  the  whole  system 
of  ancient  warfare,  could  be  introduced  in  this  compartment 
of  the  poem  ;  yet,  when  we  have  been  told  that  '  Valor  liad 
relaxed  his  ardent  look,'  and  tliat '  Bigotry'  was  '  softened,'  we 


Wlio,  placed  by  fortime  on  a  Monarcn's  tltrone, 
Reck'd  not  of  Monarch's  faith,  or  Mercy's  kingly 
tone. 

XXXIX. 
From  a  rude  isle  his  ruder  lineage  came. 

The  spark,  that,  from  a  suburb-hovel's  hearth 
Ascending,  wraps  some  capital  in  flame, 

Ilath  not  a  meaner  or  more  sordid  birth. 
And  for  the  soul  that  bade  him  waste  the  earth — 

The  sable  land-flood  from  some  swamp  obscure. 
That  poisons  the  glad  husband-field  with  deai-th. 

And  by  destruction  bids  its  feme  endm-e. 
Hath  not  a  source  more  sullen,  stagnant,  and  im- 


piu-e. 


XL. 


Before  that  Leader  strode  a  shadowy  Form ; 
Her  limbs  like  mist,  her  torch  like  meteor 
show'd,  [storm, 

With  which  she  beckon'd  him  through  fight  and 
And  all  he  crush'd  that  cross'd  his  desperate 
road,  [trode. 

Nor  thought,  nor  fear'd,  nor  look'd  on  what  he 
Realms  could  not  glut  his  pride,  blood  could 
not  slake. 
So  oft  as  e'er  .she  shook  her  torch  abroad — 
It  was  Ambition  bade  her  terrors  wake, 
Nor  deign'd  she,  as  of  yore,  a  milder  form  to  take. 

XL! 

No  longer  now  she  spurn'd  at  mean  revenge, 

Or  staid  her  hand  for  conquer'd  foeman's  moan ; 
As  when,  the  fates  of  aged  Rome  to  change, 

By  Caesar's  side  she  cross'd  the  Rubicon. 
ISTor  joy'd  she  to  bestow  the  spoils  she  won. 
As  when  the  banded  powers  of  Greece  were 
task'd 
To  war  beneath  the  youth  of  Macedon : 
No  seendy  veil  her  modern  minion  ask'd. 
He  saw  her  hideous  face,  and  loved  the  fiend  tm- 
mask'd. 

XLIL 
That   Prelate  mark'd  his  march — On  banners 
blazed 
With  battles  won  in  many  a  distant  land, 

are  reasonably  prepared  for  what  follows." — Monthly  Re 
view. 

*  See  I.  Kings,  chap,  xviii.  v.  41-45. 

s  "  We  are  as  ready  as  any  of  our  countrymen  can  be,  to 
designate  Bonaparte's  invasion  of  Spain  by  its  proper  epitliets  ; 
but  we  must  decline  to  join  in  the  author's  declamation  against 
the  low  burth  of  the  invader ;  and  we  cannot  help  reminding 
Mr.  Scott  that  such  a  topic  of  censure  is  unworthy  of  him, 
both  as  a  poet  and  as  a  Briton." — Monthly  Review. 

"  The  picture  of  Bonaparte,  considering  the  difficulty  of'all 
contemporary  delineations,  is  not  ill  executed." — Edinburgh 
Review. 


278 


scorr's  poetical  wouks. 


On  la  '      *      'mis  and  on  nmin  lio  frar.od  ; 
'•A  I  ■  tliKii  then,"  111"  saiil,  "  thy  jM.wur 

dlmll  Htaixl  i 
0, thou  hast Iniililcl  on  (111- .-hilii'  '  '"     ^^  : 

Ami  thou  Im.Ht  tt'inj>vrM  it  v 
Ami  know,  fell  (»c<»urg«  in  the  Alniij,'hty'H  hmi<l, 
Oori'-nioistotiM  ti  ■        '    ">  \htU]\  in  tht-  Inul, 
Aj>J  hy  u  bloodv   il'  ill   ilic   tho    Miin   of 

Blood  t"' 

XLIII. 
llio  ruthless  Lender  beckon'd  from  his  train 

A  wan  fraternal  Shade,  and  l)ade  him  kneil. 
And  jialcd  his  temples  with  the  crown  of  Sj)ain, 
Wiile    trumpets    rang,   and   heralds    cried, 
"  Castile  !"* 
Not  that  he  loved  liim — No  ! — In  no  man's  weal. 
Scarce  in  his  own,  e'er  joy'd  that  sullen  heart ; 
Yet  round  that  throne  he   ba<le   liis  warriors 
wheel. 
That  tlie  poor  Puppet  might  perform  liis  part. 
And  be  a  sceptred  slave,  at  liis  stern  beck  to  start. 

XLIV. 
But  on  the  Natives  of  that  Land  misused, 

Not  long  the  silence  of  amazement  hung, 
Nor  brook'd  they  long  their  friendly  faitli  abused ; 
For,  with  a  common  shriek,  the  general  tongue 
Exclaim'd,  "  To  arms  I" — and  fast  to  arms  they 
sprung. 
And  Valoe  woke,  that  Genius  of  the  Land ! 
Pleasure,  and  ease,  and  sloth,  aside  he  flung. 
As  burst  th'  awakening  Nazarite  his  band, 
MVHien  'gainst  his  treacherous  foes  he  cleuch'd  his 
dreadful  hand.' 

XLV 
Tliat  ilimic  Monarch  now  cast  anxious  eye 
Upon  the  Satraps  that  begirt  him  round. 
Now  doff'd  his  royal  robe  in  act  to  fly. 

And  from  his  brow  the  diadem  unbound. 
So  oft,  so  near,  the  Patriot  bugle  wound, 
From  Tarick'a  walls  to  Bilboa's  mountains 
blown, 
These  martial  satellites  hard  labor  found, 
To  g^ard  a  while  lus  substituted  throne — 
Ligh*  recking  of  his  cause,  but  battling  for  their  owii. 

XLVL 

From  Alpiih.ara's  pc:ik  that  bugle  rung. 

And  it  was  echo'd  from  Coruima's  wall ; 
Stately  Seville  responsive  war-shot  flung, 

1  "  We  are  not  altogplhcr  pleased  with  the  lines  wliich  fol- 
low the  description  of  Bonaparle'"  birth  and  conntry.  In  his- 
torical troth,  we  bcliei'p,  hi?  family  was  not  plebeian  ;  and, 
letting  aside  the  old  saying  of  '  pmun  ft  proarng,'  the  |K>et  is 
here  evidently  becoming  a  choms  to  his  own  •eene,  and  ex- 
plaining a  fact  which  could  by  no  means  be  inferred  from  the 


Grenada  caught  it  in  Iut  iloorish  hall ; 
Galii'ia  badu  hur  children  fight  or  fall. 

Wild  Biscay  shook  liin  niountaiu-corunet, 
ValeiK'iu  roused  her  at  the  battle-call. 

And,  fnrcnioiit  still  where  Valor'n  hons  are  mo 
First  started  to  liis  gun  cacli  tiery  Miquclet. 

XL  VII. 

But  iniappall'd,  and  burning  for  the  fight, 
The  Invaders  march,  of  victory  secure  ; 
Skilful  tlu'ir  force  to  never  or  unite. 

And  train'd  alike  to  vanquish  or  endure. 
Nor  skilfid  li'ss,  cliea|>  coiupn'st  to  ensure, 
Discord  to  breathe,  and  jealousy  to  wiw. 
To  quell  by  boasting,  and  by  bribes  to  lure ; 
While  naught  against  them  bring  tho  unprac- 
tised foe. 
Save  hearts  for  Freedom's  cause,  and  hands  for 
Freedom's  blow. 

XLVIII. 
Proudly  they  march — but,  0  1  they  march  not 
forth 
By  one  hot  field  to  crown  a  brief  campaign, 
As  when  their  Eagles,  sweeping  through  the 
North, 
Destroy'd  at  every  stoop  an  ancient  reign  ! 
Far  other  fate  had  Heaven  decreed  for  Spain ; 
In  vain  the  steel,  in  vain  the  torch  was  plieil, 
New  Patriot  arnpies  started  from  the  slain. 
High  blazed  the  war,  and  long,  and  far,  and 
wide,* 
And  oft  the  God  of  Battles  blest  the  righteous  side. 

XLIX. 
Nor  imatoned,  -where  Freedom's  foes  prevail, 
Remain'd  their  savage  waste.     With  blade 
and  brand, 
B}'  day  the  Invaders  ravaged  hill  and  dale. 
But,  with  the  darkness,  the  Guerilla  band 
Came  like  night's  tenij)est,  and  avenged  the  land, 

And  claim'd  for  blood  the  retribution  due. 

Probed  the  hard  heart,  and  lopp'd  the  murd'rous 

hand  ; 

And  Dawn,  when  o'er  the  scene  her  beams 

she  threw,  [knew. 

ilidst  ruins  they  had  made,  the  spoilers'  corpses 

L. 
Wliat  minstrel  verse  may  sing,  or  tongue  may 
tell, 
Amid  the  vision'd  strife  from  sea  to  sea, 

pageant  that  passes  before  the  eyes  of  the  King  and  Prelate. 
The  Archbishop's  obscrt'ation  on  his  appearance  is  free,  how- 
ever, from  every  objection  of  this  kind." — Quarterly  Itcvicvk 

s  Sec  Appendix,  Note  K. 

'  See  Book  of  Judges,  Chap.  xv.  9-16. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


279 


How  oft  the  Patriot  banners  rose  or  fell, 

Still  honor'd  in  defeat  as  victory ! 
For  that  sad  pageant  of  events  to  be, 

Show'd  every  form  of  fight  by  field  and  flood ; 
Slaughter  and  Ruin,  shoutuig  forth  then*  glee, 
Beheld,  whUe  riding  on  the  tempest  scud, 
The  "waters  choked  with  slain,  the  earth  betkench'd 
with  blood ! 

LI. 
Then  Zaragoza — blighted  be  the  tongue 

That  names  thy  name  without  the  honor  due  ! 
For  never  hath  the  harp  of  IVIuistrel  rung, 
Of  faith  so  feUy  proved,  so  firmly  true  ! 
Mine,  sap,  and  bomb,  thy  shatter'd  ruins  knew, 

Each  art  of  war's  extremity  liad  room. 
Twice  from  thy  half-sack'd  streets  the  foe  with- 
drew, 
And  when  at  length  stem  fate  decreed  thy 
doom,  [tomb.-" 

They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's  bldody 

.  Ln. 

Yet  raise  thy  head,  sad  city !  Though  in  chains, 

Entlu-all'd  thou  canst  not  be  !    Arise,  and  claim 

Reverence  from   every  heart  where   Freedom 

reigns,  [dame. 

For  what  thou  worshippest ! — thy  sainted 
Slie  of  the  Colimin,  honor'd  be  her  name. 

By  all,  whate'er  their  creed,  who  honor  love ! 
And  like  the  sacred  relics  of  the  flame, 

That  gave  some  martyr  to  the  bless'd  above, 
To  every  loyal  heart  may  thy  sad  embers  prove  ! 

LIII. 
Nor  thine  alone  such  wi'eck.     Gerona  fair ! 

Faithful  to  death  thy  heroes  shall  be  smig, 

Manning  the  towers  while  o'er  their  heads  the  air 

Swart  as  the  amoke  from  raging  furnace  hung ; 

Now  thicker   dark'ning  where  the  mine   was 

sprujig, 

Now  briefly  Mghten'd  by  the  cannon's  flare, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

2  MS. — "  Don  Roderick  turn'd  him  at  the  sudden  cry." 

3  MS.—  "  Right  for  the  shore  unnnmber'd  barges  row'd."  . 

<  Compare  with  this  passage,  and  the  Valor,  Bigotry,  and 
Ambition  of  the  previous  stanzas,  the  celebrated  personifica- 
tion or  War,  in  the  first  canto  of  Childe  Harold  : — 

"  Lo  !  where  the  Giant  on  the  mountain  stands. 
His  blood-red  tresses  deep'ning  in  the  sun, 
Witli  deatli-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  hands, 
And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon  : 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fix'd,  and  now  anon 
Flashing  afar, — and  at  his  iron  feet 
Destruction  cowers,  to  mark  wliat  deeds  are  done ; 
For  on  this  mom  three  potent  nations  meet 

to  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet. 


Now  aich'd  with  fire-sj^arks  as  the  bomb  was 
flung. 
And  redd'ning  now  with  conflagration's  glare, 
While  by  the  fatal  hghtthe  foes  for  storm  prepare. 

LIV. 

WTiile  all  around  was  danger,  strife,  and  fear, 
Wliile  the  earth  shook,  and  darken'd  was  the 

sky, 

And  wide  Destruction  stunn'd  the  listening  ear, 
Appall'd  the  heart,  and  stupefied  the  eye, — 
Afai-  was  heard  that  thi-ice-repeated  cry. 

In  Avhich  old  Albion's  heart  and  tongue  unite. 
Whene'er  her  suul  is  up,  and  pulse  beats  high, 
"SATiether  it  hail  the  wine-cup  or  the  fight, 
And  bid  each  arm  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart  be 
light. 

LV. 
Don  Roderick  tmii'd  him  as  the  shout  grew 
loud—" 
A  varied  scene  the  changeful  vision  show'd. 
For,  where  the  ocean  mhigled  with  the  cloud, 
A  gallant  navy  stemm'd  the  billows  broad. 
From  mast  and  stern  St.  George's  symbol  floVd, 
Blent  with  the  silver  cross  to  Scotland  dear  ; 
Mottling  the  sea  their  landward  barges  roVd,' 
And  flash'd  the  sim  on  bayonet,  brand,  aud 
spear,  [cheer.* 

And  the  wild  beach  return'd  the  seaman's  jovial 

LVI. 

It  was  a  dread,  yet  spu-it-stirring  sight ! 

The  billows  foam'd  beneath  a  thousand  oars. 
Fast  as  they  land  the  red-cross  ranks  unite. 

Legions  on  legions  bright'iiing  all  the  shores. 
Then  banners  rise,  and  caimon-signal  roars. 

Then  peals  the  warlike  tliimder  of  the  drum. 
Thrills  the  loud  fife,  the  trmnpet-flomish  pours. 

And   patriot  hopes  awake,  and  doubts  are 

dumb,  [come ! 

For,  bold  in  Freedom's  cause,  the  bands  of  Ocean 

"  By  heaven  !  it  is  a  splendid  sight  to  see 
(For  one  who  hath  no  friend,  no  brother  there) 
Their  rival  scarfs  of  mix'd  embroidery. 
Their  various  arms,  that  glitter  in  the  air ! 
What  gallant  war-liounds  rouse  them  from  their  lair 
And  gnash  their  fangs,  loud  yelling  for  the  prey  ! 
All  join  the  chase,  but  few  the  triumph  share, 
Tiie  grave  shall  bear  the  chiefest  prize  away. 

And  Havoc  scarce  for  joy  can  number  their  array. 

"  Three  hosts  combine  to  offer  sacrifice  ; 

Three  tongues  prefer  strange  orisons  on  high  ; 

Three  gaudy  standards  flout  the  pale  blue  skies ; 

The  shouts  are  France,  Ppain,  Albion,  Victory  t 

The  foe,  the  victim,  and  the  fond  ally 

That  fights  for  all,  but  ever  fights  in  vain, 

Are  met — as  if  at  home  they  could  not  die — 

To  feed  the  crow  on  Talavera's  plain, 
A  ad  fertilize  the  field  that  each  pretends  t*  gain." 


280 


SCOIT'S  POETIC^VL  WORKS. 


LVII. 
A  various  host  they  caino — whoso  riuiks  (lisj>hiy 
Eikdi  nimle  iii  which  the  wiirrior  luuuts  the 
fight, 
The  deop  iMittnhon  lockx  its  firm  iirniy, 

Aiitl  meilitati-s  his  niin  the  iiiiirk^mun  H;^ht ; 
Far  (^huico  tlio  light  of  sabro.s  fiajihiiig  brigiit, 
Whoro  niountcd  squiuiroiw  sluiko  tho  cclioiiig 
nioail,' 
Laciiii  not  artillery  breuthin:^  llaiiie  ami  night, 
Xor  tho  fli'ot  urduiuu'o  whirlM  by  rapid  steed, 
lliat  rivals  lightning's  flai*h  in  ruin  and  in  speed." 

LVIir. 
A  various  liost — from  kindred  realms  they  came,* 

IJrethren  in  arms,  but  rivals  in  renown — 
For  yon  fair  bands  ^hall  merry  Engliuul  claim, 

And  with  their  deeds  of  valor  deck  her  crown. 
Ilers  their  bold  port,  and  hers  their  martiid  frown, 
And  hers  their  scorn  of  death  in  freedom's 
cause, 
llieir  eyes  of  azure,  luid  tlair  locks  of  brown. 
Anil  the  blunt  speech  that  bursts  without  a 
pause. 
And  ireeKirn  thou^dits,  which  league  the  Soldier 
with  the  Laws. 

LIX. 
And,  0 1  loved  warriors  of  the  Minstrel's  land  1 

Yonder  your  bonneta  nod,  your  tartans  wave ! 
The  rugged  form  may  mark  the  mf)untain  band, 
And  harriher  features,  and  a  mien  more  grave  ; 
But  ne'er  in  battle-field  throbb'd  heart  so  brave. 
As  that  which  beats   beneath   the   Scottish 
plaid ; 
And  when  tlie  pibroch  bids  the  battle  rave, 
And  level  for  the  charge  your  arms  arc  laid, 
Where  lives  the  desperate  foe  that  for  such  onset 
Etaidl 

LX. 

Hark!  from  yon  stately  ranks  what  laughter 
rings, 
Mingling  wil<l  iniitli  with  war's  stem  min- 
strelsy. 


I  MS.- 


-"  llie  dosty  mead." 


>  "  The  laniting  of  llic  English  is  admirably  described  ;  nor 
U  there  anjr  thing  finer  in  the  wliole  poem  than  the  rollowing 
passage  (•lanzaslv.  Ivi.  Ivii.),  with  the  exception  always  of  the 
Uiree  conclndinp  linc«,  which  appear  to  ns  to  be  very  nearly  as 
oad  0-1  possible." — JcrrRET. 

'  "  The  three  concladin?  stnnz.v  Clviii.  lix.  Ix.)  are  elaborate  ; 
but  wo  think,  on  tlie  whole,  suoct^ful.  Tlmy  will  probably 
be  oftener  quoted  than  any  other  passage  In  the  poem." — Jep- 

FREY. 

'  MS. — "  His  jest  each  careless  oomrade  ronnd  him  flinirs." 

''  For  details  of  the  battle  of  Vinicirn.  fonsht  2Ul  Ang.  1808 

-ofCornnna,  16th  Jan.  18(10— of  T.i1avera. 'iJ^ih  Jaly,  1809— 

and  of  Bnsaco,  27th  Hcpt.  1810— Sec  Sir  Waller  Scotl'f  Life  of 

Napoieon,  volume  vi.  under  these  date*. 


His  jest  wliilo  cacli  l.litli.-  conu-ade  round  him 

flings,* 

And  moves  to  death  with  military  gleo :    [free. 

Boast,   I>in,  boast  them!    tameless,  fnmk,  and 

In  kindness  warm,  and  fierce  in  danger  known, 

Uougli  nature's  children,  humorous  as  she: 

And  llii,  you  Chieftain — strike  the  proudest 

tone  [own. 

Of  thy  bold  harp,  green  Islo ! —  tho  Hero  is  thuie 

LXL 

Now  on  the  scene  Vimeira  should  be  shown, 

On  Talavera's  fight  shotdd  Kmlerick  gaze, 
And  hear  Coruiuia  Avail  her  battle  won. 

And  see  Busaco's  crest  with  hghtning  bhizc : — * 
But  shall  fond  fable  mbc  with  heroes'  pniise  ? 

Hath  Fiction's  stage  for  Truth's  long  triumplis 
room? 
And  dare  her  wild-flowers  mingle  with  the  bays. 

That  claim  a  long  eternity  to  bloom     [tomb! 
Aroimd  tlie  warrior's  crest,  and  o'er  the  warrior's 

LXII. 
Or  may  I  give  adventurous  Fancy  scope. 

And  stretch  a  Ixild  hand  to  the  awful  veil 
Tliat  hides  futurity  from  luixious  hope. 

Bidding  beyond  it  scenes  of  glory  hail, 
And  painting  Eiu-ope  rousing  at  the  tale 

Of  Spain's  invaders  from  her  confines  hurl'd, 
Wliile  kindling  nations  buckle  on  their  mail. 
And  Fame,  with  clarion-blast  and  wings  im- 
furl'd,  [World  ?• 

To  Freedom  and   Revenge   awakes  an    injured 

LXHL 
0  vain,  though  anxious,  is  the  glance  I  cast, 
Since  Fate  has  niark'd  futurity  her  own ; 
Yet  fate  resigns  to  worth  the  glorious  past, 
The  deeds  recorded,  and  the  laurels  won, 
Tlicn,  though  the  Vault  of  Destiny'  be  gone, 

ICing,  Prelate,  all  the  phantasms  of  my  brain, 
Melted  away  like  mist-wi-eaths  in  the  sun. 
Yet  grant  for  faith,  for  valor,  and  for  Spain, 
One  note  of  pridt^  and  fire,  a  I'atriot's   parting 
strain !'" 


8  "  The  nation  will  arise  regenerate  ; 

Strong  in  her  second  yonth  and  beautiful. 
And  like  a  spirit  that  hath  shaken  off 
The  clog  of  dull  niort.ilily,  shall  Spain 
Arise  in  glory." — Soutuey's  Roderick. 

'  Pee  Appendix,  Note  N. 

s  "For  a  mere  introduction  to  the  exploits  of  our  English 
commanders,  the  Rtory  of  Don  Roderick's  sins  and  confessions, 
— the  minute  description  of  his  army  and  attendants, — and  th» 
whole  interest  and  machinery  of  tho  enchanted  vault,  with  the 
greater  part  of  the  Vision  itself,  are  far  too  long  and  elaborate. 
They  withdraw  our  curiosity  and  attention  from  the  objects  loi 
which  they  had  been  bespoken,  and  sradually  engage  them 
upon  a  new  and  independent  series  of  romantic  adventoies,  lo 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


281 


(ll)e  llision  of  Pon  Uoi)n-iclx. 


CONCLUSION. 


"  Who  shall  command  Estrella's  mountain-tide' 
Back  to  the  souixe,  -when  tempest-chafed,  to 
hie? 
Who,  when  Gascogne's  vex'd  gulf  is  raging  wide, 

Shall  hush  it  as  a  nurse  her  infant's  cry  ? 
His  magic  power  let  such  vain  boaster  try. 

And  when  the  torrent  shall  liis  Toice  obey. 
And  Biscay's  whudwinds  list  his  killaby, 

Let  him  stand  forth  and  bai'  mine  eagles'  way. 
And  they  shall  heed  his  voice,  and  at  his  bidding 
stay. 

II. 

"  Else  ne'er  to  stoop,  till  high  on  Lisbon's  towers 
They  close  their  wings,  the  symbol  of  our  yoke. 
And  their  own  sea  hath  whelm'd  yon  red-cross 
Powers !" 
Thus,  on  the  summit  of  Alverca's  rock, 
To   Marshal,  Duke,   and   Peer,  Gaul's   Leader 
spoke. 
Wliile  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press. 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock. 
And  smiled  Uke  Eden  in  her  summer  di-ess ; — 
Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilder- 
ness.^ 

IIL 

And  shall  the  boastful  Chief  maintain  his  word. 
Though  Heaven  hath  heard  the  wailings  of 
the  land. 
Though  Lusitania  whet  her  vengeful  sword. 
Though  Britons  arm  and  Wellington  com- 
mand ! 
No  !  grim  Busaco's  iron  ridge  shall  stand 

An  adamantine  bamer  to  his  force ;      [band. 

And   from  its  base   shall  wheel  his  shattor'd 

As  from  the  unshaken  rock  the  ton-ent  hoarse 

Bears  off  its  broken  waves,  and  seeks  a  devious 

com"se. 

which  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  Lord  Wellington  and  Bonar 
parte  can  have  any  concern.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  no 
sooner  is  this  new  interest  excited, — no  sooner  have  we  surren- 
dered our  imaginations  into  tlie  hands  of  this  dark  enclianter, 
and  heated  our  fancies  to  the  proper  pitcli  for  sympathizing  in 
the  fortunes  of  Gothic  kings  and  Moorish  invaders,  with  their 
imposing  accompaniments  of  harnessed  knights,  ravished  dam- 
sels, and  enchanted  statues,  than  the  whole  romantic  group 
vanishes  at  once  from  our  sight ;  and  we  are  hurried,  with 
minds  yet  disturhed  witli  those  powerful  apparitions,  to  the 
comparatively  sober  and  cold  narration  of  Bonajiarte's  villa- 
nies,  and  to  draw  battles  between  mere  mortal  combatants  in 
36 


IV. 
Yet  not  because  Alcoba's  mountain-hawk 

Hath  on  his  best  and  bravest  made  lier  food, 
Li  numbers  confident,  yon  Chief  shall  baulk 

His  Lord's  imperial  tlmst  for  spoil  and  blood 
For  full  in  view  the  promised  conquest  stood, 
And  Lisbon's  matrons  from  tlieir  waUs,  might 
sum 
Tlie  myriads  that  had  half  the  world  subdued, 
And  hear  the  distant  thunders  of  the  drum, 
Tliat  bids  the  bands  of  France  to  storm  and  ha70C 
come. 


Fom-  moons  have  heai'd  these  thunders  idly  roll'd, 
Have  seen  these  wistful  mjTiads  eye  their 
prey. 
As  famish'd  wolves  survey  a  guarded  fold — 

But  in  the  middle  path  a  Lion  lay ! 
At  length  they  move — ^but  not  to  battle  fi-ay, 
Nor  blaze  yon  iij-es  where  meets  the  manly 
fight; 
Beacons  of  infamy,  they  light  the  way 

Where  cowardice  and  cruelty  unite     [flight ! 
To  damn  with  double  shame   then-  ignominious 


VL 

0  triumph  for  the  Fiends  of  Lust  and  Wrath ! 

Ne'er  to  be  told,  yet  ne'er  to  be  forgot,    [path ! 
What  wanton  hoiTors  mark'd  then-  wreckful 

The  peasant  butcher'd  in  his  ruin'd  cot. 
The  hoary  priest  even  at  the  altai-  shot,  [flame, 

Childhood  and  age  given  o'er  to  sword  and 
Woman  to  mfamy ; — no  crune  forgot. 

By  wliich  inventive  demons  might  proclaim 
Immortal  hate  to  man,  and  scorn  of  God's  great 
name! 

VIL 

The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  bom. 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 

Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  for- 
lorn,' [gun. 
Wiped  his  stern  eye,  then  fiercer  grasp'd  his 

Nor  with  less  zeal  shall  Britain's  peaceful  son 
Exult  the  debt  of  sympathy  to  pay ; 

English  and  French  uniforms.  The  vast  and  elaborate  vesti 
bule,  in  short,  in  which  we  had  been  so  long  detained, 

'  Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 
With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade,' 

has  no  corresponding  palace  attached  to  it ;  and  the  long  no 
vitiate  we  are  made  to  serve  to  the  mysterious  powers  of  ro- 
mance is  not  repaid,  after  all,  by  an  introduction  to  tlieir  awfuJ 
presence." — Jeffrey. 

i  MS.—"  Who  shall  command  the  torrent's  headlong  tide." 
2  See  Appendix,  Note  O.  3  Ibid.  Note  P. 


282 


SCOIT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lliohes  nor  poverty  the  tax  shall  shun, 
Nor  priiicc  nor  pt^er^  the  wealthy  iior  tlie  gay, 
Nor  the  jxx>r  peiwiuit's  might,  uor  bjird's  inoro 
wortlilesw  lay'. 

VIII. 
But  thou — unfoiii^hten  wilt  thou  yield  to  Fate, 

Minion  of  Fortune,  now  niiscaU'd  in  vain  1 
Can  vantjti;o-ground  no  coiiJidence  create, 

^'   ■  ■  "  '  nor  Guarda'8  mountain-chain! 

\  .\  e  !'  yet  turn  ayaiu ! 

Jieholii,  wliere,  named  by  some  prophetic  Seer, 

Flows  Honor's  Fountain,'  as  foredoom'd  the  stain 

From  tliy  di.-honor'd  name  auid  arnw  to  clear — 

FiJlen  Child  of  Fortune,  turn,  redeem  her  favor 

here! 

IX. 

Yet,  ere  thou  turnst,  collect  each  distant  aid; 

Tliose  chief  that  never  heard  the  lion  roar  1 
Within  whose  souls  lives  not  a  trace  portray 'd. 

Of  Talavera,  or  Mondego's  shore  ! 
Marshal  each  band  thou  hast,  and  siunmon  more ; 

Of  war's  fell  stratjigems  exliaust  the  wliolc ; 
Hank  upon  rank,  s(juadron  on  squadron  pour. 

Legion  on  legion  on  thy  foeman  roll,        [souL 
And  weary  out  his  arm — thou  canst  not  quell  his 

X. 

0  vainly  gleams  with  steel  Agueda's  shore, 

Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide  Assuava's  plain, 
And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar, 

"With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds,  in  vain  !* 

And  what  avails  thee  tliat,  for  Cameron  slain,* 

Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  was 

given —  [rein. 

Vengeance  and  grief  gave  moimtain-rage  the 

And,   at    the    bloody    spear-point   lieadlong 

driven,  [heaven. 

Thy  Despot's  giant  guards  fled  like  the  rack  of 

XL 
Go,  baffled  boaster !  teach  thy  haughty  mood 
To  plead  at  thine  imperious  master's  throne, 

>  The  MS.  has.  for  the  preceding  five  lines — 

"  And  in  purfoit  vindictive  harried  on, 

And  O,  ?nrvivor9  sad  !  to  yon  belong 
TriliDles  from  cn-^h  that  Britain  calls  her  son, 

From  all  hir  nobles,  all  her  wealthier  throng. 
To  ner  i>oor  peawuit's  mite,  and  miustTcl's  poorer  song." 

'  See  Ap[>endix,  Note  tl. 

3  The  literal  fran.ilation  of  Fuentes  d'  Honoro. 

*  See  ApiK'iidiJc,  Note  R.  ■■  Ibid.  Note  S. 

■  On  theStJth  of  April,  1811,  Scott  writ<ii  thou  to  .Mr.  Morritt: 
— "  I  rejoice  with  the  heart  of  a  Scotuman  in  the  rnccess  of 
Lord  Wellington,  and  with  all  the  pride  of  a  seer  to  boou  I 
linve  been  for  three  years  proclaiming  him  ai  the  only  man  we 
nad  to  tmst  to^a  man  of  talent  and  penint — not  deterred  by 
obstacles,  nor  fettered  by  prejndicea,  not  immared  within  the 


Say,  thou  hast  left  his  legions  in  their  blood. 

Deceived  his  hopes,  and  frustrated  thiiie  own ; 
Say,  that  thine  utmost  skill  lutd  valor  shown, 

By  British  skill  and  valor  were  outvied  ; 
Last  siiy,  thy  conqueror  was  Wiclli.notos  !* 
And,  if  he  chafe,  bo  his  own  fortime  tried — 
God  and  our  cjiii.so  to  friend,  the  venture  we'll 
abide. 

XIL 

But  you,  ye  heross  of  that  well-fought  day. 

How  shall  a  bard,  unknowing  iuid  unknown, 
His  meed  to  each  victorious  leader  jiav, 

Or  bind  on  every  brow  the  laurels  \\\m\'C 
Yet  fain  my  harp  would  wake  its  boldest  tone, 

O'er  the  wide  sea  to  hail  CAiiotiAN  brave ; 
And    he,   ])erchancc,    the    miustrel-uote    might 
own, 
Mindfid  of  meeting  brief  that  Fortune  gave 
'Mid  yon  far  western  isles  that  hear  the  Athuitic 
rave. 

XIIL 
Yes  1  hard  the  task,  when  Britons  wield  the 
sword. 
To  give  each  Chief  and  every  field  its  fame ; 
Hark  1  Albuera  thunders  Bere.sfobd, 

And  lied  Barosa  shouts  for  dauntless  6r.£me  I 
O  for  a  verse  of  tumiUt  and  of  flame. 

Bold  as  the  bursting  of  their  c:iimon  soiuid. 
To  bid  the  world  re-echo  to  their  fame  I 
For  never,  upon  gory  battle-ground. 
With  conquest's  well-lx)Ught  wreath  were  braver 
victors  crown'd  I 

XIV 

0  who  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays,* 
Who  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  fi*jld, 

Roused  them  to  emulate  their  fathers'  prai&e, 
Tempcr'd  their  headlong  rage,  their  coiu^age 
steel'd,' 

And  raised  fair  Lusitania's  fallen  sliield, 
And  gave  new  edge  to  Lusitania's  sword, 

And  taught  her  sons  forgotten  arms  to  wield — 

pedantries  of  his  profession — bol  playing  the  general  and  Jm 
hero  when  mo)^t  of  our  military  commandeD  would  ii>»r» 
exhibited  the  drill  sergeant,  or  at  best  the  adjutant.  Toeas 
campaigns  will  teach  ns  what  we  have  long  needed  to  know, 
that  snccess  depends  not  on  the  nice  drilling  of  regiments,  but 
upon  the  grand  movements  and  combinations  of  a  .  army. 
We  have  been  hitherto  polishing  hinges,  when  we  should  have 
studied  the  mechanical  union  of  a  huge  machine.  Now,  onr 
army  begin  to  see  that  llie  grand  secret,  as  the  French  call  it, 
consists  only  in  union,  joint  exertion,  and  conceri«Nl  move- 
ment. This  will  enable  us  to  meet  the  dogs  on  fair  terms  as 
to  numlicrs,  and  for  the  rest,  '  My  soul  and  body  on  the  action 
both.'  "—JJfe,  vol.  iii.  p.  313. 

'  Pee  Appendix,  Editor's  Note  T. 

e  MS.—"  O  who  shall  grudge  yon  chief  the  victor's  bays." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


283 


Sliiver'd  my  harp,  and  burst  its  every  chord, 
If  it  forget  thy  "worth,  victorious  Beresford  ! 

Not  on  that  bloody  field  of  battle  -won, 

Though  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist 
away, 
Was  half  his  self-devoted  valor  shown, — 

He  gaged  but  life  on  that  illustrious  day ; 
But  when  he  toil'd  those  squadrons  to  array. 

Who  fought  like  Britons  in  the  bloody  game, 
Sharper  than  Polish  pike  or  assagay. 

He  braved  the  shafts  of  censure  and  of  shame. 
And,  dearer  far  than  hfe,  lie  pledged  a  soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 
Wor  be  his  praise  o'erpast  who  strove  to  hide 

Beneath  the  warrior's  vest  affection's  wound. 
Whose  wish  Heaven  for  liis  country's  weal  de- 
nied;^ 
Danger  and  fate  he  sought,  but  glory  found. 
From  clime  to  clime,  where'er  war's  trumpets 
sound. 
The  wanderer  went ;  yet,  Caledonia !  stilP 
Thine  was  his  thought  in  march  and  tented 
groimd; 

1  MS. — "  Not  greater  on  that  mount  of  strife  and  blood, 

While  Ganl's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist  away, 
And  tides  of  gore  stain'd  Albuera's  flood, 

And  Poland's  shatter'd  lines  before  him  lay, 
And  clarions  hail'd  him  victor  of  the  day. 

Not  greater  when  he  toil'd  yon  legions  to  array, 

'Twas  life  he  perill'd  in  that  stubborn  game, 
And  life  'gainst  honor  when  did  soldier  weigh  ? 

But,  self-devoted  to  his  generous  aim, 
Far  dearer  than  his  lile,  the  hero  pledged  his  fame." 

2  MS. — "  Nor  be  his  meed  o'erpast  who  sadly  tried 

With  valor's  wreath  to  hide  affection's  wound, 
To  whom  his  wish  Heaven  for  our  weal  denied." 

5  MS. — "  From  war  to  war  tlie  wanderer  went  his  round, 

Yet  WHS  his  soul  in  Caledonia  still ; 
Hers  was  his  thought,"  &c. 
i  MS. "  fairy  rill." 

"  These  lines  excel  the  noisier  and  more  general  panegjnics  of 
the  commanders  in  Portugal,  as  much  as  the  sweet  and  thrill- 
ing tones  of  the  harp  surpass  an  ordinary  flourish  of  drums  and 
liumpets." — Quarterly  Review. 

•'  Perhaps  it  is  our  nationality  which  makes  us  like  better 
the  tribute  to  General  Grahame — though  there  is  something, 
we  believe,  in  the  softness  of  the  sentiment  that  will  be  felt, 
even  by  English  readers,  as  a  relief  from  the  exceeding  clamor 
and  loud  boastings  of  all  the  surrounding  stanzas." — Edin- 
burgh Review. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

6  "  Now,  strike  your  sailes,  yee  iolly  maiineis. 

For  we  be  come  unto  a  (juiet  rode. 
Where  we  must  land  some  of  our  passengers, 

And  light  this  weary  Vessell  of  her  lode. 
Here  she  a  while  may  make  her  safe  abode, 

Till  she  repaired  have  her  tackles  spent 
And  wants  snppUde :  and  then  againe  abroad 


He  dream'd  'mid  Alpine  cliffs  of  Athole's  hiU, 
And  heard  in  Ebro's  roar  his  Lyndoch's  lovely  rill.* 

XVIL 
0  hero  of  a  race  renown'd  of  old, 

Wliose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle-.swell 
Since  first  distinguish'd  in  the  onset  bold, 

Wild  sounding  when  the  Roman  rampart  fell ! 
By  Wallace'  side  it  rung  the  Southron's  kneU, 

Alderne,  Kilsythe,  and  Tibber,  own'd  its  fame, 
Tmnmell's  rude  pass  can  of  its  terrors  tell, 
But  ne'er  from  prouder  field  arose  the  name. 
Than  when  wild   Ronda  learn'd  the  conquering 
shout  of  Gr^me  !* 

XVIII. 
But  all  too  long,  through  seas  unknown  and  dark 

(Witli  Spenser's  parable  I  close  my  tale,)" 
By  shoal  and  rock  hath  steer'd  my  ventm'ous 
bark. 
And  landward  now  I  ckive  before  the  gale. 
And  now  the  blue  and  distant  shore  I  hail, 

And  nearer  now  I  see  the  port  expand, 
And  now  I  gladly  fm-1  my  weary  sail. 

And  as  the  prow  light  touches  on  the  strand, 
I  strike  my  red-cross  flag  and  bind  my  skiff  tc 
laid.' 

On  the  long  voiage  whereto  she  is  bent : 
Well  may  she  speede,  and  fairely  finish  her  intent !" 

Faerie  Queene,  book  i.  canto  12 

'  "  No  comparison  can  be  fairly  instituted  between  composi- 
tions so  wholly  different  in  style  and  designation  as  the  present 
poem  and  Mr.  Scott's  former  productions.  The  present  poem 
neither  has,  nor,  from  its  nature,  could  have  the  interest  which 
arises  from  an  eventful  plot,  or  a  detailed  delineation  of  char- 
acter ;  and  we  shall  arrive  at  a  far  more  accurate  estimation  of 
its  merits  by  comparing  it  with  '  The  Bard'  of  Gray,  or  tliat 
particular  scene  of  Ariosto,  where  Bradamante  beholds  the 
wonders  of  Merlin's  tomb.  To  this  it  has  many  strong  and 
evident  features  of  resemblance  ;  but,  in  our  opinion,  greatly 
surpasses  it  both  in  the  dignity  of  the  objects  represented,  am. 
the  picturesque  etfect  of  the  machinery. 

"  We  are  inclined  to  rank  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  not 
only  above  'The  Bard,'  but  (excepting  Adam's  Vision  from 
the  Mount  of  Paradise,  and  the  matchless  beauties  of  the  sixth 
book  of  Virgil)  above  all  the  historical  and  poetical  prospects 
which  have  come  to  our  knowledge.  The  scenic  representation 
is  at  once  gorgeous  and  natural ;  and  the  language,  and  ia- 
agery,  is  altogether  as  spirited,  and  bears  the  stamp  of  more 
care  and  ])olish  than  even  the  most  celebrated  of  the  author's 
former  productions.  If  it  please  ns  less  than  these,  we  must 
attribute  it  in  part  perhaps  to  the  want  of  contrivance,  and  in 
a  still  greater  degree  to  the  nature  of  the  subject  itself,  which  is 
deprived  of  all  the  interest  derived  from  suspense  or  sympathy, 
and,  as  far  as  it  is  connected  with  modern  politics,  represents  a 
scene  too  near  our  immediate  inspection  to  admit  the  interpo- 
sition of  the  magic  glass  of  fiction  and  poetry." — Quarterly 
Review,  October,  1811. 


"  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  has  been  received  witli  less 
interest  by  the  public  than  any  of  the  author's  other  per- 


284 


scorrs  poetical  works. 


turnian'-r-i ;  »«•!  ha«  li«*n  rrnd,  wr  ihonM  iniajpiir,  with  wine 
lir;>  wliu  louk  it  up  with 

111.-  .  I*  wriiifii  with  very 

coi  t  itti  muro  cans  aiiil  ctVurt  than  most 

ol" '  'ii"  :  -willi  a  ilcgrrt-  of  cirort,  imlt-cj, 

«rli  <l  of  aurocM,  if  thu  nulhor  had 

Dul    ~.,^ ^.  -,...„ ,    uii  oilier  occauuiui  without  any 

ttllbri  at  all,  or  had  rhoarn  any  other  nuhjuvl  than  that  which 
il!-    '  '   '  'iliviaiu,  and  iiU|)|>1i<-!i  the  gahhio 

^ .,  itry. — ourdriM-iiclin';  i'ani|imgn> 

In  >  ,;,-   «]ili;  -  of  Lord  Welliii;;lon 

in.!  of  the   Vt>  The  nominal  iiut>- 

.1,  iiulovd,  i.4  the  Vixuii  uf  Don  Koileriek,  in  the 
;  tint  tliii  i»  obviou.ily  a  more  prvludo  to  the 
jri  'iltllen, — a  sort  of  machinery  devised 

to  ^  „  : :.  I  to  their  introduction.     In  |>oint  of 

fact,  the  poem  liogin:i  and  ends  with  Lor>l  Wellington  ;  and 
being  written  for  tJie  U-nelit  of  the  plundcn-d  Portuguese,  and 
BpoD  a  Spanish  story,  tlie  thing  could  not  well  have  been 
otherwiv.  The  puhlic,  ot  this  moment,  will  listen  to  nothing 
ahoul  Spain,  but  the  history  of  the  Sp.-ini'li  war;  and  the  old 
Gothic  king,  and  the  Moors,  an?  considered,  we  dare  h.-iy.  hy 
Mr.  Scott's  most  impatient  readers,  as  very  tedious  interlopert 

in  the   pro()er  business  of  the  piece The  Poem  lias 

■carcely  any  story,  and  scarcely  any  characters  ;  and  consists, 
in  tnth,  almost  entirely  of  a  series  of  descriptions,  inteniiingled 
willi  plaudits  and  execrations.  The  descriptions  are  many  of 
them  very  line,  though  tlie  style  is  more  turgid  and  verbose 
than  in  the  belter  parts  of  Mr.  Scott's  other  productions  ;  but 
the  invectives  and  acclamations  are  too  vehement  and  too 
freqnent  to  be  either  graceful  or  impressive.  There  is  no 
climax  or  progmaion  to  relieve  the  ear,  or  stininlato  the  imagin- 
ation. Mr.  Scott  sets  out  on  the  very  highest  pitch  of  his 
voice,  and  keeps  it  up  to  the  end  of  the  measure.  Tlivre  are 
no  grand  swells,  therefore,  or  overpowering  bursts  in  liis  song. 
All,  from  lir!-t  to  la-t,  ii  loud,  and  clamorous,  and  obtrusive, — 
indiscriminately  noisy,  and  often  ineffectually  exaggerated. 
He  has  fewer  new  images  than  in  his  other  poetry — his  tone 
is  less  natural  and  varied, — and  he  moves,  upon  the  whole, 
with  a  slower  and -more  laborious  pace." — Iettrzy,  £din- 
burgh  Review,  1811. 


"  The  Edinburgh  Reviewers  have  been  down  on  my  poor 
Don  hand  to  fist ;  but,  truly,  as  they  are  too  fa.stidious  to  ap- 
prove of  the  campaign,  I  should  be  very  unreasonable  if  I  ex- 
pected tliem  to  like  the  celebration  of  it.  I  agree  with  them, 
however,  as  to  the  lumbering  weight  of  the  stanza,  and  I 
■hrewdly  sn.spect  it  would  require  a  very  great  poet  indeed  to 


|»evenl  the  tctlium  arising  from  the  recurrence  of  ihyiiiea. 
Our  language  is  unable  to  sup|Mjrt  the  expemliture  of  >u  luaiiy 
for  each  ntun/a  ;  even  S|>eiiMT  lilnnelf,  with  all  the  license  oi 
uiiiig  ob-^lete  words  and  uncommon  spelling.'*,  sometimes  fa- 
tigui^a  the  car.  They  are  also  very  wroth  with  me  for  onii4ting 
the  merits  uf  Sir  John  Moore  ;■  but  as  I  never  exactly  discov- 
ered in  what  these  lay,  uiiIcsr  in  conducting  his  advance  and 
retreat  U|ion  a  plan  the  most  likely  to  verify  the  dei>|>onding 
■|)eculationj  of  the  fore.«aid  rcvieweni,  d  must  hold  myself 
excused  for  not  giving  praise  where  I  was  unable  to  see  that 
much  was  i\ae."—ilcoU  to  Mr.  Murritt,  Hrpl.  30,  ISll. 
/.i/r,  vol.  iii.  p.  328. 


"  The  V'^sion  of  Don  Roderick  had  features  of  novelty,  both 
as  to  the  subject  and  thu  manner  of  the  compo>iliun,  whl<;h 
excited  much  attention,  and  gave  rise  to  some  sharp  contro- 
versy. The  main  fable  was  indeed  from  the  most  jiicturesijae 
region  of  old  romance ;  but  it  was  made  throughout  the  vehi- 
cle of  feelings  directly  adverse  to  those  with  which  the  Whig 
critics  had  all  along  regarded  tlic  interference  of  Britain  in 
behalf  of  the  nations  of  the  Peninsula;  and  the  silence  which, 
while  celebrating  our  other  generals  on  that  scene  of  action, 
had  been  prc.ierved  with  respect  to  Scott's  own  gallant  coun- 
tryman. Sir  John  Moore,  was  considered  or  represented  by 
them  as  an  odious  example  of  genius  hoodwinked  by  the  influ- 
ence of  party.  Nor  were  there  wanting  jiersoiis  who  affected 
to  discover  tliat  the  charm  of  Scott's  poetry  had  to  a  great 
extent  evaporated  under  the  severe  test  to  whicli  lie  had  ex- 
posed i',  by  adopting,  in  place  of  those  comparatively  light 
and  easy  measures  in  which  he  had  hitherto  dealt,  the  mo%t 
elaborate  one  that  our  literature  exhibits.  The  production, 
notwithstanding  the  complexity  of  the  Spon.serian  stanza,  had 
been  very  ra|)idly  executed  ;  and  it  shows,  accordingly,  many 
traces  of  negligence.  But  the  patriotic  inspiration  of  it  found 
an  echo  in  the  vast  majority  of  British  hearts ;  many  of  the 
Whig  oracles  themselves  acknowledged  that  the  difficulties 
of  the  metre  had  been  on  the  whole  soccessfully  overcome  ; 
and  even  the  hardest  critics  were  compelled  to  express  nn- 
qu.ilificd  admiration  of  various  detached  picture^)  and  pas- 
sages, which,  in  truth,  as  no  one  now  disputes,  neither  he  nor 
any  other  poet  ever  excelled.  The  whole  netting  or  framework 
— whatever  relates  in  short  to  the  last  of  the  Goths  himself — 
was,  I  think,  even  then  unanimously  pronounced  admirable  ; 
and  no  party  feeling  could  blind  any  man  to  the  heroic  splcu- 
dor  of  such  stanzas  as  those  in  which  the  three  equally  gal- 
lant elements  of  a  British  army  are  contrasted." — LocKU^RT 
Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  319. 

1  See  Appendix,  Editor's  Not*  T. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


285 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

^nd  CattreatK's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph  rung, 
And  mystic  Merlin  harped,  and  gray-haired  Llywarch 
snng!— P. '271. 

This  locality  may  startle  tliose  readers  who  do  not  recollect 
that  iiiueh  of  tlie  ancient  poetry  preserved  in  Wales  refers  less 
to  the  liistory  of  the  Principality  to  which  that  name  is  now 
limited,  than  to  events  which  happened  in  the  northwest  of 
England,  and  southwest  of  Scotland,  where  the  Britons  for  a 
long  tune  made  a  stand  against  the  Saxons.  The  hattle  of 
Cattreath,  lamented  by  the  celebrated  Aneurin,  is  supposed, 
by  tlie  learned  Dr.  Leyden,  to  liave  been  fouglit  on  the  skirts 
of  Eltrick  Forest.  It  is  known  to  the  English  reader  by  the 
paraphrase  of  Gray,  beginning, 

"  Had  I  but  the  torrent's  might, 
With  headlong  rage  and  wild  aflfright,"  &c. 

But  it  is  not  so  generally  known  that  the  champions,  raonrned 
in  this  beautiful  dirge,  were  the  British  inhabitants  of  Edin- 
burgh, who  were  cut  off  by  the  Saxons  of  Deiria,  or  Northum- 
berland, about  the  latter  part  of  the  sixtli  century. — Turner's 
History  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  s,  edition  1799,  vol.  i.  p.  222. 
Llywarch,  the  celebrate^  bard  and  monarch,  was  Prince  of 
Argood,  in  Cumberland  ;  and  his  youthful  exploits  were  pet^ 
formed  upon  the  Border,  although  in  his  age  he  was  driven 
into  Powys  by  the  successes  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  As  for 
Merlin  Wyllt,  or  the  Savage,  bis  name  of  Caledonia,  and  his 
retreat  into  the  Caledonian  v/ood,  appropriate  him  to  Scot- 
land. Fordun  dedicates  the  thirty-first  chapter  of  the  tliird 
book  of  his  Scoto-Chronicon,  to  a  narration  of  the  death  of 
this  celebrated  bard  and  prophet  near  Drumelzier,  a  village 
upon  Tweed,  which  is  supposed  to  have  derived  its  name 
{quasi  Tumulus  Merlini)  from  the  event.  The  particular  spot 
in  which  he  is  buried  is  still  shown,  and  appears,  from  the 
following  quotation,  to  have  partaken  of  his  prophetic  quali- 
ties : — "  There  is  one  thing  remarkable  here,  which  is,  that 
the  burn  called  Pausayl  runs  by  the  east  side  of  this  church- 
vard  into  the  Tweed  ;  at  the  side  of  which  burn,  a  little  below 
the  churcliyanl,  the  famous  prophet  Merlin  is  said  to  be  bu- 
ried. The  particular  place  of  his  grave,  at  tlie  root  of  a  thorn- 
tree,  w;is  siiown  me,  many  years  ago,  by  the  old  and  reverend 
minister  of  the  place,  Mr.  Richard  Brown  ;  and  Iscre  was 
the  old  prophecy  fulfilled,  delivered  in  Scots  rhyme,  to  this 
purpose  : — 

'  When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  meet  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  Monarch  have.' 

"  For,  the  same  day  that  our  King  James  the  Sixth  was 
crowned  King  of  England,  the  river  Tweed,  by  an  extraordi- 
nary flood,  so  far  overflowed  its  banks,  that  it  met  and  joined 
with  the  Pausayl  at  the  said  grave,  which  was  never  before 
observed  to  fall  out." — Pensycuick's  Description  of  Tweed- 
dale.    Edin.  1715,  iv.  p.  26. 


Note  B. 
•  Minchmore's  haunted  spring. — P.  271. 


still  lingers  among  the  vulgar  in  Selkirkshire.  A  copious  foun- 
tain upon  the  ridge  of  IMinchmore,  called  the  Cheesewel".,  is 
supposed  to  be  sacred  to  these  fanciful  S|)irits,  and  it  was  cus 
toinary  to  propitiate  them  by  throwing  in  something  upon  pass- 
ing it.  A  pin  was  the  usual  oblation  ;  and  the  ceremony  is 
still  sometimes  practised,  though  rather  in  jest  than  earnest. 


Note  C. 


The  rude  villager,  his  labor  done, 

In  verse  spontaneous  chants  some  favor' d  name. — P.  271. 

The  flexibility  of  the  Italian  and  Spanish  languages,  and 
perhaps  the  liveliness  of  their  genius,  rendcre  these  countries 
distinguished  for  the  talent  of  improvisation,  which  is  found 
even  among  the  lowest  of  the  people.  It  is  mentioned  by  Ba- 
retti  and  other  travellers. 


Note  D. 

Kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Orame. — P.  271. 

Over  a  name  sacred  for  ages  to  heroic  verse,  a  poet  may  be 
allowed  to  exercise  some  power.  I  have  used  the  freedom, 
here  and  elsewhere,  to  alter  the  orthography  of  the  name  of 
my  gallant  countryman,  in  order  to  apprise  the  Southern 
reader  of  its  legitimate  sound  ; — Grahame  being,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Tweed,  usually  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable. 


Note  E. 


A  belie^f  in  the  existence  and  nocturnal  revels  of  the  /airies 


What !  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morning  stay. 
To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 

And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past, 
For  fair  Florinda's  plundered  charms  to  pay  ?— P.  272. 

Almost  all  the  Spanish  historians,  as  well  as  the  voice  o» 
tradition,  ascribe  the  invasion  of  the  Moors  to  the  forcible  vio- 
lation committed  by  Roderick  upon  Florinda,  called  by  the 
Moors,  Caba  or  Cava.  She  was  the  daughter  of  Count  Ju- 
lian, one  of  the  Gothic  monarch's  principal  lieutenants,  who, 
when  the  crime  was  perpetrated,  was  engaged  in  the  defence 
of  Ceuta  against  the  Moors.  In  liis  indignation  at  the  ingrati- 
tude of  his  sovereign,  and  the  dishonor  of  his  daughter.  Count 
Julian  forgot  the  duties  of  a  Christian  and  a  patriot,  and, 
forming  an  aUiance  with  Mnsa,  then  the  Caliph's  lieutenant 
in  Africa,  he  countenanced  the  invasion  of  Spain  by  a  body  ot 
Saracens  and  Africans,  commanded  by  the  celebrated  Tarik  ; 
the  issue  of  which  was  the  defeat  and  death  of  Roderick,  ana 
t'le  occupation  of  almost  the  whole  peninsula  by  the  Woors. 
Voltaire,  in  his  General  History,  expresses  his  doubts  of  this 
popular  story,  and  Gibbon  gives  him  some  countenance  ;  but 
the  universal  tradition  is  quite  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of 
poetry.  The  Spaniards,  in  detestation  of  Florinda's  memory, 
are  said,  by  Cervantes,  never  to  bestow  that  name  upon  any 
human  female,  reserving  it  for  their  dogs.  Nor  is  the  tradi- 
tion less  inveterate  among  the  Moors,  since  tlie  same  author 
mentions  a  promontory  on  the  coast  of  Barbary,  called  '•  The 
Cape  of  the  Caba  Rumia,  which,  in  our  tongue,  is  the  t\pe 


280 


SCOTT'S  POKTICAL  WORKS. 


rrwiMj  thoJi  l*y  tiL*v<«ai(jr. 


''"     >ti  ;  and  it  u  a  tratlition  among 

'iTof  Count  Julian,  who  win 

.11,  lit-a  buriotl  tliiTi-,  and  tlif>'  tliink 

lliBt  bay  ;  fur  tiiey  uovrr  go  in  olli- 


Note  F. 


■le,  Prir»t,  to  that  mi/.ttrrioug  room, 
■  ought  true  in  old  tradition  be, 
Itu  nattott'  t  future  fate  a  Spanish  King  ihail  tee. — P.  S273. 

Tli"  uf  an  incidpnt  from  lii^lory  to  Imdition,  nnd 

froni  .'  lalile  and  roiiiancp,  bwoniing  nioro  niarvcl- 

loii"  at  i-acii  Mi-|i  from  itt  original  eimplieity,  is  not  ill  exem- 
lililitil  in  tlir  aoconnt  of  the  "  Fated  Chamber"  of  Don  Rod- 
erick, OS  given  by  his  namesake,  the  hi.'-Iurian  of  Toledo,  con- 
trasted with  subsequent  and  more  romantic  aci'ountii  of  the 
■ame  lublerranean  discovery.  I  give  the  Archbisho))  of  Tole- 
do's talo  in  Uio  words  of  Nonius,  who  seems  to  intimate 
(though  very  modestly)  that  the  fatale  palatiam,  of  wliicli  ro 
nuch  had  been  said,  was  only  the  ruins  of  a  Roman  ampbi- 
lliealre. 

"  Extra  mnros,  septcntrionem  versus,  vestigia  magni  olim 
thfntri  ?pnrsa  visuntur.  Anctor  est  Rodcricus,  Tolftanus 
A  jius  ante  Arabum   in   IIi^ipanias  irruptionem,   hie 

tium  fnisne  ;  quo<l  invicti  vectes  a;tprna  fcrri  robora 
clandebant,  ne  reseratnm  Hi$paniu!  excidium  adferret ;  quod 
in  fatis  non  vnlgus  solum,  scd  ct  prudentissirai  quiquo  credc- 
bant.  Sed  Ro4leri('i*ultimi  Gothorum  Regis  animum  infelix 
cariofita.<i  subiit,  sciendi  quid  sub  tot  velitis  claustris  obscrva- 
tnr;  ingcntes  ibi  snperiorum  regnm  ojies  et  arcanos  thesan- 
•s  seriari  ratus.  Seras  et  |)essulo9  perfringi  curat,  invitis 
omnibus;  nihil  pncter  arculam  repertum,  et  in  ea  lintcum, 
quo  explicato  novic  ct  insolcntes  hominum  facies  habitusque 
apparuere,  cum  inscriptione  Latina,  Jlispanitc  eicidium  ab 
ilia  gnite  immincrc ;  Vultus  habitusque  Maurorum  erant. 
Quamobrem  ex  Africa  tantam  cladcm  instare  rcgi  carterisque 
petsuasum  ;  ncc  falso  ut  Hispania:  annales  etiamnum  que- 
nintnr." — Hispania  Ludotic.  jVonij.  cap.  lix. 

But,  about  the  terra  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors  from 
Grenada,  we  find,  in  the  "  Ilisloria  Verdadeijra  del  Reij  Don 
Rodrigo,"  a  (pretended)  translation  from  the  Arabic  of  the 
sajf;  Alcayde  Abulcacim  Tarif  Abcntarique,  a  legend  which 
;iiii-  to  shame  the  modesty  of  the  historian  Roderick,  witli  liis 
cli<-t  and  prophetic  picture.  The  custom  of  ascribing  a  pre- 
toiiili-d  Moorish  original  to  these  legendary  histories,  is  ridiculed 
by  Cervantes,  who  affects  to  translate  the  History  of  the  Knight 
of  the  Woful  Figure,  from  the  Arabic  of  the  sage  Cid  Ilamet 
Bencngcli.  As  I  have  been  indebted  to  the  Historia  Vcrdadaj- 
ra  for  some  of  llie  imagery  employed  in  the  text,  the  following 
literal  translation  from  the  work  itself  may  gratify  the  inquisi- 
tive reader : — 

"  One  mile  on  the  east  side  of  the  city  of  Toledo,  among 
•ome  rocks,  was  situated  an  ancient  tower,  of  a  magnificent 
stnictnre,  though  much  dilapidated  by  time,  which  consumes 
all :  four  esladoes  (i.  e.  four  times  a  man's  height)  below  it, 
there  was  a  cave  with  a  very  narrow  entrance,  and  a  gate  cut 
out  of  the  solid  rook,  line<l  with  a  strong  covering  of  iron,  and 
fastened  with  many  locks  ;  above  the  gate  some  Greek  letters 
are  engraved,  which,  althongh  abbreviated,  and  of  doubtful 
meaning,  were  thus  interpreted,  according  to  the  exposition  of 
learned  men  : — '  The  King  who  opens  this  cave,  and  can  dis- 
cover the  wonders,  will  discover  both  good  and  evil  things.' — 
Many  Kings  desired  to  know  the  mystery  of  this  tower,  and 
sought  to  find  out  the  mannprwith  much  care  ;  but  when  they 
opened  the  gate,  such  a  tremendous  noise  arose  in  the  cave, 
th<it  it  appeared  as  if  the  earth  wa.s  bursting ;  many  of  those 
present  sickened  with  fear,  and  others  lost  thtir  lives.  In  onlcr 
to  [irevent  such  great  perils  Cas  they  supposed  a  dangerous  en- 
•baotment  was  contained  within),  tliey  secured  the  gale  with 


new  lookji,  concluding,  that,  though  a  King  waji  destined  to 
0|H-n  it,  tliu  fati-d  tiinu  was  not  yet  arrived.  At  l&tt  King  L)uu 
RiHlri^;o,  litl  on  by  hu  evil  fortune  and  unlucky  dcftiny,  u|K'ii<-d 
th»  tower ;  and  some  bold  atlendanlt,  whom  he  had  brought 
with  him,  enten-d,  although  agitated  with  fear.  Having  pro- 
ceivled  a  good  way,  lln-y  lied  back  to  the  entrance,  tt-mliwl 
with  a  frightful  viniun  which  they  liad  beheld.  The  King  wa* 
gn-atly  moved,  and  onh-red  many  torches,  so  contrived  that  the 
temiMwt  in  the  cavo  could  not  extinguish  them,  to  be  lightnl 
Then  the  King  ent<'rfd,  not  without  fear,  U-foro  all  the  olhrn. 
They  discoven-d,  by  degn-en,  a  splendid  hall,  apparently  built 
in  a  very  sumptuous  mnnm-r;  in  the  niidille  stood  a  Dron/e 
t^tatue  of  very  ferocious  np|H.>aranco,  which  held  a  battle-axe 
in  its  hands.  With  this  he  struck  the  floor  violently,  giving  it 
such  heavy  blows,  that  the  noise  in  the  cave  was  occasioned 
by  the  million  of  the  air.  The  King,  greatly  aflnghted,  and 
astonished,  began  to  conjure  this  terrible  vision,  promising  that 
ho  would  return  without  iloing  any  injury  in  the  cave,  alti-r  lio 
had  obtained  a  sight  of  what  was  contained  in  it.  The  statue 
cea-scd  to  strike  the  floor,  and  the  King,  with  his  followpm, 
somewhat  assured,  and  recovering  their  courage,  proceeded  into 
the  hall  ;  and  on  the  left  of  the  statue  they  found  this  inscri|>- 
tion  on  the  w.ill,  '  Unfortunate  King,  thou  hast  entered  here  in 
evil  hour.'  On  the  right  side  of  the  wall  these  words  were  in- 
scribed, '  By  strange  nations  thou  shall  be  dispossessed,  and  thy 
subjects  foully  degraded.'  On  the  shoulders  of  the  statue  other 
words  were  written,  which  said,  '  I  call  upon  the  Arabs.' 
And  ujion  his  breast  was  written,  '  I  do  my  office.'  At  iho 
entrance  of  the  hall  there  wa«  placed  a  round  bowl,  from  which 
a  great  noise,  like  the  fall  of  waters,  proceeded.  They  found 
no  other  thing  in  tlie  hall :  and  when  the  King,  sorrowful  and 
greatly  affected,  had  scarcely  turned  about  to  leave  the  cavern, 
the  statue  again  commenced  his  accustomed  blows  upon  the 
floor.  After  they  had  mutually  promised  to  conceal  what  they 
had  seen,  they  again  closed  the  tower,  and  blocked  up  the  gate 
of  the  cavern  with  earth,  that  no  memory  might  remain  in  the 
world  of  such  a  portentous  and  evil-boding  prodigy.  The  en- 
suing midnight  they  heard  great  cries  and  clamor  from  the 
cave,  resounding  hke  the  noise  of  battle,  and  the  ground 
shaking  with  a  tremendous  roar ;  the  whole  edifice  of  the 
old  tower  fell  to  the  ground,  by  which  they  were  greatly 
affrighted,  the  vision  which  tiiey  bad  beheld  ajipearing  to  them 
as  a  dream. 

"  The  King  having  left  the  tower,  ordered  wif<e  men  to  ex- 
plain what  the  inscriptions  signified  ;  and  having  consulted 
upon  and  studied  their  meaning,  they  declared  that  the  statue 
of  bronze,  with  the  motion  which  it  made  with  its  battle-axe, 
eigiiitied  Time  ;  and  that  its  office,  alluded  to  in  the  inscription 
on  its  breast,  was,  that  he  never  rests  a  single  moment.  The 
words  on  the  shoulders,  '  I  call  upon  the  Arabs,'  they  expound- 
ed, that,  in  time,  Spain  woulil  be  conquered  by  the  Arabs. 
The  words  upon  the  left  wall  signified  the  destruction  of  King 
Rodrigo ;  those  on  the  right,  the  dreadful  calamities  which 
were  to  fall  upon  the  Spaniards  and  Goths,  and  that  the  un- 
fortunate King  would  be  dispossessed  of  all  his  slates.  Fin.illy, 
the  letters  on  the  portal  indicated,  that  good  would  betide  to 
the  conquerors,  and  evil  to  the  conquered,  of  which  experience 
proved  the  truth." — Historia  Vcrdndryra  del  Rty  Don  Rod- 
rigo.    Q.uinta  impression.     Madrid,  1654,  iv.  p.  23. 


Note  G. 

The  Tecbir  war-cry  and  the  Lelie's  yell. — P.  274. 

The  Tecbir  (derived  from  the  words  Alia  acbar,  Cod  ia  most 
mighty)  was  the  original  war-cry  of  the  Saracens.  It  is  cele- 
t)rated  by  Hughes  in  the  Siege  of  Damascus  : — 

"  We  heard  the  Tecbir ;  so  these  Arabs  call 
Their  «liont  of  onset,  when,  with  loud  apjieal 
They  challangc  Heaven,  as  if  demanding  conquest,' 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


287 


"The  Lelie,  ■W(^ll  known  to  the  Christians  dnring  the  cru- 
sades, in  the  shoot  of  Alia  ilia  Mia,  the  Mahomeilan  con- 
fession of  faith.  It  is  twice  used  in  jioetry  by  my  friend  Mr. 
W.  Stewart  Kose,  in  the  romance  of  Partenope.x,  and  in  the 
Crusade  of  St.  Lewis. 


Note  H. 


Btj  Heaven,  the  Moors  prevail !  the  Christians  yield ! — 
Their  coward  leader  g-ivcs  for  flight  the  sign ! 

The  sccpter^d  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field — 
Is  not  yon  steed  Orelia? — Yes,  'tis  mine! — P.  275. 

Count  Julian,  the  father  of  the' injured  Florinda,  with  the 
connivance  and  assistance  of  Oppas,  Archhisliop  of  Toledo, 
invited,  in  713,  the  Saracens  into  Spain.  A  considerable  army 
arrived  under  the  command  of  Tarik,  or  Tarif,  wlio  bequeathed 
the  well-known  name  of  Gibraltar  (Gibel  al  Tarik,  or  the 
mountain  of  Tarik^  to  the  i)lace  of  his  landing.  He  was  joined 
by  Count  Julian,  ravaged  Andalusia,  and  took  Seville,  [n  714, 
they  returned  with  a  still  greater  force,  and  Roderick  marched 
into  Andalusia  at  the  head  of  a  great  army,  to  give  them 
battle.  The  field  was  chosen  near  Xeies,  and  .Mariana  gives 
the  following  account  of  the  action  : — 

"Both  armies  being  drawn  up,  the  King,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  Gothic  kings  when  they  went  to  battle,  appeared 
in  an  ivory  chariot,  clothed  in  cloth  of  gold,  encouraging  liis 
men  ;  Tarif,  on  the  other  side,  did  the  same.  The  armies, 
thus  prepared,  waited  only  for  the  signal  to  fall  on  ;  the  Goths 
gave  the  charge,  their  drums  and  trumpets  sounding,  and  tlie 
Moors  received  it  with  the  noise  of  kettle-drums.  Such  were 
the  shouts  and  cries  on  both  sides,  that  the  mountains  and 
valleys  seemed  to  meet.  First,  they  began  with  .'•lings,  darts, 
javelins,  and  lances,  then  came  to  the  swords ;  a  long  time  the 
battle  was  dubious  ;  but  the  Moot's  seemed  to  have  the  worst, 
till  1).  Oppas,  tlie  arclibishop,  having  to  that  time  concealed 
his  treachery,  in  the  heat  of  the  fight,  with  a  great  body  of  his 
followers  went  over  to  the  infidels.  He  joined  Count  Julian, 
with  whom  was  a  great  number  of  Goths,  and  both  together 
fell  upon  the  flank  of  our  army.  Our  men,  terrified  with  that 
unparalleled  treachery,  and  tired  with  fighting,  could  no  longer 
sustain  that  charge,  but  were  easily  put  to  flight.  The  King 
performed  the  part  not  only  of  a  wise  general,  but  of  a  resolute 
soldier,  relieving  the  weakest,  bringing  on  fresli  men  in  place  of 
those  that  were  tired,  and  stopping  those  that  turned  their 
backs.  At  length,  seeing  no  hopes  left,  he  alighted  out  of  his 
chariot  for  fear  of  being  taken,  and  mounting  on  a  horse  called 
Orelia,  he  withdrew  out  of  the  battle.  The  Goths,  who  still 
stood,  missing  him,  were  most  part  put  to  the  sword,  the  rest 
betook  tliemselves  to  flight.  The  camp  was  immediately  en- 
tered, and  the  baggage  taken.  What  number  was  killed  was 
not  known  :  I  sup])ose  they  w'ere  so  many  it  was  hard  to  count 
them  ;  for  this  single  battle  robbed  Ppain  of  all  its  glory,  and  in 
it  perished  the  renowned  name  of  the  Goths.  The  King's  horse, 
upper  garment,  and  buskins,  covered  with  pearls  and  precious 
stones,  were  found  on  the  bank  of  the  river  Guadelite,  and 
there  being  no  news  of  him  afterwards,  it  was  supposed  he  was 
drowned  passing  the  river." — Mariana's  History  of  Spain, 
buck  vi.  chap.  9. 

Orelia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  mentioned  in  the  text, 
and  in  the  above  quotation,  was  celebrated  for  iier  speed  and 
form.  She  is  mentioned  repeatedly  in  Spanish  romance,  and 
also  by  Cervantes. 


Note  I. 


TVhen  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 
The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met. — P.  276. 

The  bolero  is  a  very  light  and  active  dance,  much  practised 


by  the  Sjianiards,  m  which  castanets  are  always  used.     JJ/ozo 
and  muchacha  are  equivalent  to  our  phrase  of  lad  and  lass. 


Note  K. 

While  trumpets  rang,  and  heralds  cried  ' '  Castile !' ' — P.  278. 

The  Iieralds,  at  the  coronation  of  a  Spanish  monarch,  pro- 
claim his  name  three  times,  and  repeat  tliree  thues  the  word 
Castilla,  Costilla,  Castilla ;  which,  with  all  other  ceremonies, 
was  carefully  copied  in  the  mock  inauguration  of  Joseph  Bona- 
parte. 


Note  L. 


High  blazed  the  war,  u^d  long,  and  far,  and  wide. — P.  278 

Those  wlio  were  disposed  to  believe  that  mere  virtue  and 
energy  are  able  of  themselves  to  work  forth  the  salvation  of  an 
oppressed  people,  surprised  in  a  moment  of  confidence,  deprived 
of  their  officers,  armies,  and  fortresses,  who  had  every  means 
of  resistance  to  seek  in  the  very  moment  when  they  were  to  be 
made  use  of,  and  whom  the  numerous  treasons  among  the 
higher  orders  deprived  of  confidence  in  their  natural  leaders, — 
those  who  entertained  this  enthusiastic  but  delusive  opinion 
may  be  pardoned  for  expressing  their  disappointment  at  the 
protracted  warfare  in  the  Peninsula.  There  are,  however, 
another  class  of  persons,  who,  having  themselves  the  highest 
dread  or  veneration,  or  something  allied  to  both,  for  the  power 
of  the  modern  Attila,  will  nevertheless  give  the  heroical  Span- 
iards little  or  no  credit  for  the  long,  stubborn,  and  unsubdued 
resistance  of  three  years  to  a  power  before  whom  their  former 
vvell-jjrepared,  well-armed,  and  numerous  adversaries  fell  in  the 
course  of  as  many  months.  While  these  gentlemen  plead  for 
deference  to  Bonaparte,  and  crave 

"  Respect  for  his  great  place,  and  bid  the  devil 
Be  duly  honor'd  for  his  burning  throne," 

it  may  not  be  altogether  unreasonable  to  claim  some  modifi- 
cation of  censure  upon  those  who  have  been  long  and  to  a 
great  extent  successfully  resisting  this  great  enemy  of  man- 
kind. That  the  energy  of  Sjjain  has  not  uniformly  been 
directed  by  conduct  equal  to  its  vigor,  has  been  loo  obvious  ; 
that  her  armies,  under  their  complicated  disadvantages,  have 
shared  the  fate  of  such  as  were  defeated  after  taking  the  field 
with  every  possible  advantage  of  arms  and  discipline,  is  surely 
not  to  be  wondered  at.  But  that  a  nation,  under  the  circun>- 
stances  of  repeated  discomfiture,  internal  treason,  and  the  mis- 
management incident  to  a  temporary  and  hastily  adopted  gov- 
ernment, should  have  wasted,  by  its  stubborn,  uniform,  and 
])rolonged  resistance,  myriads  after  myriads  of  those  soldiers 
who  had  oven'un  the  world — that  some  of  its  provinces  should, 
like  Galicia,  after  being  abandoned  by  their  allies,  and  oven-un 
by  their  enemies,  have  recovered  their  freedom  by  their  own 
unassisted  exertions  ;  that  others,  like  Catalonia,  undismayed 
by  the  treason  which  betrayed  some  fortresses,  and  the  force 
which  subdued  others,  should  not  only  iiave  continued  their 
resistance,  but  have  attained  over  their  victorious  enemy  a 
superiority,  which  is  even  now  enabling  them  to  besiege  and 
retake  the  places  of  strength  which  had  been  wrested  from 
them,  is  a  tale  hitherto  untold  in  the  revolutionary  war.  To 
say  that  such  a  people  cannot  be  subdued,  would  be  pre- 
sumption similar  to  that  of  those  who  protested  that  Sj)aiu 
could  not  defend  hei'self  for  a  year,  or  l'»rtugal  for  a  month  , 
but  that  a  resistance  which  has  been  continued  for  so  long  a 
space,  when  the  usurper,  except  during  the  short-lived  Aus- 
trian campaign,  had  no  other  enemies  on  the  continent,  should 
be  now  less  successful,  when  repeated  defeats  have  broken  the 
reputation  of  the  French  armies,  and  when  they  are  Ukely  (it 
would  seem  almost  in  desperation)   to  seek  occupation  else- 


288 


sco'rr's  poetical  avokks. 


wheir,  U  a  |ini 
vie  nf  i'\  ill" 
aii.l 

nn! 


VlOUt  l|UC«llOll», —  l»l 

niucli  li-Ki  rl'tlie  H|i.i. 


*.    •  .,  l.ilo 

lilt 

.liuun  ll^  "•' 

'li>-y  nmy  ■•"■'"'• 

I  In'  pn- 
liiw  iiiiiiiii'iit  know 

ul' I'ortugul,  wliioli 

Wfru  M>  luvjuptly  vuiulriiiiiotl  u  totally  iuaili-quutu  to  awUt  in 
the  pn-MTvalioii  of  their  countO'  I  2J.  Wlicllier,  inJcpc-nd- 
enUy  ul'  aiir  right  wo   have  to  olTi-r  more  thiin    advice   and 

wo  can  expect  that  tlicy 
pride,  whii-h  ia  iiiscjmr- 
ai<.t  tioiij  j>a;uu:;.  ;ii,  ;iuu  al  uhcl-  coiidesceiul  not  only  to  be 
iiavt'd  by  our  n.v.i.>l.-iiice,  but  to  bo  »3vi'd  in  our  own  way  7 
3»1,  Wlullit  r,  if  it  bo  an  objci-t  (as  uiiiloubli-illy  it  ii  a  main 
on.  ■  tlint  ttii-  I'pnTiisli  troops  fliould  be  trained  nndcr  British 
liility  of  movtMncnl,  and  power  of  rapid 

., lion,  which  is  essential  to  modem  war; 

■uch  a  consummation  is  likely  to  be  produced  by  abusing  them 
In  newspaper*  and  p<'riodieat  publications?  Lastly,  since  the 
Dndoubted  authority  of  British  oflicers  makes  us  now  ac- 
quainted with  part  of  the  horrors  that  attend  invasion,  and 
which  the  providence  of  God.  the  valor  of  our  navy,  and  per- 
-  the  very  effort-  ■  '.•^.  have  liillierlo  diverted 

1  n«.  it  mny  be  u  d  whether  we  ought  to 

be  1  to  otiiiiate  uiid  euiidemn  the  feeling  of  tem- 

por.i'  '(in  "lii  li   itiey  create;    lest,  in  so  doing,  we 

tlio..  1  who,  while  he  had  him- 

self :  -  lingers,  was  disjio-ed  sc- 

Teivly  to  criticise  the  condnct  of  a  martyr,  who  winced  a  little 
among  his  flumes. 


TA. 


Note  M. 

Zaragoza,  but  her  c/ii 


ci'juuif    luiiittr 

"p.  279. 


The  interesting  account  of  3Ir.  Vaughan  has  made  most 
reader?  acquainted  with  the  first  siege  of  Zaragoza.'  The  last 
and  fatal  siege  of  that  gallant  and  devoted  city  is  detailed  with 
great  eloquence  and  precision  in  the  "Edinburgh  Annual  Re- 
pi-lLT"  for  1609, — a  work  in  which  the  affairs  of  Spain  have 
been  treated  of  with  attention  corresponding  to  their  deep  in- 
terest, and  to  the  pcculi.ir  sources  of  information  open  to  the 
historian.  The  following  are  a  few  brief  extracts  from  this 
■plendid  liisloricnl  narrative  : — 

"  A  breach  was  soon  made  in  thamud  walls,  and  then,  as  in 
the  former  siege,  the  war  was  carried  on  in  the  streets  and 
liouse-i ;  but  the  French  had  been  taught  by  experience,  that 
in  this  <>|iecies  of  warfare  the  Zaragozans  derived  a  superiority 
from  the  feeling  and  principle  which  inspired  them,  and  the 
cau»«  for  which  they  fought.  The  only  means  of  conquering 
Zaragoza  was  to  dc^troy  it  honse  by  bouse,  and  street  by  street ; 
and  upon  tliis  system  of  destruction  they  proceeded.  Three 
companies  of  miners,  and  eight  companies  of  sappers,  carried 
on  ihi*  snblcrraneoas  war  ;  the  Spaniards,  it  is  said,  attempted 
to  op(>ose  them  by  countermines;  these  were  operations  to 
whi  "  i.  and,  according  to  the  French 

«tal  ry  day  discovered  and  suffoca- 

ted.    .MtaiiliiiK-,   !.  ..I'-nt  was  inci-ssanlly  ke))t  up. 

'  Within  the  la>t  Ar  Prilafox  in  a  letter  to  his  friend 

General  Doyle.  '  fAV  i  thrown  in.     Tv\o-lhirds 

of  the  town  arp  in  m  .  p<-ri»h  under  the  rnins  of 

the  remaining  thini  r«ilier  than  snironder.'  In  the  course  of 
ihe  siege,  above  17.0(H)  l>oml>.<  were  thrown  at  the  town  ;  the 
rtock  of  powder  with  which  Zaragoza  had  been  stored  was  ex- 
hausted ;  they  had  none  at  la.st  but  what  they  manufactured 

I  See  Xftrnilive  of  tho  Sippe  of  Zara^oui,  by  RichAnl  Chnrlei  Vnaj^ban, 
Eiq.  lV)f .    Thr'  Riglit  Honoiible  R.  C.  Vaagbjin  is  now  Crituh  Minister 
Washington.     18..:. 


day  by  day  ;  and  no  other  cannoii-halla  than  thow  v\  hich  wera 
■hot  into  the  town,  and  which  lliey  collected  and  fired  back 
U|iun  the  eiiiuiy." 

In  tile  nllll^l  of  these  horrora  and  privations,  the  |K->tilenee 
broke  out  ill  Zaragoza.  To  variou.H  cuumii,  enumerated  by  the 
annalist,  he  nilds,  "  AcaiitincKi  of  food,  rrowdi-d  qiiarlers,  unu- 
kunl  eiirtion  of  body,  anxiety  of  mind,  anil  Ihe  impo»i>iliility 
of  n'cruiting  their  exhaunied  >tn-iiglli  by  needful  rest,  in  a  citjr 
which  was  almost  incemantly  bombariled,  and  where  every 
hour  their  kleep  wai  broken  by  the  tremendous  exploaion  of 
mines.  There  was  now  no  respite,  either  by  day  or  night,  fur 
this  devoted  city  ;  even  the  natural  onler  of  light  and  dnrkiiivs 
was  destroyed  in  Zaragoza;  by  day  it  was  involved  in  a  red 
sulpliureous  almuspliire  of  smoke,  which  hiil  the  face  of 
heaven  ;  by  night,  the  fire  of  cannons  and  monara,  and  tho 
flames  of  burning  houses,  kept  it  in  a  state  of  terrific  illumina- 
tion. 

"  When  once  the  pestilence  had  begun,  it  was  impossible  to 
cheek  i(»  jirogrcss,  or  confine  it  to  one  quarter  of  the  city.  Hos- 
pitals were  immediately  established, — there  were  above  thirty 
of  them  ;  as  soon  as  one  was  destroyed  by  the  bombanlment, 
the  patients  were  removed  to  another,  and  thus  the  infection 
was  carried  to  every  part  of  Zaragoza.  Famine  aggravated 
llie  evil ;  the  city  had  probably  not  been  sufficiently  provided 
at  the  coninieiiceniint  of  the  ^il•ge,  and  of  the  jirovisions  which 
it  contained,  much  was  destroyed  in  the  daily  ruin  which  the 
mines  and  bombs  effected.  Had  the  Zaragozans  and  their  gar- 
rison proceeded  according  to  military  rules,  they  would  have 
surrendered  before  the  end  of  January  ;  their  batt<  ries  had  then 
been  demolished,  there  were  open  breaches  in  many  parts  of 
their  weak  walls,  and  the  enemy  were  aln-ady  within  the  city. 
On  the  30th,  above  sixty  houses  were  blown  up,  and  the 
French  obtained  jiossession  of  the  monasteries  of  the  Angus- 
tines  and  Los  Monicas,  which  adjoined  each  other,  two  of  the 
last  defensible  places  left.  The  enemy  forced  their  way  into 
the  church  ;  every  column,  every  chapel,  every  altar,  became 
a  point  of  defence,  which  was  repeatedly  attacked,  taken  and 
retaken  ;  the  pavement  was  cover-d  with  blood,  the  aisles  and 
body  of  the  church  strewed  with  the  dead,  ^^•llo  were  trampled 
under  foot  by  the  combatants.  In  the  midst  of  this  conflict, 
the  roof,  shattered  by  repealed  bombs,  fell  in  ;  the  few  \*lio 
were  not  crushed,  after  a  short  pause,  which  this  tremendous 
shock,  and  their  own  unexpected  escape,  occx«ioned,  renewed 
the  fight  with  rekindled  fury  ;  fresh  parties  of  the  enemy  pour- 
ed in  ;  monks,  and  citizens,  and  i^oldiers,  came  to  the  defence, 
and  tlie  contest  was  continued  upon  the  rnins,  and  the  bodies 
of  the  de.id  and  the  dying." 

Yet,  seventeen  days  after  sustaining  these  extremities,  did 
the  heroic  inhabitants  of  Zaragoza  continue  their  defence  ;  nor 
did  they  then  surrender  nntil  their  despair  bad  extracted  from 
the  French  generals  a  capitulation,  more  honorable  than  has 
been  granted  to  fortresses  of  the  first  order. 

Who  shall  venture  to  refuse  the  Zaragozans  the  culoginra 
conferred  npon  them  by  the  eloquence  of  Wordsworth ' — 
"  Most  gloriously  have  the  citizens  of  Zaragoza  proved  that 
the  true  army  of  Spain,  in  a  contest  of  tliis  nature,  is  the 
whole  people.  The  same  city  has  also  exemplified  a  melan- 
choly, yea,  a  dismal  truth, — yet  consolatory  and  full  of  joy, — 
that  when  a  people  are  called  suddenly  to  fight  for  their  liberty, 
and  are  sorely  pressed  upon,  their  best  field  of  battle  is  Ihe 
floors  upon  which  their  children  have  played  ;  the  chambers 
where  the  family  of  each  man  has  slept  (his  own  or  his  neigh- 
bors') ;  upon  or  under  the  roofs  by  which  they  have  been  shel- 
tered ;  in  the  gardens  of  their  recreation  ;  in  tho  street,  or  in 
the  market-place  ;  before  the  altars  of  their  temples,  and  among 
their  congregated  dwellings,  blazing  or  uprooted. 

"  The  government  of  Spain  must  never  forget  Zaragoza  for 
a  moment.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  produce  the  same  eflccts 
everywhere,  but  a  leading  mind,  such  as  that  city  was  blessed 
with.  In  the  latter  contest  this  has  been  jiroved  ;  for  Z;:r:i^f>- 
za  contained,  at  the  time,  bodies  of  men  from  almost  all  [jarts 
of  Spain.     The  narrative  of  those  two  sieges  should  be  tbe 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


289 


manual  of  every  Spaniard.  He  may  add  to  it  the  ancient  sto- 
ries of  Numantia  and  Saguntum  ;  let  liim  sleep  upon  the  book 
as  a  pillow,  and,  if  he  be  a  devout  adherent  to  the  religion  of 
liis  countrv,  let  him  wear  it  in  his  bosom  for  his  crucifix  to  rest 
upon." — Wordsworth  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra. 


Note  K 


The  Vault  of  Destiny— F.  280. 

Before  finally  dismissing  the  enchanted  cavern  of  Don  Rod- 
erick, it  may  be  noticed,  that  the  legend  occurs  in  one  of  Cal- 
deron's  plays,  entitled,  La  Virgin  del  .Sdgrario.  The  scene 
opens  with  tlie  noise  of  the  chase,  and  Recisundo,  a  predeces- 
sor of  Roderick  upon  the  Gothic  throne,  enters  pursuing  a  st:ig. 
The  animal  assumes  the  form  of  a  man,  and  defies  the  king  to 
enter  the  cave,  which  forms  the  bottom  of  the  sce^ie,  and  en- 
gage with  him  in  single  combat.  The  king  accepts  the  chal- 
lenge, and  they  engage  accordingly,  but  without  advantage  on 
either  side,  which  induces  the  Genie  to  inform  Recisundo,  that 
he  is  not  the  monarch  for  whom  the  adventure  of  the  enchant- 
ed cavern  is  reserved,  and  he  proceeds  to  predict  the  downl'all 
of  the  Gothic  monarchy,  and  of  the  Cliristian  religion,  which 
shall  attend  the  discovery  of  its  mysteries.  Recisundo,  ap- 
palled by  these  prophecies,  orders  the  cavern  to  be  secured  by 
a  gate  and  bolts  of  iron.  In  the  second  i)art  of  the  same  play, 
we  are  informed  that  Don  Roderick  had  removed  the  barrier, 
and  transgressed  the  prohibition  of  his  ancestor,  and  had  been 
apprized  by  the  prodigies  which  he  discovered  of  the  approach- 
mg  ruin  of  his  kingdom 


Note  0. 


While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press, 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock, 

Jind  smiled  like  Eden  in  her  summer  dress  ; — 
Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking-  wilderness. — P.  281. 

I  have  ventured  to  apply  to  the  movements  of  the  French 
army  that  sublime  passage  in  the  prophecies  of  Joel,  which 
seems  applicable  to  them  in  more  respects  than  that  I  have 
adopted  in  the  text.  One  would  think  their  ravages,  their  mil- 
itary appointments,  the  terror  which  they  spread  among  invaded 
nations,  their  military  discipline,  their  arts  of  political  intrigue 
and  deceit,  were  distinctly  pointed  out  in  the  following  verses 
of  Scripture  : — 

"  2.  A  day  of  darknesse  and  of  gloorainesse,  a  day  of  clouds 
and  of  thick  darknesse,  as  the  morning  spread  uj)on  the  moun- 
tains ;  a  great  people  and  a  strong,  there  hath  not  Deen  ever 
the  like,  neither  shall  be  any  more  after  it,  even  to  the  yeares 
of  many  generations.  3.  A  fire  devoureth  before  them,  and 
behind  them  a  flame  burneth  ;  the  land  is  as  the  garden  of 
Eden  before  them,  and  behinde  them  a  desolate  wilderness, 
yea,  and  nothing  shall  escape  them.  4.  The  appearance  of 
them  is  as  the  appearance  of  horses  and  as  horsemen,  so  shall 
they  runne.  5.  Like  the  noise  of  chariots  on  the  tops  of  moun- 
tains, shall  they  leap,  like  the  noise  of  a  llame  of  fire  that  de- 
voureth the  stubble,  as  a  strong  people  set  in  battel  array. 
6.  Before  their  face  shall  the  people  be  much  pained  ;  all  faces 
shall  gather  blacknesse.  7.  They  shall  run  like  miglity  men, 
they  shall  climb  the  wall  like  men  of  warro,  and  they  shall 
march  every  one  in  his  wayes,  and  they  shall  not  break  then: 
ranks.  8.  Neither  shall  one  thrust  another,  they  shall  walk 
every  one  in  his  path  :  and  when  they  fall  upon  tiie  sword, 
they  shall  not  be  wounded.  9.  They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in 
the  citie  ;  they  shall  run  upon  the  wall,  they  shall  climbe  up  up- 
on the  houses  :  they  shall  enter  in  at  the  windows  like  a  thief. 
10.  The  earth  shall  fjuake  before  them,  the  heavens  shall 
37 


tremble,  the  sunne  and  the  moon  shall  bo  dark,  and  the  starrei 
shall  withdraw  their  shining." 

In  verse  20th  also,  which  announces  the  retreat  of  the  nor- 
thern army,  described  in  sucli  dreadful  colors,  into  a  "land 
barren  and  desolate,"  and  the  dishonor  with  which  God  afflic'. 
ed  them  for  having  "  magnified  themselves  to  do  great  things, 
these  are  particulars  not  inapplicable  to  the  retreat  of  Massena  : 
— Divine  Providence  having,  in  all  ages,  attached  disgrace  as 
the  natural  punishment  of  cruelty  and  presumption 


Note  P. 


The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  bom. 

With  horror  -paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 
Oave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  forlorn. — P.  281. 

Even  the  unexampled  gallantry  of  the  British  array  in  the 
campaign  of  1810-11,  although  they  never  fought  but  to  con- 
quer, will  do  them  less  honor  in  history  than  their  linmanity, 
attentive  to  soften  to  the  utmost  of  their  power  the  horrors 
which  war,  in  its  mildest  aspect,  must  always  inflict  upon  the 
defenceless  inhabitants  of  the  country  in  which  it  is  waged, 
and  which,  on  this  occasion,  were  tenfold  augmented  by  the 
barbarous  cruelties  of  the  French.  ?oup-kitchens  were  estab- 
lished by  subscription  among  the  oflicers,  wherever  the  troops 
were  quartered  for  any  length  of  time.  The  commissaries  con- 
tributed the  heads,  feet,  &c.  of  the  cattle  slaughtered  for  the 
soldiery  :  rice,  vegetables,  and  bread,  where  it  could  be  had, 
were  purchased  by  the  officers.  Fifty  or  sixty  starving  peas- 
ants were  daily  fed  at  one  of  these  regimental  establishments, 
and  carried  home  the  relics  to  their  famishing  households.  The 
emaciated  wretches,  who  could  not  crawl  from  weakness,  were 
speedily  employed  in  pruning  their  vines.  While  pursuing 
Massena,  the  soldiere  evinced  the  same  spirit  of  humanity,  and 
in  many  instances,  when  reduced  themselves  to  short  allowance, 
from  having  out-marched  their  supplies,  they  sjiared  their  pit- 
tance with  the  starving  inhabitants,  who  had  ventured  back  to 
view  the  ruins  of  their  habitations,  burnt  by  the  retreating  en- 
emy, and  to  bury  the  bodies  of  their  relations  whom  they  had 
butchered.  Is  it  possible  to  know  such  facts  without  feeling  a 
sort  of  confidence,  that  those  who  so  well  deserve  victory  are 
most  likely  to  attain  it  ?— It  is  not  the  least  of  Lord  Welling- 
ton's military  merits,  that  the  slightest  disposition  towards  ma- 
rauding meets  immediate  punishment.  Independently  of  aU 
moral  obligation,  the  army  which  is  most  orderly  in  a  friendly 
country,  has  always  proved  most  formidable  to  an  armed  en- 
emy. 


Note  Q. 


Vain-glorious  fugitive  I — P.  282. 

The  French  conducted  this  memorable  retreat  with  much  o' 
the  fanfarronade  proper  to  their  country,  by  which  they  at- 
tempt to  impose  upon  others,  and  perhaps  on  themselves,  a  be- 
lief that  they  are  triumphing  in  the  very  moment  of  their  dis- 
comfiture. On  the  30th  March,  1811,  their  rear  guara  was 
overtaken  near  Pega  by  the  British  cavalry.  Being  well  posted, 
and  conceiving  themselves  safe  from  infantry  (who  were  indeed 
many  miles  in  the  rear),  and  from  artillery,  they  indulged  them- 
selves in  parading  their  bands  of  music,  and  actually  performed 
"God  save  the  King."  Their  minstrelsy  was,  however,  de- 
ranged by  the  nndesired  accompaniment  of  the  British  horse- 
artillery,  on  whose  part  in  the  concert  they  had  not  calculated. 
The  surprise  was  sudden,  and  the  rout  complete  ;  for  the  artil- 
lery and  cavalry  did  execution  upon  them  for  about  four  miles, 
pursuing  at  the  gallop  as  often  as  they  got  beyond  tlie  range  o 
the  guns 


290 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


NOTK  R. 


r  Jititin, 


^nd  froHl  the ji ,  •'■. 

Hitlk  frantic  charge  and  ten/aid  odds,  in  vain  .'—P.  282. 

In  the  levoro  action  of  Fuciitm  d'Hoiioro,  U]'  ^'    ■  . 

Itfll,  til''  ir  ml  riiT-  nf  ill,'  IV.  atli  cavulry  otinr  t 

ofthv  I  iwo  RUiis  of  the  honio-arul- 

Irry,  ui. V.    , ....:>.    Allor  »uBt.'riiig  coiinidtra- 

bly  from  the  fire  of  «lio  guiw,  which  annoyftl  tlu-m  in  every  al- 
ti'inpt  St  fir:  ■'  my  turned  Ihi'ir  wralh  entirely  to- 

watju  theui  'ly  anions  tl'eir  troop<-r»,  and  ad- 

vanced to  carry  lli'j  li^  Mi  the  de^|>eralioii  of  drunken 

fun'.     Ttiey  were  in  i,  kud  by  tlie  lieavy  los>  wlilcli 

d  in  thin  ilar.ajj  uUcnipt,  but  closi-d,  and  fairly 
1      _  li  the  Uriti-ih  cavalry,  to  whom  they  bore  the  [iro- 

ponion  ol  ten  to  one.     Ciiptain  Raiii^iay  (\vl  nie  be  iwrinitted 
to  nauio  a  gallant  countryman),  who  commanded  the  two  guns, 
disuiiascd  them  at  the  gallop,  and  putting  himself  at  the  head 
of  tlie  mounted  artillerymen,  ordered  them  to  full  upon  tlie 
French,  »abr»-in-liand.     This  very  unexpected  conversion  of 
■    '  rvmeu  into  dragoons,  contributed  greatly  to  the  defeat  of 
iny,  already  disconcerted  by  the  reception  they  had  met 
.u  Uritiiih  squadrons  ;  and  the  appearance  of  some 
Tcemcnts,  notwilli^tandiiig  the  immense  dispropor^ 
I'orce,  put  tliciu  to  absolute  rout.     A  colonel  or  major 
r  cnvalry.  and  many  prisoners  (almost  all  into.\icated), 
r  -ion.    Those  who  consider  for  a  moment 

rviccs,  and  how  much  an  artilleryman  is 
nece«sarily  and  naturally  led  to  identify  his  own  safety  and 
ntihty  with  abiding  by  the  tremendous  implement  of  war,  to 
the  exercise  of  which  he  is  chiefly,  if  not  oiclnsivcly  trained, 
will  know  how  to  estimate  tho  presence  of  mind  which  com- 
manded so  bold  a  niana-uvre,  and  tlie  steadiness  and  coulidence 
with  which  it  was  executed. 


Notes. 


.Ind  what  avails  thee  Oial,  for  Cameron  slatn, 
Wild  from  his  plaidcd  ranks  the  yell  was  gioen. — P.  282. 

The  gallant  Colonel  Cameron  was  wonnded  mortally  during 
the  desperate  contest  in  the  streets  of  the  village  called  Fuentcs 
d'lloiioro.  He  fell  at  the  head  of  his  native  Highlanders,  the 
71st  and  79lh,  who  raised  a  dreailfnl  shriek  of  grief  and  rage. 
They  charged,  with  irresistible  fury,  the  finest  body  of  French 
gn.nadicrs  ever  seen,  being  a  part  of  Bonaparte's  selected 
g-ir^ri.  The  officer  who  led  the  French,  a  man  remarkable  for 
-ymraetry,  was  killed  on  the  spot.  Tlie  French- 
I  '  -cpiied  out  of  his  rar.k  to  take  aim  at  Colonel  Cam- 

eron was  abio  bayoneted,  pierced  with  a  thousand  wounds,  and 
almon  torn  to  pieces  by  the  furious  Highlanders,  who,  under 
the  command  of  Colonel  Cadogan,  bore  tlie  enemy  out  of  the 
contested  ground  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Massena  pays 
my  countrymen  a  singular  compliment  in  his  account  of  the  at- 
tack and  defence  of  this  village,  in  which  be  says  tlio  British 
lost  many  officen,  and  Scotch. 


NoteT. 


But  you,  ye  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day,  f,-c. — P.  282. 

[The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  offered  the  following  remarks  on 
what  he  considered  as  an  unjust  omission  in  this  part  of  the 
poem: — 

"We  are  not  very  apt,"  ho  says,  "to  quarrel  with  a  poet 
for  his  politics  ;  and  really  snpposcil  it  next  to  impossible  that 
Mr.  Scott  should  n;.Te  given  ns  any  ground  of  dissatisfaction 
on  lliis  ?core,  in  the  management  of  his  prfi'iit  tli<iiio      Lord 


Wellington  and  his  fellow-»o1dlcrs  well  deserved  tho  laurel* 
they  have  won  : — nor  is  theru  one  British  heart,  we  believe, 
tlial  will  not  feci  pruud  and  grateful  fur  all  tho  lionura  with 
which  Itrilixh  genius  cnn  invest  their  names.  In  the  praises 
which  Mr.  Scott  lins  lii-stowed,  therefore,  all  his  n'adcn  will 
synipallii/.c  ;  but  fur  those  wliicli  he  hiu  vilh/iilil,  llKro  are 
KOiiio  that  will  not  so  readily  t'urgivo  him  :  and  in  our  eyes  wu 
will  confew,  it  is  a  sin  not  easily  to  bo  expiated,  that  in  a  poom 
written  substantially  for  the  pnrjioso  of  comnieiiioiating  tho 
bravo  who  have  fought  or  fallen  in  Spain  or  I'unugul — and 
written  by  a  Scotchman — tlierv  should  be  no  menlion  of  thu 
name  of  MooltE  ! — of  the  only  commandei^in-cliief  who  has 
fallen  in  this  niemorablo  contest ; — of  a  commander  who  was 
aeknowleilgi;d  as  the  model  and  pattern  of  a  British  soldier, 
when  British  sulilierM  stood  most  in  need  of  such  an  example : 
— ami  was,  ut  the  same  time,  distinguished  not  less  for  every 
manly  virtue  and  generous  affeotion,  than  for  skill  and  gallantry 
in  his  prolession,  A  more  pure,  or  a  more  exalted  character, 
certainly  has  not  appeared  upon  that  scene  which  Mr.  Hcott 
has  sought  to  illustrate  with  the  splendor  of  his  genius  ;  and  it 
is  with  a  mixture  of  shame  and, indignation  th.it  we  find  him 
grudging  a  single  ray  of  that  profuse  and  readily  yiehled  glory 
to  gild  the  grave  of  his  lamented  countryman.  To  oflir  a  lav- 
ish tribute  of  praise  to  the  living,  whose  task  u  still  incomplete, 
may  be  gi-nerous  and  munificent ; — bat  to  departed  merit,  it  is 
due  in  strictness  of  justice.  Who  will  deny  that  Sir  John 
Moore  was  all  that  wo  have  now  said  of  him  ?  or  who  will 
doubt  that  liLs  untimely  death  in  the  hour  of  victory  would 
have  bec'i  eagerly  seized  upon  by  an  impartial  poet,  as  a  nobla 
theme  for  generous  lamentation  and  eloquent  praise  1  But  .Mr. 
Scott's  political  friends  have  fancied  it  lor  their  interest  to  ca- 
lumnialo  tlie  memory  of  this  illustrious  and  accomplished  per- 
son,— and  Mr.  !?cott  has  iiermitted  the  spirit  of  party  to  stand 
in  the  way,  not  only  of  poetical  justice,  but  of  patriotic  and 
generous  feeling. 

"It  is  this  for  which  we  grieve,  and  feel  ashamed  ; — this 
hardening  and  deadening  eflect  of  political  animosities,  in  cases 
where  politics  should  have  nothing  to  do  ;— this  apparent  per^ 
version,  not  merely  of  the  judgment,  but  of  the  heart ; — thisim- 
])laoable  resentment,  which  wars  not  only  with  the  Itving,  but 
with  the  dead  ; — and  thinks  it  a  reason  for  defrauding  a  de- 
parted warrior  of  his  glorj',  that  a  political  antagonist  has  been 
zealous  in  his  praise.  These  things  are  lamentable,  and  they 
cannot  be  alluded  to  without  some  emotions  of  sorrow  and  re- 
sentment. But  they  aflcct  not  the  fame  of  him  on  whose  ac- 
count these  emotions  are  suggested.  The  wars  of  Spain,  and 
the  merits  of  Sir  John  Moore,  will  be  commemorated  in  a  more 
imjiartial  and  a  more  imperishable  record,  than  the  Vision  of 
Don  Roderick  ;  and  his  humble  monument  ia  the  Citadel  of 
Corunna  will  draw  the  tears  and  the  admiration  of  thousands, 
who  concern  not  themselves  about  the  exploits  of  his  more  foi^ 
tunate  associates." — Edinbjrgh  Review,  vol.  xviii.  1811. 

The  reader  who  desires  to  understand  Sir  Walter  Scott's  de- 
liberate opinion'  on  the  subject  of  Sir  John  .Moore's  military 
character  and  conduct,  is  referred  to  the  Life  of  Najiolcon 
Bonaparte,  vol.  vi.  chap.  xlvi.  But  perhaps  it  may  be  neither 
unamusing  nor  nninstructive  to  consider,  along  with  the  dia- 
tribe just  quoted  from  the  Edinburgh  Review,  some  reflections 
from  the  pen  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  himself  on  the  injustice  done 
to  a  name  greater  than  Moore's  in  the  noble  stanzas  on  tho 
Battle  of  Waterloo,  in  the  third  canto  of  ChiMe  Harold — an 
injustice  which  did  not  call  forth  any  rebuke  from  the  Edin 
burgh  critics.     Sir  Walter,  in  reviewing  this  canto,  said, 

"  ChiUle  Harold  arrives  on  Waterloo — a  scene  where  all 
men,  where  a  poet  esnecia.ly,  and  a  poet  such  as  Lord  Byron, 
must  needs  pause,  and  amid  the  quiet  simplicity  of  whose 
scenery  is  excited  a  moral  interest,  deeper  and  more  potent  even 
than  that  which  is  produced  by  gazing  upon  the  sublimcsi 
eflbrts  of  Nature  in  her  most  romantic  recesses. 

"That  Lord  Byron's  sentiments  do  not  correspond  with 
curs,  is  obvious,  and  we  are  sorry  for  both  our  sakcs.  For  our 
own — because  we  have  lost  that  note  of  triumph  ivith  which 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


291 


nis  harp  would  otherwise  have  rung  over  a  field  of  glory  such 
us  Britain  never  reaped  before  ;  and  on  Lord  Byron's  account, 
— because  it  is  melanclioly  to  see  a  man  of  genius  duped  by  the 
mere  cant  of  words  and  phrases,  even  when  facts  are  most 
broadly  confronted  with  them.  If  the  poet  has  mixed  with  tlie 
original,  wild,  and  magnificent  creations  of  his  imagination, 
prejudices  which  he  could  only  have  caught  by  the  contagion 
which  he  most  professes  to  despise,  it  is  he  liimself  that  must 
be  the  loser.  If  his  lofty  muse  has  soared  in  all  her  brilliancy 
over  the  field  ot  Waterloo  without  dropping  even  one  leaf  of 
laurel  on  the  head  of  Wellington,  his  merit  can  dispense  even 
with  the  praise  of  Lord  Byron.  And  as  when  the  images  of 
Brutus  were  excluded  from  the  triumphal  procession,  his  mem- 
ory became  only  the  more  powerfully  imprinted  on  the  souls  of 
the  Romans — the  name  of  the  British  hero  will  be  but  more 
eagerly  recalled  lo  reniem'  /ance  by  llie  very  lines  in  which  his 
praise  is  forgotten." — Qwrlcrly  Review,  vol.  xvi.     1816. 

Ed. 


Note  U. 

O  who  shall  grudf:  him  Albucra's  bays. 
Who  brought  a  raci  regenerate  to  the  field, 

Housed  them  to  e-nulate  their  fathers'  praise. 
Tempered  their  her  Uong  rage,  their  courage  steel'd, 

And  raised  fair  Lusitania'  s  fallen  shield. — P.  283. 

Nothing  during  thf  war  of  Portugal  seems,  to  a  distinct  ob- 
server, ir.ore  deservir^  of  praise,  than  the  self-devotion  of 
Field-Marshal  BereM..^d,  who  was  contented  to  undertake  all 
the  hazard  of  obU  ..ivy  which  might  have  been  founded  upon 
any  miscarriage  in  'Be  highly  important  experiment  of  training 
the  Portuguese  tr<j„ps  to  an  improved  state  of  discipline.  In 
exposing  his  miliijuy  reputation  to  the  censure  of  imprudence 
from  the  most  Lj.;derate,  and  all  manner  of  unutterable  calum- 
nies from  the  i^jorant  and  malignant,  he  placed  at  stake  the 
dearest  pled;  =»  *hich  a  military  man  had  to  offer,  and  nothing 
but  the  deej,'.»'.  conviction  of  the  high  and  essential  importance 
attacUa/i  ti,  ftiiccess  can  be  supposed  an  adequate  motive. 
IIow  gxaol  the  chance  of  miscarriage  was  supposed,  may  be 


estimated  from  the  general  opinion  of  officers  of  unquestioned 
talents  and  experience,  possessed  of  every  opportunity  of  infor- 
mation ;  how  completely  the  experiment  has  succeeded,  ano 
how  much  the  spirit  and  patriotism  of  our  ancient  allies  had 
been  underrated,  is  evident,  not  only  from  those  victories  ia 
which  they  have  borne  a  distinguished  sliare,  but  from  the  lib- 
eral and  highly  honorable  manner  in  which  these  opinions  have 
been  retracted.  The  success  of  this  plan,  with  all  its  important 
consequences,  we  owe  to  the  indefatigable  exertions  of  Field- 
Marshal  Beresford. 


Note  V. 


a  race  renoicn'd  of  old, 

Whose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle-swell. 

the  conquering  shout  of  Orceme. — P.  283. 


Tills  stanza  alludes  to  the  various  achievements  of  the  war- 
like family  of  Grame,  or  Graharae.  They  are  said,  by  tradi- 
tion, to  have  descended  from  the  Scottish  chief,  under  whose 
command  his  countrymen  stormed  the  wall  built  by  the  Em- 
peror Severus  between  the  Friths  of  Forth  and  Clyde,  the 
fragments  of  which  are  still  popularly  called  Grseme's  Dyke. 
Sir  John  the  Grierae,  "the  hardy  wight,  and  wise,"  is  well 
known  as  the  friend  of  Sir  William  Wallace.  Alderne,  Kil- 
sythe,  and  Tibbermuir,  were  scenes  of  the  victories  of  die  lie- 
roic  Manjuis  of  Montrose.  The  pass  of  Killycrankie  is  famous 
for  the  action  between  King  William's  forces  and  the  High- 
landers in  1689, 

"  Where  glad  Dundee  in  faint  huzzas  expired." 

It  is  seldom  that  one  line  can  number  so  many  heroes,  and 
yet  more  rare  when  it  can  appeal  to  the  glory  of  a  living  de- 
scendant in  support  of  its  ancient  renown. 

The  allusions  to  the  private  liistory  and  character  of  General 
Grahame,  may  be  illustrated  by  referring  to  the  eloquent  and 
affecting  speech  of  ftlr.  Sheridan,  upon  the  vote  of  tlianks  to 
the  Victor  of  Baroea. 


\\  0  k  c  b  11 : 


A   POEM,   IN   SIX   CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

Siu  W'alteu  Scott  commenced  the  composition 
of  ItoKEnv  at  Abbotsfonl,  on  tlic  15tli  of  Sep- 
toiiilKT,  ISI'2,  luul  liniahi;cl  it  on  the  liist  day  of  the 
following  December. 

The  render  may  be  interested  witli  the  fuUow- 
iiig  extracts  .rom  liis  letters  to  his  friend  and 
printer,  Mr.  Balbuityne. 

"  Mbot.fford,  28M  Oct.,  1812. 

"  Deau  Javes, — I  send  you  to-day  better  th:m 

V  '  '  '  •  ■•  f  f,,  n^  and  I  tru.st  to  send 
ti  !i  the  course  of  the  week. 

I  expect  that  you  will  have  three  cantos  complete 
1"  '  '.it  this  jiliicc — on  the  11th  of  Novem- 
J.  ly,  if  you  do  your  part,  tlie  poem  may 

Ix!  out  by  Christmas ;  but  you  nmst  not  daudle 
over  your  typo^aphical  scruples.  I  have  too 
much  respect  fur  tlie  public  to  neglect  anj'  thing 
in  my  poem  to  attract  their  attention;  and  you 
f)  ■  ■  •  t'Kxl  me  much  when  you  supposed  that 
1  ^  :  :uiy  new  experiments  in  point  of  conipo- 
eit  ion.  I  only  meant  to  say  that  knowing  well  that 
till-  -aid  public  will  never  be  pleased  with  exactly 
tin,-  ?ame  thing  a  second  time,  I  saw  the  necessity 
of  eivine  a  certain  degree  of  novelty,  by  throwing 
tl  t  more  on  character  than  in  my  former 

]  .     .thout  certainly  meaning  to  exclude  either 

i'  i  i.nt  or  description.  I  tliink  you  will  see  the 
ranie  ?ort  of  difference  taken  in  all  my  former  po- 
ems, of  which  I  would  say,  if  it  is  fair  for  me  to 
say  any  thing,  tliat  the  force  in  the  Lay  is  thi'own 
on  style,  in  Marmion  on  description,  and  in  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake  on  incident." 

"  ^d  KornnhT. — As  for  my  story,  the  conduct 
'jf  flio  jdot,  which  must  be  made  natural  and  easy, 
prevents  my  intr<Klucing  any  thing  light  for  some 
time.  You  must  advert,  that  in  order  to  give 
poetical  effect  to  any  incident,  I  am  often  obliged 
to  be  much  longer  than  I  expected  in  the  detail 
You  are  too  much  like  the  coimtry  squire  in  the 
what  d'ye  call  it,  who  commands  that  the  play 
should  not  only  be  a  tragedy  and  comedy,  but 
that  it  should  be  crowned  with  a  spice  of  your 
pastoral.     As  for  what  is  popular,  and  what  peo- 


ple like,  and  so  forth,  it  is  all  a  joke.  Be  interest 
ing ;  do  the  thing  well,  and  the  only  difference 
■will  be,  that  people  will  like  what  they  never 
liked  ^before,  and  will  like  it  so  much  the  better 
for  the  novelty  of  their  feelings  towards  it.  Dul- 
ness  and  tameness  are  the  only  irreparable  faults." 

"  Dcccmher  Zlst. — With  kindest  wishes  on  the 
return  of  the  season,  I  send  you  the  last  of  the 
copy  of  Rokeby.  If  you  are  not  engaged  at  home, 
and  like  to  cull  in,  we  will  drink  good  luck  to  it ; 
but  do  liot  derange  a  family  party. 

"  Tliere  is  something  odd  and  melancholy  in  con- 
cluding a  poem  with  the  year,  and  I  could  be  al- 
most silly  and  sentimental  about  it.  I  hope  you 
think  I  liave  done  my  best.  I  assure  you  of  my 
wishes  the  work  may  succeed ;  and  my  exertions 
to  get  out  in  time  were  more  inspired  by  your  in- 
terest and  Jolm's,  than  my  own.  And  so  vogue 
la  galtre.  W.  S." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

Between  the  publication  of  "  Tlie  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  which  was  so  eminently  successful,  and 
that  of  "  Rokeby,"  in  1813,  tlu-ee  years  had  inter- 
vened. I  shall  not,  I  believe,  be  accused  of  ever 
having  attempted  to  usurp  a  superiority  over 
many  men  of  genius,  my  contemporaries ;  but,  in 
point  of  popularity,  not  of  actual  talent,  the  ca- 
price of  the  public  had  certainly  given  me  such  a 
temporary  superiority  over  men,  of  whom,  in  re- 
gard to  poetical  fancy  and  feeling,  I  scarcely 
thought  myself  worthy  to  loose  the  shoe-latch. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  absurd  affectation 
in  me  to  deny,  that  I  conceived  myself  to  under- 
stand, more  perfectly  than  many  of  my  contempo- 
raries, the  manner  most  likely  to  interest  the  great 
mass  of  mankind.  Yet,  even  with  this  belief,  I 
must  truly  and  fairly  say,  that  I  always  considered 
myself  rather  as  one  who  held  the  bets,  in  time  to 
be  paid  over  to  the  winner,  than  as  having  any 
pretence  to  keep  them  in  my  own  right. 

In  the  mean  time  years  crept  on,  and  not  with- 
out their  usual  depredations  on  the  passing  gen- 
eration. My  sons  had  amved  at  the  age  when 
the  paternal  home  was  no  longer  thek  best  abode 


ROiaiBY. 


293 


as  both  were  destined  to  active  life.  The  field- 
sports,  to  which  I  was  pecuharly  attached,  had 
now  less  interest,  and  were  replaced  by  other 
amusements  of  a  more  quiet  character ;  and  the 
means  and  opportunity  of  pursuing  these  were  to 
be  sought  for.  I  had,  indeed,  for  some  years  at- 
tended to  farming,  a  knowledge  of  which  is,  or  at 
least  was  then,  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of  a 
family  residing  in  a  sohtary  country-house ;  but 
althougli  this  was  the  favorite  amusement  of  many 
of  my  friends,  I  have  never  been  able  to  consider 
it  as  a  som-ce  of  pleasm-e.  I  never  could  think  it 
a  matter  of  passing  importance,  that  my  cattle  or 
crops  were  better  or  more  plentiful  than  those  of 
my  neighbors,  and  nevertheless  I  began  to  feel  the 
necessity  of  some  more  quiet  out-door  occupation, 
different  from  those  I  had  hitherto  pursued.  I 
purchased  a  small  farm  of  about  one  hundi'cd 
acres,  with  the  purpose  of  planting  and  hn proving 
it,  to  which  property  chcumstances  afterwards 
enabled  me  to  make  considerable  additions ;  and 
thus  an  era  took  place  in  my  life  almost  equal  to 
the  important  one  mentioned  by  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  when  he  removed  fi-om  the  Blue-room 
to  the  Brown.  In  point  of  neighborhood,  at  least, 
the  change  of  residence  made  httle  more  differ- 
ence. Abbotsford,  to  which  we  removed,  was 
only  six  or  seven  miles  down  the  Tweed,  and  lay 
on  the  same  beautiful  stream.  It  did  not  possess 
the  romantic  character  of  Ashestiel,  my  former 
residence ;  but  it  had  a  stretch  of  meadow-land 
along  the  river,  and  possessed,  in  the  phrase  of 
the  landscape-gardener,  considerable  capabihties. 
Above  aU,  the  land  was  my  own,  like  Uncle  To- 
by's BowUng-green,  to  do  what  I  would  witL  It 
had  been,  though  the  gratification  was  long  post- 
poned, an  early  wish  of  mine  to  connect  myself 
with  my  mother  earth,  and  prosecute  those  exper- 
iments by  which  a  species  of  creative  power  is 
exercised  over  the  face  of  nature.  I  can  trace, 
even  to  childhood,  a  pleasm'e  derived  from  Dods- 
ley's  accomit  of  Sheustone's  Leasowes,  and  I  en- 
vied the  poet  much  more  for  the  pleasure  of  ac- 
complisliing  the  objects  detailed  m  his  friend's 
sketch  of  his  gi'ounds,  than  for  the  possession  of 
pipe,  crook,  flock,  and  Plnllis  to  boot.  My  mem- 
ory, also,  tenacious  of  quamt  expressions,  stiU  re- 
tained a  phi'ase  wliich  it  had  gathered  fi'om  an  old 
almanac  of  Charles  the  Second's  time  (when  every 
thmg  down  to  almanacs  affected  to  be  smart),  m 
wliich  the  reader,  in  the  month  of  June,  is  advised 
for  health's  sake  to  walk  a  mile  or  two  eveiy  day 
before  breakfast,  and  if  he  can  possibly  so  man- 
age, to  let  his  exercise  be  taken  upon  his  own  land. 
With  the  satisfaction  of  having  attained  the 
fulfilment  of  an  early  and  long-cherished  hope,  I 
commenced  my  improvements,  as  deUghtful  in 
their  progress  as  those  of  the  cluld  who  fii-st  makes 


a  dress  for  a  new  doll.  The  nakedness  of  the  land 
was  in  tune  hidden  by  woodlands  of  considerable 
extent — ^the  smallest  of  possible  cottages  was  pro- 
gi-essively  expanded  into  a  sort  of  di'eam  of  a 
mansion-house,  whimsical  in  the  exterior,  but  con- 
venient within.  Nor  did  I  forget  what  is  the  nat- 
ural pleasure  of  every  man  who  has  been  a  read- 
er ;  I  mean  the  filhng  the  shelves  of  a  tolerably 
large  hbraiy.  All  these  objects  I  kept  in  view, 
to  be  executed  as  convenience  should  serve ;  and, 
although  I  knew  many  years  must  elapse  before 
they  could  be  attained,  I  was  of  a  disposition  to 
comfort  myself  with  the  Spanish  proverb,  "  Time 
and  I  agauist  any  two." 

Tlie  difiicult  and  indispensable  point,  of  finding 
a  permanent  subject  of  occupation,  was  now  at 
length  attained  ;  but  there  was  annexed  to  it  the 
necessity  of  becoming  again  a  candidate  for  pubUc 
favor ;  for,  as  I  was  turned  improver  on  the  earth 
of  the  eveiy-day  world,  it  was  vmder  condition 
that  the  small  tenement  of  Parnassus,  which  might 
be  accessible  to  my  labors,  should  not  remain  un- 
cultivated. 

I  meditated,  at  first,  a  poem  on  the  subject  of 
Bruce,  in  wliich  I  made  some  progress,  but  after- 
wards judged  it  advisable  to  lay  it  aside,  suppo- 
sing that  an  Enghsh  story  might  have  more  nov- 
elty; in  consequence,  the  precedence  was  given 
to  "  Rokeby." 

If  subject  and  scenery  could  have  influenced  the 
fate  of  a  poem,  that  of  "  Eokeby"  should  have  been 
eminently  fUstmguished ;  for  the  grounds  belonged 
to  a  dear  friend,  with  whom  I  had  lived  in  habits 
of  intunacy  for  many  yeai's,  and  the  place  itself 
united  the  romantic  beauties  of  the  wilds  of  Scot- 
land with  the  rich  and  smihng  aspect  of  the  south- 
ern portion  of  the  island.  But  the  Cavahers  and 
Eoundheads,  whom  I  attempted  to  summon  up  to 
tenant  this  beautiful  region,  had  for  the  pubUc 
neither  the  novelty  nor  the  peculiar  interest  of  the 
primitive  Highlanders.  This,  perhaps,  was  scarce- 
ly to  be  expected,  considering  that  the  general 
mind  sympatliizes  readily  and  at  once  "with  the 
stamp  which  nature  herself  has  affixed  upon  the 
manners  of  a  people  living  in  a  simple  and  patri- 
archal state  ;  whereas  it  has  more  difficulty  in 
understanding  or  interesting  itself  in  manners 
fomided  upon  those  peculiar  habits  of  thinking  or 
acting,  which  are  produced  by  the  progress  of  so- 
ciety. We  could  read  with  pleasm-e  the  tale  of 
the  adventiu'es  of  a  Cossack  or  a  Mongol  Tartar, 
while  we  only  wonder  and  stare  over  those  of  the 
lovers  in  the  "  Pleasing  Chinese  History,"  wliere 
the  embarrassments  tm-n  upon  difficulties  ai-ising 
out  of  unintelhgible  deUcacies  pecuhar  to  the  cus- 
toms and  manners  of  that  affected  people. 

Tlie  cause  of  my  failm-e  had,  however,  a  far 
deeper  root.     The  manner,  or  style,  which,  by  its 


29 1 


SCO'n"S  POETICAL  WORKa 


..>ro 

tlteu),  <  tl>u  pntifuce  uf  tlio  ruuili-r,  and 

•         ■  •        ,•».     The  ro- 

"phizoil  tbo 

authur  iu  the  lau^piugo  of  ruruuU'B  Kilwiii : — 

■•  Aod  bff«  revarw  |Im>  cliuin,  ho  criM, 


rho  licentious  oombiimtion  of  rhymes,  in  n  man 

nor  not  pcrhnp«  very  congenial  to  our  laiigimge, 

I  "      1  to  tho  nutlior.     Indeeil.  in 

'lO  inventors  of  (*u(;li  uovulties 

Irnvo  tlioir  reputation  destroyed  by  their  own  imi- 

11  foil  umlff  tho  fury  of  his  own 

.     ,  . .     lit  anther,  Uke  IJobailil,  luul  taught 

.  of  fence  to  a  hundred  gentlemen  (and  la- 

1   ft-nce  very  nearly,  or  quite  as 

For  tliia  there  was  no  remedy ; 

tho  hn:  ame  tiresome  and  ordinary,  and 

b<  •  r  and  his  invention  must 

lui..    / ,...  •  V ...j/t   if  lie  had  not  found  out 

another  road  to  public  favor.  WTiat  has  been  said 
of  thf  metre  only,  must  bo  considered  to  apply 
equally  to  the  structure  of  the  Poem  and  of  the 
style.  The  very  best  passages  of  any  popular 
style  arc  not,  pcrhaj>8,  8U«ccptiblc  of  imitation, 
but  they  may  be  approached  by  men  of  talent ; 
and  those  who  are  loss  able  to  copy  them,  at  least 
lay  hold  of  their  peculiar  features,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce a  strong  burlesque.  In  either  way,  the  effect 
of  the  manner  is  rendered  cheap  and  common ; 
and,  in  the  latter  case,  ridiculous  to  boot.  Tlie 
evi'  -  ■  -icnccs  to  an  author's  reputation  are  at 
lea  il  as  those  which  come  upon  the  musi- 

cal composer,  when  lus  melody  falls  into  the  hands 
of  the  street  ballad-singer. 

Of  tlio  unfavorable  species  of  imitation,  the  au- 
thor's stylo  gave  room  to  a  very  large  number, 
ov  '  '  i  appearance  of  faciUty  to  which  some 
of  no  used  the  measure   imquestionably 

leaned  to6  far.  The  eflfect  of  the  more  favorable 
in.;'   *'  1  by  persons  of  talent,  was  al- 

ni'         _  inate  to  the  original  minstrel, 

by  showing  that  they  could  overshoot  him  with  liis 
fiwn  Impw.  In  sliort,  the  jwpularity  wliich  once  at- 
ti'ii'li'il  tin!  Si-liool,  as  it  was  called,  was  now  fast 
decaying. 

'  "  Scott  ronnd  pccaliar  favor  and  imitAtion  among  the  fair 
KX :  thcro  waa  Min  Ilalfonl,  and  Miss  Mitford,  and  MUs 
Francii :  but,  with  tiic  prvr.test  rwpoct  be  il  spoken,  none  ot 
ku  imitaton  did  moch  honor  to  the  original,  except  Hog;,  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd,  ontil  the  appearance  of  the  '  Bridal  of  Trier- 
main'  and  '  Harold  Uic  DaantleM,'  which,  in  the  opinion  of 
■ome,  cqnalled,  if  not  aorpaised,  him  ;  and  lo!  after  three  or 
fonr  ycan>,  they  tamed  out  to  be  the  Master's  own  compwi- 
Uoi»." — Byron's  Iforku,  vol.  xv.  p.  Wi. 

*  "  Theio  two  Cantos  were  pablithcd  in  London  in  March, 


Besides  all  this,  to  have  kept  his  ground  at  iho 
crisw  when  "  Uokeby"  appeared,  its  author  ought 
to  have  put  forth  his  utmost  strength,  and  to  have 
possessed  at  leitst  all  his  original  advimtiiges,  for  a 
niiglity  and  unexpected  rival  was  advimcing  on 
the  stage — a  rival  not  iu  i)oetical  powers  only,  but 
in  that  art  of  attracting  popularity,  in  which  the 
present  writer  had  hitherto  preceded  better  men 
tlian  himself.  The  reader  will  easily  see  tliat 
Byron  is  here  meant,  who,  after  a  little  vclitatiou 
of  no  great  promise,  now  appeared  Jis  a  seriijus 
candidate,  in  the  "  lust  two  Cmitos  of  Cliiide  Har- 
old.'"* I  was  astonislied  at  the  power  evinced  by 
that  work,  which  neither  the  "  Hours  of  Idleness," 
nor  the  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers," 
liud  prepared  me  to  expect  from  its  autlior.  Thcro 
was  a  deptli  in  his  thought,  an  eager  abundance  in 
his  diction,  which  argued  full  confidence  iu  the  in- 
exliaustiblc  resources  of  which  he  felt  liimself  pos- 
sessed ;  and  there  was  gome  appearance  of  tliat 
labor  of  the  file,  which  indicaU:«  that  the  author 
is  conscious  of  the  necessity  of  doing  i^very  justice 
to  his  work,  that  it  may  pass  warrant.  Lord  By- 
ron was  also  a  traveller,  a  man  whose  ideas  wete 
fired  by  having  seen,  in  distant  scenes  of  difficulty 
and  danger,  the  places  wliose  very  names  are  re- 
corded in  our  bosoms  as  the  shrines  of  ancient 
poetry.  For  his  own  misfortune,  perhaps,  Vjut  cer- 
tainly to  the  high  increase  of  liis  poetical  charac- 
ter, nature  had  mixed  in  Lord  Byron's  system  th'w?6 
passions  which  agitate  the  human  licart  with  most 
violence,  and  wliich  may  be  said  to  have  hurried 
his  bright  career  to  an  early  close.  There  would 
have  been  little  wisdom  in  measuring  my  force 
with  so  formidable  an  antagonist ;  and  I  was  as 
likely  to  tire  of  playing  the  second  fid'ile  in  the 
concert,  as  my  audience  of  liearing  me.  Age  also 
was  advancing.  I  was  giowiug  insensible  to  those 
subjects  of  excitation  by  which  youth  is  agitated. 
I  had  around  me  the  most  pleasant  but  least  ex- 
citing of  all  society,  that  of  kind  friends  and  an  af- 
fectionate family.  My  circle  of  employ^neuts  was 
a  narrow  one ;  it  occupied  me  constantly,  and  it 
became  daily  more  difficult  for  me  to  interest  my- 
self in  poetical  composition : — 

"  How  happily  the  days  of  Thaiaba  went  by  !'•* 

Yet,  though  conscious  that  I  must  be,  in  the 
opinion  of  good  judges,  inferior  to  the  place  I  had 

1812,  and  immediately  placed  their  author  on  a  level  with  the 
very  highest  names  of  his  age.  The  impression  they  created 
was  more  uniform,  decic  e,  and  triumphant  than  any  that 
ha/1  been  witnessed  in  this  country  for  at  least  two  generations. 
'  I  awoke  one  morning,'  he  says,  '  and  found  myself  famous.' 
In  truth,  he  had  fi.\ed  himself,  at  a  single  bound,  on  a  sum- 
mit, such  as  no  English  poet  had  ever  before  attained,  but 
after  a  long  succession  of  painful  and  comparatively  neglected 
efToTta."— Advertisement  to  Byron's  Life  and  Works,  v»l 
viii. 


ROKEBY. 


29; 


fcr  four  or  five  years  held  in  letters,  and  feeling 
alike  that  the  latter  was  one  to  wliich  I  had  only 
a  temporary  right,  I  could  not  brook  the  idea  of 
reUnquishiug  hterary  occupation,  which  had  been 
so  long  my  chief  diversion.  Neither  was  I  disposed 
to  choose  the  alternative  of  sinking  into  a  mere 
editor  and  commentator,  though  that  was  a  species 
of  labor  which  I  had  practised,  and  to  wliich  I  was 
attached.  But  I  coidd  not  endure  to  tliink  that  I 
might  not,  whether  known  or  concealed,  do  some- 
thing of  more  importance.  My  inmost  thoughts 
were  those  of  the  Trojan  captain  in  the  galley  race,— 

"  Non  jam,  prima  peto.  Mnestheu?,  ne(]ue  vincere  certo  ; 
tiuanquam  O  ! — sed  superent,  quibus  hoc-,  Neptune,  dedisti ; 
Extremos  padeat  rediisse  :  hoc  viiicite,  cives, 
Et  prohibete  nefas."i— ^N.  lib.  v.  194. 

I  had,  indeed,  some   private   reasons   for   my 
"  Quanquam  0 !"  which  were  not  worse  than  those 

1  "  I  seek  not  now  the  foremost  palm  to  gain  ;    . 
Though  yel — but  ah  !  that  haughty  wish  is  vain  ! 
Let  those  enjoy  it  whom  the  gods  ordain. 
But  to  be  last,  the  lags  of  all  the  race  ! — 
Redeem  yourselves  and  me  from  that  disgrace." 

Dryden. 
s  "  George  Ellis  and  Murray  have  been  talking  something 
Rbont  Scott  and  me,  George  pro  Scoto, — and  very  right  too. 


of  ilnestheus.  I  have  already  liinted  that  the  ma 
terials  were  collected  for  a  poem  on  the  subject  of 
Bruce,  and  fragments  of  it  had  been  shown  to  somi; 
of  my  friends,  and  received  with  applause.  Ifot- 
withstanding,  therefore,  the  eminent  success  of 
Byron,  and  the  great  chance  of  his  taking  the  wind 
out  of  my  sails,''  there  was,  I  judged,  a  species  of 
cowardice  in  desisting  from  the  task  wliich  I  had 
undertaken,  and  it  was  time  enough  to  retreat 
when  the  battle  shoidd  be  more  decidedly  lost. 
The  sale  of  "  Eokeby,"  excepting  as  compared  with 
that  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  was  in  the  liigh- 
est  degree  respectable  ;  and  as  it  included  fifteen 
himdred  quartos,'  in  those  quarto-reading  days, 
the  trade  had  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied. 


W.  S. 


Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830. 


If  they  want  to  depose  him,  I  only  wish  they  would  not  set  me 
up  as  a  competitor.  I  like  the  man — and  admire  his  works  to 
what  Mr.  Braham  calls  Entusymusy.  All  such  stuff  can  on!y 
vex  him,  and  do  me  no  good." — Byron's  Diary,  JVo».,  ISli' 
—  JVorks,  vol.  ii.  p.  259. 

3  The  4to  Edition  was  published  by  John  Ballantyne  and  Co 
£2  2s.  in  Janu  a'ry,  1813. 


l\  n  k  c  b  11 : 

A  POEM  IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


TO 

JOHN    B.   S.   M  0  R  11 1  T  T,   E  s  q., 
THIS  POEM, 

TUB  SCENE  OF  WHICH  IS  LAID  IN  UIS  BEAUTIFUL  DEMESNE  OF  ROKEBY, 
18  INSCRIBED,  IN  TOKEN  OF  SINCERE  FRIENDSHIP,  BY 

WALTER  SCOTT.* 


1 

I 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

».v  i'tid  at  Rokehj,  near  Greta  Bridrje,  in  Yorkshire,  and  shifts  to  the  adjacent 
:  I e,  and  to  other  places  in  that  Vicinity. 
The  Time  occupied  by  tlic  Action  it  a  space  of  live  Hays,  Three  of  which  are  supposed  to  elapse 

i,'  ■     ••        '•  ',  (f  the  Sixth  Canto. 

2  .'diatcly  subsequent  to  the  great  Battle  of  Marston  Moor,  ^d 

July,  1644.  This  period  of  public  confusion  has  been  chosen,  without  any  purpose  of  combining  t/ie 
Fable  with  the  Military  or  Political  Events  of  the  Civil  War,  but  only  as  affotding  a  degree  of  pjroba- 
bi/-'"  ■■■  ''"■  V'.i'.ii'.iit  V.'rr"''''"  -iKiw  pri  XI  iit'd  to  the  Puhlic? 


Uokcbi). 


CANTO    FIRST. 


I. 

.  i3  in  her  summer  glow, 

;  and  Ligli  the  breezes  blow, 

ing  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 

■  tincture  of  her  shroud ; 

rd's  tower.-i,  and  Tces's  stream,* 

,'es  as  a  guilty  dream. 


I  Dec 

)•  n. 


:?!.  v\l. 


01 

•Ir 
lie 

Rok. •;,_>• 

followin 
contribo 


Mr. 


from  the  harp  of  t)ial  indefotigable 
1  provoked  the  censure,  and  cxlortoJ 
■»  ;  nnd  who,  regardless  of  both,  and 
'"  '■■•  own  inclination,  has  yet  raised 
.  with  little  cfTort,  to  the  pinnacle 

■has  Kcommcndcd  may  be  presnmed  to  hare 

-  readers,  and  we  be- 

'h  in  in  con.'idering 

•ded,  in.«tcad  of 

-.  wonM  have 

'iish- 

:li  it 


TVlien  conscience,  -with  remorse  and  fear, 
Goads  sleeping  Fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seems  now  the  blush  of  shame. 
Seems  now  fierce  anger's  darker  flame. 
Shifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go, 
Like  apprehension's  hurried  glow ; 
Then  sorrow's  livery  dims  the  air. 
And  dies  in  darkness,  hke  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees, 
Tlicn  from  old  Bahol's  tower  looks  forth. 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north, 

now  LI,  it  be  likely  to  satisfy  the  jurt  expectations  whicn  tliat 
reputation  has  excited,  is  a  question  which,  pcrliaps,  will  not 
be  decided  with  the  same  nnanimity.  Our  own  opinion  is  in 
the  affirmative,  but  we  confe<>s  that  this  is  our  revised  opinion  ; 
and  that  when  we  concluded  our  first  perusal  of  Rokeby,  our 
gratification  was  not  quite  unmixed  with  disappointment. 
The  reflections  by  which  this  impression  has  been  subsequent- 
ly modified,  arise  oat  of  our  general  view  of  the  poem  ;  of  the 
interest  inspired  by  the  fable  ;  of  the  masterly  delineations  of 
the  charac'.ers  by  whose  agency  tlie  plot  is  unravelled  ;  and  of 
the  spirited  nervous  conciseness  of  the  narrative." — Quartcrlf 
Hecicte,  No.  xvi. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


1 


CAKTO  I. 


ROKEBY. 


297 


Hears,  upon  tm-ret-roof  and  -wall, 
By  fits  the  plashing  rain-drop  fall,* 
Lists  to  the  breeze's  boding  sound. 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  i-ound. 

II. 

Those  towers,  wliich  in  the  changeful  gleam* 
Throw  miu-ky  shadows  on  the  stream, 
Those  towers  of  Barnard  hold  a  guest, 
The  emotions  of  whose  troubled  breast, 
In  wild  and  strange  confusion  chiven, 
Rival  the  flitting  rack  of  heaven. 
Ere  sleep  stem  Oswald'9  senses  tied, 
Oft  had  he  changed  his  weary  side. 
Composed  liis  Umbs,  and  vainly  sought 
By  effort  strong  to  banish  thought. 
Sleep  came  at  length,  but  with  a  train 
Of  feelings  true^  and  fancies  vain, 
Minghng,  in  wild  disorder  cast. 
The  expected  fiiture  with  the  past. 
Conscience,  anticipating  time. 
Already  rues  the  enacted  crime. 
And  calls  her  fm-ies  forth,  to  shake 
The  sounding  scourge  and  hissing  snake ; 
While  her  poor  victim's  outward  throes 
Bear  witness  to  his  mental  woes, 
And  show  what  lesson  may  be  read 
Beside  a  sinner's  restless  bed. 

ni. 

Thus  Oswald's  laboring  feelings  trace 
Strange  changes  in  his  sleeping  face, 
Rapid  and  ominous  as  these 
"With  wliich  the  moonbeams  tinge  the  Tees. 
There  might  be  seen  of  shame  the  blush. 
There  anger's  dark  and  fiercer  flush. 
While  the  pertm-bed  sleeper's  hand 
Seem'd  gi-asping  dagger-knife,  or  brand. 

1  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  original  MS. 

2  MS.- "  shifting  gleam." 

3  MS. — "  Of  feelings  real,  and  fancies  vain." 
■•  MS. — "  Nor  longer  nature  bears  the  shocli. 

That  pang  the  slumberer  awoke." 

6  There  appears  some  resemblance   betwixt  the  visions  of 
Os^pald's  sleep  and  the  waking-dream  of  the  Giaonr  : — 

"  He  stood.— Some  dread  was  on  his  face. 
Soon  Hatred  settled  in  its  place  ; 
It  rose  not  with  the  reddening  flush 
Of  transient  Anger's  hasty  blush, 
But  pale  as  marble  o'er  the  tomb, 
Whose  ghastly  whiteness  aids  its  gloom. 
His  brow  was  bent,  his  eye  was  glazed  ; 
He  raised  his  arm,  and  fiercely  raised, 
And  sternly  shook  his  hand  on  high, 
As  doubting  to  return  or  fly  ; 
Impatient  of  his  flight  delay 'd, 
Here  loud  his  raven  charger  neigh'd — 
Down  glanced  that  hand,  and  grasp'd  his  blade ; 
That  sound  had  burst  his  waking-dream, 

As  slumber  starts  at  owlet's  scream. 
38 


Relax'd  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh, 
The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye. 
The  paUid  cheek  and  brow,  confess'd 
That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast ; 
Nor  paused  that  mood — a  sudden  start 
Impell'd  the  hfe-blood  from  the  heart ; 
Features  convulsed,  and  mutterings  dread. 
Show  terror  reigns  in  sorrow's  stead. 
That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke,* 
And  Oswald  with  a  start  awoke.^ 

IV. 
He  woke,  and  fear'd  again  to  close 
His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose  ; 
He  woke, — to  watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 
From  hour  to  hour  the  castle-beU, 
Or  hsten  to  the  owlet's  cry. 
Or  the  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by, 
Or  catch,  by  fits,  the  timeless  rhyme 
With  which  the  warder  cheats  the  tuuei, 
And  envying  think,  how,  when  the  sun 
Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done, 
Couch'd  on  liis  straw,  and  fancy-free, 
He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

V. 

Far  town-ward  sounds  a  distant  tread 
And  Oswald,  starting  from  his  bed. 
Hath  caught  it,  though  no  human  ear 
Unsharpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear. 
Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank. 
Until  it  reach'd  the  castle  bank.* 
Now  nigh  and  plain  the  sound  appears, 
The  warder's  challenge  now  he  hears ;'' 
Then  clanking  chains  and  levers  tell, 
That  o'er  the  moat  the  drawbridge  fell. 
And,  in  the  castle  com't  below, 
Voices  are  heard,  and  torches  glow. 

The  spur  hath  lanced  liis  conreer's  sides ; 
Away,  away,  for  life  he  rides. 
'Twas  but  a  moment  that  he  stood. 
Then  sped  as  if  by  death  pursued, 
But  in  that  instant  o'er  his  soul. 
Winters  of  memory  seem'd  to  roll, 
And  gather  in  that  drop  of  time, 
A  life  of  pain,  an  age  of  crime." 

Byron's  fVorJcs,  vol.  ix.  p.  137 

6  MS  — "  Till  underneath  the  castle  bank. 

JVigh  and  more  nigh  the  sound  appears. 
The  warder's  challenge  nest  he  hears." 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

"  The  natural  superiority  of  the  instrument  over  the  em- 
ployer, of  bold,  unhesitating,  practised  vice,  over  timid,  sel 
fish,  crafty  iniquity,  is  very  finely  painted  throughout  the  whola 
of  this  scene,  and  the  dialogue  that  ensues.  That  the  mind  of 
Wycliffe,  wrought  to  the  utmost  agony  of  suspense,  has  given 
such  acuteness  to  his  bodily  organs,  as  to  enable  him  to  distin- 
guish the  approach  of  his  hired  bravo,  while  at  a  distance  be- 
yond the  reach  of  common  hearing,  is  grandly  imagined,  and 
admirably  true  to  nature." — Critical  Review. 


208 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


cjiNro  I. 


'\lw^  the  stnuigor'*  way, 

c  room  where  Oswnld  Iny ; 
•  -t.' 

-  -  -  i     ■■■" 

<<  tumult  t)f  hut  breast. 
!  M— 

the  firt' ; 

r,  uuil  rt'tiro." 

VI. 
•riio  fitrancrer  camo  with  heavy  stride,' 
'I  lumcs  hi»  vis.ntjc  hide, 

,\     .  ,,     ;  oat,  nil  ample  fold, 

^l,•lllfll•^  liis  form's  gii,'aiitic  mould.* 

I  r  answer  deigned  he 
'}..  .  -.. .>.  I's  anxious  courtesy. 
But  mark'd,  by  a  disdainful  smile, 
He  -^aw  and  .«coni'd  the  petty  wile, 

A\ '    •  "  '  '    ' -I  the  torch's  place, 

■lier'sfacc* 
ItM  partial  lustre  might  Iw  tlirown, 
T      '        f.is  looks,  yet  hide  his  own. 

I I  .  the  while,  laid  low  aside 

The  ponderous  cloak  of  tough  bull's  hide, 

A    '       *'     •      '     '      .  d  broad  and  clear 

'I  .   ■  -icr ; 

Tlicn  from  liis  brows  the  casque  he  drew, 

.\     '   '  '       '     '      '  'Insh'd  the  dew, 

1  .1  his  hands,' 

And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  brands, 

A     ■  ■       t.i  the  genial  board,' 

\  ilth,  or  j)ledge,  or  word 

Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said, 

I>"  (  ply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed;* 

A-i  tVic  from  ceremony's  sway, 

As  famish'd  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

VIL 
With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 
His  !  '  I  him  gorge  lus  cheer 

And  ![ :..    full  carouse,  that  lent 

His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Now  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 
Now  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride. 
In  feverish  agony  to  learn 


«M8.— "T  .       M  ira  comes  post. 

An  one  itiat  rouTii  hinuelf  from  rest, 
ili<i  arnwer,"  &c. 
"  with  heavy  pace, 


»  MS. 

The  ploroed  morion  hid  his  face  " 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 
■  MS. — ••  That  fell  n(X)n  the  stranger's  face." 

'  MS. ■•  hej'rttd  hU  hands." 

'  MS. — "  Then  Inm'd  to  the  replenish'd  board." 

■>  "The  d«sicri|ition  of  B'T'rim  wlii.li  followfi,  ii  highly  pio- 

111"  -jtm  ;  and  the  rude  a-  ;;>erioriljr  with  which 

ni;  If  nu  his  employer.  |  '-r  to  enter  into  the 

foil  spirit  of  his  character.    These,  and  many  other  little  cil^ 


Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 
Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Protracted  o'lr  his  ruftian  feast.* 
Yet,  viewing  with  alarm,  at  hist. 
The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast, 
Almost  he  sccm'd  their  haste  to  rue, 
As,  at  his  sign,  his  train  withdrew, 
And  left  him  with  the  stnmgcr,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 
A  straggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

VIII. 
Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears, 
To  justify  suspicious  fear.s. 
On  his  dark  face  a  .scorching  clime, 
And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time, 
Roughcn'd  the  brow,  the  temples  bared, 
And  sable  hairs  with  silver  sliarcd, 
Yet  left — what  age  alone  could  tame — 
Tlie  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame ;' 
Tlie  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  curl'd, 
Tlie  eye,  that  scem'd  to  scorn  the  world. 
Tliat  lip  had  terror  never  blench'd ; 
Ne'er  in  that  eye  had  tear-drop  quench'd 
The  flash  severe  of  swarthy  glow, 
Tliat  mock'd  at  pain,  aud  knew  not  woe. 
Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 
Tornade  and  earthquake,  flood  and  storm, 
Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 
By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow," 
By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  ball. 
Knew  all  his  shapes,  and  scom'd  them  alL 

IX. 

But  yet,  though  Bertram's  harden'd  look, 

Unmoved,  could  blood  and  danger  brook, 

Still  worse  than  apathy  had  place 

On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face ; 

For  evil  passions,  cherish'd  long, 

Had  plough'd  them  with  impressions  strong. 

All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 

Light  folly,  past  with  youth  away, 

But  rooted  stood,  in  manliood's  hour, 

The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 


cnmstances,  which  none  but  a  poetical  mind  could  have  coi. 
ceived,  give  great  relief  to  the  stronger  touches  with  Vihich 
this  excellent  sketch  is  completed." — Critical  Review. 

8  MS. — "  Protracted  o'er  his  savage  feast. 
Yet  with  alarm  he  saw  at  last." 

»  "  As  Roderick  rises  above  Marmion,  bo  Bertram  ascends 
above  Roderick  Dhu  in  awfulne«3  of  stature  and  Ptrength  of 
coloring.  We  have  trembled  at  Rodprick  ;  but  we  look  with 
doubt  and  suspicion  at  the  very  shadow  of  Bertram — and,  as 
we  approach  him,  we  shrink  with  terror  and  antipathy  from 

'  The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame.'  " 

BriLiah  Critic. 
")  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


CANTO  I. 


ROKEBY. 


299 


And  yet  the  soil  in  wliicli  they  grew, 
Had  it  been  tamed  -^hen  life  was  new, 
Had  depth  and  vigoi'  to  bring  forth* 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
ITot  that,  e'en  then,  his  heart  had  known 
The  gentler  feelings'  kindly  tone  ; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  bouuty  in  liis  chasten'd  mind, 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  to  feed, 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed. 
And,  fi-antic  then  no  more,  liis  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  vii'tue  for  its  guide. 


Even  now,  by  conscience  unrestrain'd, 
Clogg'd  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stain'd, 
StiU  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar, 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  he  bore  ; 
For  meaner  guUt,  or  heart  less  hard, 
Quail'd  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard.* 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  wMe  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  train, 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  show, 
Unask'd,  the  news  he  long'd  to  know. 
While  on  far  other  subject  hung 
His  heart,  than  falter'd  from  his  tongue.' 
Yet  naught  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  liis  secret  pain. 
But  still,  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort, 
Return'd  him  answer  dai'k  and  short, 
Or  stai'ted  from  the  theme,  to  range 
In  loose  digression  wild  and  strange. 
And  forced  the  embarrass'd  host  to  buy. 
By  query  close,  direct  reply. 

XL 

A  whUe  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 
Of  Commons,  Covenant,  and  Laws, 
Aud  Chuixh  Reform' d — but  felt  rebuke 
Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look. 
Then  stammer'd — "  Has  a  field  been  fought  ? 
Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought  ? 


1  MS. — "  Sliow'd  depth  and  vigor  to  bring  forth 

The  -noblest  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Then  had  the  lust  of  gold  accurst 
Been  lost  in  glory's  nobler  thirst, 
And  deep  revenge  for  trivial  can.se. 
Been  zeal  for  freedom  and  for  laws 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  honor  for  its  guide." 

2  MS. "  stern  regard." 

a  "  The  '  mastery'  obtained  by  such  a  being  as  Bertram  ovet 
the  timid  wickedness  of  inferior  villains,  is  well  delineated  in 
the  conduct  of  Oswald,  who,  thougli  he  had  not  hesitated  to 
propose  to  him  the  murder  of  his  kinsman,  is  described  as  fear- 
ing to  ask  hiin,  the  direct  question,  whether  the  crime  has 
been  accomplished.  We  must  confess,  for  our  own  parts,  that 
we  did  not,  till  we  came  to  the  second  reading  of  the  canto, 
perceive  the  propriety,  and  even  the  moral  beauty,  of  this  cir- 
cumstance.    We  are  now  quite  convinced  that,  in  introducing 


For  sure  a  soldier,  famed  so  far 

In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war. 

On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the  host. 

Until  the  field  were  won  and  lost." 

"  Here,  in  your  towers  by  circling  Tees, 

You,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  rest  at  ease  ■* 

Why  deem  it  strange  that  others  come 

To  share  such  safe  and  easy  home. 

From  fields  where  danger,  death,  and  toil. 

Are  the  reward  of  civil  broil  ?" — ' 

"  Nay,  mock  not,  friend !  since  well  we  know 

The  near  advances  of  the  foe. 

To  mar  our  northern  army's  work, 

Encamp'd  before  beleaguer'd  York ; 

Thy  horse  with  vaUant  Fairfax  lay,° 

And  must  have  fought — how  went  the  day  ?" — 

XIL 

"  Wouldst  hear  the  tale  ? — On  Marston  heath' 
Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death ; 
Flomdsh'd  the  trumpets  fierce,  and  now 
Fhed  was  each  ej'^e,  and  flush'd  each  brow ; 
On  either  side  loud  clamors  ring, 
'  God  and  the  Cause  !'— '  God  and  the  King!' 
Right  English  aU,  they  rush'd  to  blows, 
With  naught  to  win,  aud  aU  to  lose. 
I  could  have  laugh'd — but  lack'd  the  time — 
-    To  see,  in  phrenesy  sublime. 

How  the  fierce  zealots  fought  and  bled, 
For  king  or  state,  as  humor  led ; 
Some  for  a  dream  of  pubhc  good. 
Some  for  church-tippet,  gown  and  hood, 
Draining  their  vems,  in  death  to  claim 
A  patriot's  or  a  martyr's  name. — 
Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts,' 
Tliat  coiuiter'd  there  on  adverse  pai'ts, 
No  superstitious  fool  had  I 
Sought  El  Dorados  in  the  sky ! 
CliiU  had  heard  me  thi-ough  her  states, 
And  Lima  oped  her  sUver  gates. 
Rich  Mexico  I  had  march'd  through. 
And  sack'd  the  splendors  of  Peru, 

it,  the  poet  has  been  guided  by  an  accurate  perception  of  the 
intricacies  of  human  nature.  The  scene  between  King  Jolin 
and  Hubert  may  probably  have  been  present  to  his  mind  when 
he  composed  the  dialogue  between  Oswald  and  his  terrible 
agent ;  but  it  will  be  observed,  that  the  situations  of  the  re- 
spective personages  are  materially  different ;  the  mysterious 
caution  in  which  Shakspeare's  usurper  is  made  to  involve  the 
proposal  of  his  crime,  springs  from  motives  undoubtedly  more 
obvious  and  immediate,  but  not  more  consistent  with  truth  and 
probability,  than  that  with  which  Wycliffe  conceals  the  drift 
of  his  fearful  interrogatories." — Critical  Review. 

1  MS. — "  Safe  sit  you,  Oswald,  and  at  ease." 
6  MS. — "  Award  the  meed  of  civil  broil." 
6  MS. — "  Thy  horsemen  on  the  outposts  lay." 
"  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 
f  MS.— "Led  I  but  half  of  snch  bold  hearts 
j3s  counter'd  there,"  &c. 


L^ 


I     300 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  1. 


Till  sunk  Piurro's  daring  namo. 
And,  Cortex,  thinv,  in  Bertmin's  foinu." — ' 
the  jmrjxwo  wilt  thou  strav  ! 

I  frii  111    liiiw  u  itit  till'  iliiv  '' — 

Mil. 
•  Good  am  I  dceiuM  ut  trmnpct-Bound, 
Ami  L'<>o«l  whiTi'  eobletn  dnnco  tli«j  round, 
1  '.I,  till  now, 

\S .,..  . .  >t  und  brow. — 

Hut  1  resume,     'llio  bnttle'a  nige 

Wu-.  like  tho  striff  whii-h  currents  wage, 

Where  OriniK'o,  in  his  pritlo, 

RolU  to  the  nuiin  no  tribute  tide, 

But  'gainst  bro.id  ocean  urges  fiir 

A  rival  sea  of  roaring  war ; 

Wliile,  in  ten  thousimd  eddies  driven, 

Tlie  billows  fling  their  foam  to  heaven. 

And  the  pale  pilot  seeks  in  vain, 

Where  ndls  the  river,  where  the  main. 

Even  thus  ujnin  the  bloody  field, 

'I'        '  '    in:^  tides  of  conflict  wheel'd' 

-,  till  that  heart  of  flame, 
Hot  Kupert,  on  our  squadrons  came, 
1!     '  ■     t  our  ppcars  a  line 

I  '  :  V  as  their  wine  ; 

Then  oura,  though  stubborn  in  their  zeal, 
III        ''     '        'i-  Ix'giui  to  reel. 
W  thou  more? — in  tmnult  tost, 

Our  leaders  fell,  our  ranks  were  lost. 
A  thou^iuid  men  who  drew  the  sword 
For  b<»th  the  Houses  and  tliu  Word, 
Preach'd  forth  from  hamlet,  grange,  and  down. 
To  curb  the  crosier  and  the  crown, 
Now,  stark  and  stiff,  lie  stretch'd  in  gore, 
And  ne'er  shall  rail  at  mitre  more. — 
T  '  it,  when  I  left  the  fight, 

\s  :')od  Cause  and  Conunons'  right." — 

XIV. 
"  Disastrous  news !"  dark  "WyclifFe  said ; 
A.*sumed  despondence  bent  his  licad. 


'  T  .T  (No.  xvi.)  thus  states  thu  causes 

of  t  -111  in  arriving  at  the  ultimate  opin- 

ion, -liy  of  tlie  "high   praise"  already 

qoo'  mrnt  of  liis  article  ; — "  We  con- 

f*"".  ■  nification  of  this  poem, 

WB  «       .  .,nte(l.     We  do  not  mean 

to  wjr  that  tiiher  M  inTariably  faolty  ;  neither  is  it  within  the 

|ioHrer  of  accident  that  tho  ■■•■■"■ <  ofa  vigoroiu  and  Iiij;h1y 

coltivated  mind,  ihoold   n  vest  themselves  in  trivial 

expressions,  or  in  dusonaiu  I'.ir  .;  hut  we  do  ihink  that 
those  polden  linen,  whirh  •fmntr-n  ously  fasten  iheinH'lvcs  on 
the  memory  of  th"  r      '  id  that  instances  of 

k  culpable  and   n\w  }  to  the  usual  rules 

of  diction  and  of  mitrc,  .ire  luuri:  lr>')u<  iit  in  this,  than  in  any 
preceding  work  of  Mr.  Scotk.  In  supfiortof  this  opinion,  we 
adduce  the  following  quotation,  which  occurs  in  stan/.a  xii. : 
and  in  tlie  course  of  a  descriptioD  which  ti,  in  some  pans,  un- 
^o«lly  ipleudid — 


While  troubled  joy  was  in  his  eye, 

The  woil-feign'd  sorrow  to  belie. — 

"  Disastrous  news! — when  needed  most, 

Told  vo  not  that  your  chiefs  were  lost! 

Complete  the  woful  tale,  and  say, 

Wliu  fell  Upon  tliat  fatal  day; 

What  leatlers  of  rejHite  and  n:mie 

liought  by  their  death  a  deathless  fame.* 

If  such  my  direst  foenian's  doom, 

My  tears  shall  dew  his  licmor'tl  tomb. — 

No  answer  ? — Friend,  of  all  our  hostj 

Thou  kiiow'st  whom  I  should  hate  the  most, 

W^iom  thou  too,  once,  wert  wont  to  hate, 

Yet  leavest  me  doubtful  of  liis  fate." — 

W'ith  look  unmoved, — "Of  friend  or  foe, 

Aught," aiKswer'd  Bertram,"  wouldst  thou  know, 

Demand  in  simple  terms  and  plain, 

A  soldier's  answer  shalt  thou  gain ; — 

For  question  dark,  or  riddle  high, 

I  have  nor  judgment  nor  reply." 

XV. 
Tlie  wrath  his  art  and  fear  suppress'd. 
Now  blit'cd  at  once  in  WycliflFe's  breast ; 
And  brave,  from  man  so  meanly  born, 
Roused  his  hereditary  scorn. 
"Wretch !  hast  thou  paid  tliy  bloody  debt  ? 
Philip  of  Mortham,  lives  he  yet? 
False  to  thy  patron  or  tliine  oath, 
Trait'rous  or  perjured,  one  or  both. 
Slave  !  hast  thou  kept  thy  promise  plight, 
To  slay  thy  leader  in  the  liglit  ?" — 
llien  from  liis  seat  the  soldier  sprung, 
And  Wycliffe's  hand  he  strongly  wrung ; 
His  grjisp,  as  hard  as  glove  of  mail. 
Forced  the  red  blood-drop  from  the  nail — 
"  A  health  !"  he  cried ;  and,  ere  he  quaff 'd, 
Flung  from  him  Wycliffe's  hand,  and  laugh'd : 
— "Now,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  speaks  thy  heart  I 
Now  play'st  thou  well  thy  genuine  part ! 
Worthy,  but  for  thy  craven  fear, 
Like  me  to  roam  a  bucanier. 


'  Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts,' 


to 


'  And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame.' 

"  The  author,  surely,  cannot  require  to  be  told,  that  tlia 
feebleness  of  these  jingling  couplets  is  less  oflensire  than  theii 
obscurity.  The  first  line  is  unintelligible,  because  the  condi- 
tional word  '  if,'  on  which  the  meaning  depends,  is  neither  ex- 
pressed nor  implied  in  it  ;  and  the  third  line  is  equally  faulty, 
because  the  sentence,  when  restored  to  its  natural  order,  can 
only  express  the  exact  converse  of  the  speaker's  intention.  Wa 
think  it  necessary  to  remonstrate  against  these  barbarous  inver- 
sions, because  we  consider  the  rules  of  grammar  as  the  only 
shackles  by  which  the  Hudibra^ttic  metre,  already  so  licentioas, 
can  be  confined  within  tolerable  limits." 

5  MS.—"  The  doubtful  tides  of  battle  reel'd  " 
'  MS. — "  Chose  death  in  preference  to  shame.' 


CANTO  I.                                                ROKEBY.                                                        301 

W  hat  reck'st  thou  of  the  Cause  divine, 

\V  hen  Mortham  bade  me,  as  of  yore, 

If  Mortham's  wealth  and  lands  be  thine ! 

Be  near  liim  in  the  battle's  roar. 

"Wliat  carest  thou  for  beleaguer'd  York, 

I  scarcely  saw  the  spears  laid  low, 

If  this  good  hand  have  done  its  work  ? 

I  scarcely  heard  the  trmnpets  blow ; 

Or  what,  though  Fairfax  and  his  best 

Lost  was  the  war  in  mward  strife. 

Are  reddening  Marston's  swarthy  breast; 

Debating  Mortham's  death  or  hfe. 

K  PhiUp  Mortham  with  them  lie, 

'Twas  then  I  thought,  how,  Im-ed  to  come, 

Lending  his  Ufe-blood  to  the  dye  ? — ' 

As  partner  of  liis  wealth  and  home, 

Sit,  then !  and  as  'mid  comrades  free 

Years  of  piratic  wandering  o'er, 

Carousing  after  victory. 

With  him  I  sought  om-  native  shore. 

When  tales  are  told  of  blood  and  fear, 

But  Mortham's  lord  grew  far  estranged 

That  boys  and  women"  shrink  to  hear, 

From  the  bold  heart  with  whom  he  ranged ; 

From  point  to  point  I  frankly  tell^ 

Doubts,  horrors,  superstitious  fears. 

The  deed  of  death  as  it  befell. 

Sadden'd  and  dimm'd  descending  years ; 

The  wily  priests  their  victun  sought, 

XVI. 

And  damn'd  each  free-born'  deed  and  thought. 

"  When  purposed  vengeance  I  forego. 

Then  must  I  seek  another  home  : 

Term  me  a  wretch,  nor  deem  me  foe ; 

My  license  shook  his  sober  dome ; 

And  when  an  insult  I  forgive,* 

If  gold  he  gave,  in  one  wild  day 

Then  brand  me  as  a  slave,  and  Uve  ! — 

I  revell'd  thrice  the  sum  away. 

Philip  of  Mortham  is  with  those 

An  idle  outcast  then  I  stray'd. 

Whom  Bertram  Rismgham  calls  foes ; 

Unfit  for  tillage  or  for  trade. 

Or  whom  more  sure  revenge  attends,^ 

Deem'd,  like  the  steel  of  rusted  lance. 

If  number'd  with  ungrateful  friends. 

Useless  and  dangerous  at  once. 

Ab  was  his  wont,  ere  battle  glow'd. 

The  women  fear'd  my  hardy  look, 

Along  the  marshall'd  ranks  he  rode, 

At  my  approach  the  peaceful  shook , 

And  wore  his  visor  up  the  while. 

The  merchant  saw  my  glance  of  flame, 

I  saw  his  melancholy  smile, 

And  lock'd  his  hoards  when  Bertram  came ; 

When,  fuU  opposed  in  front,  he  knew 

Each  child  of  coward  peace  kept  far 

Where  Rokebt's  kindred  banner  flew. 

From  the  neglected  son  of  war. 

'  And  thus,'  he  said, '  will  friends  divide !' — 

I  heard,  and  thought  how,  side  by  side. 

XVIIL 

We  two  had  turn'd  the  battle's  tide, 

"  But  civil  discord  gave  the  call. 

In  many  a  well-debated  field. 

And  made  my  trade  the  trade  of  all. 

Where  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's  shield. 

By  Mortham  urged,  I  came  again 

I  thought  on  Darien's  deserts  pale, 

His  vassals  to  the  fight  to  train. 

W  here  death  bestrides  the  everdng  gale,  . 

W  hat  guerdon  waited  on  my  care  ?* 

How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  I  thi-ew, 

I  could  not  cant  of  creed  or  prayer ; 

And  fenceless  faced  the  deadly  dew ; 

Sour  fanatics  each  trust  obtain'd. 

I  thought  on  Quariana's  cUff, 

And  I,  dishonor'd  and  disdain'd. 

W  here,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skiff, 

Gam'd  but  the  liigh  and  happy  lot, 

Thi-ough  the  white  breakers'  wi-ath  I  bore 

In  these  poor  arms  to  front  the  shot ! — 

Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore ; 

All  this  thou  knovi^st,  thy  gestures  tell ; 

And  when  his  side  an  arrow  found. 

Yet  hear  it  o'er,  and  mark  it  welL 

I  suck'd  the  Indian's  venom'd  wound. 

'Tis  honor  bids  me  now  relate 

These  thoughts  like  torrents  rush'd  along,^ 

Each  circmnstance  of  Mortham's  fate. 

To  sweep  away  my  purpose  strong. 

XIX. 

XVII. 

"  Thoughts,  from  the  tongue  tliat  slowly  pai  L, 

"  Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flints  are  rent ; 

Glance  quick  as  hghtning  thi'ough  the  heai-t. 

Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent. 

As  my  spur  press'd  my  courser's  side. 

1  MS.—"  And  heart's-blood  lent  to  aid  the  dye  ? 

6  MS. — "  Whom  surest  his  revenge  attends, 

Sit,  then  !  and  as  to  comrades  boon 

If  number'd  once  among  his  friends." 

Carousing  for  achievement  won." 
8  MS.—"  That  boys  and  cowards,"  &c. 
3  MS. — "  Frank,  as  from  mate  to  mate,  I  tell 

What  way  the  deed  of  death  befell."                     i 

6  MS.—"  These  thoughts  rush'd  on,  like  torrent's  sway 

To  sweep  my  stern  resolve  away." 
I  MS.—"  Each  liberal  deed." 

•  MS.  -"  Name  when  an  insult  I  forgave. 

8  MS.—"  But  of  my  labor  what  the  meed  1 

And,  Oswald  WycliiFe,  call  me  slave." 

I  coula  not  cant  of  church  or  creed." 

302 


SCOUT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


I'' 


.  ,  ■•  \' 


?luiin*ii  CAUSO  was  trio«I, 

ivM. 

:  ..I. 

I  .liiiibtfiil  fru_v, 

tliiy,' 

.,  ii--.  Iwiik,' 

<l  I  til  our  flunk. 

•  •,  imd  strife, 
..  .ith  or  life, 

•IK'I, 

Ami  .  St i  uikI  riciiT,  full. 

<  '■■  •  ' ■■■  u|>wiiril  ciLst, 

:isli — 'twas  liis  last. 
:  nut  tlmt  tiu-rc  I  stopp'rl,  to  view 
\  '■  •'     battle  slumld  ensue; 

I  '■        ir'd  tlmt  bUKxly  press, 

Our  northfm  horse  ran  masterless; 

"       ' 1  Mitt.m  told  the  news,* 

I  rouiidh(;ails  cliokod  the  Ouse, 
And  many  n  bonny  Scot,  ayhast, 
'  '        ' "  rtlnranl. 

I  /.eal  or  ii       , 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed.* 
"<'  '     '        '         '  •  '    •     •      '     ..f  Swale, 

With  his  biirb'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say, 
^■'  "  '  '      h\I  the  day:* 

1  -,  or  true, 

OswiUd,  I  reck  as  light  as  you." 

XX. 
Not  then  by  Wycliffe  might  be  shown. 
How  1  ■  ■    •Jtnrtlpd  at  the  tone 

In  w!  mplice,  fierce  and  free. 

Asserted  guilt's  equality, 
T'  ■'•!'t  terms  his  speech  he  wove, 

<  :  <  friendship,  faith,  and  love ; 
Promised  and  vow'd  in  courteous  sort, 
T       ^        am  broke  profession  short. 

'"      _  .  be  sure  not  here  I  stay, 

No,  scarcely  till  the  rising  day ; 
AVirti'd  by  the  legends  of  my  youth,' 
I  iru.it  not  an  ass<jciate's  truth. 
Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 
Of  PiTcy  Hfdo  the  trairic  song, 
Traind  forward  to  his  bloody  fall. 
By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  V 
Oft,  by  the  Pringlc's  haunted  side, 

'  M.''. — "  Tli.1t  ch.i:ij.>il  ai  with  a  whirlwind's  sway." 

*  —^~^-^~^—^^ "  <la!>hing 

On  thy  war-hono  ihrouph  the  ranks. 
Like  a  ttream  which  hnr>t  iti  hanks." 

Btron's  IVorks,  vol.  x.  p.  275. 

*  M.S. — "  Hot  Rupert  on  llie  spur  pnrsae*  ; 

Whole  trooiM  of  flicra  chokcU  the  Oiuc." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 
»  Bee  Appendix,  Nola  G 


Tlie  shepherd  sees  his  spectre  glide. 
And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 
The  moated  mound  of  Kisiny;lumi,* 
Where  Heed  u]ion  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Woodbmiie's  cottages  and  trees. 
Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone ;" 
Unmateh'd  in  strength,  a  giant  he, 
With  quiver'd  back,'"  and  kirtled  knoe. 
Ask  how  he  died,  that  hunter  bold, 
The  tameless  monarch  of  the  wold. 
And  age  and  infancy  can  tell. 
By  brother's  treachery  he  fell, 
llius  warn'd  by  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  to  no  associate's  truth. 

XXI. 

"  When  last  we  reason'd  of  tliis  deed, 
Naught,  I  bethink  me,  was  agreed. 
Or  by  what  rule,  or  when,  or  where. 
The  wealth  of  Mortham  we  should  share ; 
Then  list,  while  I  the  portion  name, 
Our  diff<^ring  laws  give  each  to  claim. 
Thou,  vassal  sworn  to  England's  throne. 
Her  rules  of  heritage  must  own ; 
They  deal  thee,  as  to  nearest  heir, 
Tliy  kinsman's  lands  and  livings  fair, 
And  those  I  yield : — do  thou  revere 
The  statutes  of  the  Bucanier." 
Friend  to  the  sea,  and  foeman  sworn 
To  all  that  on  her  waves  are  borne, 
"UHien  falls  a  mate  in  battle  broil. 
His  comrade  heirs  his  portion'd  spoil ; 
When  dies  in  fight  a  daring  foe, 
He  claims  his  wealtli  who  struck  the  blow; 
And  either  rule  to  me  assigns 
niose  spoils  of  Indian  seas  and  mines. 
Hoarded  in  Morthara's  caverns  dark ; 
Ingot  of  gold  and  diamond  spark. 
Chalice  and  plate  from  churches  borne, 
And  gems  from  shrieking  beauty  torn. 
Each  string  of  pearl,  each  silver  bar. 
And  all  the  wealth  of  western  war. 
I  go  to  search,  where,  dark  and  deep, 
Tliose  Trans-atlantic  treasures  sleep. 
Tliou  must  along — for,  lacking  thee, 
The  lieir  will  scarce  find  entrance  &"ee  ; 
Ajid  then  farewell.    I  haste  to  try 

•  MS. — "  Tavfrkt  by  the  legends  of  my  yonth 

To  trust  to  no  associate's  truth." 
'  See  Apiiendix,  Note  H. 

8  MS. — "  Still  by  the  spot  that  gave  me  name. 
The  moated  camp  of  Risingham, 
A  giant  form  the  stranger  sees, 
Half  hid  by  rifted  rocks  and  trees." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

to  MS.—"  With  bow  in  hand,"  &o 
''  See  Appendix,  Note  K 


CANTO  I. 


ROKEBY. 


303 


Each  vai'ied  pleasure  -w^ealth  can  buy ; 
When  cloy'd  each  wish,  these  wars  afford 
Fresh  work  for  Bertram's  restless  sword." 

XXII. 

An  imdecided  answer  hung 
On  Oswald's  hesitating  tongue. 
Despite  his  craft,  he  heard  with  awe 
This  rufiSan  stabber  fix  the  law ; 
While  his  own  troubled  passions  yeer 
Through  hatred,  joy,  regret,  and  fear  :— 
Joy'd  at  the  soul  that  Bertram  flies, 
He  grudged  the  mm-derer's  mighty  prize, 
Hated  his  pride's  presumptuous  tone, 
And  fear'd  to  wend  with  him  alone. 
At  length,  that  middle  coxu"se  to  steer, 
To  cowardice  and  craft  so  deai", 
'  His  chai'ge,"  he  said,  "  would  ill  aUow 
His  absence  from  the  fortress  now ; 
WrLFEiD  on  Bertram  should  attend, 
His  son  should  jom-ney  with  his  fiiend." 

xxni. 

Contempt  kept  Bertram's  anger  down, 

And  wreathed  to  savage  smile  his  frown. 

"  Wilfi'id,  or  thou — 'tis  one  to  me, 

Whichever  bears  the  golden  key. 

Yet  think  not  but  I  mark,  and  smile 

To  mark,  thy  poor  and  selfish  wile  ! 

If  injury  from  me  you  fear. 

What,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  shields  thee  here  ? 

Tve  sprung  from  waUs  more  high  than  these, 

Fve   swam    through  deeper    streams    than 

Tees. 
Might  I  not  stab  thee,  ere  one  yell 
Could  rouse  the  distant  sentinel  ? 
Start  not — it  is  not  my  design. 
But,  if  it  were,  weak  fence  were  thine ; 
And,  trust  me,  that,  in  time  of  need. 
This  hand  hath  done  more  desperate  deed. 
Go,  haste  and  rouse  thy  slumbering  son ; 
Time  calls,  and  I  must  needs  be  gone. 

XXIV. 

Kaught  of  his  sire's  ungenerous  part 
Polluted  Wilfrid's  gentle  heart ; 
A  heart  too  soft  from  early  Ufe 
To  hold  with  fortvme  needful  strife. 
His  she,  while  yet  a  hardier  race* 


iMS.- 


"  while  yet  around  him  stood 


A  numerous  race  of  hardier  mood." 

•  "  And  oft  the  craggy  cliff  lie  loved  to  climb, 

When  all  in  mist  the  world  below  was  lost. 

What  dreadful  plejisure  !  there  to  stand  sublime, 

Like  shipwreck'd  mariner  on  desert  coast." 

Beattie's  Minstrel. 
3  MS. — "  Was  love,  but  friendship  in  his  phrase." 
"  The  prototype  of  Wilfrid  may  perhaps  be   found  in 


Of  numerous  sons  were  Wyclifie's  grace, 
On  Wilfrid  set  contemptuous  brand, 
For  feeble  heart  and  forceless  hand ; 
But  a  fond  mother's  care  and  joy 
Were  centred  in  her  sickly  boy. 
No  touch  of  childhood's  froUc  mood 
Show'd  the  elastic  spring  of  blood  ; 
Hour  after  hoiu*  he  loved  to  pore 
On  Shakspeare's  rich  and  varied  lore. 
But  tum'd  from  martial  scenes  and  hght, 
From  Falstaif's  feast  and  Percy's  flight. 
To  ponder  Jaques'  moral  strain, 
And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  vain ; 
Ana  weep  Jiimself  to  soft  repose 
O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 

XXV. 

In  youth  he  sought  not  pleasm-es  found 
By  youth  in  horse,  and  hawk,  and  hound, 
But  loved  the  quiet  joys  that  wake 
By  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake  ; 
In  Deepdale's  soUtude  to  he. 
Where  all  is  chff  and  copse  and  sky ; 
To  climb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak. 
Or  lone  Pendragon's  momid  to  seek.* 
Such  was  his  wont ;  and  there  his  dream 
Soar'd  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme, 
Of  faithful  love,  or  ceaseless  sjDring, 
TiU  Contemplation's  wearied  wing 
The  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain. 
And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 

XXVL 
He  loved — as  many  a  lay  can  tell. 
Preserved  in  Stanmore's  lonely  deU ; 
For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caught 
The  art  unteachable,  untaught ; 
He  loved — ^his  soid  did  nature  frame 
For  love,  and  ftincy  nm-sed  the  flame ; 
Vainly  he  loved — for  seldom  swain 
Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again ; 
Silent  he  loved — in  every  gaze 
Was  passion,'  fi-iendsliip  in  his  phrase. 
So  mused  his  life  away — till  died 
His  brethi-en  all,  theh  father's  pride. 
Wilfrid  is  now  the  only  heir 
Of  all  his  stratagems  and  care. 
And  destined,  darkling,  to  jjiu-sue 
Ambition's  maze  by  Oswald's  clue.'' 


Beattie's  Edwin  ;  but  in  some  essential  respects  it  is  made 
more  true  to  nature  than  that  which  probably  served  for  its 
original.  The  possibility  may  perhaps  be  questioned  (its  great 
improbability  \s  unquestionable),  of  such  excessive  refinement, 
such  over-strained,  and  even  morbid  sensibility,  as  are  por- 
trayed in  the  character  of  Edwin,  existing  in  so  rude  a  state  of 
society  as  that  wliich  Beattie  has  represented,^ — but  tliese 
qualities,  even  when  found  in  tlie  most  advanced  and  polished 
Btagea  of  life,  are  rarely,  very  rarely,  united  with  a  robust  and 


304 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


XX  VI  I. 

w:  !  ww'  tliu  Lriyht 

iiiiL i')V  kiii^jlit. 

To  lovo  her  wot  an  ciuy  hoot, 
T!i.  -t  of  liis  hroiwt ; 

Tu  \\ .1  Imrilor  tjLsk 

To  onu  tluit  iliintt  not  hufK-  or  luk. 
Vet  all  Mutilda  could,  kIic  guvo 
In  pity  to  bcr  gi-ntlo  blavo ; 
Frieiulidup,  ostoem,  nnd  fuir  repird, 
And  i^ruutc,  the  p.'ot's  best  reward ! 
Shu  rt-ad  tlio  tales  liis  taste  approved, 
And  sung  tho  lays  lie  framed  or  loved; 
Yet, loth  to  nursic  the  fatal  ttanio 
Of  lu>poli'«j(  love  iu  fricndsliip's  name, 
In  kind  cai)rico  she  oft  withdrew 
The  favoring  glance  to  frieiidsliip  due,' 
Tlicn  grieved  to  see  her  victim's  pain, 
And  gave  the  diuigerous  smiles  again. 

XXVIIL 
So  did  the  suit  of  Wilfrid  stand, 
\Mien  war's  loud  summons  waked   the 

land. 
Tlirce  banners,  floating  o'er  the  Tees, 
Tlie  wo-foreb<Kling  peasant  sees ; 
In  concert  <if     "        '  1  of  old 

Tlie  bordcrii  ;  -ion  bold; 

Frowning  defiance  in  their  pride,' 
Tlieir  va.«sal-  now  anrl  lords  divide. 
From  his  fair  liall  on  Greta  banks. 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  led  his  ranks, 
To  aid  the  valiant  northern  Earls, 
Who  drew  the  sword  for  royal  Charles. 
Mortbam,  by  marrisige  near  allied, — 

r  had  been  Rokeby's  bride, 
...    .^..  lung  before  the  civil  fray, 
In  peaceful  grave  the  lady  lay, — 
Pliilip  of  Mortham  niised  liis  band. 
And  march'd  at  Fairfax's  command 
While  Wycliffe,  bound  by  many  a  train 
Of  kindred  art  with  wily  Vane, 
Lc^^  prompt  to  brave  the  bloody  field. 
Made  Barnard's  battlements  liis  shield, 
Secured  them  with  his  Luncdale  powers, 
And  for  the  Commons  held  the  towers. 

1  '  xly.     In  V>otli  these  partieolars,  the  char- 

>'  ■  ci»mpt  from  tho  objections  to  which  we 

Jiink  that  of  the  Minstrel  liable.  At  the  period  of  the  Civil 
Wan,  in  the  higher  oHfn  of  Society,  intcllectnal  refinement 
hnil  a/lranccd  to  a  degree  infficicnt  to  give  probability  to  its 
rxirtenpc.  The  rrmainder  of  oor  argnmeiit  will  Ik;  best  cx- 
plnin»'d  by  the  beantiful  lines  of  the  [KK-t,"  (jtanzas  xr-  and 
ixvi.) — Critical  Ilrriew. 

I  MS.—"  And  fift  mn.t  WHfri'l  woo."  &c. 

>Mr5.— "TheT  V." 

'  i^IS.— "  Now  !  rf  nt  iride, 

Their  vnsiaU  ami  truir  lonli"  divide." 

•  MS.—"  Dame  Alice  and  Matilda  bright, 


XXIX. 

'Hie  lovely  heir  of  Kokeby'.s  Knight* 
Waits  hi  his  halls  tho  event  of  light; 
For  Enghujd'a  war  revered  the  claim 
Of  every  unprotected  name, 
And  spared,  amid  its  fiercest  rage, 
ChLliUiiKKl  luid  womanhood  and  age. 
But  Wilfrid,  son  to  Rokeby's  foe,* 
Must  the  dear  privilege  forego, 
By  Greta's  side,  in  evening  gray, 
To  steal  uj)on  ISIatihla'e  way. 
Striving,'  witii  fond  hypocrisy, 
For  careless  step  and  vacant  eye ; 
Claming  each  an.vious  look  and  glance, 
To  give  the  meeting  all  to  chance, 
Or  framing,  as  a  fair  excuse, 
Tlie  book,  the  pencil,  or  the  muse : 
Something  to  give,  to  smg,  to  say. 
Some  modern  tale,  some  ancient  lay. 
Tlicn,  while  the  long'd-for  minutes  last, — 
All !  minutes  quickly  over-past ! — '' 
Recording  each  expression  free. 
Of  kinl  or  careless  courtesy, 
Each  friendly  look,  each  softer  tone, 
As  food  for  fancy  when  alone. 
All  this  is  o'er — but  still,  unseen, 
Wilfrid  may  lurk  in  Eastwood  green,* 
To  watch  Matilda's  wonted  round, 
Wliile  springs  liis  heart  at  every  sound. 
She  comes  ! — 'tis  but  a  passing  sight. 
Yet  serves  to  cheat  his  weary  night ; 
She  comes  not — ^he  will  wait  the  hour, 
When  her  lamp  lightens  in  the  tower  ;• 
'Tis  something  yet,  if,  as  she  past, 
Her  shade  is  o'er  the  lattice  cast. 
"  'Vfiiat  is  my  life,  my  hope  ?"  he  said ; 
"  Alas !  a  transitory  shade." 

XXX. 

Thus  wore  his  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love, 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present  woe  and  ills  to  come. 
While  still  he  turn'd  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intrusive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indifferent,  and  subdued, 

Danghter  and  wife  of  Rokeby's  Knight, 

Wait  in  his  halls,"  &c. 
6  MS. — "  Bet  AVilfrid,  when  the  strife  arose. 

And  Rokeby  and  his  son  were  foes, 

Was  doom'd  each  privilege  to  lose, 

Of  kindred  friendship  and  the  muse." 
«  MS. — "  Aping,  with  fond  hypocrisy, 

The  careless  step,"  &c. 
'  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 
«  MS.-"  May  Wilfrid  haunt  the     )  ^^j^^^^  „ 

Wilfrid  haunts  Scargill's  i       '-»■<="£"='="• 
»  MS. "  watch  the  hour, 

That  her  lamp  kindles  in  her  tower." 


iL 


CANTO  I. 


ROKEBY. 


30c 


Li  all  but  tliis,  unmoved  he  vieVd 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good : 
But  Wilfrid,  docile,  soft,  and  mEd, 
Was  Fancy's  sjDoil'd  and  wayward  claild  ; 
In  lier  bright'  car  she  bade  him  ride, 
With  one  fair  form  to  gi-ace  his  side, 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat,^ 
Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat, 
Bathed  in  her  dews  his  languid  head, 
Her  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  spread. 
For  him  her  opiates  gave  to  flow, 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
And  placed  him  in  her  ckcle,  free 
From  every  stern  reaUty, 
Till,  to  the  Visionary,  seem 
Her  day-dreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 

XXXL 

Woe  to  the  youth  whom  fancy  gains. 
Winning  from  Reason's  hand  the  reins, 
Pity  and  woe  !  for  such  a  mind 
Is  soft,  contemplative,  and  kind ; 
And  woe  to  those  who  train  such  youth, 
And  spare  to  press  the  rights  of  truth, 
The  mind  to  strengthen  and  anneal, 
While  on  the  stithy  glows  the  steel ! 
0  teach  him,  while  yom-  lessons  last, 
To  judge  the  present  by  the  past ; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  pursued, 
How  rich  it  glow'd  with  promised  good ; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  enjoy'd. 
How  soon  his  hopes  possession  cloy'd  ! 
Tell  him,  we  play  miequal  game. 
Whene'er  we  shoot  by  Fancy's  aim  f 
And,  ere  he  strip  him  for  her  race. 
Show  the  conditions  of  the  chase. 
Two  sisters  by  the  goal  are  set. 
Cold  Disappointment  and  Regret ; 
One  disenchants  the  winner's  eyes, 
And  strips  of  all  its  worth  the  prize. 


IMS.—"  TVildcvLT." 

*  MS. — "  Or  in  some  fair  but  lone  retreat, 

Flung  her  wild  spells  around  his  seat, 
For  lum  her  opiates  )  gave  to  ^  fln  v 

opiate   )  draughts  bade  ) 
Which  lie  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
Taught  him  to  turn  impatient  ear 
From  truth's  intrusive  voice  severe." 
s  In  the  MS.,  after  this  couplet,  the  following  lines  conclude 
Me  stanza : — 

"  That  all  who  on  her  visions  press, 
Find  disappointment  dog  success  ; 
But,  miss'd  their  wish,  lamenting  hold 
Her  gilding  false  for  sterling  gold." 

•  "  Soft  and  smooth  are  Fancy's  flowery  ways, 

And  yet,  even  there,  if  left  without  a  guide. 

The  young  adventurer  unsafely  plaj'S. 

Eyes,  dazzled  long  by  Fiction's  gaudy  rays, 

[n  modest  Truth  no  light  nor  beauty  find  ; 

And  who,  my  child,  would  trust  the  meteor  blaze 
39 


While  one  augments  its  gaudy  show, 
More  to  enhance  the  loser's  woe.* 
The  victor  sees  his  fairy  gold 
Transform'd,  when  won,  to  drossy  mold. 
But  still  the  vanquish'd  mourns  liis  loss, 
And  rues,  as  gold,  that  gUttering  dross. 

XXXII. 
More  wouldst  fhou  know — yon  tower  survey, 
Yon  couch  unpress'd  since  parting  day. 
Ton  untrimm'd  lamp,  whose  yellow  gleam 
Is  mingling  with  the  cold  moonbeam, 
And  yon  thin  form ! — the  hectic  red 
On  his  pale  cheek  unequal  spread  f 
The  head  reclined,  the  loosen'd  hair, 
The  hmbs  relax'd,  the  mournful  air. — 
See^  he  looks  up ; — a  wofid  smile 
Lightens  liis  wo-worn  cheek  a  while, — 
'Tis  fancy  wakes  some  idle  thought, 
To  gild  the  ruin  she  has  wrought ; 
For,  like  the  bat  of  Indian  brakes. 
Her  pinions  fan  the  wound  she  makes, 
And  soothing  thus  the  dreamer's  pain, 
She  drinks  his  hfe-blood  from  the  vein.' 
Now  to  the  lattice  turn  his  eyes. 
Vain  hope !  to  see  the  sun  arise. 
The  moon  with  clouds  is  still  o'ercast, 
StUl  howls  by  fits  the  stormy  blast ; 
Another  hour  must  wear  away, 
Ere  the  East  kindle  into  day. 
And  hark !  to  waste  that  weary  hour. 
He  tries  the  minstrel's  magic  power. 

XXXIII. 

TO  THE  MOON.'' 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam, 
Fale  pilgrim  of  the  troubled  sky  ! 
Hail,  though  the  mists  that  o'er  thee  stream 


That  soon  must  fail,  and  leave  the  wanderer  blmd. 
More  dark  and  helpless  far,  than  if  it  ne'er  had  shined  I 

"  Fancy  enervates,  while  it  soothes  the  heart, 
And,  while  it  dazzles,  wounds  the  mental  sight ; 
To  joy  each  heightening  charm  it  can  impart. 
But  wraps  the  hour  of  woe  in  tenfold  night. 
And  often,  where  no  real  ills  affright. 
Its  visionary  fiends,  an  endless  train. 
Assail  with  equal  or  superior  might. 
And  through  the  throbbing  heart,  and  dizzy  brain. 
And  shivering  nerves,  shoot  stings  of  more  than  mortal 
pain."  Beattie. 

6  MS. — "  On  his  pale  cheek  in  crimson  glow  ; 
The  short  and  painful  sighs  that  show 
The  shrivell'd  lip,  the  teeth's  white  row. 
The  head  reclined,"  &c. 

*  MS. "  the  sleeper's  pain, 

Drinks  his  dear  life-blood  from  the  vein.' 
'  "  The  little  poem  that  follows  is,  in  our  judgment,  one  of 


306 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II. 


Leml  to  thy  brow  their  sullen  dye  !• 

ir.  ■  •    ■       >  •  f„l   i,yo 

1  luW, 

Or  Iww  n  tourlcM  bconi  supply 
To  light  a  worKl  of  war  nixl  woe  ! 

Fair  Queen  1  I  will  not  blanio  Uieo  now, 

P  1  thy  brow 

1     :  •'       .Ik  :  '.  .  I's  beauty  hide. 
A  ■    n  ct)uld  cliido, 

.- ^        to  memory  dear, 

For  while  a  softer  strain  I  tried, 

Tliey  hid  my  blu.sli,  and  cahn'd  my  fear. 

Tlicn  did  I  swear  thy  ray  serene 

Was  funn'd  to  lifjht  some  lonely  dull, 
p.v  tw.i  f.tid  lovers  only  seen, 

!  1  from  the  crystal  well. 

Or  !<leciiinjj  on  their  mossy  cell, 

Or  quivering  ou  the  lattice  bright, 
Or  glancing  on  their  couch,  to  tell 

How  swiftly  wanes  the  summer  night ! 

XXXIV. 

He  starts — a  step  at  this  lone  hour  ! 

A  voice  ! — his  father  seeks  the  tower. 

With  haggard  lo<jk  and  troubled  sense. 

Fresh  from  his  dreadful  conference. 

"  Wilfrid ! — wliat,  not  to  sleep  address'd? 

lliou  hast  no  cares  to  chase  thy  rest. 

Mortham  has  fall'n  on  Marston-moor ;' 

Bcrtr;  '    '    '        warrant  to  secure 

His  ti  lught  by  spoil  and  blood, 

For  the  State's  use  and  public  good, 

n  '  '       'II  thy  voice  obey ; 

I.'  -ion  have  its  way,^ 

In  everj'  point,  in  every  word." — 

TI  %vhi«per, — "  Take  thy  sword ! 

];,  — wliat  I  must  not  tell. 

I  hear  his  liasty  step — farewell  !"* 

the  han  of  Mr.  ScoU's  attempts  in  this  kind.  He,  certainly, 
1  ■  -»ful  M  a  iiong-writcr  ;  but,  without  any 

'  -r^  are  plcajiing  thoughtd,  poli.shed  ex- 
fication." — JilontMy  Review. 
:  thy  lovely  dye  ! 
A  'ad  cxro«f  li'i  Fancy  try — 

llow  ^liould  so  kind  a  planet  ahow 
Her  ntninlfm  (ilver'i  loitrc  high. 
To  lit'ht  a  world  of  war  and  woe  1" 
•  MS. — "  Ilrm's  Ri«iii;;hain  hringn  tidings  sure, 
Morthnm  ha."  frill'n  on  .Mamton-moor ; 
And  ho  hath  w.Trraiit  to  Bocnrn,"  &o 
s  MS. — "  Si-o  ihn^  ■  'is  warrant  way." 

«  VVi'ti  th"  M9.  f.r  vviii.  to  xxxxv.  Scott  tlins  ad- 

drv«-  r: — "  I  mrnd  yoo  the  wliole  of  the  canto.     I 

wi«ii  I  -d  yon  would  look  it  over  together,  and  con- 

•ider  wh^ner  D()on  the  whole  mnltfr,  it  a  likely  to  make  an 
impmvion.  If  it  does  really  come  to  good,  I  think  there  are 
no  limits  to  the  interest  of  that  style  of  composition  ;  for  the 
r^rictT  of  life  and  character  arc  boundless. 


U  0  k  c  b  1) . 


OANTO   SECOND. 


I. 

Fau  m  the  chambers  of  the  west, 
Tlio  gale  had  sigh'd  itself  to  rest ; 
The  moon  was  cloudless  now  and  clear, 
But  pale,  and  soon  to  di.'^appear. 
Tlie  tiiingray  chiuds  wax  dimly  light 
On  Brusloton  and  Houghton  height ; 
And  the  rioh  dale,  that  eastward  lay, 
Waited  tlie  wakening  touch  of  day. 
To  give  its  woods  and  cultured  plain. 
And  towers  and  spires  to  light  again. 
But,  westward,  Stanmore's  shapeless  swell, 
And  Limedale  wild,  and  Kelton-fell, 
And  rock-bcginlled  Gilmaiiscar, 
And  Arkiiigarth,  lay  dark  afar ; 
While,  as  a  livelier  twilight  falls, 
Em  'rge  proud  Barnard's  banner'd  walls. 
High  crowu'd  he  sits,  in  dawning  pale, 
The  sovereign  of  the  lovely  vale. 

IL 

What  prospects,  from  his  watch-tower  high. 
Gleam  gradual  on  the  warder's  eye ! — 
Fat  sweeping  to  the  east,  he  sees 
Do^vn  his  deep  woods  the  coiu-se  of  Tees,* 
And  tracks  liis  wanderings  by  the  steam 
Of  simimer  vapors  from  the  stream ; 
And  ere  he  paced  his  destined  hour 
By  Brackenbury's  dungeon-tower,* 
Tlie.se  silver  mi.sts  shall  melt  away, 
Aiul  dew  the  woods  with  glittering  spray. 
Then  in  broad  lustre  shall  be  shown 
Tliat  mighty  trench  of  living  stone,' 
And  each  huge  trunk  that,  from  the  side. 
Reclines  him  o'er  the  darksome  tide, 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  give  Matilda  a  mother  or  not. 
Decency  requires  she  should  have  one  ;  hut  she  is  as  likely  to 
be  in  my  way  as  the  gudcman's  mother,  according  to  the  prov- 
erb, is  always  in  that  of  the  gudewife.  Yours  truly,  W.  S. — 
Mbotsford,"  (Oct.  1812.) 

"  We  cannot  close  the  first  Canto  without  bestowing  the 
highest  praise  on  it.  The  whole  design  of  the  picture  is  ex- 
cellent ;  and  the  contrast  presented  to  the  gloomy  and  fearful 
opening  by  the  calm  and  innocent  conclusion,  is  masterly. 
Never  were  two  characters  more  clearly  and  forcibly  set  in 
oppo5iition  than  those  of  Bertram  and  Wilfrid.  Cswald  com- 
pletes the  group  ;  and,  for  the  moral  purposes  of  the  painter, 
is  perhaps  superior  to  the  others.     He  is  admirably  designed 

'  That  middle  course  to  steer 


To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear.'  " 

Monthly  RevieiB. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

«  M.'*.— "  Betwixt  the  gate  and  Baliol's  tower." 
'  MS. — "  Those  deep-hewn  banks  of  living  stone." 


II 


•v 


^iSJSBSt' 


CANTO  II. 


ROKEBY. 


307 


"Wliere  Tees,  full  many  a  fathom  low, 
Wears  with  his  rage  no  common  foe  ; 
For  pebbly  bank,  nor  sand-bed  here, 
Nor  clay-mound,  checks  his  fierce  career, 
Condemn"d  to  mine  a  channell'd  way, 
O'er  solid  sheets  of  mai-ble  gray. 

III. 

Nor  Tees  alone,  in  dawning  bright, 

Shall  rush  ujDon  the  ravish'd  sight ; 

But  many  a  tributary  stream 

Each  from  its  own  dark  dell  shall  gleam : 

Staindrop,  who,  from  her  silvan  bowers,' 

Salutes  pi-oud  Raby's  battled  towers  ; 

The  rural  brook  of  Eglistou, 

And  Balder,  named  from  Odin's  son ; 

And  Greta,  to  whose  banks  ere  long 

We  lead  the  lovers  of  the  song  ; 

And  silver  Lune,  from  Stanmore  wild. 

And  fairy  Thorsgill's  murmuring  child. 

And  last  and  least,  but  loveliest  still. 

Romantic  Deepdale's  slender  rill. 

Who  in  that  dim-wood  glen  hath  stray'd. 

Yet  long'd  for  Roslin's  magic  glade  ? 

Wlio,  wandering  there,  hath  sought  to  change 

Even  for  that  vale  so  stern  and  strange, 

Wliere  Cartland's  Crags,  fantastic  rent, 

Through  her  green  copse  Kke  spires  are  sent  ? 

Tet,  Albin,  yet  the  praise  be  tliine. 

Thy  scenes  and  story  to  combine ! 

Thou  bid'st  him,  who  by  Roslin  strays. 

List  to  the  deeds  of  other  davs  ;^ 

'Mid  Cartland's  Crags  thou  show'st  the  cave, 

The  refuge  of  thy  champion  brave  f 

Giving  each  rock  its  storied  tale, 

Pom-ing  a  lay  for  every  dale. 

Knitting,  as  with  a  moral  band. 

Thy  native  legends  with  thy  land, 

To  lend  each  scene  the  interest  high 

Which  genius  beams  from  Beauty's  eye 

IV. 

Bertram  awaited  not  the  sight 

Which  sunrise  shows  from  Barnard's  height, 

But  from  the  towers,  preventing  day, 

With  Wilfrid  took  his  early  way, 

"WTiile  misty  dawn,  and  moonbeam  pale, 

Still  mingled  m  the  silent  dale. 

By  Bamai'd's  bridge  of  stately  stone. 

The  southern  bank  of  Tees  they  won  ; 

1  MS. — "  Staindrop,  who,  on  her  silvan  way, 

Salutes  proud  Raby's  turrets  gray." 

2  See  Notes  to  tlie  song  of  Fair  Rosabelle,  in  the  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel. 

s  Cartland  Crags,  near  Lanark,  celebrated  as  among  the  fa- 
vorite retreats  of  Sir  William  Wallace. 
''  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 
6  MS. — "  For  brief  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 


Their  winding  path  then  eastward  oast, 
And  Egliston's  gray  rums  pass'd  ;* 
Each  on  his  own  deep  visions  bent, 
Silent  and  sad  they  onward  went. 
Well  may  you  think  that  Bertram's  mood,* 
To  Wilfrid  savage  seem'd  and  rude  ; 
Well  may  you  think  bold  Risingham 
Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame ; 
And  small  the  mtercourse,  I  ween. 
Such  unconcrenial  souls  between. 


Stern  Bertram  shimn'd  the  nearer  way, 
Tlirough  Rokeby's  park  and  cltase  that  lay, 
And,  skirting  high  the  valley's  ridge, 
They  cross'd  by  Greta's  ancient  bridge, 
Descending  where  her  waters  wind 
Fi'ee  for  a  space  and  uuconfined. 
As,  'scaped  from  BrignaU's  dark-wood  glen, 
She  seeks  wild  Mortham's  deeper  den. 
There,  as  his  eye  glanced  o'er  the  mound. 
Raised  by  that  Legion^  long  renown'd, 
^^lose  votive  slu-ine  asserts  their  claim, 
Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame, 
"  Stern  sons  of  war  !"  sad  Wilfrid  sigh'd, 
"  Behold  the  boast  of  Roman  pride  ! 
What  now  of  all  your  toils  are  known  I 
A  grassy  trench,  a  broken  stone !" — 
This  to  himself ;  for  moral  strain 
To  Bertram  were  address'd  in  vain. 

VI. 

Of  different  mood,  a  deeper  sigh 

Awoke,  when  Rokeby's  tuiTets  high^ 

Were  northward  in  the  dawmng  seen 

To  rear  them  o'er  the  thicket  green. 

0  then,  though  Spenser's  self  had  stray'd 

Beside  him  through  the  lovely  glade. 

Lending  his  rich  luxuriant  glow 

Of  fancy,  all  its  charms  to  show, 

Pointing  the  stream  rejoicing  free, 

As  captive  set  at  liberty, 

Flashing  her  sparkhng  waves  abroad,* 

And  clamoring  joyful  on  her  road  ; 

Pointing  where,  up  the  sumiy  banks. 

The  trees  retu-e  m  scatter'd  ranks, 

Save  where,  advanced  before  the  rest, 

On  knoll  or  hillock  rears  his  crest. 

Lonely  and  huge,  the  giant  Oak, 

As  champions,  when  then-  band  is  broke, 

Such  uncongenial  souls  between  ; 
Well  may  you  think  stern  Risingham 
Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame ; 
And  naught  of  mutual  interest  lay 
To  bind  the  comrades  of  the  way." 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  N.  '  Ibid.  Note  O 

8  MS. — "  Flashing  to  heaven  her  sparkling  spray, 
And  cHraoring  joyful  on  her  way." 


108 


scorr's  poetical  works. 


CANTO  11. 


''■■■'    ilonjj  their  rugged  biise,' 
tpath'd  iiiggiinl  space, 


StaiiJ  forth  to  giuinl  the  rearward  post, 

Yot  vrnnte  iii  vniii  hu  magic  lay, 

W'  "  ■    ■  <iit  towi-r, 

A\  1  -.  bower. 

vir. 

T!i.'  i.iM  II  \;ilr  is  8<H>ii  pujw'd  o'er, 

:  DJffh,  is  seen  no  more  ;' 
.■^  tliiokcts  deep, 

A :   .  lourse  tliey  keep, 

A  uteni  and  lono,  yet  lovely  road. 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  Minstrel  trode  !' 

lirojid  slmdow.s  o'er  their  jjjuj-sjige  fell. 

Deeper  and  narrower  grew  the  dell; 

U  seeni'd  some  mountain,  rent  and  riven, 

A  cliannel  for  the  stream  luul  given, 

So  high  the  cliffs  of  limestone  gray 

Hung  beetling  o'er  the  torrent's  way, 

Yi 

A 

Where  he,  who  winds  'twixt  rock  and  wave, 

May  hear  the  headlong  torrent  rave. 

And  like  a  steed  in  frantic  fit, 

Tluit  flings  the  froth  from  curb  and  bit,* 

May  view  her  chafe  her  waves  to  spray. 

O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  way. 

Till  foam-globes  on  her  eddies  ride, 

Tliick  as  the  schemes  of  human  pride 

That  down  life's  current  drive  amaiu, 

As  frail,  as  frothy,  and  as  vain  1 

VIIL 
The  cliffs  that  rear  their  haughty  head 
High  o'er  the  river's  darksome  bed. 
Were  now  all  naked,  Avild,  and  gray, 
Now  waving  all  with  greenwood  spray ; 
n  -  to  every  crevice  clung, 

A:  he  dell  their  branches  hung; 

And  there,  all  splinter'd  and  imeven, 
The  shivcr'd  rocks  ascend  to  heaven ; 

'  MS.—  tower  is  s«en  no  more  ; 

'  ■  r.'ta's  tliiukeU  green, 
The  joameyen  seek  anolher  scene." 


>  M3.- 


lieside 
'■  path  by  Greta's  tide.' 


MS 


'  iiurgani 
— '■  That  flings  ihefoam  from  cnrb  and  bit. 


»  M 


•.MS 


(  lawny  j 
Chafing  her  waves  tu  <  whiten  \  wrath, 

( spongy  ) 
O'er  even  rock  that  bars  her  path, 
Till  down  li(*r  iKiiliii?  whiles  ride,"  tc. 
'. — "  The  frequent  inj  •.wntln  <1  their  breast, 

And  wreathed  ilf  tendrils  roand  their  crest. 
Or  from  their  summit  bade  them  fall. 
And  trtmble  o'er  the  Greta's  brawl." 

— "  And  so  the  ivy's  banners  }  ^^"' 
I  gle-im, 


Oft,  too,  the  ivy  swathed  their  breast,* 
And  wreathed  its  garland  round  their  crest. 
Or  from  the  spires  bade  loosely  flare 
Its  tendrils  in  the  middle  air. 
As  pennons  wont  to  wave  of  old 
O'er  the  high  fe;i.st  of  Baron  bold, 
When  revell'd  loud  the  feudal  rout. 
And  the  arcli'd  halls  return'd  tljeir  shout ; 
Such  and  more  wild  is  Greta's  roar. 
And  such  the  echoes  from  her  shore. 
And  so  the  ivied  banners  gleam,' 
Waved  wildly  o'er  the  brawling  stream. 

IX. 
Now  from  the  stream  the  rocks  recede, 
But  leave  between  no  sunny  mead. 
No,  nor  the  spot  of  pebbly  sand, 
Oft  found  by  such  a  mountain  strand  ,'' 
Forming  such  warm  and  dry  retreat, 
As  fancy  deems  the  lonely  seat. 
Where  hermit,  wandering  from  his  cell, 
His  rosary  might  love  to  tell. 
But  here,  'twixt  rock  and  river,  grew 
A  dismal  grove  of  sable  yew,* 
With  Avhose  sad  tints  were  mingled  seen 
The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  green. 
Seem'd  that  the  trees  their  shadows  cast, 
The  earth  that  nourish'd  them  to  bliist ; 
For  never  knew  that  swarthy  grove 
The  verdant  hue  that  fairies  love ; 
Nor  wilding  green,  nor  woodhmd  flowor, 
Arose  within  its  baleful  bower : 
The  dank  and  sable  earth  receives 
Its  only  carpet  from  the  leaves, 
Tliat,  from  the  withering  branches  cast, 
Bestrew'd  the  ground  with  every  blast. 
Though  now  the  sun  was  o'er  the  hill, 
In  this  dark  spot  'twas  twilight  still,' 
Save  that  on  Greta's  farther  side 
Some  straggling  beams  through  copsewood 

glide ; 
And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 


J  Waved  wildly  trembling  o'er  the  scene, 

(  Waved  wild  above  the  clamorous  stream." 


7  MS.- 


'  a  torrent's  strand  ; 


Where  in  the  warm  and  dry  retreat, 
May  fancy  form  some  hermit's  seat." 

8  MS. — "  A  darksome  grove  of  fnneral  yew. 
Where  trees  a  baleful  shadow  cast. 
The  ground  that  nourish'd  them  to  blast, 
Mingled  with  whose  sad  tints  were  seen 
The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  green." 

»  MS. — "  In  this  dark  grovo  'twas  twilight  still. 
Save  that  upon  the  rocks  opposed 
Some  stragjrling  beams  of  morn  reposed  ; 
And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 
That  bleak  and  dark  funereal  shade 
With  the  briirht  tints  of  early  day, 
Which,  struggling  through  the  greenwood  spray. 
Upon  the  rock's  wild  summit  lay." 


CANTO  II. 


ROKEBY. 


309 


Tliat  dingle's  deep  and  funeral  shade, 
With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day, 
Wliich,  glimmermg  through  the  iry  spray, 
On  the  opposing  summit  lay. 

X. 

Tlie  lated  peasant  shunn'd  the  dell ; 

For  Superstition  wont  to  tell 

Of  many  a  grisly  sound  and  sight. 

Scaring  its  path  at  dead  of  night. 

When  Christmas  logs  blaze  high  and  wide. 

Such  wonders  speed  the  festal  tide ; 

While  Curiosity  and  Fear, 

Pleasure  and  Pain,  sit  crouching  near, 

Till  childhood's  cheek  no  longer  glows. 

And  village  maidens  lose  the  rose. 

The  thrilhng  mterest  rises  higher,' 

The  circle  closes  nigh  and  nigher, 

And  shuddering  glance  is  cast  beliind. 

As  louder  moans  the  wintry  wind. 

BeUeve,  that  fitting  scene  was  laid 

For  such  wild  tales  in  Mortham  glade ! 

For  who  had  seen,  on  Greta's  side. 

By  that  dim  light  fierce  Berti-am  stride. 

In  such  a  spot,  at  such  an  horn-, — 

If  touch'd  by  Superstition's  power, 

Might  well  have  deem'd  that  Hell  had  given 

A  murderer's  ghost  to  upper  Heaven, 

While  Wilfrid's  form  had  seem'd  to  glide 

Like  his  pale  victim  by  his  side. 

XL 

^or  think  to  village  swains  alone 
Are  these  unearthly  terrors  known ; 
For  not  to  rank  nor  sex  confined 
Is  this  vain  ague  of  the  mind : 
Hearts  fii'm  as  steel,  as  marble  hard, 
'Gainst  faith  and  love,  and  pity  barr"d. 
Have  quaked,  like  aspen  leaves  in  May, 
Beneath  its  xmiversal  sway. 
Bertram  had  listed  many  a  tale 
Of  wonder  in  his  native  dale. 
That  in  his  secret  soul  retain'd 
The  credence  they  in  childhood  gain'd : 

I  MS. — "  The  interest  rises  high  and  liigher." 
3  The  MS.  has  not  the  two  following  couplets. 
3  "  Also  I  shall  shew  very  briefly  what  force  conjurers  and 
witches  have  in  constraining  the  elements  enchanted  Ijy  them 
or  others,  that  they  may  exceed  or  fall  short  of  their  natural 
order  :  premising  this,  that  tlie  extream  land  of  North  Finland 
and  Lapland  was  so  taught  witchcraft  formerly  in  heathenish 
times,  as  if  they  had  learned  this  cursed  art  from  Zoroastres  the 
Persian  ;  thougli  other  inhabitants  by  tlie  sea-coasts  are  reported 
to  be  bewitched  with  the  same  madness  ;  for  they  exercise  this 
devilish  art,  of  all  the  arts  of  the  world,  to  admiration  ;  and  in 
this,  or  other  such  like  mischief,  they  commonly  agree.  The 
Finlandeis  were  wont  formerly,  amongst  their  other  errors  of 
gentilisme,  to  sell  winds  to  merchants  that  were  stopt  on  their 
coasts  by  contrary  weather ;  and  when  they  had  their  price, 
they  knit  three  magical  knots,  not  like  to  the  laws  of  Cassius, 


Ifor  less  his  wild  adventurous  youth 
Believed  in  every  legend's  truth ; 
Learn'd  when,  beneath  the  tropic  gaie. 
Full  swell'd  the  vessel's  steady  sail, 
And  the  broad  Indian  moon  her  light 
Pour'd  on  the  watch  of  middle  night. 
When  seamen  love  to  hear  and  teU 
Of  portent,  prodigy,  and  spell  :'^ 
Wliat  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore,^ 
How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar,^ 
Of  witch,  of  mermaid,  and  of  sprite. 
Of  Brick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light  -^ 
Or  of  that  Phantom  Ship,  whose  form 
Shoots  hke  a  meteor  through  the  storm ; 
TMien  the  dark  scud  comes  driving  hard, 
And  lower'd  is  every  topsail-yard, 
And  canvas,  wove  in  earthly  looms. 
No  more  to  brave  the  storm  presmnes ! 
Then,  'mid  the  war  of  sea  and  sky. 
Top  and  top-gallant  hoisted  high, 
Full  spread  and  crowded  every  sail. 
The  Demon  Frigate  braves  the  gale ;' 
And  well  the  doom'd  spectators  know 
The  harbinger  of  wreck  and  woe. 

XIL 
Then,  too,  were  told,  in  stifled  tone, 
Marvels  and  omens  all  their  own ; 
How,  by  some  desert  isle  or  key,'' 
Where  Spaniards  wrought  their  cruelty. 
Or  where  the  savage  pirate's  mood 
Repaid  it  home  in  deeds  of  blood. 
Strange  niglitly  sounds  of  woe  and  fear 
Appall'd  the  listening  Bucanier, 
Whose  hght-arm'd  shallop  anchor'd  lay 
In  ambush  by  the  lonely  bay. 
The  groan  of  grief,  the  shriek  of  pain. 
Ring  from  the  moonlight  groves  of  cane  ; 
The  fierce  adventurer's  heart  they  scare. 
Who  wearies  memory  for  a  prayer. 
Curses  the  road-stead,  and  with  gale 
Of  early  morning  hfts  the  sail. 
To  give,  in  thirst  of  blood  and  prey, 
A  legend  for  another  bay. 

bound  up  with  a  tlionj,  and  they  gave  them  unto  the  mer- 
chants ;  observing  that  rule,  that  wlien  they  unloosed  the  firsv. 
they  should  have  a  good  gale  of  wind  ;  wlien  the  second,  a 
stronger  wind  ;  but  when  they  untied  the  third,  thej'  should 
have  such  cruel  tempests,  that  they  should  not  be  able  to  look 
out  of  the  forecastle  to  avoid  the  rocks,  nor  move  a  foot  to  pull 
down  the  sails,  nor  stand  at  tlie  helm  to  govern  the  shin :  and 
tliey  made  an  unhappy  trial  of  the  truth  of  it  who  denied  that 
tliere  was  any  such  power  in  those  knots." — Olaus  Magsus's 
History  of  tlie  Goths,  Swedes,  and  Vandals.  Lond.  1658,  fol 
p.  47.— [See  Note  to  The  Pirate,  "  Sale  of  VVmds."  TVater- 
ley  Movels,  vol.  xxiv.  p.  136.] 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  Q. 

5  Ibid.  Note  R. 

6  Ibid.  Note  S.  '  Ibid.  Note  T. 


310 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  ir. 


XI I L 

You  mark  him  by  the  crashing  bough, 

Til            .  nitm,  a  youtli,  ii  chihl, 

And  by  his  corselet's  sulku  clank. 

Tnun'il  in  the  luyKtic  nml  tliu  wilil. 

And  by  the  stones  spurn" tl  from  the  bank, 

Wi                                "it  wiul  lit  tiiiios 

And  by  the  hawk  sciired  from  her  nest. 

Ku         .-                     ^- iif  liii  criiiK's ; 

And  ravens  croaking  o'er  tlu'ir  guest. 

8ucli  to  hill  truubltid  b<<u1  thwir  form, 

Who  deem  liis  forfeit  limbs  shall  pay 

A^  '                            'lif)  to  till'  •'tonn, 

Tlie  tribute  of  his  bold  essay. 

All I  tiiin  itiul  ilroiui, 

As  liltriuks  luul  voicos  of  the  ilcml, — 

•    XV. 

Til                aIkwo  transitory  force' 

See,  he  emerges ! — desperate  now* 

H.. :xt  horror  uikI  remorse ; 

All  farther  course — Yon  beetling  brow, 

Tluit  |MUUf,  perduuico,  his  bosom  press'd, 

In  craggy  nakedness  sublime. 

At  Wilfrid  siuUU-u  he  nddross'd : — 

What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb  ? 

"  Wilfrid,  this  glen  is  ucver  trodc 

It  bears  no  tendril  for  Ids  clasp. 

Until  the  sun  rides  high  abroad ; 

Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp : 

Yet  twice  have  I  beheld  to-day 

Sole  stay  his  foot  ni.ay  rest  upon. 

A  Form,  that  scein'd  to  dog  our  way ; 

Is  yon  earth-bedded  jetting  stone. 

Twice  from  my  glance  it  seeni'd  to  flee, 

Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop,* 

And  shroud  itself  by  cliff  or  tree. 

He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 

How  think'st  thou  ? — Is  our  path  waylaid  ? 

Just  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 

Or  hath  thy  sire  my  trust  betray 'd  ? 

By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes  1 

If  so" Ere,  starting  from  his  dream, 

Beneath  his  tottering  bulk  it  bends. 

Tliat  tum'd  ujion  a  gentler  theme. 

It  sways,  ...  it  loosens,  ...  it  descends  1 

"Wilfrid  had  roused  hun  to  reply, 

And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way. 

Bertram  sprung  forward,  shouting  high, 

Craslung  o'er  rock  and  copsewood  spray. 

"  WHiate'er  thou  art,  thou  now  .ahalt  stand!" — 

Loud  thunders  shake  the  echouig  dell ! — 

And  forth  he  darted,  sword  in  hand. 

Fell  it  alone  ? — alone  it  fell. 

1 

Just  on  the  very  verge  of  fate, 

XIV. 

Tlie  hardy  Bertram's  foiling  weight 

As  bursts  the  levin  in  its  wrath,' 

He  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands, 

He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path ; 

And  on  the  top  unharm'd  he  stands ! — ^ 

Rock,  wood,  and  stream,  rang  wildly  out, 

To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout.* 

XVI. 

Seems  that  the  object  of  his  race 

"Wilfrid  a  safer  path  pursued ; 

Hath  scaled  the  cliffs ;  his  frantic  chase 

At  intervals  where,  roughly  hew'd, 

Sidelong  he  turns,  and  now  'tis  bent 

Rude  steps  ascending  from  the  deU 

Right  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement ; 

Render'd  the  chffs  accessible. 

Straimng  each  sinew  to  ascend, 

By  circuit  slow  he  thus  attain'd 

Foot,  hand,  and  knee,  their  aid  must  lend. 

Tlie  height  that  Risinghani  had  gain'd, 

"Wilfrid,  all  dizzy  with  dismay, 

And  when  he  issued  from  the  wood. 

Views  from  beneath  his  dreadful  way  : 

Before  the  gate  of  Mortlaam  stood." 

Now  to  the  oak's  warp'd  roots  he  clings 

'Twas  a  fiiir  scene !  the  sunbeam  lay 

Now  trusts  liis  weight  to  ivy  strmgs ; 

On  battled  tower  and  portal  gray : 

Now,  hko  the  wild-goat,  must  he  dare 

And  from  the  grassy  slope  he  sees 

An  unsupported  leap  in  air  ;* 

The  Greta  flow  to  meet  the  Tees ; 

Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now. 

"Where,  issuuig  from  her  darksome  bed, 

•  M3. — "  Iw  foil,  thoDgh  transitory  force 

• 
His  progress — heart  anil  foot  must  fail 

Hover*,  'twixt  (lily  anil  remorse." 

Von  upmost  crag's  bare  peak  to  scale." 

•  MS.—"  A*  bnraU  the  levin-bolt  \  '"  l  wralli  " 

«  MS.—"  Perch'd  like  an  eagle  on  its  top, 

'  iti  S 

Balanced  on  its  uncertain  prop. 

»  MS.—"  To  his  fierce  ttep  and  laiiige  iliout. 

Just  .OS  the  perilous  stretch  he  makes. 

Seems  that  the  object  of  hLi  \  ""* 

By  heaven,  his  tottering  footstool  shakes." 

1  chaM 

'  Opposite  to  this   line,  the  MS.  has  this   note,  meant  to 

Had  scaled  the  cliffs;  his  desperate  chose." 

amuse  Mr.  Ballautyne  : — "  If  my  readers  will  not  allow  that  I 

*  MS. — "  A  desperate  le.ip  tlirouj^h  empty  air; 

have  climbed  Parnassus,  they  must  grant  that  1  have  turned 

Hid  in  the  copse-clml  rain-coun-e  row." 

the  Kittle  JVine  Steps."— See  note  to Redgauntlet.— W^a«cW«y 

•  MS. — "  ?ee,  he  rmi-rsn^  ' — il<-«p<'mtr  now 

J^oBcls,  vol.  x.xxv.  p.  G. 

Toward  the  naked  iK.ttlins  tirow. 

t  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

CANTO  II.                                               ROKEBY.                                                       311 

She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 

That  none  should  on  hia  steps  intrude, 

And  through  the  softening  vale  below 

Whene'er  he  sought  this  soUtude. — 

RoU'd  her  bright  waves,  in  rosy  glow, 

An  ancient  mariner  I  laiew. 

All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed,^ 

What  time  I  saU'd  with  Morgan's  crew, 

Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred ; 

Who  oft,  'mid  our  carousals,  spake 

Wliile  linnet,  lark,  and  blackbird  gay. 

Of  Raleigh,  Forbisher,  and  Drake  ; 

Suig  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 

Adventurous  hearts !  who  barter'd,  bold, 

Then-  EngUsh  steel  for  Spanish  gold. 

XVII. 

Trust  not,  woidd  his  experience  say. 

'Twas  sweetly  sung  that  roundelay ; 

Captain  or  comrade  with  your  prey ; 

That  summer  morn  shone  blithe  and  gay ; 

But  seek  some  charnel,  when,  at  full. 

But  morning  beam,  and  wild-bh-d's  call, 

The  moon  gilds  skeleton  and  skull : 

Awaked  not  Mortham's  sUeut  hall.^ 

There  dig,  and  tomb  your  precious  heap ; 

No  porter,  by  the  low-brow"d  gate, 

And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep  f 

Took  in  the  wonted  niche  liis  seat ; 

Sure  stewards  they,  n  fitting  speU 

To  the  paved  court  no  peasant  di-ew ; 

Their  service  to  the  task  compel. 

"Waked  to  then-  toil  no  menial  crew ; 

Lacks  there  such  charnel  ? — kill  a  slave," 

The  maiden's  carol  was  not  heai-d. 

Or  prisoner,  on  the  treasure-grave ; 

As  to  her  morning  task  she  fared : 

And  bid  his  discontented  ghost 

In  the  void  oifices  around. 

Stalk  nightly  on  his  lonely  post. — 

Rimg  not  a  hoof,  nor  bay'd  a  homid ; 

Such  was  the  tale.     Its  truth,  I  ween, 

Nor  eager  steed,  with  slirilUng  neig'h. 

Is  m  my  morning  vision  seen." 

Accused  the  lagging  groom's  delay  ; 

Untrimm'd,  imdress'd,  neglected  now. 

XIX. 

Was  alley'd  walk  and  orchard  bough : 

Wilfrid,  who  scorn'd  the  legend  wild. 

All  spoke  the  master's  absent  care,^ 

In  mingled  mirth  and  pity  smiled. 

AU  spoke  neglect  and  disrepak. 

Much  marvelling  that  a  breast  so  bold 

South  of  the  gate,  an  arrow  flight, 

In  such  fond  tale  belief  should  hold ;' 

Two  mighty  ehns  then-  lunbs  imitc, 

But  yet  of  Bertram  sought  to  know 

As  if  a  canopy  to  spread 

The  apparition's  form  and  show. — 

O'er  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead ; 

The  }3ower  within  the  guilty  breast, 

For  their  huge  boughs  m  arches  bent 

Oft  vanquish'd,  never  quite  suppress'd, 

Above  a  massive  monument, 

That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 

Carved  o'er  in  ancient  Gothic  wise, 

To  take  the  felon  by  surprise. 

With  many  a  scutcheon  and  device : 

And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell. 

There,  spent  with  toil  and  sunk  in  gloom, 

In  his  despite  liis  guilt  to  tell, — * 

Bertram  stood  pondering  by  the  tomb. 

That  power  in  Bertram's  breast  awoke . 

Scarce  conscious  he  was  heard,  he  spoke ; 

XVIII. 

"  'Twas  Mortham's  form,  from  foot  to  head ! 

"  It  vanish'd,  like  a  flitting  ghost ! 

His  morion,  with  the  plume  of  red. 

Behind  this  tomb,"  he  said,  "'twas  lost — 

His  shape,  his  mien — 'twas  Mortham,  right 

This  tomb,  where  oft  I  deem'd  lies  stored 

As  when  I  slew  him  in  the  fight." 

Of  Mortham's  Indian  wealth  the  hoai-d. 

"  Thou  slay  liim  ? — thou  ?" — With  conscious  start 

'Tis  true,  the  aged  servants  said 

He  heard,  then  mann'd  his  haughty  hearir- 

Here  his  lamented  wife  is  laid  ;* 

"  I  slew  him  ? — I ! — I  had  forgot 

But  weightier  reasons  may  be  guess'd 

Thou,  stripling,  knew'st  not  of  the  plot. 

For  their  lord's  strict  and  stern  behest, 

But  it  is  spoken — nor  will  I 

1  MS. — "  As  some  fair  maid  in  cloister  bred. 

4  MS. — "  Here  lies  the  partner  of  his  bed  ; 

Is  blushing  to  her  bridal  led." 

But  weightier  reasons  should  appear 

2  "The  beautiful  prospect  commanded  by  that  eminence, 

For  all  his  moonliglit  wanderings  here, 

Been  under  the  cheerful  light  of  a  summer's  morning,  is  finely 

And  for  the  sharp  rebuke  they  got. 

contrasted  with  the  silence  and  solitude  of  the  place." — Criti- 

That pried  around  his  favorite  spot." 

cal  Review. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

'  MS. — "  All  spoke  the  master  absent  far, 

6  3IS.— "  Lacks  there  such  chamel-vault  •?— a  slave, 

All  spoke)  "5''^'=*  ^'■''l^'"!^^"- 
t  the  woes  or  S 

Or  prisoner,  slaughter  on  the  grave." 
(      T  MS.—"  Should  faith  in  such  a  fable  hold." 

Close  by  the  gate,  an  arch  combined, 

1 

Two  haughty  elms  their  branches  twined." 

1      e  See  Appendix,  Note  V/ 

312 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  n. 


P,    ,      I       1  1      ...     „-..r  1      .1.    ,.,• 

I -'  ; 

"I'wiu  b^'  thu  hnud  timt  Mortluua  diod !" 

XX. 

W  '  I  luul  henrt, 

An  I  irt, 

Iti;'  il  l.roil. 

ami  tum'd  from  toil; 
n  t.f  tlic  lyro 
■  •  Mpnrk  of  noblo  fire, 
fniiul,  or  wrong, 
-'    '  '    'Kind  wiixM  stro'TiT. 
'iild  sustiiin, 
Un-tlinkon,  danger,  toil,  nnd  pnin; 
"  -       '        *'    -  ':  blazed  forth  to  flmnc.' 

!.!■<  frame. 
And  now  it  came,  that  generous  mood ; 
'     ■        ■•  '"  .urrent  .  •• '  •    "    ..1, 

he  laid  •!     _  liaiid, 

Placed  firm  liis  foot,  and  drew  his  brand. 
"Should   every   fiend,   to  whom  thou'rt 

sold. 
Rise  in  thine  aid,  I  keep  my  hold. — 
.\r  ■         ■     '  take  ppear  and  sword  1 

.\f  '.-rerofyour  Lord!" 

XXI. 
A  moment,  fix'd  as  by  a  spell, 
Stood  Bertram — It  secm'd  miracle, 
''  •  so  feeble,  soft,  and  tame, 

-    :  ,      p  on  warhke  Kisingham.' 
But  when  he  felt  a  feeble  stroke,* 
Hk^  tl'>nd  within  the  ruffian  woke  ! 
To  wn-neh  tlie  sword  from  Wilfrid's  hand, 
To  dash  him  headlong  on  the  sand, 
Wa-<  but  one  moment's  work, — one  more 
llad  drench'd  the  blade  in  Wilfrid's  gore  : 
But,  in  the  instant  it  arose, 
To  end  his  life,  his  love,  his  woes, 
A  warlike  form,  that  mark'd  the  scene, 
Presents  his  rapier  sheathed  between, 
Parrios  the  fa^t-descending  blow, 
And  steps  'twixt  Wilfrid  and  his  foe ; 
Nor  then  unscabbarded  his  brand, 
B''  pointing  with  his  hand, 

W'l,  .  ,,  h's  voice  forbade  the  fight, 

And  motion'd  Bertram  fmm  hi?  pight. 

'  M?. — "  Bal,  when  Mazpil  Tor;;.  .,,  .^  i..j..'ie  flame." 
'  "The  lodilrn  imprcion  made  on  ihe  miiiU  of  VViirrid  by 
this  avowal,  it  one  of  Uie  I"  "  "  .ucliw  of  moral  poctrv. 

The  effect  which   the   ont\  r  t  of  indignation   and 

valor  prodii  '"  iiied."— Criticoi 

RevitK. — "  1  orlhy  companion 

to  the  rencount.  r  ol    !  Ro.ltrick  Dhn,  in  the 

Lfldy  of  the  Lake." — .' ' 
■  MS. — "  At  length,  at  liight  and  feeble  atroke, 

That  razed  the  »kin,  hii  j  Jl"    <  awoke." 
f  rage   ) 


"  Go,  and  repent," — ho  said,  "  while  time 
Ls  given  tliee ;  add  not  cj-ime  to  crime." 

XXII. 
Mute,  and  uncertain,  and  amazed, 
As  on  a  vi>i"n  Bertram  ga/eil  ! 
'Twas  Mort  ham's  bearing,  bold  and  high,* 
His  sinewy  frame,  his  falcon  eye, 
His  look  and  accent  of  command. 
The  martial  gesture  of  his  hand,  . 
His  stately  form,  spare-built  and  tall. 
His  war-l>k'aoh'd  locks — 'twas  Mortham  all 
Through  Bertram's  dizzy  brain  career' 
A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear ; 
His  wavering  faith  received  not  quite 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
But  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 
His  lord,  in  living  flesh  and  blood. — 
What  spectre  ciui  the  charnel  send, 
So  dreadful  as  an  injured  friend  ? 
Tlien,  too,  the  habit  of  command. 
Used  by  the  leader  of  the  band, 
WHien  Risingham,  for  many  a  day, 
Had  mnrch'd  and  fought  beneath  liis  sway, 
Tamed  him — and,  with  reverted  face, 
Backwards  he  bore  his  sullen  pace ;' 
Oft  stopji'd,  and  oft  on  Mortham  stared. 
And  dark  as  rated  mastiff  glared; 
But  when  the  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard, 
Plunged  in  the  glen,  and  disappear'd ; — 
Nor  longer  there  the  W^arrior  stood. 
Retiring  eastward  through  the  wood ;' 
But  first  to  Wilfrid  warning  gives, 
"  Tell  thou  to  none  that  Mortham  lives 

XXIII. 
Still  rung  these  words  in  Wilfrid's  ear, 
Hinting  he  knew  not  what  of  fear ; 
"When  nearer  came  the  coursers'  tread, 
And,  with  hLs  father  at  their  head. 
Of  horsemen  arm'd  a  gallant  power 
Rein'd  up  their  steeds  before  the  tower. 
"  \Snience  these  pale  looks,  my  son  ?"  he  said : 
Where's  Bertram ?—"«niy  that  naked  blade?'- 
Wilfrid  ambiguously  replied 
(For  Mortham's  charge  his  honor  tied), 
"  Bertram  is  gone — the  villain's  word 
Avouch'd  him  murderer  of  his  lord ! 

<  MS. — "  'Twas  Mortham's  spare  and  sinewy  frame. 

His  falcon  eye,  his  glance  of  flame  " 
»  MS. — "  A  thousand  Ihonghts,  and  all  of  fear. 
Dizzied  his  brain  in  wild  career ; 
Doubting,  and  not  receiving  quite, 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
Utill  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 
His  living  lord,>in  flesh  and  blood." 
'  MS. — "  Hlow  he  retreats  with  sullen  pace." 
'  MS. — "  Retiring  through  the  thickest  wood." 
6  MS. — "  Rein'd  up  their  steeds  by  Mortham  tower. 


CANTO  II 


ROKEBY. 


313 


Even  now  we  fought — ^but,  when  your  tread 

Announced  you  nigh,  the  felon  fled." 

In  WyclifFe's  conscious  eye  ajjpeai* 

A  guilty  hope,  a  guilty  fear ; 

On  his  pale  brow  the  dewdi-op  broke. 

And  his  lip  quiver'd  as  he  spoke  : — 

XXIV. 
"  A  murderer ! — Philip  Mortham  died 
Aniid  the  battle's  wildest  tide. 
Wilfrid,  or  Bertram  raves,  or  you ! 
Yet,  grant  such  strange  confession  true, 
Pui'suit  were  vain — let  Iiim  fly  far — 
Justice  must  sleep  in  civil  war." 
A  gallant  Youth  rode  near  his  side, 
Brave  Rokeby's  page,  in  battle  tried ; 
That  morn,  an  embassy  of  weight 
He  brought  to  Barnard's  castle  gate, 
And  follow'd  now  in  Wycliffe's  train. 
An  answer  for  his  lord  to  gain. 
His  steed,  whose  arch'd  and  sable  neck 
An  hundred  wi-eaths  of  foam  bedeck. 
Chafed  not  against  the  curb  more  high 
Tlian  he  at  Oswald's  cold  reply ; 
He  bit  his  Up,  implored  his  saint, 
(His  the  old  faith) — then  bm-st  restraint. 

XXV. 
"Yes !  I  beheld  his  bloody  fall,* 
By  that  base  traitor's  dastai'd  ball. 
Just  when  I  thought  to  measure  sword. 
Presumptuous  hope !  with  Mortham's  lord. 
And  shall  the  murderer  'scape  who  slew 
His  leader,  generous,  brave,  and  true  ?^ 
Escape,  while  on  the  dew  you  trace 
The  marks  of  liis  gigantic  pace  ? 
No !  ere  the  sun  that  dew  shall  dry,3 
False  Risingham  sliall  yield  or  die. — 
Ring  out  the  castle  "larum  bell ! 
Ai'ouse  the  peasants  with  the  kneU ! 
Meantime  disperse — ride,  gallants,  ride  ! 
Beset  the  wood  on  every  side. 
But  if  among  you  one  there  be, 
That  honors  Mortham's  memory, 
Let  him  dismount  and  follow  me ! 

1  MS. — "  Yes  !  I  beheld  him  foully  slain, 

By  that  base  traitor  of  his  train." 

2  MS. — "  j9  knight,  so  generous,  brave  and  true." 


3MS.- 


'  that  dew  shall  drain, 


False  Risingham  shall  be  kill'd  or  ta'en." 
4  MS. —  To  the  Printer. — "On  the  disputed  line,  it  may 
Btand  thus, — 

'  Whoever  finds  him,  strike  him  dead ;' 
Of,- 

'  Who  first  shall  find  him,  strike  him  dead.' 

But  I  think  the  addition  of  felon,  or  any  such  word,  will  im- 
pair the  strength  of  the  passage.     Oswald  is  too  anxious  to 


Else  on  your  crests  sit  fear  and  shame, 
And  foul  suspicion  dog  your  name !" 

XXVL 
Instant  to  earth  young  Redmond  spnmg ; 
Instant  on  earth  the  harness  rung 
Of  twenty  men  of  "Wycliffe's  band, 
Who  waited  not  then  lord's  command. 
Redmond  his  spurs  from  buskins  drew, 
His  mantle  from  his  shoulders  threw. 
His  pistols  in  his  belt  he  placed, 
The  green-wood  gain'd,  the  footsteps  traced. 
Shouted  like  himtsman  to  liis  hounds, 
"  To  cover,  hark !" — and  in  he  bounds. 
Scarce  heard  was  OsAvald's  anxious  cry, 
"  Suspicion !  yes — pursue  him — fly- 
But  venture  not,  in  useless  strife. 
On  rufiian  desperate  of  liis  life, 
Whoever  finds  hhu,  shoot  him  dead  !* 
Five  himdred  nobles  for  his  head !" 

XXVIL 

The  horsemen  gallop'd,  to  make  good 

Each  path  that  issued  from  the  wood. 

Loud  from  the  thickets  rung  the  shout 

Of  Redmond  and  his  eager  rout ; 

With  them  was  Wilfrid,  stung  with  ire, 

And  envying  Redmond's  martial  fire,* 

And  emulous  of  fame. — But  where 

Is  Oswald,  noble  Mortham's  heir  ? 

He,  bound  by  honor,  law,  and  faith. 

Avenger  of  his  kinsman's  death  ? — 

Leaning  against  the  elmin  tree. 

With  drooping  head  and  slacken'd  knet;. 

And  clenched  teeth,  and  close-clasp'd  hands. 

In  agony  of  soul  he  stands ! 

His  downcast  eye  on  earth  is  bent. 

His  soul  to  every  sound  is  lent :  ^ 

For  in  each  shout  that  cleaves  the  air. 

May  ring  discovery  and  despau'.° 

XXVIIL 

What  'vail'd  it  liini,  that  brightly  pla/d 
The  morning  sun  on  Mortham's  glade  ? 
AH  seems  in  giddy  round  to  ride. 


use  epithets,  and  is  hallooing  after  the  men,  by  this  Urns  Cm 
tering  the  wood.  The  simpler  the  line  the  better.  In  m/ 
humble  opinion,  shoot  him  dead,  was  much  beUer  than  any 
other.  It  implies.  Do  not  even  approach  him;  kill  him  at  a 
distance.  1  leave  it,  however,  to  you,  only  saying,  that  I 
never  shun  common  words  when  they  are  to  the  purpose.  As 
to  yoar  criticisms,  I  cannot  but  attend  to  them,  because  they 
touch  passages  with  whicli  I  am  myself  discontented. — W.  S." 
6  MS. — "  Jealous  o/ Redmond's  noble  fire." 
6  "  Opposed  to  this  animated  picture  of  ardent  courage  and 
ingenuous  youth,  that  of  a  guilty  conscience,  which  imme- 
diately follows,  is  indescribably  terrible,  and  calculated  to 
achieve  the  higliest  and  noblest  purposes  of  dramatic  fiction." 
— Critical  Review, 


3U 


SCOTTS  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III 


Lflj..  ,.i.;...t^  .,1)  ii»torii»y  tiilo, 

S<  '  tiiu  luuoitlight  tliin, 

III  lu  rink  mill  swim. 

V,\  ;  it,  that  tlio  fair  iloirjuii, 

Itt  tukttleil  itiiULHJon,  hill,  niid  |iliun, 

On  •  HUii  »o  lirit,'htly  shmio, 

K:  ■■  '    "  ■■-  MOW  hi*  own  (' 

'II  in  thitt  hour, 

()l  mil  towor,' 

1 1. 1  .-tiiilil  such  n  doom 

ill  Ill's  bhxKly  tomb! 

Forc«'ii,  too,  to  turn  unwilling  ear 

To  f:uli  surniiso  of  hope  or  fear, 

Murniur'il  anioiiy  the  rustics  round, 

Who  gnther'd  at  the  'laruni  sound ; 

He  dureil  not  turn  his  head  away, 

E'en  to  look  up  to  heaven  to  pray, 

Or  call  on  hell,  in  bitter  mood, 

For  one  sharp  death-shot  from  the  wood ! 

XXIX. 

At  '        '      '       i^t  that  dreailfid  space, 

B;i.  inme  the  scutter'd  chase ; 

Jaded  and  weary,  horse  and  man, 

R.'       ''    '  ipers,  one  by  one. 

^\'  I  ,  arrived  to  say, 

All  trace  was  lost  of  Bertram's  way. 

Til       ■    ■     ■         1  still,  up  Brignal  wood,' 

T\\'       ,  ^  :  .st  in  vain  pursued. — 

0,  fatal  doom  of  human  race ! 

What  tyrant  p;u*sions  passions  chase  ! 

Remorse  from  Oswald's  brow  is  gone, 

Avarice  and  pride  resume  their  throne  ;* 

TliL"  pang  of  instant  terror  by, 

They  dictate  us  their  slave's  reply : — 

XXX. 

"  Ay — let  him  range  like  hasty  hound  ! 
And  if  the  grim  wolf's  lair  be  found. 
Small  is  my  care  hoAv  goes  the  game 
With  Redmond,  or  with  Risingham. — 
Nay,  answer  not,  thou  simple  boy  1 
Thy  fair  Matilda,  all  so  coy 
To  thee,  is  of  another  mood 
To  that  bold  youth  of  Erin's  blood. 
Tliy  ditties  will  she  freely  praise, 
A.nd  pay  thy  pains  with  courtly  phrase 
In  a  rr)ugh  path  will  oft  command — 
Accept  at  least — thy  friendly  hand ; 
His  she  avoids,  or,  urged  and  pray'd, 

I  "  The  contrant  of  the  bettDtiful  morning,  nnil  the  prospect 
uf  the  rich  domain  of  >'ortham,  which  0«wald  wm  come  to 
•pize,  Willi  the  dark  remor»e  and  niiwry  of  his  mind,  is  power- 
fnlly  reproenU-d:  (.Von  doMiu  et  fundm  I"  Stc.  Stc.) — 
Monthly  Review. 

»  Sec  Appendix,  Note  X. 

>  "  Though  Redmond  itill,  as  oniabdaed." 

*  The  MS.  add*  :— 

"  or  Mortham's  trcasare  now  he  dreams, 


Unwilling  tiikcs  his  proffer'd  aid. 

While  conscious  passion  plaiidy  speaks 

In  downcast  liwik  and  lilusliing  cheeks. 

Wiionu'er  ho  fiiigs,  will  she  glide  nigh, 

And  all  her  soul  is  in  her  eye ; 

Yet  doubts  she  still  to  tender  free 

The  wonteil  words  of  courtesy. 

These  are  strong  signs! — yet  wherefore  sigh. 

And  wipe,  ell'c  ininate,  thine  eye  ? 

Tliine  shall  she  be,  if  thou  attend 

The  counsels  of  thy  sire  and  friend. 

XXXI. 

"  Scarce  wert  thou  gone,  when  peep  of  light* 

Brought  gemiinc  news  of  Marston's  fight. 

Brave  Cromwell  turn'd  the  doubtful  tide, 

And  conquest  bless'd  the  rightful  side ; 

Three  thousand  cavaliers  lie  dead, 

Rupert  and  that  bold  Marquis  fled ; 

Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 

Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 

Of  these,  committed  to  my  charge, 

Is  Rokcby,  prisoner  at  large; 

Redn-ond,  his  page,  arrived  to  say 

He  roaches  Barnard's  towers  to-day. 

Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be, 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee  !' 

Go  to  her  now — be  bold  of  cheer. 

While  her  soul  floats  'twixt  hope  and  fear ; 

It  is  the  very  change  of  tide, 

Wlien  best  the  female  heart  is  tried — 

Pride,  prejudice,  and  modesty. 

Are  in  the  current  swept  to  sea ;' 

And  the  bold  swain,  who  plies  his  oar. 

May  lightly  row  his  bai-k  to  shore." 


Hokcbg. 


CANTO    THIRD. 


The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 
Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth ;' 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claun  of  kind. 
Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assign'd. 
The  falcon,  poised  on  soaring  ^\  ing. 

Now  nurses  more  ambitions  sciiemes." 
'  MS. — "  This  Redmond  brought,  at  peep  of  light, 

The  news  of  Marston's  happy  fight." 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 
'  MS. — "  In  the  warm  ebb  are  swept  to  sea." 

e  MS.—"  The  ]  '"""^     (  tribes  of  earth  and  air, 
'  meaner  > 

In  the  wild  chase  their  kindred  spare.' 

Tlie  sccoL^  coaplet  in.urpoluted. 


CANTO  III. 


ROKEBY. 


315 


"Watches  the  wild-duck  by  the  spring ; 

These  arts  he  proved,  his  life  to  eave, ' 

The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair ; 

In  peril  oft  by  land  and  wave, 

The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare ; 

On  Arawaca's  desert  shore. 

The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lainb ; 

Or  where  La  Plata's  billows  roar. 

The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  da.m : 

When  oft  the  sons  of  vengeful  Spain 

Even  tiger  fell,  and  sullen  bear, 

Track'd  the  marauder's»stei3s  in  vain. 

Their  likeness  and  their  liaeage  spare, 

These  arts,  in  Indian  warfare  tried, 

Man,  only,  mars  kind  Nature's  plan, 

Must  save  him  now  by  Greta's  side. 

And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  man ; 

Plying  war's  desultory  trade, 

IV. 

Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade,' 

'Twas  then,  in  hour  of  utmost  need, 

Since  Winu-od,  Gush's  mighty  son, 

He  proved  his  courage,  art,  and  speed. 

At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 

Now  slow  he  stalk'd  with  stealthy  pace. 

^v 

Now  started  forth  in.  rapid  race, 

II. 

Oft  doubling  back  in  mazy  trnin, 

The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey, 

To  blind  the  trace  the  dews  retain  :* 

Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way, 

Now  clombe  the  rocks  projecting  liigh, 

And  knows  in  distant  forest  far 

To  bafiie  the  pursuer's  eye  ; 

Camp  liis  red  brethren  of  the  war  ; 

Now  sought  the  stream,  whose  brawling  sound 

He,  when  each  double  and  disguise 

The  echo  of  his  footsteps  drown' d. 

To  baffle  the  pursuit  he  tries, 

But  if  the  forest  verge  he  nears, 

Low  crouching  now  his  head  to  hide. 

There  tramjjle  steeds,  and  gUimner  spears 

Where  swampy  streams  through  rushes  glide,' 

If  deeper  down  the  copse  he  drew. 

Now  covering  with  the  Avither'd  leaves 

He  heard  tlie  rangers'  loud  halloo. 

The  foot-prints  that  the  dew  receives  :^ 

Beating  each  cover  while  they  came, 

He,  skill'd  in  every  sUvan  guile. 

As  if  to  start  the  silvan  game. 

Knows  not,  nor  tries,  such  various  wile, 

'Twas  then — like  tiger  close  beset* 

As  Risino;ham,  when  on  the  wind 

At  every  pass  with  toil  and  net. 

Arose  the  loud  pursuit  behind. 

'Counter'd,  where'er  he  turns  his  glare. 

In  Redesdale  liis  youth  had  heard 

By  clashing  ai-ms  and  torches'  flare. 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared. 

'Who  meditates,  with  furious  bound. 

When  Rooken-edge,  and  Redswau-  high, 

To  burst  on  hmiter,  horse,  and  hound, — "* 

To  bugle  rung  and  blood-hoimd's  cry,* 
Announcing  Jedwood-axe  and  spear. 
And  Lid'sdale  riders  in  the  rear ; 
And  well  his  venturous  fife  had  proved 
The  lessons  that  his  childhood  loved. 

IIL 

Oft  had  he  shown,  in  climes  afar. 
Each  attribute  of  rovuig  war ; 
The  sharpen'd  ear,  the  piercing  eye, 
The  quick  resolve  in  danger  nigh  ; 
The  speed,  that  in  the  flight  or  chase, 
Outstripp'd  the  Charib's  rapid  race  ; 
The  steady  brain,  the  sinewy  hmb, 
To  leap,  to  climb,  to  dive,  to  swim ; 
Tlie  iron  frame,  inured  to  bear 
Each  dhe  inclemency  of  air. 
Nor  less  confii-m'd  to  undergo 
Fatigue's  faint  chUl,  and  famine's  throe. 

1  MS. — "Invasion,  flight,  and  ambuscade." 

2  MS. — "  Where  the  slow  waves  through  rashes  glide." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 

<  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 
5  MS. — '  Where  traces  in  the  dew  remain." 
*  MS. — "  And  oft  his  soul  within  him  rose, 
Prompting  to  lusli  upon  his  foes, 


'Twas  then  that  Bertram's  soul  arose. 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes : 
But  as  that  crouching  tiger,  cow'd 
By  brandish'd  steel  and  shouting  crowd, 
Retreats  beneath  the  jungle's  shroud, 
Bertram  suspends  his  piu-pose  stern, 
And  couches  in  the  brake  and  fern. 
Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 
The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye.* 

V. 
Then  Bertram  might  the  bearing  trace 
Of  the  bold  youth  who  led  the  chase ; 
Who  paused  to  list  for  every  sound. 
Climb  every  height  to  look  aromid, 
Then  rushing  on  with  naked  sword, 
Each  dingle's  bosky  depths  explored. 
'Twas  Redmond — by  the  aziu-e  eye ; 
'Twas  Redmond — ^by  the  locks  that  fly 

And  oft,  like  tiger  toil-beset. 

That  in  each  pass  finds  foe  and  net,"  &e. 
'  In  the  MS.  the  stanza  concludes  thus  : 

"  Suspending  j'et  his  purpose  stern, 

He  couch'd  him  in  the  brake  and  fern ; 

Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 

The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye  ' 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 


S16 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  in. 


Pi-iorJer'J  from  his  glowing  cheek  ; 

iliiii,  facf,  und  form,  yi>ung  Redmond  «{)OHk. 

A  form  iiR're  active,  light,  lunl  ^troHg, 

ji,\.',,,  J    r  i»,u  riuilcM  of  wiir  iiloiig ; 

111,  ,  yet  the  manly  mien, 

Mi:,'iit  gmc«  the  court  of  maiden  queen  ; 

A  r  -  ■  fair  you  well  might  find,' 

For  r«  knew  the  sun  and  wind. 

Nor  boasted,  from  their  tinge  when  free, 

llu-  dmrm  i!" '     ity  ; 

Hut  every  f •  .  1  the  power 

To  aid  the  expression  of  the  liour: 
Wli.  ■'    -      V  wit,  and  htnnor  sly, 
Dai.  ling  in  liis  light-blue  eye  ; 

Or  bended  brow,  and  glnnce  of  fire, 
And  kill !'         '      k.  spoke  Erin's  ire ; 
Or  soft  ;.    .  uM  glance.*  show 

Her  ready  sympathy  with  woe  ; 
Or  in  tliat  wayward  mood  of  mind, 
■\Vhen  various  feelings  are  combined, 
"VSHien  joy  and  st>rrow  mingle  near, 
Au'l  '        ■    ■    '  '  r  wings  are  check'd  by  foar; 
Ani  ^  keep  transport  down, 

And  anger  lends  a  short-lived  frown ; 
In  that  straiij  '  which  maids  approve 

Even  when  ti  not  c;ill  it  love; 

With  every  change  liis  features  play'd, 
iS  show  the  light  and  shade.' 

VT. 
Well  Ri^inghani  young  Redmond  knew ; 
And  much  he  marvell'd  that  the  crew, 
Roused  to  revenge  bold  Mortliara  dead, 
Were  by  that  Mtirtham's  foeman  led ; 
For  never  felt  his  soul  the  woe, 
That  wails  a  generous  foeman  low, 
Far  less  tliat  sense  of  justice  strong, 
That  wreaks  a  generous  foeman's  wrong. 
But  sm.ill  his  leisure  now  to  pause ; 
Redmond  is  first,  whate'er  the  cause :' 
And  twice  that  Redmond  came  so  near 
Where  Bertram  couclfd  like  hunted  deer, 
Tlic  very  boughs  his  steps  displace 
Ru-tlod  .ngainst  the  ruffian's  face, 
Wlin,  despt^rate,  twice  prepared  to  start. 
And  plunge  his  dagger  in  his  heart ! 
But  Redmond  tum'd  a  different  way. 
And  the  bent  boughs  resumed  their  sway. 
And  Bertram  held  it  wise,  unseen. 
Deeper  to  plunge  in  coppice  green. 

<  These  tix  couplets  were  often  quoted  by  the  late  Lord 
Kinneddcr  as  giving,  in  his  opinion,  an  excellent  portrait  of 
the  author  hintvlf. — Ed. 


»  In  the  MS.  this  image  come*  after  the  line  ' 
piession  of  the  hoar,"  and  the  conplet  stands  : 

"  And  like  a  flexile  aspen  plar'd 
Alternately  in  light  and  shade." 


to  aid  the  ex- 


TluL«,  circled  in  lus  coil,  the  snake, 
Wlien  rovhig  hunters  beat  the  brake. 
Watches  witli  red  and  glistening  eye, 
Prepared,  if  heedless  step  draw  nigh, 
With  forked  tongue  and  veiujm'd  f:mg 
Instant  to  dart  (he  deadly  pang; 
But  if  tlie  intrudtTs  turn  aside, 
Away  his  coils  unfolded  glide. 
And  through  the  deep  savannah  wind, 
Some  imdisturb'd  retreat  to  find. 

VII. 

But  Bertram,  as  he  backward  drew. 
And  hoard  the  loud  pursuit  renew. 
And  Redmond's  hollo  on  the  wind. 
Oft  mutter'd  in  his  savage  mind — 
" Redmond  ONcale  !  were  thou  and  I 
Alone  this  day's  event  to  try. 
With  not  a  second  here  to  see. 
But  the  gray  clitTand  oaken  tree, — 
Tliat  voice  of  thbe,  that  sliouts  so  loud. 
Should  ne'er  repeat  its  sunmioiis  proud  I 
No!  nor  e'er  try  its  melting  power 
Again  ^n  maiden's  summer  bower." 
Eluded,  now  behind  him  die. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  each  hostile  cry ; 
He  stands  in  Scargill  wood  alone, 
Nor  hears  he  now  a  harsher  tone 
Tlian  the  hoarse  cushat's  plaintive  cry, 
Or  Greta's  sound  that  murmurs  by; 
And  on  the  dale,  so  lone  and  wild. 
The  summer  sun  in  quiet  smiled. 

VIII. 
He  hsten'd  long  with  anxious  heart. 
Ear  bent  to  hear,  and  foot  to  start,* 
And,  wliile  his  stretch'd  attention  glows, 
Refused  liis  weary  frame  repose. 
'Twas  silence  all — he  laid  him  down, 
^\^lere  purple  heath  profusely  strown, 
And  throatwort,  with  its  azure  bell,* 
And  moss  and  thyme  liis  cusliion  swell. 
Tliere,  spent  with  toil,  he  listless  eyed 
Tlie  course  of  Greta's  playful  tide  ; 
Beneatli,  her  banks  now  eddying  dun, 
Now  brightly  gleaming  to  the  sun, 
As,  dancing  over  rock  and  stone, 
In  yellow  light  her  currents  shone, 
Matching  in  hue  the  favorite  gem 
Of  Albin'a  motmtain-diadem. 

3  MS. — "  The  chase  he  heads,  whate'er  the  cause." 

«  -MS. "  and  limbs  to  start. 

And,  while  his  streluli'd  attention  glows, 
Scarce  felt  his  weary  frame  repose." 
<•  The  Campanula  T.alifolia,  grand  throatwort,  or  Canter 
bury  bells,  grows  in  profusion  upon  the  beautiful  banks  f/  the 
river  Greta,  where  it  divide.*!  the  manors  of  Brignall  and  Scaf> 
gill,  about  three  miles  above  Greta  Bridge. 


CANTO  in.                                              ROKEBY.                                                       3l7 

Then,  tired  to  watch  the  current's  play, 

X. 

He  turu'd  his  weary  eyes  away, 

Oft,  mingled  with  the  direful  theme, 

To  where  the  bank  opposing  show"d 

Came  Mortham's  form — Was  it  a  dream  ? 

Its  huge,  squai-e  chffs  through  shaggy  wood.- 

Or  had  he  seen,  in  vision  true, 

One,  prominent  above  the  rest. 

Tliat  very  Mortham  whom  he  slew  ? 

Rear'd  to  the  sun  its  pale  gray  breast ; 

Or  had  in  hving  flesh  appear'd 

Around  its  broken  summit  grew 

The  only  man  on  earth  he  fear'd  ? — 

The  hazel  rude,  and  sable  yew ; 

To  try  the  mystic  cause  intent, 

A  thousand  varied  hchens  dyed 

His  eyes,  that  on  the  cliff  were  bent, 

Its  waste  and  weather-beaten  side, 

'Coimter'd  at  once  a  dazzhng  glance. 

And  roimd  its  rugged  basis  lay, 

T.ike  simbeam  flash'd  from  sword  or  lance. 

By  time  or  thunder  rent  away. 

At  once  he  started  as  for  fight. 

Fragments,  that,  from  its  frontlet  torn, 

But  not  a  foeman  was  in  sight  f 

Were  mantled  now  by  verdant  thorn. 

He  heard  the  cushat's  murmur  hoarse, 

Such  was  the  scene's  wild  majesty. 

He  heard  the  river's  sounduig  course ; 

That  fiU'd  stern  Bertram's  gazing  eye.* 

The  solitary  woodlands  lay. 

As  slumbering  in  the  smnmer  ray. 

IX. 

He  gazed,  like  lion  roused,  around. 

In  sidlen  mood  he  lay  reclined, 

Then  sunk  again  upon  the  ground. 

Revolving,  in  his  stormy  mind, 

'Twas  but,  he  thought,  some  fitful  beam, 

The  felon  deed,  the  fruitless  guilt. 

Glanced  sudden  from  the  sparkling  stream, 

His  patron's  blood  by  treason  spilt ; 

Then  plunged  him  from  his  gloomy  train 

A  crime,  it  seem'd,  so  dire  and  dread. 

Of  iU-connected  thoughts  again. 

That  it  had  power  to  wake  the  dead 

Until  a  voice  behind  him  cried, 

Then,  pondering  on  his  Ufe  betray'd^ 

"  Bertram  !  well  met  on  Greta  side." 

By  Oswald's  art  to  Redmond's  blade, 

In  treacherous  pm-pose  to  withhold. 

XL 

So  seem'd  it,  Mortham's  promised  gold, 

Instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand, 

A  deep  and  full  revenge  he  vow'd 

As  instant  simk  the  ready  brand  ; 

On  Redmond,  forward,  fierce,  and  proud ; 

Yet,  dubious  stUl,  opposed  he  stood 

Revenge  on  Wilfrid — on  liis  sire 

To  him  that  issued  from  the  wood : 

Redoubled  vengeance,  swift  and  dire  ! — 

"  Guy  Denzil ! — is  it  thou  *"  he  said ; 

If  in  such  mood  (as  legends  say. 

"  Do  we  two  meet  in  Scargill  shade ! — 

And  well  believed  that  simple  day), 

Stand  back  a  space  ! — thy  purpose  show, 

Tlie  Enemy  of  Man  has  power 

\V  hether  thou  comest  as  friend  or  foe. 

To  profit  by  the  evil  hour. 

Report  hath  said,  that  Denzil's  name 

Here  stood  a  wi'etcli,  prepared  to  change 

From  Rokeby's  band  was  razed  with  shame." — 

His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge  !* 

"  A  shame  I  owe  that  hot  O'Neale, 

But  though  his  vows,  with  such  a  fire 

Who  told  his  knisht,  m  peevish  zeal, 

Of  earnest  and  intense  desfre 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns 

For  vengeance  dark  and  fell,  were  made,* 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs.* 

As  well  might  reach  hell's  lowest  shade, 

I  reck  not.     In  a  war  to  strive. 

No  deeper  clouds  the  grove  embrown'd, 

"Wliere,  save  the  leaders,  none  can  thi'ive, 

No  nether  thunders  shook  the  ground ; — 

Suits  ill  my  mood ;  and  better  game 

The  demon  knew  his  vassal's  heart. 

Awaits  us  both,  if  thou'rt  the  same 

And  spai'ed  temptation's  needless  art.' 

Unscrupulous,  bold  Risingham," 

>  MS. "  show'd, 

of  the  scene  in  The  Robbers,  in  which  something  of  a  similar 

With  many  a  rocky  fragment  rude, 

contrast  is  exhibited  between  the   beauties  of  external  nature 

Its  old  gray  cliifs  and  shaggy  wood." 

and  the  agitations  of  human  passion.     It  is  in  such  pictures 

»  The  MS.  adds  : 

that  Mr.  Scott  delights  and  excels." — MonthJy  Review.    One 
is  surprised  that  the  reviewer  did   not   quote  Milton  ratlief 

"  Yet  as  he  gazed,  he  fail'd  to  find 

than  Schiller : 

According  image  touch  his  mind." 

3  MS.—"  Then  thought  he  on  his  life  betray'd." 

"  The  fiend 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 

Saw  nndelighted  all  delight."— Ed. 

6  MS. — "  For  deep  and  dark  revenge  were  made. 

^  MS. — "  Look'd  round — no  foeman  was  in  sight ' 

As  well  might  wake  hell's  lowest  shade." 

6  "  Bertram   is  now  alone;    the   landscape  around  is  truly 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 

grand,  partially  illuminated  by  the  sun  ;  and  we  are  reminded 

8  MS. — "  Unscrupulous,  gallant  Risingham.' 

318 


SCO'lT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III. 


W'hu  \t'utc]ril  with  niu  in  midnight  diirk, 

Tu  (uuicdi  a  tluor  from  Ui)kfl)y-|)jirk. 

llow  tlr  ' '  •  •'    uT — "  S|Hmk  thy  purjwso  out ; 

I  luvv  I  .  ry  or  iKiubU" — 

Xll. 
•Tlien  lint. — Not  far  thiro  hirk  n  cruw 
Of  trusty  comrutlua,  »tniic}i  iiml  truo, 
(J!,      ■'  •     •   .  I, —  ItiiiiiKllii'ad.x,  freed 

Yi-  1  tif  iTi'i'd ; 

And  Cnviiliors  whoso  bouIh,  liko  mine, 
S|)iiru  at  thf  Ixuids  of  disi-ipline. 
^Vi,1l•^,  wo  juiljLce,  by  dale  and  wold, 
A  warfare  of  our  own  to  liold. 
Than  breathe  our  hist  on  battle-down. 
For  cloiik  or  i*ur]iliee,  mace  or  crown. 
Our  schemes  are  laid,  our  purpose  set, 
A  chief  luid  leader  lack  we  yet. — 
Thou  lu-t  a  wanderer,  it  is  said ; 
For  Mortliam's  deatli,  thy  steps  waylaid,* 
lliy  liead  at  price — so  say  our  spies, 
Who  range  the  vidley  in  disguise. 
Join  then  with  us  : — tliough  wild  debate 
Anil  wrangling  rend  our  infant  state. 
Each  to  on  cqmU  lotli  to  bow. 
Will  yield  to  chief  renown'd  as  thou." — 

XIII. 
"  Even  now,"  thought  Bertram,  passion-stiir'd, 
"  I  call'd  on  hell,  and  hell  has  heard  !" 
What  lack  I,  vengeance  to  command. 
But  of  standi  comrades  such  a  band?' 
Tliis  Denzil,  vow'd  to  every  evil 
Might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 
Well,  be  it  so !  each  knave  and  fool 
Shall  serve  as  my  revenge's  tool." — 
Aloud,  "  I  take  thy  proffer,  Guy, 
But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie  ?" — 
"  Not  fsu:  from  hence,"  Guy  Denzil  said ; 
"  Descend,  and  cross  the  river's  bed, 
Where  rises  yonder  cUfT  so  gray." — 
"  Do  thou,"  said  Bertram,  "  lead  the  way." 
Til'  r'd,  "  It  is  best  make  sure ; 

Gu  .  -  faith  was  never  pure." 

He  foUow'd  down  the  steep  descent, 
Tlien  through  the  Greta's  streams  they  went ; 
And,  when  they  rcarii'd  tlie  ftu-ther  shore. 
They  stood  the  lonely  cUff  before. 


•  M.^. — "  Thy  lif.Ti  .It  iinrn,  liiy  steps  waylaid." 
• '•  I  but  half  wi»ir«J 

To  aee  the  devil,  nr.(l  hi'-  ■    "ly." — Otway 

»  MS. — "  What  lock  I,  m  .  .  (jiii'nrh. 

But  iuch  a  l>ni  ■  «  nt.inch  ?" 

♦  MS.—"  Bol  when  Guy  i  d  the  uprny. 

And  l)ramhIoii,  iVoin  iLi  roots  away, 
Ut  «aw,  Torth  iseuing  m  iln-  nir." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 

*  "  We  should  here  have  conclndcd  our  remarks  on  the  char- 


XIV. 

Witli  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 

Till'  flinty  rock  a  murinur'd  din; 

But  wlien  Guy  jtull'd  the  wilding  spray, 

Ami  bramble.",  from  its  base  away,* 

lie  saw,  appearing  to  the  air, 

A  little  entrance,  low  and  .square, 

Like  opening  cell  of  hermit  lone, 

Dark,  winding  through  the  living  stone. 

Here  enter'd  Denzil,  Bertram  here  ; 

Ami  loud  and  louder  on  their  car, 

As  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 

llcsounded  .'•lumts  of  boisterous  mirth. 

Of  old,  the  cavern  strait  and  rude. 

In  slaty  rock  the  peasant  hew'd  ; 

Anil  Brignall's  wood.s,  and  Scargill's,  wave, 

E'en  now,  o'er  many  a  sister  cave,* 

Where,  far  within  the  diu'k.some  rift, 

Tlie  wedge  and  lever  ply  their  thrift. 

But  war  Imd  silenced  rural  trade. 

And  tlje  deserted  nune  was  made 

The  banquet-hall  and  fortress  too. 

Of  Deazil  and  Ids  desperate  crow. — 

There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kejjt ; 

Tliere,  on  liis  sordid  pallet,  slept 

Guilt-born  Exces.s,  the  goblet  drain'd 

Still  in  liis  slumbering  grasp  retain'd ; 

Regret  was  there,  liis  eye  still  cast 

With  vain  repining  on  the  past; 

Among  the  feasters  waited  near 

Sorrow,  and  unrepentant  Fear, 

And  Bla.sphemy,  to  plirensy  driven, 

Witli  his  own  crimes  reproaching  heaven ; 

Wliile  Bertram  show'd,  amid  the  crew, 

The  Master-Fiend  that  Milton  di'ew. 

XV. 

Hark  !  the  loud  revel  w^jiies  again, 

To  greet  the  leader  of  the  train. 

Behold  the  grouj)  by  the  pale  lamp. 

That  struggles  with  the  earthy  damp. 

By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known, 

To  single  out  and  mark  her  own ! 

Yet  some  there  are,  wlioi^e  brows  retain 

Less  deeply  stamp'd  her  brand  and  stain. 

See  yon  pale  stripling !"  when  a  boy, 

A  mother's  pride,  a  father's  joy ! 

Now,  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined. 


aclers  of  tlie  drama,  had  not  one  of  its  subordinate  personapet 
been  touched  with  a  force  of  imagination,  which  renders  it 
worthy  even  of  prominent  regard  and  attention.  The  poet  has 
just  prcfiented  us  with  the  picture  oi  a  gang  of  banditti,  on 
which  he  has  bestowed  some  of  the  most  gloomy  coloring  of 
his  powerful  pencil.  In  the  midst  of  this  horrible  group,  is 
distinguished  the  exquisitely  natural  and  interesting  portrait 
which  follows : — 

'  See  yon  pale  stripling  J'  &c." 

Critical  Reviete. 


11 


1  ANTO  III. 


ROKEBY, 


319 


An  early  image  fills  hia  mind : 

The  cottage,  once  his  su-e's,  he  sees, 

Embowcr'd  upon  the  banks  of  Tees ; 

He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene, 

And  shares  the  dance  on  Gainford-green. 

A  tear  is  spruigiiig — but  the  zest 

Of  some  wild  tale,  or  brutal  jest, 

Hath  to  loud  laughter  stu-r'd  the  rest. 

On  him  they  cull,  the  aptest  mate 

For  jorial  song  and  merry  feat : 

Fast  flies  his  dream — with  dauntless  air. 

As  one  victorious  o'er  Despair, 

He  bids  the  ruddy  cup  go  round, 

Till  sense  and  sorrow  both  are  di'own'd ; 

And  soon,  in  merry  wassail,  he,' 

The  life  of  all  their  revelry. 

Peals  his  loud  song ! — The  muse  has  found 

Her  blossoms  on  the  wildest  ground, 

'ilid  noxious  weeds  at  random  strew'd, 

Themselves  aU  profitless  and  rude. — 

With  desperate  merriment  he  smig. 

The  cavern  to  the  chorus  rung : 

Yet  mingled  with  his  reckless  glee 

Remorse's  bitter  agony. 

XVI. 

0,  Brignall  banks  are  wUd  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there. 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-hall, 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  Maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singmg  merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

"  0,  BrignaU  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there. 

Than  reign  om'  Enghsh  queen." — 

"  If,  Maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 
To  leave  both  tower  and  town. 

Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we, 
That  dwell  by  dale  and  down  ? 


•  MS. — "  And  soon  the  loudest  wassailer  he, 
And  life  of  all  their  revelry." 

2  Scott  revisited  Rokeby  in  1812,  for  the  purpose  of  refresh- 
ing his  memory;  and  Mr.  Morritt  says, — "  I  liad,  of  course, 
had  many  previous  opportunities  of  testing  the  almost  con- 
scientious fidelity  of  his  local  descriptions ;  but  I  could  not 
help  being  singularly  struck  witli  the  lights  which  this  visit 
threw  on  that  characteristic  of  his  compositions  Tlie  morn- 
ing after  he  amved  he  said,  '  You  have  often  given  me  mate- 
rials for  romance — now  I  want  a  good  robber's  cave  and  an  old 
church  of  the  right  sort.'  We  rode  out,  and  he  I'ound  what  he 
wanted  in  the  ancient  slate  quarries  of  Brignall  and  the  ruined 
Abbey  of  Egliston.  I  observed  him  noting  down  even  the 
peculiar  little  wild-flowers  and  herbs  that  accidentally  grew 


And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

As  read  fuU  well  you  may, 
Then  to   the   greenwood   shalt  thou 
speed. 

As  bhthe  as  Queen  of  May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  simg  she,  "  BrignaU  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmimd  there, 

Than  reign  oiu:  EngUsh  queen. 

XVII. 

"  I  read  you,  by  yom-  bugle-horn. 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn, 

To  keep  the  king's  greenwood." — 
"  A  Ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn. 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light ; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  mom 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay ; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there. 

To  reign  his  Queen  of  May ! 

"  With  burnish'd  brand  and  musketoon. 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  Dragoon, 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum." — 
"  I  Ust  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear ; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum, 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 

CHORUS. 

"  And,  0  !  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare. 

Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May ! 

XVIII. 
"  Maiden !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'U  die ; 
The  fiend,  whose  lantern  hghts  the  mead,' 

Were  better  mate  than  I ! 


round  and  on  fce  side  of  a  bold  crag  near  his  intended  cave  nf 
Guy  Denzil ;  and  could  not  help  saying,  that  as  he  was  not  io 
be  upon  oath  in  his  work,  daisies,  violets,  and  primroses  would 
be  as  poetical  as  any  of  the  humble  plants  he  was  examining. 
I  laughed,  in  short,  at  his  scrupulousness  ,  but  I  understood 
him  wlien  he  replied,  '  that  in  nature  herself  no  two  scenes 
were  e.\actly  alike,  and  that  whoever  copied  truly  what  was 
before  his  eyes,  would  possess  the  same  variety  in  his  descrip- 
tions, and  exhibit  apparently  an  imagination  as  boundless  as 
the  range  of  nature  in  the  scenes  he  recorded  ;  whereas — w)io- 
evcr  trusted  to  imagination,  would  soon  find  his  own  mind 
circumscribed,  and  contracted  to  a  few  favorite  images"  — 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iv.  p.  19. 
3  MS.—"  The  goblin-light  on  feo  c   meid." 


320 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  nf. 


A  '   "ly  coinrmles  im-t,' 

uwotnl  btuiLjli, 
V  wo  all  foi^^'it, 

Hot  tliiiik  wluit  wu  arc  now. 

CUOttL». 

lall  btuikii  aru  frcnh  aiui  fair, 
Aiul  Lireta  wootis  ore  groeii, 
An<l  V ;.!..-  'irhuiils  there 


WlM 


r  queen. 


^^''    •■  '•■  ' '        -'^(l  his  simple  songf, 

\\  -iillun  tliroiijj, 

Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their  glee 
W'itli  note  of  coarser  nainstrelsy. 
Uut,  far  apart,  in  ihirk  divan, 
Denzil  and  Bertram  many  a  phui, 
Of  inijK)rt  foul  and  fierce,  desij^i'd, 
AVhile  still  on  IJertraiu's  grasjiing  mind 
The  wealth  of  murder'd  Mortham  hung; 
TlioiiLjh  ludf  he  fciu-'d  his  <iiu-ing  toii<^uc, 
When  it  should  give  his  wishes  birth,^ 
Might  raise  a  spectre  from  the  earth  ! 

XIX. 
At  length  his  wondrous  tale  he  told : 
When,  scornful,  smiled  his  comrade  bold ', 
For,  train'd  in  license  of  a  court, 
Religion's  self  was  Denzil's  sport ; 
Then  judge  in  what  contempt  he  held 
llie  vkionary  tales  of  eld  1 
His  awe  for  Bertram  scarce  repress'd 
The  unbeliever's  sneering  jest. 
"  'Twcre  hard,"  he  said,  "  for  sage  or  seer,' 
To  spell  the  subject  of  yoiu*  fear ; 
Nor  do  I  boast  the  art  renown' d, 
Vision  and  omen  to  expound. 
Yet,  faith  if  I  must  needs  aflford 
To  spectre  watcliing  treasured  hoard, 
As  bandog  keeps  his  master's  roof, 
Bidding  the  plunderer  stand  aloof, 
Tlii-ii  doubt  remains — thy  goblin  gaunt 
Hath  chosen  ill  his  ghostly  haunt ; 
For  why  his  guard  on  Murtham  hold, 
When  Rokeby  castle  hath  the  gold 
Tliy  patron  won  on  Indian  soil,* 
B''  stealth,  by  piracy,  and  spoil?" 

XX.         *  • 

At  this  he  paused — for  angry  shame 
Lower'd  on  the  brow  of  Risingham. 

MS*. — "  And  were  I  with  my  true  love  wt 
Under  the  grecnwocxl  l>ODgh, 
What  once  I  wan  she  mniit  forget, 
Nor  think  what  I  am  now." 

MS. "give  the  project  birth." 

'  MS. — "  '  'Twere  hard,  my  friend,"  he  said,  '  to  ipell 
The  morning  virion  that  yon  tell  ; 
Nor  am  I  peer,  for  art  renown'd, 


He  blush'd  to  think,  that  he  should  seem 

Assertor  of  tm  airy  dream. 

And  gjive  lus  wrath  another  theme. 

"  Denzil,"  he  says,  "  though  lowly  laid,. 

Wrong  not  the  memory  of  the  dead ; 

For,  while  he  lived,  at  Mortham's  look 

Thy  very  soid,  Guy  Dertzil,  slujok! 

And  when  he  tax'd  thy  breacli  of  word 

To  yon  fair  Rose  of  AUenford, 

I  saw  thee  crouch  like  cliiusten'd  hoimd,' 

"Wliose   back    the    huntsman's    lash    hath 

found. 
Nor  dare  to  call  his  foreign  wealth 
Tlic  spoil  of  piracy  or  stealth ;  , 

He  won  it  bravely  with  Ills  brand, 
WHien  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.* 
Mark,  too — I  brook  no  idle  jeer. 
Nor  couj)le  Bertram's  name  with  fear ; 
Mine  is  but  half  the  demon's  lot, 
For  I  believe,  but  tremble  not. — 
Enough  of  tliis. — Say,  why  this  hoard 
Thou  deem'st  at  Rokeby  castle  stored ; 
Or,  tlilnk'st  that  ilorthain  would  bestow 
TTJH  treasure  with  liis  faction's  foe  ?" 

XXI. 
Soon  qucnch'd  was  Denzil's  ill-timed  mirth ; 
Rather  he  would  have  seen  the  earth 
Give  to  ten  thousand  spectres  bu^h, 
Than  venture  to  awake  to  flame 
The  deadly  wrath  of  Risingham. 
Submiss  he  answer'd, — "  Mortham's  mJiid, 
Tliou  know'st,  to  joy  was  ill  inclined. 
In  youth,  'tis  said,  a  gallant  free, 
A  lusty  reveller  was  he ; 
^  But  since  return'd  from  over  sea,' 
A  sullen  and  a  silent  mood 
Hath  numb'd  the  current  of  his  blood.. 
Hence  he  refused  each  kindly  call 
To  Rokeby's  hospitable  hall, 
And  our  stout  knight,  at  dawn  of  morn 
Who  loved  to  hear  the  bugle-horn, 
Nor  less,  when  eve  his  oaks  embrown'd. 
To  see  the  ruddy  cup  ^o  rotmd, 
Took  umbrage  that  a  friend  so  near 
Refused  to  .share  his  chase  and  cheer ; 
Thus  did  the  kindred  barons  jar, 
Ere  they  divided  in  the  war. 
Yet,  trust  me,  friend,  Matilda  fair 
Of  Mortham's  wealth  is  destined  heir." — 

Dark  dreams  and  omens  to  ezponnd. 
Yet,  if  my  faith  I  must  afford,'  "  &o. 

*  MS.- "  hath  his  gold, 

The  gold  he  won  on  Indian  soil." 

6  MS. "  like  rated  honnd." 

'  ?ee  Appendix,  Note  2  F. 

"  MS. "  Denzil's  mood  of  mirth  ; 

He  would  have  rather  seen  the  earth,"  &o. 


CANTO  IIX. 


ROKEBY. 


321 


XXII. 

•'  Destined  to  her !  to  yon  slight  maid ! 
The  prize  mj  life  had  welluigh  paid, 
When  'gainst  Laroche,  by  Cayo's  •wave, 
I  fought  my  patron's  wealth  to  save  ! — ' 
Denzil,  I  knew  hun  long,  yet  ne'er 
Knew  liim  that  joyous  cavaher, 
Wliom  youthful  friends  and  early  fame 
Call'd  soul  of  gallantry  and  game. 
A  moody  man,  he  sought  our  crew, 
Desperate  and  dark,  whom  no  one  knew ; 
And  rose,  as  men  with  us  must  rise, 
By  scorning  hfe  and  all  its  ties. 
On  each  adventure  rash  he  roved, 
As  danger  for  itself  he  loved ; 
On  Ills  sad  brow  nor  mu-th  nor  wine 
Could  e'er  one  wrinkled  knot  imtwine ; 
111  was  the  omen  if  he  smiled, 
For  'twas  in  peril  stern  and  wild ; 
But  when  he  laugh'd,  each  luckless  mate 
Might  hold  our  fortune  desperate.'' 
Foremost  he  fought  in  every  broil, 
Then  scornful  turn'd  him  from  the  spoil ; 
Nay,  often  strove  to  bar  the  way 
Between  his  comrades  and  their  prey ; 
Preaclung,  even  then,  to  such  as  we, 
Hot  with  our  dear-bought  victory. 
Of  mercy  and  himaanity. 

xxni. 

"  I  loved  him  well :  his  fearless  part. 
His  gallant  leading,  won  my  heart. 
And  after  each  victorious  fight, 
'Twas  I  that  wrangled  for  liis  riffht  * 
Redeem'd  his  portion  of  the  prey 
That  greedier  mates  had  torn  away : 
In  field  and  storm  thrice  saved  his  life. 
And  once  amid  our  comi-ades'  strife. — ■• 
Yes,  I  have  loved  thee !     "Well  hath  proved 
My  toil,  my  danger,  how  I  loved ! 
Tot  will  I  mourn  no  more  thy  fate, 
Ingrate  in  hfe,  in  death  ingrate. 
Eise  if  thou  canst !"  he  look'd  aroimd, 
And  sternly  stamp'd  upon  the  ground — 
"  Rise,  with  thy  bearing  proud  and  high. 
Even  as  this  mom  it  met  mine  eye, 

'  The  MS.  has  not  this  conplet. 

2  ' '  There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  his  sneer. 
That  raised  emotions  both  of  rage  and  fear  ; 
And  wliere  his  frown  of  hatred  darkly  fell, 
Hope  withering  fled — and  Mercy  sigh'd  farewell." 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  ix.  p.  272. 

8  MS. — "  And  when  <  ,  .^  [  bloody  fight  was  done 
(  his  ) 

I  wrangled  for  the  share  he  won." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 


'MS.- 


"  To  thee,  ray  friend,  V  need  not  tell, 
What  thou  hast  cause  to  know  so  well." 


«  MS — "  Around  thy  captain's  moody  mind." 
41 


And  give  me,  if  thou  darcst,  the  lie  !" 
He  paused — then,  calm  and  passion-freed, 
Bade  Denzil  with  his  tale  proceed. 

XXIV. 
"  Bertram,  to  thee  I  need  not  tell, 
"What  thou  hast  cause  to  wot  so  well,* 
How  Superstition's  nets  were  twined 
Around  the  Lord  of  Mortham's  mind !' 
But  since  he  drove  tliee  from  his  towor, 
A  maid  he  foimd  in  Greta's  bower. 
Whose  speech,  like  David's  harp,  had  sway, 
To  charm  his  evil  fiend  away. 
I  know  not  if  her  features  moved 
Remembrance  of  the  wife  he  loved ; 
But  he  would  gaze  upon  her  eye. 
Till  his  mood  soften'd  to  a  sigh. 
He,  whom  no  living  mortal  sought 
To  question  of  his  secret  thought, 
Now  every  thought  and  care  confess'd 
To  his  fair  niece's  faithful  breast ; 
Nor  was  there  aught  of  rich  and  rare, 
In  earth,  in  ocean,  or  in  air, 
But  it  must  deck  Matilda's  hair. 
Her  love  still  bound  liim  unto  hfe  -^ 
But  then  awoke  the  civil  strife. 
And  menials  bore,  by  his  commands. 
Three  coffers,  with  their  iron  bands. 
From  Mortham's  vault,  at  midnight  deep, 
To  her  lone  bower  in  Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous  with  gold  and  plate  of  pride,* 
His  gift,  if  he  ui  battle  died." — 

XXV. 
"  Then  Denzil,  as  I  guess,  lays  train. 
These  ii-on-banded  chests  to  gain ; 
Else,  wherefore  should  he  hover  here,* 
Where  many  a  peril  waits  him  near. 
For  aU  his  feats  of  war  and  peace, 
For  plunder'd  boors,  and  harts  of  greese  !" 
Smce  through  the  hamlets  as  he  fared. 
What  hearth  has  Guy's  marauding  spared, 
Or  where  the  chase  that  hath  not  runo-" 

O 

With  Denzil's  bow,  at  midnight  strimg  ?"-  - 
"  I  hold  my  wont — my  rangers  go, 
Even  now,  to  track  a  milk-white  doe.'* 

'  MS.—"  But  it  must  be  Matilda's  share 

This,  too,  still  bound  him  unto  life." 

*  MS. — "  From  a  strong  vault  in  Mortham  tower. 

In  secret  to  Matilda's  bower, 
Ponderous  with  ore  and  gems  of  pride." 

•  MS. — "  Then  may  I  guess  thou  hast  some  train, 

These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain  ; 
Else,  why  should  Denzil  hover  he»e." 
'"  Deer  in  season. 

M  MS. "  that  doth  not  know 

The  midnight  clang  of  Denzil's  bow. 
— I  hold  my  sport,"  &c. 

^  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 


323 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOlUvS. 


CANTO  lU. 


■p..  ■n..l..1.i- l.ill  .1,,.  f-iV..,  li.r  Liir 


jx>wcr, 
^S  o  rat«  her  mitwiiii  nt  livr  ilower." — 

XXVL 

.iico  in  tho  thought : 
M; 

too,  'tis  Bald, 
lover's  i  '  tlio  iuai<l. 

'  1  —  1 1"  met  by  chance, 

..  •  her  tihtuldi'rin;^  glance, 
like  a  lyco  tianie,  tliat  will  not  hnnilc 

'    •    '     '    •    '  '     thc9  to  look; 

uld  ne'er 
111  mo  without  secret  fear, 
'■  '         "     may  rue 

.ill  true  !— 
ITic  WOT  has  weeded  Uokeby's  train, 

''»; 

:m(l  bold, 
We  are  enow  to  storm  tho  hold, 
'''  -  •       ■      ■         ,,,1  the  dame, 

_  all  in  rtainc." — 

xxvn. 

"Still  :irt  thou  Valor's  venturous  sonl 
Yet  ponder  first  the  risk  to  run : 
The  ■  f  the  cji'^tlc,  true, 

And  . A  to  their  charge,  though  few ;' 

The  wall  to  scale — the  moat  to  cross — 

Tlie  wicket-grate — the  inner  fosse" 

— "  Fool !  if  we  blench  for  toys  like  these, 

On  what  fiiir  guerdon  can  we  seize  ?" 

Our  hardiest  venture,  to  explore 

Some  wretched  peasant's  fenceless  door, 

And  the  best  prize  we  bear  away, 

Tlic  earnings  of  his  sordid  day."  — 

"  A  while  thy  hasty  taunt  forbear : 

In  eight  of  road  more  sure  and  fair. 

Thou  wouldst  not  choose,  in  blindfold  wrath. 

Or  wantonness,  a  desperate  path  ? 

Li-t,  tli'ii ; — for  vantage  or  assault. 

From  gilded  vane  to  dungeon-vault, 

T'     '  ■"  "  '    by-house  I  know : 

■  rn,  dark  and  low. 


•  MS. — "  Tli<>  mcniils  of  the  castle  few, 

But  «;obl(om  to  ilieir  chaigc,  and  trne." 
\V  ^tiall  we  seize?" 

T  Jie  moat   ' 

[  care  not  if  a  fox  I  wind." 


>  M.S.— 
'  MS.— 
*  M3.- 

>  MS.— 


•un 
•.train.' 


Arc  frolicki 

•  MS. — "  A  laoghing  eye,  a  daantlcss  mien." 
'  MS. — "  To  the  Printer: — Tlicabroptncas  as  to  thesong  is 
'.aaToiilable.    Tiic  masic  of  the  (Iriolung  partr  could  only  opcr- 


Tliat  issues  at  a  secret  spot,* 

Uy  most  neglected  or  forgot 

Now,  cmilil  a  spial  of  our  train 

On  fair  pretext  aduiittunce  gahi. 

That  .«ally-port  might  bo  unbarr'd : 

'llien,  vain  were  battlement  and  ward  !" — 

XXVIII. 
"  Now  spoak'st  thou  well : — to  me  the  same 
If  force  or  art  shall  urge  the  game  ; 
IiidifTerent,  if  like  fox  I  wind,* 
Or  spring  like  tiger  on  the  hind. — 
Tint,  hark  !  our  merry-men  so  gay 
'IVoll  ftjrth  another  roundelay."' 

"  A  wear)'  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine  1 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine ! 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien,* 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln-green, — 

Xo  more  of  me  you  knew, 

My  love  I 
No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

"  This  mom  is  merry  June,  I  trow. 

The  rose  is  budding  fain ;' 
Cut  she  .shall  bloom,  in  winter  snow. 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
He  turn'd  liis  charger  as  he  spake, 

Upon  the  river  shore," 
He  gave  his  bridle-reuis  a  shake. 

Said,  "  Adieu  for  evermore, 

M)'  love ! 
And  adieu  for  evermore." — " 

XXIX. 

"  WTiat  youth  is  this,  yom-  band  among. 
The  best  for  minstrelsy  and  song  ? 
In  his  wild  notes  seem  aptly  met 
A  strain  of  pleasure  and  regret." — 
"  Etlmond  of  Winston  is  his  name ; 
Tlie  hamlet  sounded  with  the  fame 
Of  early  hopes  his  childhood  gave, — 
Now  center'd  all  in  Eriguall  cave ! 
I  watch  him  well — his  wayward  course 

ate  as  a  sudden  interrnption  to  Bertrdm's  conversation,  how- 
ever naturally  it  niiglil  be  introJu.e.'  among  the  feasters,  who 
were  at  some  distance. 

"  Fain,  in  old  English  and  Scotch,  exj.resses,  I  think,  a  pro 
pensity  to  give  and  receive  pleasurable  emotions,  s  sort  of  fond 
ness  which  may,  without  harshness,  1  think,  be  ap[i!ied  to  a 
rose  in  the  act  of  blooming.  You  remember  '  Jockey  fow  and 
Jenny  fain.'— W.  S." 

SMS.— "Upon  the  I    *^''***.     !  shore." 
(  Scottish   i 

See  Appendix,  Note  3  f. 


CANTO  IV. 


KOKEBY. 


323 


Shows  oft  a  tinctui'e  of  remorse. 

Some  early  love-sliaft  grazed  his  heart,' 

And  oft  the  scar  will  ache  and  smai-t. 

Tet  is  he  useful ; — of  the  rest, 

By  fits,  the  darlmg  and  the  jest, 

His  harp,  his  story,  and  his  lay. 

Oft  aid  the  idle  hours  away  v' 

When  xmemploy'd,  each  fiery  mate 

Is  ripe  for  mutinous  debate. 

He  tuned  his  struigs  e'en  now — again 

He  wakes  them,  with  a  bhther  strain." 

.    •  XXX. 

ALLEX-A-DALE. 

AUen-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  buiuing, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  tm-ning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning. 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle  !  come,  heai'ken  my  tale ! 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allcn-a-Dale. 

Tlie  Baron  of  Ravensworth^  prances  in  pride. 
And  he  views  his  domains  ujion  Arkindale  side. 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame ; 
Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  vale, 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  Allen-a-dale  ! 

AUen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight,      [bright ; 
Though  his  spm"  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  as 
Allen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord. 
Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen^  will  draw  at  his  word ; 
And  the  best  of  om*  nobles  his  bomiet  will  vail, 
"Who  at  Rere-cross^  on  Stanmore  meets  Allen-a- 
Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come ; 

The  mother,  she  ask'd  of  his  household  and  home  : 

"  Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stand  fan-  on  the 

hill. 
My  hall,"  quoth  bold  Allen,  "  shows  gallanter  still ; 
'Tis  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so 

pale,  [Dale. 

And  with  all  its  bright  spangles !"  said  AUen-a- 

The  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was  stone  ; 
Tliey  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  be  gone ; 
But  loud,  on  the  moiTow,  their  wail  and  their  cry  : 
He  had  laugh'd  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black  eye. 


1  MS. 


<  "Scathed  )  ,^j^ 
>      Seared     )  "" 


s  lieart. 


2  MS. — "  Oft  help  tlie  weary  niglit  away." 

3  Tlie  ruins  -.1  Ravensworth  Castle  stand  in  the  North  Ri- 
ding of  Vorksliire,  about  three  miles  from  the  town  of  Rieh- 
■nond,  and  adjoining  to  the  waste  called  the  Forest  of  Arkin- 
jarth.  It  belonged  originally  to  the  powerful  family  of  Fitz- 
Hugh,  from  \ihom  it  passed  to  the  Lords  Dacre  of  the  South. 


And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale, 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXL 

"  Tliou  see'st  that,  whether  sad  or  gay. 
Love  mingles  ever  in  his  lay. 
But  when  his  boyish  wayward  fit 
Is  o'er,  he  hath  address  and  wit ; 

0  !  'tis  a  brain  of  fire,  can  ape 
Each  dialect,  each  varioiLS  shape." — 

"  j^ay,  then,  to  aid  thy  project,  Guy — 
Soft !  who  comes  here  V — "  My  trusty  spy. 
Speak,  HamUn !  hast  thou  lodged  our  deer  ?" — ' 
"  I  have — ^liut  two  fair  stags  -are  near. 

1  watch'd  her,  as  she  slowly  stray'd 
From  Egliston  up  Thorsgill  glade  ; 
But  Wilfrid  Wycliffe  sought  her  side, 
And  then  young  Redmond,  in  his  pride. 
Shot  down  to  meet  them  on  their  way : 
Much,  as  it  seem'd,  was  theu's  to  say : 
Tliere's  time  to  pitch  both  toil  and  net^ 
Before  then-  path  be  homeward  set." 

A  hm-ried  and  a  whisper'd  speech 
Did  Bertram's  will  to  Denzil  teach ; 
Who,  tm-niug  to  the  robber  band, 
Bade  fom-,  the  bravest,  take  the  brand. 


Hokcbg. 


CANTO    FOURTH. 


When  Denmark's  raven  soar'd  on  high. 
Triumphant  through  JSTorthuxnbrian  sky, 
Tni,  hovering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoko^ 
And  the  broad  shadow  of  her  wing 
Blacken'd  each  cataract  and  spring. 
Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  his  soiu-ce, 
Tliundering  o'er  Caldron  and  High-Force  f 
Beneath  the  shade  the  Nortlunen  came, 
Fix'd  on  each  vale  a  Rtmic  name,^ 
Rear'd  high  their  altar's  rugged  stone. 
And  gave  their  Gods  the  land  they  won. 
Then,  Balder,  one  bleak  garth  was  thine, 
And  one  sweet  brooklet's  silver  hne, 

*  MS. — "  But  a  score  of  good  fellows,"  &c. 

5  Pee  Appendix,  Note  2  K.  c  Ibid.  Note  2  L. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

8  The  Tees  rises  about  the  skirts  of  Crossfell,  and  falls  over 
the  cataracts  named  in  the  text  before  it  leaves  the  mountains 
which  divide  the  North  Riding  from  Cumberland.  High-Force 
s  seventy-five  feet  in  height. 

0  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 


3-24 


scorr's  poetic  at.  works. 


CANTO  IV. 


A    '  "■    '     ■     '    ri  ilij  title  KJiin 
1  lur  of  tlio  .Slain  ; 

But  tu  tlie  Muuord)  uf  tliu  Muco, 

T'       ......      ^  j.luro, 

''■' 

Near  Slratforth  liigh  tliey  puid  tlicir  VGW^ 

""        ■  'lllU', 

■  v'n  luutiu. 

IL 
Yft  Sonltl  or  Kuinjicr  err  I,  I  ween, 
^Vlll>  i^AW  tJmt  soft  ftiiil  qiiift  scene, 
With  uU  its  viiried  li^'lit  and  tJmde, 
And  fvcry  little  sunny  glade, 
And  the  blithe  brook  that  strolls  along 
Its  pebbled  l)ed  with  summer  song, 
To  the  grim  Gwl  of  bUnid  imd  sciu-, 
llie  ffriAy  King  of  Northern  War. 
0,  better  were  its  banks  assign'd 
To  spirits  of  a  gentler  kind  ! 
For  where  the  thicket-groups  recede. 
And  the  rath  primrose  decks  the  mead,' 
Hie  vilvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 
For  tlie  liu'lit  fairies'  lively  feet. 
Yon  tufted  knoll,  with  daisies  strewn, 
Miirht  make  proud  Oberoii  a  throne, 
Willie  hidden  in  the  tliicket  nigh, 
I'uck  should  brood  o'er  his  froUc  sly ; 
And  wljere  profuse  tho  wood-vetch  clijigs 
Round  ash  and  elm,  ii,  verdant  rings. 
Its  pale  and  azure-pencill'd  flower 
Should  canopy  Titania'a  bower. 

III. 
Here  rise  no  cliffs  the  vale  to  shade ; 
But,  skirting  every  sunny  glade, 
In  fair  variety  of  green 
The  w(x)dland  lends  its  silvan  screen. 
Hoary,  yet  haughty,  frowns  the  oak, 
Its  Ix^ughs  by  weight  of  ages  broke ; 
And  towers  erect,  in  sable  spire, 
llio  pine-tree  scathed  by  lightning-fire  ; 
The  drooping  a.«h  and  birch,  between. 
Hang  their  fair  tresses  o'er  the  green. 
And  all  beneath,  at  random  grow 
Each  coppice  flwarf  of  varied  sliow. 
Or,  round  the  stems  profusely  twined. 
Fling  summer  odors  on  the  wind. 
Such  varied  group  Urbino's  hand 
Hound  Him  of  Tarsus  noVjly  plann'd, 
Wh.it  time  he  bade  proml  Athens  own 
On  Mars's  Mount  the  God  (Unknown  1 


•  MS. — "  The  e.irly  pnmrtyic  ilcrku  the  mcail, 

Ami  the  thort  veltrrt  gnm  aeemt  meet 
For  the  light  rairin'  frolio  feet." 

•  MS. — "  That  yon  had  »aiil  her  cheok  wa»  pale  ; 

Bat  if  she  faced  the  morning  gale, 


llien  griiy  Philosophy  stood  nigh, 
'i'hougli  l>ent  by  age,  in  spirit  high; 
There  rose  the  scjir-soani'd  veteran's  spear, 
There  Oreeian  Beauty  bent  to  hear. 
While  Childhood  at  her  finit  was  placed, 
Or  clung  delighted  to  her  waist. 

IV. 
"  And  rest  we  licre,"  Matilda  said. 
And  sat  her  in  the  varying  shade. 
"  Chance-met,  we  well  may  steal  an  hour. 
To  friendsliip  due,  from  fortune's  power. 
Thou,  Wilfred,  ever  kind,  must  lend 
'J'hy  counsel  to  thy  sister-friend ; 
And,  Redmond,  thou,  at  my  behest. 
No  farther  urge  thy  desperate  'quest. 
For  to  my  care  a  charge  is  left. 
Dangerous  to  one  of  aid  bereft ; 
Welliiigh  an  or])lian,  and  alone. 
Captive  her  sire,  her  house  o'erthrown." 
Wilfrid,  with  wonted  kindness  graced. 
Beside  her  on  the  turf  she  placed ; 
Then  paused,  with  downcast  look  and  eye. 
Nor  oade  young  Redmond  seat  him  nigh. 
Her  conscious  diflidence  he  saw. 
Drew  backward,  as  in  modest  awe. 
And  sat  a  little  space  removed, 
Unmark'd  to  gaze  on  her  he  loved. 


Wreathed  in  its  dark-brown  rings,  her  hair 
ILilf  hid  Matilda's  forehead  fair. 
Half  liid  and  half  reveal'd  to  view 
Her  full  dark  eye  of  hazel  hue. 
llic  rose,  with  faint  and  feeble  streak, 
So  slightly  tinged  the  maiden's  cheek, 
That  you  had  said  her  hue  was  jjule  ;" 
But  if  she  faced  the  summer  gale. 
Or  spoke,  or  sung,  or  quicker  moved. 
Or  heard  the  praise  of  fliose  she  loved. 
Or  when  of  interest  was  exprcss'd' 
Aught  that  waked  feeling  in  her  breast, 
The  mantling  blood  in  ready  play 
Rivall'd  the  blush  of  rising  day. 
There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 
A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face, 
That  suited  well  the  forehead  high. 
The  eyelash  dark,  and  downcast  eye ; 
The  mild  expression  spoke  a  niLnd 
Li  duty  firm,  composed,  resign'd  ; 
'Tis  that  which  Roman  art  has  given. 
To  mark  their  maiden  Queen  of  Hcavea 

Or  longer  epoke,  or  quicker  moved." 

•  MS. — "  Or  auglit  of  interest  wn.i  rxprosa'd 
That  waked  a  feeling  in  her  brea.st, 

The  manllins  blood,   \  1""'  '",'"^',""  'jf'""' 
'  in  n;adv  nlav."   . 


'  in  ready  play. 


\ 


L 


CANTO  IV. 


UOKEBY. 


325 


In  hours  of  sport,  that  mood  gave  way' 

To  Fancy's  liglit  and  frohc  play ; 

And  when  the  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 

In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along, 

Full  oft  her  doating  sire  would  call 

His  Maud  the  merriest  of  them  all. 

But  days  of  war  and  civil  crime, 

Allow'd  but  ill  such  festal  time. 

And  her  soft  pensiveness  of  brow 

Had  deepen'd  into  sadness  now. 

In  Marston  tield  her  father  ta'en, 

Her  friends  dispersed,  brave  Mortham  slain, 

Wliile  every  ill  her  soul  foretold, 

From  Oswald's  tliirst  of  power  and  gold. 

And  boding  thoughts  that  she  must  part 

With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart, — ^ 

All  lower'd  around  the  lovely  maid, 

To  darken  her  dejection's  shade. 

VI. 
Who  has  not  heard — while  Erin  yet 
Strove  'gainst  the  Saxon's  iron  bit — 
Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  O'Neale 
In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel,' 
Agamst  St.  George's  cross  blazed  high 
The  banners  of  liis  Tanistry, 
To  fiery  Essex  gave  the  foil, 
And  reign'd  a  prince  on  Ulster's  soU  ? 
But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride, 
Wlien  that  brave  Marshal  fought  and  died,* 
And  Avon-Duff  to  ocean  bore 
His  billows  red  with  Saxon  gore. 
'Twas  first  in  that  disastrous  fight, 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  then-  might.^ 
There  had  they  fallen  'mongst  the  rest, 
But  pity  touch'd  a  cliieftain's  breast ; 
The  Tanist  lie  to  great  O'Neale ;" 
He  check'd  his  followers'  bloody  zeal, 
To  quarter  took  the  kinsmen  bold. 
And  bore  them  to  his  mountain-hold, 
Gave  them  each  silvan  joy  to  know, 
Slieve-Donard's  cliifs  and  woods  could  show,"' 
Shared  with  them  Erin's  festal  cheer, 
Show'd  them  the  chase  of  wolf  and  deer, 
And,  when  a  fitting  tune  was  come, 

■  MS. — "  In  fitting  hours  the  mood  gave  way 
To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  play, 
When  the  blithe  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along, 
When  oft  her  doting  sire  would  call 
His  Maudlin  merriest  of  tliem  all." 

s  MS. — "  With  a  soft  %'ision  of  her  heart. 

That  stole  its  seat,  ere  yet  she  knew 
The  guard  to  early  passion  due." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  O.  •»  Ibid.  Note  2  P. 

6  MS.  -"  And,  by  the  deep  resounding  More, 

The  English  veterans  heap'd  the  shore. 
It  was  in  that  disastrous  fight 
That  Rokeby  proved  his  youthful     i      ■  i  ,  >, 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  j 


Safe  and  unransom'd  sent  them  home, 
Loaded  with  many  a  gift,  to  prove 
A  generous  foe's  respect  and  lov-e. 

VII. 
Years  speed  away.     On  Rokeby's  head 
Some  touch  of  early  snow  was  shed ; 
Calm  he  enjoy'd,  by  Greta's  wave. 
The  peace  which  James  the  Peaceful  gave 
Wliile  Mortham,  far  beyond  the  main, 
Waged  his  fierce  wars  on  Indian  Spain. — 
It  chanced  upon  a  wintry  niglit," 
That  whiten'd  Stanmore's  stormy  height, 
The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  kill'd. 
In  Rokeby-hall  the  cups  were  fiU'd, 
And  by  the  huge  stone  chimney  sate 
Tlie  Knight  in  liospitable  state. 
Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late, 
When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate, 
And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aid 
A  voice  of  foreign  accent  pray'd. 
The  porter  answer'd  to  the  call. 
And  instant  rush'd  into  the  hall 
A  Man,  whose  aspect  and  attir©* 
Startled  the  circle  by  the  fire. 

VIII. 
His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread^" 
Around  his  bare  and  matted  head ; 
On  leg  and  thigh,  close  stretch'd  and  trim. 
His  vesture  show'd  the  sinewy  limb ; 
In  safiron  dyed,  a  linen  vest 
Was  frequent  folded  round  his  breast ; 
A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore. 
Shaggy  with  ice,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 
He  clasp'd  a  burden  to  his  heart, 
And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart, 
The  snow  fi-om  hair  and  beard  he  shook, 
And  round  him  gazed  with  wilder'd  look. 
Then  up  the  hall,  with  staggering  pace, 
He  hasten'd  by  the  blaze  to  place, 
Half  hfeless  from  the  bitter  air, 
His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 
To  Rokeby,  next,  he  louted  low. 
Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show," 

5  MS. — "  A  kinsman  near  to  great  O'Neale." 
See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q.. 
'  MS. — "  Gave  them  each  varied  joy  to  know, 
The  words  of  Ophalie  could  show." 

8  MS. "stormy  night. 

When  early  snow  clad  Stanmore's  height.' 

9  MS.—"  And  instant  into  Rokeby-hall 

A  stranger  rush'd,  whose  wild  attire 
Startled,"  &c. 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R. 

u  MS. — "  Shaggy  with  snow,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 
His  features  as  liis  dress  were  wild. 
And  in  his  arms  he  bore  a  child. 


826 


SC0T1"S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


With  wild  miijpstic  jwrt  nml  toiip," 
Like  envoy  of  (w)ino  bnrlmrous  tlirono.' 


nn<\  to  tliv  cjiro 


'J  . 

Uopr 

Y  '     ■         ■  !-'■"  luir. 

li  .     .'n, 

lur  Tiirlimfifh's  tiaya  of  joy  arc  done ; 


ud  all  tho  ;jlory  of  Tyrone 

Is  like  a  I'  ■      '1 

To  liind  th  il, 

Ho  hidfl  theo  tbink  on  Erin's  bowl  1' 

If  ■■•     '■. 

11.   -1. 

To  Mortlmin  first  tliia  clmrsfe  was  due, 
But,  in  lii-^  "11. — 

Now  is  m\  .    .  .   : -1^  by. 

And  Ferrauglit  will  contented  die." 

IX. 
Ilifl  look  grew  fix'd,  his  cheek  grew  pale, 
Ho  sunk  when  he  had  told  his  tale ; 
For.  hid  >)on<'nth  hi'  mantle  wide, 
A  mortal  wour.  !  \va^  in  his  side. 
Vain  was  all  aid — in  terror  wild. 
And  sorro^  •  i  .i  '    n  Child. 

Po<ir  Fcrr.  .1  eyes, 

And  faintly  strove  to  soothe  his  cries ; 
All  reckless  of  his  dyinu^  pain, 
He  blest  and  blest  iiim  o'er  again! 
Ami  kiss'd  the  little  hands  outspread. 
And  kiss'd  and  cro&<'d  the  infant  head. 
And,  in  liis  native  tongue  and  phrase, 
Pray'd  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days ; 
Then  all  his  strengrth  together  drew, 
Tlie  charge  to  Rokcby  to  renew. 
"Wlicn  half  was  falter'd  from  his  breast, 
And  half  by  dying  i^igns  cxjjress'd, 
"  Bless  the  O'Neale  !"  he  faintly  said, 
And  thus  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

X. 
'Twas  long  ere  sootliing  might  prevail 
Upon  the  Cliild  to  end  the  tale ; 

Ar  '  ♦' he  said,  that  from  liis  home 

II  'ire  had  been  forced  to  roam, 

W'hioh  had  not  been  if  Redmond's  hand 
Had  but  had  strength  to  draw  the  brand, 

VV  I  onc'inal  pace, 

H'-  blaze  to  place. 

Hall  lilclt'r<9  Irom  tlie  liiltor  air, 
His  load,  a  Boy  of  b'  auty  rare. 
To  Rokeby,  then,  with  solemn  air, 
He  tom'd  ha  errand  to  declare." 

>  This  coaplet  is  no*,  in  the  MS. 

See  Appendijc,  Note  2  S. 


lliL'  brand  of  Li-naugh  More  the  Red, 
'I'hat  hung  beside  tlie  gray  wolf's  head. — 
"rwas  from  his  broki-n  phra.so  descried. 
His  fostiT-fatlier  was  his  guide,* 
Who,  in  his  charge,  from  Ulster  lK)re 
'  ml  gifts  a  goodly  store  ; 

I        {  us  met  them  in  tlie  wood, 

Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood, 
Till  wounded  and  o'erpuwer'd  at  len^jth, 
And  stripp'd  of  all,  his  fniliiig  strength 
Just  lx)ru  him  here — and  then  the  cliild 
Renew'd  again  liis  luoaniug  wild.* 

XI. 
Tlie  tear  down  childhood's  check  tliat  flows, 
Is  like  tho  dewdrop  on  the  ro.se  ; 
When  next  the  summer  breeze  comes  by, 
And  waves  the  bu.sh,  the  flower  is  dry. 
"\V<;n  by  their  care,  the  orphan  Child 
SfMin  on  his  new  protector  smiled, 
"With  dimpled  cheek  and  eye  so  fair, 
Through  his  thie.k  curls  of  flaxen  hair. 
But  "ulithest  laugh'd  that  cheek  and  eye 
When  Hokeby's  little  Maid  was  nigh; 
'Twas  his,  with  elder  brother's  pride, 
Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide  ;' 
His  native  lays  in  Irish  tongue. 
To  .soothe  her  infant  ear  he  sung, 
And  priiiiro.-e  twined  with  daisj-  fair. 
To  form  a  chaplet  for  her  hair. 
By  lawn,  by  gi'ove,  Vjy  brc/oklet's  strand. 
The  children  still  were  hand  in  hand. 
And  good  Sir  Richard  smiling  eyed 
The  eai"ly  knot  so  kindly  tied. 

XII. 
But  summer  months  bring  wUding  .shoot 
From  bud  to  bloom,  from  bl<;om  to  fruit , 
And  years  diaw  on  our  human  .span. 
From  cliild  to  boy,  from  boy  to  man ; 
And  soou  in  Rokeby's  woods  is  seen 
A  gallant  boy  in  hunter's  green. 
He  loves  to  wake  the  felon  boar, 
lu  his  dark  haunt  on  Greta's  shore, 
And  loves,  against  the  deer  so  dun. 
To  draw  the  shaft,  or  lift  the  gun: 
Yet  more  he  love.s,  in  autumn  prime. 
The  hazel's  spreading  boughs  to  climb, 
And  dovra  its  cluster'd  stores  to  liail, 
"Wliere  young  Matilda  holds  her  veil 

s  MS. — "  To  bind  the  charge  upon  thy  soul. 
Remember  Erin's  social  bowl." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

»  Here  follows  in  the  MS.  a  stanza  of  sixteen  lines,  whicb 
the  author  subsequently  dispersed  through  stanzas  xv.  an(!l 
xvi.,  post. 

•  MS. — "Three  years  more  old,  'twas  Redmond's  pride 

Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide." 


i    CANTO  IV.                                              ROKEBY.                                                        327 

And  she,  -whose  veil  receives  the  shower,' 

Now  must  Matilda  stray  apart. 

Is  alter'd  too,  and  knows  her  power  ; 

To  scliool  her  disobedient  heiu't ; 

Assumes  a  monitress's  pride, 

And  Redmond  now  alone  must  rue 

Her  Redmond's  dangerous  sports  to  chide ; 

The  love  he  never  can  subdue. 

Yet  listens  still  to  liear  hira  tell 

But  factions  rose,  and  Ilokeby  sware,* 

How  the  grim  wild-boar'^  Ibught  and  fell, 

No  rebel's  son  should  wed  liis  hen- ; 

How  at  his  fall  the  bugle  rung, 

And  Redmond,  nm-tured  while  a  cluld 

Till  rock  and  greenwood  answer  flung ; 

In  mtuiy  a  bard's  traditions  wild. 

Then  blesses  her,  that  man  can  find 

Now  sought  the  lonely  wood  or  stream, 

A  pastime  of  such  savage  kind  !^ 

To  cherish  there  a  happier  dream. 

Of  maiden  won  by  sword  or  lance, 

XIII. 

As  in  the  regions  of  romance  ; 

But  Redmond  knew  to  weave  his  tale 

And  count  the  heroes  of  his  line,' 

So  well  with  praise  of  wood  and  dale, 

Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine,' 

And  knew  so  well  each  point  to  trace, 

Shane-Dymas'  wild,  and  Geraldine,' 

Gives  Uving  interest  to  the  chase, 

And  Connan-more,  who  vow'd  his  race 

And  knew  so  well  o'er  all  to  tlu"ow 

For  ever  to  the  fight  and  chase. 

His  spirit's  wild  romantic  glow, 

And  cm-sed  hun,  of  his  lineage  born. 

That,  while  she  blamed,  and  wliile  she  fear'd. 

Should  sheathe  the  sword  to  reap  the  cori; 

Slic  loved  each  venturous  tale  she  heard. 

Or  leave  the  moimtain  and  the  wold. 

Oft,  too,  when  drifted  snow  and  rain 

To  shroud  himself  in  castled  hold. 

To  bower  and  hall  theii"  steps  restrain, 

From  such  examples  hope  he  drew. 

Together  they  exjjlored  the  page 

And  brighten'd  as  the  trumpet  blew. 

Of  glowing  bard  or  gifted  sage  ; 

Oft,  placed  the  evening  fire  beside. 

XV. 

The  minstrel  ai't  alternate  tried, 

If  brides  were  won  by  heart  and  blade. 

While  gladsome  harp  and  lively  lay 

Redmond  had  both  his  cause  to  aid. 

Bade  winter-night  flit  fast  away : 

And  all  beside  of  uurtm-e  rare 

Thus,  from  their  childliood,  blending  still 

That  miglit  beseem  a  baron's  heir. 

Then-  sport,  then-  study,  and  then-  skiH, 

Turlough  O'Neale,  in  Erin's  strife. 

An  union  of  the  soul  they  prove. 

On  Rokeby's  Lord  bestow'd  his  fife. 

But  must  not  think  that  it  was  love. 

And  weU  did  Rokebv's  generous  Knight 

But  though  they  dared  not,  envious  Fame 

Yovmg  Redmond  for  the  deed  requite. 

Soon  dared  to  give  that  union  name  ; 

Nor  was  his  liberal  care  and  cost 

And  when  so  often,  side  by  side. 

Upon  the  gallant  stripling  lost : 

From  year  to  year  the  pan-  she  eyed. 

Seek  the  North-Riding  broad  and  wide. 

She  sometimes  blamed  the  good  old  Knight, 

Like  Redmond  none  could  steed  bestride  ; 

As  dull  of  ear  and  dim  of  sight. 

From  TjTiemouth  search  to  Cmnberland, 

Soraetmies  his  purpose  would  declare, 

Like  Redmond  none  could  wield  a  brand; 

That  young  O'Ncale  shoidd  wed  his  heir. 

And  then,  of  huuior  kind  and  free. 

And  bearing  him  to  each  degree 

XIV. 

With  frank  and  fearless  courtesy. 

Tlie  suit  of  Wilfrid  rent  disguise 

There  never  youth  was  form'd  to  steal 

And  bandage  from  the  lovers'  eyes  ;* 

Upon  the  heart  like  brave  O'Neale. 

'Twas  plain  that  Oswald,  for  his  son. 

Had  Rokeby's  favor  welluigh  won. 

XVL 

Now  must  they  meet  with  change  of  cheer, 

Su-  Richard  loved  him  as  his  son ; 

With  mutual  looks  of  shame  and  fear ; 

And  when  the  days  of  peace  were  done, 

1  M?. — "  And  she  on  whom  these  treasures  shower." 

Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine, 

«  MS.—"  Grim  sanglier." 

Shane-Dymas  wild,  and  Connan-Mar, 

s  MS.—"  Then  bless'd  himself  that  man  can  find 

Who  vow'd  his  race  to  wounds  and  war. 

A  pastime  of  such  cruel  kind." 

And  cursed  all,  of  his  lineage  born, 

*  MS. — "  From  their  hearts  and  eyes." 

Who  sheathed  the  sword  to  reap  the  com 

^  MS. — "  And  Redmond,  too,  apart  must  rue, 

Or  left  the  green-wood  and  the  wold, 

The  love  he  never  can  subdue  ; 

To  shroud  himself  in  house  or  hold." 

Then  came  the  war,  and  Rokeby  said, 

No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  maid." 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U.                e  Ibid.  Note  2  V 

«  MS.— '  Thought  on  the  J  ^'""''f      i  of  his  Una, 

=                 (  founders  i                   ' 

»  Ibid.  Note  2  W. 

328                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  iv. 

AuJ  to  the  fpdcB  of  wur  Lu  gnvo 

On  the  dark  visions  of  their  soul, 

■'                                      -  to  wave, 

And  bade  their  mournful  masing  fly 

•  1  by  hit  care, 

Like  miat  before  tlie  zephyr's  high. 

He  chttoe  tluit  hotiurM  fliu;  to  bear,' 
Aii'l  iiiuno"!  1                       next  dojjreo, 

XVIIL 

In  that  iil.l  ti..       .      ly.' 

"  I  need  not  to  my  friends  recall, 

Ill  tivo  pitdiM  fields  lie  well  maiiitnin'd 

How  Mortham  shunn'd  my  father's  hall , 

\v<trtli  i>hlaiiiM, 

A  man  of  silence  and  of  woe, 

nil'!)  joutliful  name 

Yet  ever  anxious  to  bestow 

L  the  roll  of  martial  fauio. 

On  my  poor  self  wliate'er  could  provo 

llaii  ('••rtiinc  KMii! '(1  on  Marstoii  fi^'ht, 

A  kinsman's  confidence  aii<l  love. 

Tlio  cvo  had  seen  liini  dubbVl  a  kuight ; 

My  feeble  aid  could  sometimes  chase 

Twice,  'mid  the  Ixittle's  doubtful  strife, 

Tlie  clouds  of  sorrow  for  a  space ; 

Of  llokeby's  Lord  he  saved  tlie  lift;, 

But  ofteiier,  fix'd  beyond  my  power,* 

/)Ut  when  he  saw  hin:  prisoner  made, 

I  mark'd  his  deep  desp(jndence  lower. 

lie  kisi'd  and  then  resign'd  his  bLide,* 

One  dismal  cause,  by  all  unguess'd, 

And  yielded  liim  an  easy  prey 

His  fearfid  confidence  confe.ss'd ; 

T  .  .)„...  -v^iio  led  the  Knight  away  ; 

And  twice  it  was  my  hap  to  see 

1  Matilda's  sire  should  prove 

Examples  of  that  agony. 

In  prison,  as  in  fight,  his  love. 

^^^licll  for  a  season  can  o'erstrain 

And  wreck  the  structure  of  the  brain. 

XVII. 

He  had  the  awful  power  to  know 

^^^lcn  lovers  meet  in  adverse  hour, 

Tlic  approaching  mental  overthrow, 

And  while  Us  miml  had  courage  yet 

A  watery  ray,  an  instant  seen 

To  struggle  with  the  dreadful  fit. 

The  darkly  closing  clouds  between. 

The  victim  writhed  against  its  throes,' 

As  Redmond  on  the  turf  reclined. 

Like  wretch  beneath  a  murderer's  blows. 

Tlie  past  and  present  fill'd  his  mind  :* 

Tliis  malady,  I  well  could  mark, 

"  It  was  not  thus,"  Affection  said, 

Spnmg  from  some  direful  cause  and  dark  • 

"I  dream'd  of  my  return,  dear  maid! 

But  still  he  kept  its  source  conceal'd, 

Not  thus,  when  from  thy  trembling  hand. 

Till  arming  for  the  civil  field ; 

I  took  the  banner  and  the  brand, 

Then  in  my  charge  he  bade  me  hold 

Wlion  round  me,  as  the  bugles  blew, 

A  treasure  huge  of  gems  and  gold. 

Tlieir  blades  three  hundred  warriors  drew. 

With  this  disjointed  dismal  scroll, 

And,  while  the  standard  I  unroll'd, 

Tliat  tells  the  secret  of  his  soul. 

Clash'd  their  bright  arms,  with  clamor  bold. 

In  such  wild  words  as  oft  betray 

Where  is  that  banner  now  ? — its  pride 

A  mind  by  anguish  forced  astray." — 

Lies  'whelm'd  in  Ouse's  sullen  tide ! 

Wliere  now  those  warriors  ? — in  their  gore, 

XIX. 

Tlicy  cumber  Marston's  dismal  moor  1 

mortham's  history. 

And  what  avails  a  useless  brand. 

"  Matilda !  thou  hast  seen  me  start 

Held  by  a  captive's  shackled  hand, 

As  if  a  dagger  thrill'd  my  heart, 

Tliat  only  would  his  hfe  retain. 

Wlien  it  has  hap'd  some  casual  plirase 

To  aid  thy  sire  to  bear  his  chain  1" 

Waked  memory  of  my  former  days. 

Thus  Redmond  to  himself  apart ; 

Believe,  that  few  can  backward  cast 

Nor  lighter  was  his  rival's  heart ; 

Their  thoughts  with  jjlcasure  on  the  past 

For  Wilfriil,  while  his  generous  soul 

But  I! — my  youth  was  rash  and  vain,' 

Disdain'd  to  profit  by  control. 

And  blood  and  rage  my  manhood  stain, 

By  miuiy  a  sign  could  mark  too  plain, 

And  my  gray  hairs  must  now  descend 

Save  with  such  aid,  his  hopes  were  vain. — 

To  my  cold  grave  without  a  friend  1 

But  now  Matilda's  accents  stole 

Even  thou,  Matilda,  wilt  disown 

I  Appenilix,  Nol«2X.               »  Ibid.  Note  2  Y. 

»  MS. — "  But  oftener  'twas  my  hap  to  see 

•  Aid. — "  Hw  valor  iaved  olil  Rokcliy's  life, 

Such  storms  of  bitter  agony. 

But  wlicn  lie  saw  liiin  |iri>«ner  made, 

As  for  the  moment  would  o'erstrain 

He  kisa'd  and  thfn  flung  down  his  blade." 

And  wreck  the  balance  of  the  brain." 

<  After  this  line  the  M.S.  ha«  :— 

"  J/it  ruin' J  hopes,  impending  wort — 

c.  M?. "beneath  his  throes." 

Till  in  hit  eye  the  tear-drop  rote." 

'  MS.—"  My  youth  was  folly's  reign." 

CANTO  IV.                                                 ROICEBY.                                                        329 

Tliy  kmsraan,  when  his  guilt  is  knowiL 

Then  pray'd  it  might  not  chafe  my  mood — 

And  must  I  lift  the  bloody  veil 

'  Tliere  was  a  gallant  in  the  wood !' 

That  hides  my  dark  and  fiital  tale ! 

We  had  been  .shootbig  at  the  deer ; 

I  must — I  will — Pale  jihantom,  cease ! 

My  cross-bow  (evil  chance !)  was  near : 

Leave  me  one  little  hour  in  peace ! 

That  ready  weapon  of  my  Avrath 

Thus  haunted,  think'st  thou  I  have  skill 

I  caught,  and,  hasting  up  the  patV 

Tliine  own  commission  to  fulfil  ? 

In  the  yew  gi-ove  my  wife  I  found : 

Or,  while  thou  point'st  with  gesture  fierce, 

A  stranger's  arms  her  neck  had  bound  ! 

Thy  blighted  cheek,  thy  bloody  hearse, 

I  mark'd  his  heart — the  bow  I  drew — 

How  can  I  paint  thee  as  thou  wert, 

I  loosed  the  shaft — 'twas  more  than  true  1 

So  fair  hi  face,  so  warm  in  heart ! 

I  found  my  Edith's  dying  charms 

Lock'd  in  lier  murder'd  brother's  ai-ms  I 

XX. 

He  came  in  secret  to  inqiih'e 

"  Yes,  she  was  fan- ! — Matilda,  thou 

Her  state,  and  reconcile  her  sire.* 

Hast  a  soft  sadness  on  thy  brow ; 

But  hers  was  like  the  sunny  glow. 

xxn. 

That  laughs  on  earth  and  all  below ! 

"All  fled  my  rage — the  villain  first, 

We  wedded  secret — there  was  need — 

Whose  craft  my  jealousy  had  nursed; 

Differing  in  coimtry  and  in  creed  ; 

He  sought  ia  far  and  foreign  clime 

And,  when  to  Mortham's  tower  she  came, 

To  'scape  the  vengeance  of  his  crime. 

We  mentioned  not  her  race  and  name. 

The  manner  of  the  slaughter  done 

Until  thy  sire,  who  fought  afar,^ 

Was  known  to  few,  my  guilt  to  none ; 

Should  tm-n  him  home  from  foreign  war, 

Some  tale  my  faithful  steward  framed — 

On  whose  kind  uifluence  we  relied 

I  know  not  what — of  shaft  mis-aim'd ; 

To  soothe  her  father's  ire  and  pride. 

And  even  from  those  the  act  who  knew, 

Few  months  we  lived  retii-ed,  unknown. 

He  hid  the  hand  from  which  it  flew. 

To  all  but  one  dear  fi-ieud  alone. 

Untouch'd  by  himian  laws  I  stood, 

One  darUng  friend — I  spare  his  shame, 

But  God  had  heard  the  cry  of  blood ! 

I  will  not  wi-ite  the  villain's  name  ! 

Tliere  is  a  blank  upon  my  mind. 

My  trespasses  I  might  forget,^ 

A  fearful  vision  dl-defiued. 

And  sue  in  vengeance  for  the  debt 

Of  raving  tiU  ray  flesh  was  torn. 

Due  by  a  brother  worm  to  me, 

Of  dimgeou-bolts  and  fetters  worn — 

Ungrateful  to  God's  clemency,' 

And  when  I  waked  to  woe  more  mild, 

That  spared  me  penitential  time, 

And  question'd  of  my  infant  child — 

Nor  cut  me  off  amid  my  crime. — 

(Have  I  not  written,  that  she  bare 

A  boy,  like  smnmer  morning  fair  ?) — 

XXI. 

With  looks  confused  my  menials  tell- 

"A  kindly  snule  to  all  she  lent. 

That  armed  men  in  Mortham  dell 

But  on  her  husband's  friend  'twas  bent 

Beset  the  nurse's  evening  way, 

So  kind,  that  from  its  harmless  glee,* 

And  bore  her,  with  her  charge,  away. 

The  -wretch  misconstrued  villany. 

My  faitliless  friend,  and  none  but  he. 

Repulsed  in  liis  presumptuous  love, 

Could  profit  by  this  villany ; 

A  'vengeful  snare  the  traitor  wove. 

Him  then,  I  sought,  with  purpose  dread 

Alone  we  sat — the  flask  had  flow'd. 

Of  treble  vengeance  on  his  head ! 

My  blood  with  heat  unwonted  glow'd. 

He  'scaped  me — ^but  my  bosom's  wound 

When  through  the  alley'd  walk  we  spied 

Some  faint  relief  from  wandering  found; 

With  hurried  step  my  Edith  ghde. 

And  over  distant  land  and  sea 

Cowering  beneath  the  verdant  screen. 

I  bore  my  load  of  misery. 

As  one  unwilling  to  be  seen. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  fiendish  smile. 

XXIII. 

That  curl'd  the  traitor's  cheek  the  while  I 

"  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  led 

Fiercely  I  question'd  of  the  cause ; 

Among  a  daring  crew  and  dread,' 

He  made  a  cold  and  artful  pause. 

With  whom  full  oft  my  hated  life 

1  MS.— "Until  tliy  father,  then  alar." 

The  readiest  weapon  of  my  wrath, 

2  MS. — "  I,  a  poor  ilebtor,  should  forget." 

And  liastening  uj)  the  Greta  path." 

3  MS. — "  Forgelting  God's  own  clemency." 

6  Tliis  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

1  MS. — "  So  kindly,  that  from  harmless  glee." 

'  MS  -"  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  fhre» 

*  MS.—"  I  caught  a  cross-bow  tliat  was  near, 
42 

Among  a  wild  and  daring  crew  " 

330 


SCO'lT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


I  Vijntureil  ui  i«uc}i  f!f"<pcmte  Btrifo, 
llmt  fviii  my  li'  iatus  m\v 


I    .  I 


I  :         .III  {^uilt  iind  liuiiiuii  woe, 

\  ,  ,      '  '  '  .  i^imwii 

\  my  own 

1  buttlo  fray, 


\ 


II  lliu  WDUiicled  niul  the  dciul, 

\\  I  '  lil  (Irown'd, 

M  _  1111(1, 

mo  n  voice — its  silvor  tone 

\. .  

•  A;-,     -  ~t  thou  here, 

Wliile  unavenged  ray  bloody  bier, 
\\\  heir, 

\V  rare?' 

-\A.iV. 
1  !•.••' — ■•bcy'd — and  homeward  drew, 
111  of  our  desperate  crew 

I  brnimht  at  time  of  need  to  aid 

My  purposed  wr  ' ^  ■' ■'  dehiy'd. 

But,  humble  be  .  Heaven, 

Tliat  better  hopes  and  tin  nights  has  given, 

*     '  ' '    -  I's  dear  prayer  has  taught 

must  be  b<jught ' — 
J.it  me  in  misery  rejoice — • 
I'vi  '  ■-  face — I've  heard  liis  voice — 

I I  liim  my  only  child. 

As  he  disown'd  the  theft,  he  smiled  1 
Tliat  V.  '      and  callous  look, 

Tliat  ti'  ■  er  his  visage  took, 

As  when  he  said,  in  scornful  mood, 
'  There  is  a  gallant  in  the  wood !' — 
I  did  not  ?lay  him  as  he  sttKid — 
All  p«  aise  be  to  my  Maker  given  1 
Long  Buffrjmce  is  one  patli  to  heaven." 

XXV. 

Til      "i  woful  tale  was  heard, 

W  I  thing  in  the  tliicket  stirr'd. 

Up  Redmond  sprung ;  the  villain  Guy 
(Fur  he  it  was  that  lurk'd  so  nigh), 
Dr<  \v  biuk — he  diu-at  not  cross  his  eteel 
A  niumfiit's  space  with  brave  O'Neale, 
For  all  the  I  gold  that  rests 

Ir.  ^lorthaiu.   i.iiided  chests. 

Redmond  resumed  his  seat ; — he  said, 
S'lme  roe  was  rustling  in  the  shade. 
Bertram  laugh'd  grimly  when  he  saw 
His  timorous  comrade  backward  draw ; 
"  A  trusty  mate  art  thou,  to  fear 
A  single  arm,  and  aid  so  near ! 
Yet  have  I  seen  thee  mark  a  deer. 
Give  me  thy  carabine — I'll  show 


An  art  that  thou  wilt  ghxdly  know, 
How  thou  mayst  safely  quell  a  foe." 

XXVI. 

On  hands  and  knees  fierce  Bertram  drew 

The  spreading  birch  and  hazels  tlu-ough. 

Till  ho  had  lledmond  full  m  view ; 

I'ho  guu  he  Icvel'd — Mark  like  tliis 

Was  Bertram  never  known  to  miss, 

When  fuu  opposed  to  aim  there  sate 

An  object  of  his  mortal  hate. 

Iliat  day  young  Redmond's  death  had  'eea, 

But  twice  Matilda  came  between 

The  carabine  and  Redmond's  breast, 

Just  ere  the  spring  his  finger  prcss'd. 

A  deadly  oath  the  rufliaii  swore. 

But  yet  his  fell  design  forbore : 

"  It  ne'er,"  he  mutter'd,  "  shall  be  said, 

That  thus  I  scath'd  thee,  haughty  maid  1" 

Then  moved  to  seek  more  open  aim, 

"Wlien  to  his  side  Guy  Denzil  came : 

"  Bertram,  forbear  ! — we  are  undone 

Forever,  if  thou  fire  the  gun. 

By  all  the  fiends,  an  armed  force 

Descends  the  dell,  j»f  foot  and  horse  1 

We  perish  if  they  hear  a  shot — 

Madman !  we  have  a  safer  plot — 

JTay,  friend,  be  ruled,  and  bear  thee  back  1 

Behold,  down  yonder  hoUow  track, 

The  warhke  leader  of  the  band 

Comes,  with  his  broadsword  in  his  hand." 

Bertram  look'd  up ;  he  saw,  he  knew 

Tliat  Denzil's  fears  had  counsell'd  true, 

Tlien  cursed  his  fortune  and  withdrew. 

Threaded  the  woodlands  undescried. 

And  gain'd  the  cave  on  Greta  side. 

XXVII. 
They  whom  dark  Bertram,  in  his  wrath, 
Doom'd  to  captivity  or  death. 
Their  thoughts  to  one  sad  subject  lent, 
Saw  not  nor  heard  the  ambushment. 
Heedless  and  unconcern'd  they  sate, 
Wliile  on  the  very  verge  of  fate ; 
Heedless  and  unconcern'd  remain'd, 
When  Heaven  the  murderer's  arm  restrain'd 
As  ships  drift  darkling  down  the  tide. 
Nor  see  the  shelves  o'er  wliich  they  glide. 
Uninterrupted  thus  they  heard 
What  Mortham's  closing  tale  declared. 
He  spoke  of  wealth  as  of  a  load, 
By  Fortune  on  a  wretch  bestow'd. 
In  bitter  mockery  of  hate. 
His  cureless  woes  to  aggravate  ; 
But  yet  he  pray'd  Matilda's  care 
Might  save  that  treasure  for  his  heir — 
His  Edith's  son — for  still  he  raved 
As  confident  his  life  was  saved ; 


r                                                                           

CANTO  IV.                                               ROKEBY.                                                        331 

In  I'reqxient  vision,  he  aveiT'd, 

And  for  such  noble  use  design'd. 

He  saw  liis  face,  bis  voice  he  heard ; 

"  Was  Barnard  Castle  then  her  choice," 

Then  argued  cahn — had  murder  been, 

Wilfrid  inquired  with  hasty  voice. 

The  blood,  the  corpses,  had  been  seen; 

"  Since  there  the  victor's  laws  ordain 

Some  had  pretended,  too,  to  mark 

Her  father  must  a  space  remain  ?" 

On  Windermere  a  stranger  bark, 

A  flutter'd  hope  his  accents  shook. 

VV  hose  cre^v,  with  zealous  care,  yet  mild. 

A  flutter'd  joy  was  in  his  look. 

Guarded  a  female  and  a  child. 

Matilda  hasten'd  to  reply. 

While  these  faint  proofs  he  told  and  press'd, 

For  anger  flash'd  in  Redmond's  eye ; — 

Hope  seem'd  to  kindle  in  liis  breast ; 

"  Duty,"  she  said,  with  gentle  grace, 

Though  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 

"  Kind  Wilfrid,  has  no  choice  of  place ; 

It  warp'd  his  judgment,  and  his  brain.' 

Else  had  I  for  my  sire  assign'd 

Prison  less  galling  to  liis  mind. 

XXVIII. 

Than  that  his  wild-wood  haunts  which  sees 

These  solemn  words  his  story  close : — 

And  hears  the  murmur  of  the  Tees, 

"  Heaven  witness  for  me,  that  I  chose 

Recalling  thus,  with  every  glance. 

My  part  in  this  sad  civil  fight. 

VV  hat  captive's  soitow  can  enhance  ; 

Moved  by  no  cause  but  England's  right 

But  where  those  woes  are  highest,  there 

My  country's  groans  have  bid  me  draw 

Needs  Rokeby  most  his  daughter's  cai"e." 

My  sword  for  gospel  and  for  law : — 

These  righted,  I  fling  arms  aside. 

XXX. 

And  seek  my  son  through  Europe  wida 

He  felt  the  kindly  check  she  gave. 

My  wealth,  on  which  a  kinsman  nigh 

And  stood  abash' d — then  answer'd  grave .-  ■ 

Already  casts  a  grasping  eye. 

"  I  sought  thy  pm'pose,  noble  maid. 

With  thee  may  unsuspected  lie. 

Thy  doubts  to  clear,  thy  schemes  to  aid. 

When  of  my  death  Matilda  hears, 

I  have  beneath  mine  own  command. 

Let  her  retain  her  trust  thi-ee  years ; 

So  wills  my  ske,  a  gallant  band. 

If  none,  from  me,  the  treasm'e  claim. 

And  well  could  send  some  horseman  wight 

Perish'd  is  Mortham's  race  and  name. 

To  bear  the  treasure  forth  by  night, 

Then  let  it  leave  her  generous  hand. 

And  so  bestow  it  as  you  deem 

And  flow  in  bounty  o'er  the  land  ; 

In  these  iU  days  may  safest  seem." — 

Soften  the  wounded  prisoner's  lot. 

"Tlianks,  gentle  Wilfrid,  thanlvs,"  she  said; 

Rebuild  the  peasant's  rum'd  cot ; 

"  0,  be  it  not  one  day  delay'd ! 

So  spoils,  acquired  by  fight  afar, 

And,  more,  thy  sister-fi-iend  to  aid, 

Shall  mitigate  domestic  wai-." 

Be  thou  thyself  content  to  hold, 

1 

In  thine  own  keeping,  Mortham's  gold, 

XXIX. 

Safest  with  thee." — While  thus  she  spoke, 

The  generous  youths,  who  well  had  known 

Ai'm'd  soldiers  on  thek  converse  broke. 

Of  Mortham's  mind  the  powerful  tone, 

The  same  of  whose  approach  afraid, 

To  that  high  mind,  by  sorrow  swerved, 

The  rufiSans  left  their  ambuscade. 

Gave  sympathy  his  woes  deserved  f 

Their  chief  to  Wilfrid  bended  low. 

But  Wilfrid  cliief,  who  saw  reveal'd 

Then  look'd  around  as  for  a  foe.                   [said 

Why  Mortham  wish'd  his  life  conceal'd. 

"  What  mean'st  thou,  friend,"  young  WyckhtFe 

In  secret,  doubtless,  to  pursue 

"  VV  hy  thus  in  arms  beset  the  glade  ?" 

The  schemes  his  wilder'd  fancy  drew. 

"  That  would  I  gladly  learn  from  you ; 

Thoughtful  he  heard  Matilda  tell, 

For  up  my  squadron  as  I  di-ew, 

That  she  would  share  her  father's  cell, 

To  exercise  our  martial  game 

His  partner  of  captivity. 

Upon  the  moor  of  Barninghame,' 

Wliere'er  his  prison-house  should  be ; 

A  stranger  told  you  were  waylaid. 

Yet  gi'ieved  to  think  that  Rokeby-haU, 

Surrounded,  and  to  death  betray'd. 

Dismantled  and  forsook  by  all, 

He  had  a  leader's  voice,  I  ween. 

Open  to  rapine  and  to  stealth, 

A  falcon  glance,  a  wanior's  mien. 

Had  now  no  safeguard  for  the  wealth 

He  bade  me  bring  you  instant  aid ; 

Intrusted  by  her  kmsman  kind. 

I  doubted  not,  and  I  obey'd." 

>  MS. — "  Hope,  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 

The  pity  gave  his  woes  deserved." 

Seem'd  on  the  theme  to  warp  his  brain." 

3  MS. — "  In  martial  exercise  to  move 

»  MS. — "  To  that  high  mind  thus  warp'd  and  swerved, 

Upon  the  open  moor  above  " 

■~1 


332 


scorr's  poetical  works. 


CANTO  V 


XXXI. 
Wilfriil  diungeil  culor,  mxl,  luiiuzud, 
Turn'il  -  1  on  till'  -  .izfd  ; 

WJlilo  is  I  uViT_V  til  iii<i 

Track'il  etinioat  ns  n  (|uo«tiiig  hound, 
Ami  D.  :  i  1; 

Sure  e\; .    kii.w 

I1ic  warniiuf  waa  as  kiiiil  as  true' 
\\  !,  witli  can  I  ions  t^pced 

li. il.      It  WiUJ  iij;rei'd, 

That  Uedniorid,  with  Matilda  fair, 

All  '  'U!ird,  sliould  home  n-pair;' 

At  !.._........  Wilfrid  should  attend, 

With  a  strong  band,  his  sister-friend, 
To  U-ar  with  la-r  from  Roki-by's  bowers 
To  liarnard  Castle's  lofty  towers, 
Secret  and  safe  the  banded  chests, 
In  which  the  wealth  of  .Mortham  rests, 
lliis  ha-sty  purp)se  fix'd,  they  part, 
Each  with  a  grieved  and  anxious  heart. 


Uokcbi). 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


The  sultry  sunamer  day  is  done, 
Tlie  wes^tern  hills  have  hid  the  sun, 
But  mountain  peak  and  village  spire 
Retain  reflection  of  liis  fire. 
Old  Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still. 
To  those  that  gaze  from  Toller-hill ; 
Distant  and  high,  the  tower  of  Bowes 
IJke  steel  upon  the  anvil  glows; 
And  Stanmore's  ridge,  behind  tliat  lay, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day. 
In  crimson  and  in  gold  array'd, 
Streaks  yet  a  while  the  closing  shade. 
Then  slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven 
Tlie  tints  wliich  brighter  hours  had  given. 
Thus  aged  men,  full  loth  and  slow. 
The  vanities  of  life  forego. 
And  count  their  youthful  ftillies  o'er. 
Til!  M.T!'  '■V  l.'i'Li  her  light  no  more.* 

1  MS — "  Ami  'inofDen7.n  find; 
Aw  ■'  every  niinil 
The  wanting  w.-n  .-u  trni:  a*  kind." 
'•  It  W.1II  nsriMil, 


7  M.S. 


•Til 


(Ucuic. 


Thai  Rpdmond,  with  MntiliLi  fair, 
Sliould  KtraighC  to  Rokfby-hall  repair. 
And,  Coc*  KO  near  them,  known  no  late, 
A  gnard  vhoald  tend  her  to  the  pate." 
fifth  canto  o((en«  with  an  cvcning-«cone,  of  i 
.iity  when  delineated  by  Mr.  Scott.     Tho  nioiin- 
Mi  the   twilight,   is   nobly  imagined." — Monthly 


n. 

The  eve,  that  slow  on  upland  fades. 
Ila.s  darker  dosed  on  Kokeby's  glades. 
Where,  sinik  within  their  banks  profound. 
Her  guardian  streams  to  meetuig  wound 
The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frowu 
Of  noontide  make  a  twilight  brown, 
Impervious  now  to  fainter  light. 
Of  twilight  make  an  early  night.* 
Hoarse  into  miildie  air  arose 
The  vespers  of  the  roosting  crows, 
And  with  congenial  nmriiiurs  seem 
To  wake  the  Genii  of  the  stream; 
For  louder  clamor'd  Greta's  tide, 
And  Tees  in  (leejier  voice  replied, 
And  fitful  waked  the  evening  wind. 
Fit  fid  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd.* 
Wilfrid,  whose  fancy-nurtured  soul 
Felt  in  the  scene  a  soft  control. 
With  lighter  footstep  presa'd  the  ground. 
And  often  yjaused  to  look  around ; 
And,  though  his  path  was  to  his  love. 
Could  rot  but  linger  in  the  grove, 
To  drink  the  tlu-illing  interest  dear. 
Of  awful  jjleasure  check'd  by  fear. 
Such  inconsistent  moods  luive  we. 
Even  when  our  passions  strike  the  key. 

ni 

Now,  tlirough  the  wood's  dark  mazes  past, 
Tlie  opening  lawn  he  reach'd  at  last, 
Wliere,  silver'd  by  the  moonlight  ray. 
The  ancient  Hall  before  liim  lay.* 
Those  martial  terrors  long  were  fled, 
Tliat  frown'd  of  old  around  its  head : 
The  battlements,  the  turrets  gray, 
Seem'd  half  abandon'd  to  decay ;' 
On  barbican  and  keep  of  stone 
Stern  Time  the  foeman's  work  had  done. 
Wliere  banners  the  invader  braved, 
Tlie  harebell  now  and  wallflower  waved ; 
In  the  rude  guard-room,  where  of  yore 
Their  weary  hours  the  warders  wore. 
Now,  while  the  cheerfid  fagots  blaze. 
On  the  paved  floor  the  spindle  plays  ;* 
The  flanking  guns  dismounted  lie. 
The  moat  is  ruinous  and  dry," 


i  MS. 


-"  a  darkiiome  night." 


'  MS. — "  By  fits  awaked  the  evening  wind 
By  fits  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd." 

•  MS.—"  Old  Rokeby's  towers  before  him  lay." 

'  See  Appendi.x,  Note  2  Z. 

8  MS. — "  The  weary  night  the  warders  wore. 
Now  by  the  fagot's  gladsome  light 
The  maidens  plied  the  spindle's  slcighL' 

»  MS. — "  The  beam')  had  long  forgot  to  bear 
The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air; 
The  huge  portcullis  gone,"  &c. 


CANTO  V. 


ROKEBY. 


333 


Th«5  grim  portcullis  gone — and  all 
The  fortress  turn'd  to  peaceful  HalL 

IV. 

But  yet  precautions,  lately  ta'en,' 

Sliow'd  danger's  day  revived  again ; 

The  court-yard  waU  show'd  marks  of  care, 

The  fall'n  defences  to  repau-, 

Lending  such  strength  as  might  withstand 

The  insult  of  marauding  band. 

The  beams  once  more  were  taught  to  bear 

The  trembling  di'awbridge  into  air. 

And  not,  till  question'd  o'er  and  o'er, 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  jealous  door, 

And  when  he  enter'd,  bolt  and  bar 

Resumed  tlieir  place  with  sullen  jar ; 

Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  vaulted  porch, 

The  old  gray  porter  raised  liis  torch, 

And  view'd  him  o'er,  from  foot  to  head. 

Ere  to  the  hall  liis  steps  he  led. 

That  huge  old  hall,  of  km'ghtly  state, 

Dismantled  seem'd  and  desolate. 

Tlie  moon  through  transom-shafts  of  stone, 

Wliich  cross'd  the  latticed  oriels,  shone. 

And  by  the  mournfid  hght  slie  gave, 

The  Gothic  vault  seem'd  fimeral  cave. 

Pennon  and  bamier  waved  no  more 

O'er  beams  of  stag  and  tusks  of  boar, 

Nor  glimmering  arms  were  marshall'd  seen. 

To  glance  those  sUvan  spoils  between. 

Those  arms,  those  ensigns,  borne  away, 

A.ccomplisli'd  Rokeby's  brave  array. 

But  all  were  lost  on  Marston's  day ! 

Yet  here  and  there  the  moonbeams  fall 

Where  armor  yet  adorns  the  wall. 

Cumbrous  of  size,  uncouth  to  sight, 

And  useless  in  the  modern  fight ! 

LOce  veteran  relic  of  the  wars. 

Known  only  by  neglected  scars. 

V. 

Matilda  soon  to  greet  him  came, 

And  bade  tliem  light  the  evemng  flame ; 

Said,  all  for  parting  was  prepared. 

And  tarried  but  for  Wilfrid's  guard. 

But  then,  reluctant  to  unfold'^ 

His  father's  .avarice  of  gold. 

He  hinted,  that  lest  jealous  eye 

Should  on  their  precious  burden  piy. 

He  judged  it  best  the  castle  gate 

To  enter  when  the  night  wore  late ; 

MS. — "  But  yet  precaution  sliow'd,  and 
fear. 
That  dread  of  evil  times  was  here  ; 
There  were  late  marlts  of  jealous  > 
For  tliere  were  recent  marljs  of  i 
The  fali'n  defences  to  repair  ; 
And  not,  till  question'd  o'er  and  o'er, 


And  therefore  he  had  left  command 
With  those  he  trusted  of  his  band,- 
Tliat  they  sliould  be  at  Rokeby  met, 
Wliat  time  the  mitlnight-watcli  was  set 
Now  Redmond  came,  whose  anxious  care 
Till  then  was  busied  to  prepare 
AU  needful,  meetly  to  arrange 
The  mansion  for  its  mom-nful  change. 
With  Wilfrid's  care  and  kindness  pleased, 
His  cold  unready  hand  he  seized, 
And  press'd  it,  till  Iiis  kindly  strain 
The  gentle  j-outh  rcturn'd  again. 
Seem'd  as  between  them  tliis  was  said, 
"  A  while  let  jealousy  be  dead ; 
And  let  our  contest  be,  whose  care 
Shall  best  assist  this  helpless  feir." 

VI. 

There  was  no  speech  the  truce  to  bind, 

It  was  a  compact  of  the  mind, — 

A  generous  thought,  at  once  impress'd 

On  either  rival's  generous  breast. 

MatUda  well  the  secret  took, 

From  sudden  change  of  mien  and  look  ; 

And — for  not  smaU  had  been  her  fear 

Of  jealous  ire  and  danger  near — 

Felt,  even  in  her  dejected  state, 

A  joy  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 

They  closed  beside  the  chimney's  blaze, 

And  talk'd,  and  hoped  for  happier  days. 

And  lent  their  spirits'  rising  glow 

A  while  to  gild  unjjending  woe  ; — 

High  privilege  of  youthful  time. 

Worth  all  the  pleasm-es  of  our  prune ! 

The  bickering  fagot  sparkled  bright. 

And  gave  the  scene  of  love  to  sight. 

Bade  Wilfrid's  cheek  more  Uvely  glow, 

Play'd  on  Matdda's  neck  of  snow. 

Her  nut-brown  curls  and  forehead  higli. 

And  laugh'd  in  Redmond's  azure  eye. 

Two  lovers  by  the  maiden  sate. 

Without  a  glance  of  jealous  hate ; 

The  maid  her  lovers  sat  between. 

With  open  brow  and  equal  mien ; — 

It  is  a  sight  but  rarely  spied, 

Tlianks  to  man's  wi-ath  and  woman's  prida 

VII. 

While  thus  in  peaceful  guise  they  sate, 
A  knock  alarm'd  the  outer  gate. 
And  ere  the  tardy  porter  stirr'd, 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  \  ^}'^'^^'"^  i  door, 
(  jealous  J 

And,  on  his  entry,  bolt  and  bar 

Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar." 

2  MS. — "  Confused  he  stood,  as  loth  to  say 

Wliat  might  his  sire's  base  mood  display 

Then  hinted,  lest  some  curious  eye  " 


334 


scorr.s  poetical  works. 


CANTO  V 


•       .J. 
I. 
l?.iro  burden  to  ibo  muMC  well. 

iiior  ore  U  k^uo  luul  pout, 


1>..  n.>t  bill  mo  fiirtlier  stray  1 
( :  iitlo  kill, 

,,    ,.  ..;i„'  harper  in!" 

iig  knave! 
Tlie  king  vrnuts  soldiers ;  war,  I  trow, 
AV"'  If  such  as  thou." 

At  '. :.,      •(,  again 

Anawer'd  the  ready  Minstrel's  strain. 

Soiifl  rcsumcl). 
"  Bid  not  me,  in  battle-field, 
Buckler  lift,  or  broadsword  wield! 
All  my  strength  anil  all  my  art 
Is  to  touch  the  gentle  heart,* 
"With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 
Fiim  the  peaceful  minstrel-string." — 

Tlio  porter,  all  unmoved,  replied, — 
"  Depart  in  peace,  with  Heaven  to  guide ; 
If  longer  by  the  gate  thou  dwell. 
Trust  me,  thou  slialt  not  part  so  welL" 

VIII. 
"With  somewhat  of  appealing  look, 
Tlic  harper's  part  young  Wilfrid  took : 
"  These  notes  so  wild  and  ready  tlu-ill, 
Tliey  show  no  vailgar  minstrel's  skill ; 
Hard  were  his  task  to  seek  a  home 
More  distant,  since  the  night  is  come; 
And  for  his  faith  I  dare  engage — 
Your  HarjMol's  blood  is  sour'd  by  age ; 
His  gate,  once  readily  display'd, 
To  greet  the  friend,  the  poor  to  aid. 
Now  even  to  me,  though  known  of  old, 
Did  but  reluctantly  unfold." — 
"  O  blame  not,  as  poor  Harpool's  crime, 
An  evil  of  this  evil  time. 
He  deems  dependent  on  his  care 
The  safety  of  his  patron's  heir, 
Nor  judges  meet  to  ope  the  tower 
To  gue«t  unknown  at  parting  hour,' 
Urging  his  duty  to  excess 
Of  rough  and  stublnirn  fiiithfulncss. 
For  tills  poor  harper,  I  would  fain 
Tie  may  relax : — Hark  to  his  strain  I" — 

1  MS. — "  O,  bid  not  me  bear  iword  and  shield, 
Omlmgglu  to  the  bloo<1y  ficlil, 
For  geutler  art  tiiis  baud  wa*  made." 


IX. 
SiowQ  vcsuincti. 
"  I  have  song  of  war  for  knight, 
Lay  of  love  for  huly  bright. 
Fairy  tale  to  lull  the  heir, 
Goblin  grim  the  maids  to  scare. 
Dark  the  niglit,  and  Kni'^  till  day, 
Do  not  bid  inc  farther  stray  1 

"  Rokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame, 
I  cim  count  them  mime  by  name  ;* 
Legends  of  their  line  there  be, 
Known  to  few,  but  known  to  me ; 
If  you  honor  Kokeby's  kin. 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in  1 

"  Rokcby's  lords  had  fair  regard 
For  the  harp,  and  for  the  bard ; 
Baron's  race  throve  never  well, 
Wliere  the  curse  of  minstrel  fell. 
If  you  love  that  noble  kin, 
Take  the  wc^ry  harper  in !" — 

"  Hark  '  Harpool  parleys — there  is  hope," 
Said  Redmond,  "  that  the  gate  will  ope." — 
— "  For  all  thy  brag  and  boast,  I  trow. 
Naught  know'st  thou  of  the  Felon  Sow,"* 
Quoth  Harpool,  "  nor  how  Greta-side 
She  roara'd,  and  Rokeby  forest  wide ; 
Nor  how  Ralph  Rokeby  gave  the  beast 
To  Richmond's  friars  to  make  a  feast. 
Of  Gilbert  Griffiuson  the  tale 
Goes,  and  of  gallant  Peter  Dale, 
Tliat  well  could  strike  with  sword  amain, 
And  of  the  valiant  son  of  Spain, 
Friar  Middleton,  and  blithe  Su'  Ralph ; 
I'here  wei"e  a  jest  to  make  us  laugh ! 
If  thou  canst  tell  it,  in  yon  shed 
Thou'st  won  thy  supper  and  thy  bed." 


Matilda  smiled ;  "  Cold  hope,"  said  she, 
"  From  Harpool's  love  of  minstrelsy  I 
But,  for  tliis  harper,  may  we  dare, 
Redmond,  to  mend  his  couch  and  fare  ?" — 
"  0,  ask  me  not ! — At  minstrel-string 
My  heart  from  infancy  would  spring  ; 
Nor  can  I  hear  its  simplest  strain. 
But  it  brings  Erin's  dream  again, 
Wlien  placed  by  Owen  Lysagh's  knee, 
(I'be  Filea  of  O'Neale  was  he,' 
A  blind  and  bearded  man,  whose  eld 
Was  sacred  as  a  propliet's  held,) 
I've  seen  a  ring  of  rugged  kerne, 
With  aspects  shaggy,  wild,  and  stem, 

5  MS. — "  To  vagrants  at  our  parting  hour." 

s  Pee  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 

<  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B.  ^  Ibid.   Mote  3  C. 


■CANTO  V. 


ROKEBY. 


335 


Enchanted  by  the  master's  lay, 
Linger  around  the  hvelong  day, 
Sliift  from  -wild  rage  to  wilder  glee. 
To  love,  to  grief,  to  ecstasy,' 
And  feel  each  varied  change  of  soul 
Obedient  to  the  bard's  control. — 
Ah,  Clandeboy !  thy  friendly  floor 
Sheve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more  •,' 
Nor  Owen's  harp,  beside  the  blaze. 
Tell  maiden's  love,  or  hero's  praise  ! 
The  mantling  brambles  liide  thy  liearth, 
Centre  of  hospitable  mirth ; 
All  undistinguish'd  in  the  glade, 
^ly  sh'es'  glad  home  is  prostrate  laid, 
Their  vassals  wander  wide  and  far. 
Serve  foreign  lords  in  distant  war, 
And  now  the  stranger's  sons  enjoy 
The  lovely  woods  of  Clandeboy  !" 
He  spoke,  and  proudly  turn'd  aside. 
The  starting  tear  to  dry  and  hide. 

XI. 

Matilda's  dark  and  soften'd  eye 
Was  glistening  ere  O'Neale's  was  dry. 
Her  hand  upon  his  arm  she  laid, — 
It  is  the  will  of  heaven,"  she  said. 
"  And  think'st  thou,  Redmond,  I  can  part 
From  this  loved  home  with  lightsome  heart. 
Leaving  to  wild  neglect  whate'er 
Even  from  my  infancy  was  dear  ? 
For  in  this  calm  domestic  bound 
Were  all  Matilda's  pleasures  fomad. 
That  hearth,  my  sire  was  wont  to  grace. 
Full  soon  may  be  a  stranger's  place  •,^ 
This  hall,  in  which  a  child  I  play'd. 
Like  tliine,  dear  Redmond,  lowly  laid. 
The  bramble  and  the  thorn  may  braid ; 
Or,  pass'd  for  aye  from  me  and  mine. 
It  ne'er  may  shelter  Rokeby's  line. 
Tet  is  this  consolation  given. 
My  Redmond, — 'tis  the  wiU  of  heaven." 
Her  word,  her  action,  and  her  phrase, 
Were  kindly  as  in  early  days ; 
For  cold  reserve  had  lost  its  power, 
In  sorrow's  sympathetic  hour. 
Young  Redmond  dared  not  trust  his  voice ; 


1  MS.- 


-"  to  sympathy."       2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 


s  MS. — "  That  hearth,  my  father's  honor'd  place. 
Full  soon  may  see  a  stranger's  face." 

4  MS. "Taiiist's  power." 

6  MS. — "  Find  for  the  needy  room  and  fire, 

And  this  poor  wanderer,  by  the  blaze." 

6  MS. "  what  think'st  thou 

Of  yonder  harp  ? — Nay,  clear  thy  brow." 
'  Marwood-cbase  is  the  old  park  e.^ctending  along  the  Dur- 
ham fide  of  the  Tees,  attached  to  Barnard  Castle.     Toller  Hill 
is  an  eminence  on  tlie  Yorkshire  side  of  the  river,  commanding 
a  Buperb  view  of  the  ruins. 
*  MS. — "  Where  rose  and  lily  I  will  twine 
In  gnerdon  of  a  song  of  thine." 


But  rather  had  it  been  his  choice 
To  share  that  melancholy  hour. 
Than,  arm'd  witli  all  a  chieftain's  power,* 
In  full  possession  to  enjoy 
Slieve-Donard  wide,  and  Clandeboy. 

XIL 

The  blood  left  Wilfrid's  ashen  clieek ; 

Matilda  sees,  and  hastes  to  speak. — 

"  Happy  in  friendsliip's  ready  aid. 

Let  all  my  murmurs  here  be  staid ! 

And  Rokeby's  Maiden  will  not  part 

From  Rokeby's  hall  with  moody  heart. 

Tills  night  at  least,  for  Rokeby's  fame, 

The  hospitable  hearth  shall  flame. 

And,  ere  its  native  heir  retire. 

Find  for  the  wanderer  rest  and  fu"e, 

Wliile  this  poor  harper,  by  the  blaze,' 

Recounts  the  tale  of  other  days. 

Bid  Hai-pool  ope  the  door  with  speed, 

Admit  him,  and  rcheve  each  need. — 

Meantime,  kind  WyclifiPe,  wilt  thou  try 

Thy  minstrel  skill  ? — Nay,  no  reply — * 

And  look  not  sad  ! — I  guess  thy  thought. 

Thy  verse  with  laurels  would  be  bought ; 

And  poor  Matilda,  landless  now. 

Has  not  a  garland  for  thy  brow. 

True,  I  must  leave  sweet  Rokeby's  glades, 

Nor  wander  more  in  Greta  shades ; 

But  sure,  no  rigid  jailer,  thou 

Wilt  a  short  prison-walk  allow, 

Wliere  summer  flowers  grow  wild  at  will, 

On  Marwood-chase  and  Toller  Hill  f 

Then  holly  green  and  lily  gay 

Shall  twine  in  guerdon  of  thy  lay."* 

The  mournful  youth,  a  sj^ace  aside. 

To  tune  Matilda's  harp  applied  ; 

And  then  a  low  sad  descant  rung. 

As  prelude  to  the  lay  he  sung. 

XIIL 

0,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me. 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree  ! 
Too  lively  glow  the  lilies  light. 
The  varnish'd  holly's  all  too  bright, 

8  "Mr.  Scott  has  imparted  a  delicacy  (we  mean  in  the  co- 
loring, for  the  design  we  cannot  approve),  a  sweetness  and  a 
melancholy  smile  to  this  parting  picture,  that  really  enchant 
us.  Poor  Wilfrid  is  sadly  discomfited  by  the  last  instance  of 
encouragement  to  Redmond  ;  and  Matilda  endeavors  to  cheer 
him  by  requesting,  in  the  prettiest,  and  yet  in  the  most  touch- 
ing manner,  '  Kind  Wycliife,'  to  try  his  minstrelsy.  We  will 
here  just  ask  Mr.  Scott,  whether  this  would  not  be  actual  in- 
fernal and  intolerable  torture  to  a  man  who  had  any  soul? 
Why,  then,  make  his  heroine  even  the  unwilling  cause  of  such 
misery  ?  Matilda  had  talked  of  twining  a  wreath  for  her  jioet 
of  holly  green  and  lily  gay,  and  he  sings,  broken-hearted,  '  The 
Cypress  Wreath.'  We  have,  however,  inserted  this  as  one  01 
the  best  of  Mr.  Scott's  songs." — Monthly  Review 


336 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


The  May-flowor  mul  tho  cglimtine 
y        '     !•  u  brow  less  sail  tluin  luino  ; 
1-  . ,  weiivo  uo  wreath  fi>r  iiie, 

Or  weave  it  of  tho  cypress-troo ! 

I^t  ilimpU'd  Mirtit  lus  teniples  twiDO 
U'itli  teiidril.s  of  the  huighiii^;  vhiu  ; 


Hie  myrtle  IxMigh  bids  lovers  live, 
1  ^^Iltil<lu  will  not  jfive; 

I  ;v,  twiuo  iit»  wreath  for  nic, 

( )r  twhie  it  of  tho  cypreas-trce. 

Let  merry  England  proudly  rear 
Her  blended  roses,  bought  so  dear ; 
Let  Albiu  bind  her  bonnet  blue 
Witli  heath  luid  harebell  dipp'd  in  dew, 
On  favor'd  Erin's  crest  be  seen 
Tlie  tliiwer  she  loves  of  emerald  green — 
Hilt,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me. 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Strike  the  wild  harp,  while  maids  prepare 
Tlie  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair ; 
And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel-leaves 
With  bliKMly  hand  the  victor  weaves, 
Let  the  loud  trump  liis  triumph  tell ; 
But  wlien  you  hear  the  passing-bell, 
Tlien,  Lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Yes  !  twine  for  me  the  cypress  bough ; 
But,  0  Matilda,  twine  not  now ! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  montlis  are  past, 
And  I  liave  look'd  and  loved  my  last ! 
When  villagers  my  sliroud  bestrew 
With  panzies,  rosemary,  and  rue, — 
Tiicn,  Lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  me. 
And  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

XIV. 
O'Xeale  observed  the  starting  tear, 
And  Bpf)ke  with  kind  and  blithesome  cheer — 
"  No,  noble  Wilfrid  !  ere  tlie  day 
Wlien  mourns  the  land  thy  silent  lay, 
Sliall  many  a  wreath  be  freely  wove 
By  hand  of  friendship  and  of  love. 
I  wriuld  not  wi.-h  that  rigid  Fate 
Had  doom'd  thee  to  a  captive's  state, 
Whose  hands  are  bound  by  honor's  law, 

•  MS.—"  I  wonld  nol  wish  Uieo  j  '"  |  degree 

So  lost  to  hope  ai  fallii  to  me  ; 

But  '  •  [  in  minstrel  pnde, 

'  if  thou  wcrt,       ) 

The  land  we'd  Iraverw  «idc  by  "ide, 

On  prancing  iteedj,  like  minstjeli  old, 


Who  wears  a  sword  lie  must  not  draw ; 
But  were  it  so,  in  minstrel  pride 
Tlie  land  togetlier  would  we  ride, 
On  prancing  steeds,  like  harpers  old, 
Bound  for  tlic  lialls  of  barons  bold,' 
Eacli  lover  of  tlie  lyre  we'd  seek, 
From  Michael's  Mount  to  Skiddaw's  Peak, 
Survey  wide  Albin's  mountain  strand. 
And  roam  green  I'^rui's  lovely  land, 
While  thou  the  gentler  souls  should  move, 
With  la}-  of  pity  and  of  love. 
And  I,  tliy  mate,  in  rougher  strain. 
Would  sing  of  war  and  warriors  slain. 
Old  England's  bards  were  vanrjuish'd  then, 
And  Scotland's  vaunted  Hiiwtliorndcii,' 
And,  silenced  on  lernian  shore, 
M'Curtin's  liarp  should  charm  no  more  !"* 
In  lively  mood  he  spoke,  to  wile 
From  Wilfrid's  woe-worn  cheek  a  smile. 

XV. 
"  But,"  said  Matilda,  "  ere  thy  name. 
Good  Redmond,  gain  its  destined  fame. 
Say,  wilt  thou  kindly  dejgn  to  call 
Thy  brother-minstrel  to  the  hall  ? 
Bid  all  the  household,  too,  attend, 
Each  in  his  rank  a  humble  friend ; 
I  know  tlicii-  faithful  hearts  will  grieve, 
Wlicn  their  poor  Mstress  takes  her  leave  ; 
So  let  the  horn  and  beaker  flow 
To  mitigate  their  parthig  woe." 
The  harper  came ; — in  youth's  first  prime 
Himself;  in  mode  of  olden  time 
His  garb  was  fiishiou'd,  to  express 
The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress,* 
A  seemly  gown  of  Kendal  green, 
With  gorget  closed  of  silver  sheen : 
His  harp  in  silken  scarf  was  slung. 
And  by  his  side  an  anlace  hung. 
It  seem'd  some  masquer's  quaint  array, 
For  revel  or  for  holiday, 

XVL 
He  made  obeisance  with  a  free 
Yet  studied  air  of  courtesy. 
Each  look  and  accent,  framed  to  please, 
Seem'd  to  affect  a  playful  ease  ; 
His  face  was  of  that  doubtful  kind. 
That  wins  the  eye,  but  not  the  mind ; 
Yet  liarsh  it  seem'd  to  deem  amiss 
Of  brow  80  young  and  smooth  as  this. 

Bound  for  |  halls  of  barons  bold.- 

That  Bought  the  } 

2  Drnmmond  of  Ilawthornden  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  repn 
taUon  a-s  a  poet  during  the  Civil  Wars.     lie  died  in  1649, 
5  Fee  Appendix,  Note  3  E, 
«  Ibid.  Note  3  F. 


OANTO  Y. 


ROKEBY. 


337 


His  was  the  subtle  look  and  sly, 

What  should  my  soaring  views  make  good  ? 

Tliat,  Slaying  all,  seems  naught  to  spy  ; 

My  Harp  alone  ! 

Round  all  the  group  his  glances  stole, 

Unmark'd  tliemselves,  to  mark  the  "whole. 

Love  came  with  all  his  frantic  fire. 

Yet  sunk  oeneath  Matilda's  look. 

And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire  :* 

Nor  could  the  eye  of  Redmond  brook.* 

The  bai'on's  daughter  heard  my  lyi'e. 

To  the  suspicious,  or  the  old. 

And  praised  the  tone ; — 

Subtle  and  da)igerous  and  bold 

What  could  presumptuous  hojie  inspire  ? 

Haa  seem  a  this  self-mvited  guest ; 

My  Harp  alone  ! 

But  young  our  lovers, — and  the  rest, 

Wrapt  in  their  sorrow  and  theii'  fear 

At  manhood's  touch  the  bubble  burst. 

At  parting  of  their  Mistress  dear, 

And  manliood's  pride  the  vision  cm-st, 

Tear-blinded  to  the  Castle-hall,^ 

And  all  that  had  my  folly  nursed 

Came  as  to  bear  her  funeral  palL 

Love's  sway  to  own ; 

Yet  spared  the  spell  that  luU'd  me  fii-st, 

XVII. 

My  Harp  alone ! 

All  that  expression  base  was  gone, 

When  waked  the  guest  his  minstrel  tone ; 

Woe  came  with  war,  and  want  with  woe ; 

It  tied  at  inspiration's  call. 

And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 

As  erst  the  demon  fled  from  Saul.' 

Each  outrage  of  the  rebel  foe : — ' 

More  noble  glance  he  cast  around. 

Can  aught  atone 

More  free-dntiwn  breath  mspu-ed  the  sound, 

My  fields  laid  waste,  my  cot  laid  low  \ 

His  pulse  beat  bolder  and  more  high, 

My  Harp  alone ! 

In  all  the  pride  of  minstrelsy  ! 

Alas !  too  soon  that  pride  was  o'er, 

Ambition's  dreams  I've  seen  depart, 

Sunk  with  the  lay  that  bade  it  soar ! 

Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart. 

His  soul  resumed,  with  habit's  chain, 

Have  felt  of  love  the  venom'd  dart, 

Its  vices  wild  and  follies  vain, 

When  hope  was  flown ; 

And  gave  the  talent,  with  liim  born. 

Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heart, — 

To  be  a  common  curse  and  scorn. 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Such  was  the  youth  whom  Rokeby's  Maid, 

With  condescending  kmdness,  pray'd 

Tlien  over  mountain,  moor,  and  hill, 

Here  to  renew  the  strains  she  loved, 

My  faithful  Harp,  I'll  bear  thee  stiU ; 

At  distance  heai-d  and  well  approved. 

And  when  this  life  of  want  and  ill 

Is  wellnigh  gone. 

XVIII. 

Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thrill. 

Sonfl. 

My  Harp  alone ! 

THE    HARP. 

XIX. 

I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy. 

"  A  pleasing  lay  !"  Matilda  said ; 

My  cliildliood  scorn'd  each  childish  toy, 

But  Harpool  shook  his  old  gray  head, 

Retired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy, 

And  took  his  baton  and  his  torch, 

To  musing  prone, 

To  seek  Iiis  guard-room  in  the  porcL 

I  woo'd  my  solitary  joy. 

Edmund  observed ;  with  sudden  change, 

My  HarjJ  alone. 

Among  the  strings  liis  fingers  range, 

Until  they  waked  a  bolder  glee 

My  youth,  with  bold  Ambition's  mood. 

Of  military  melody ; 

Despised  the  humble  stream  and  wood, 

Then  paused  amid  the  martial  sound. 

Where  my  poor  father's  cottage  stood. 

And  look'd  with  well-feign'd  fear  around ; — * 

To  fame  imknowu ; — 

"  None  to  this  noble  house  belong," 

^  MS. — ''  Nor  coulil  keen  Redmond's  aspect  brook." 

an  harp,  and  played  with  his  hand  :    So  Saul  was  refreslied 

»  MS.—"  Came  lilinaiold  to  the  Castle-hall, 

and  was  well,  and  the  evil  spirit  departed  from  him." — 1  SaM 

As  if  to  bear  her  funeral  pall." 

UEL,  chap.  xvi.  14,  17,  23. 

3  "  But  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  departed  from  Saul,  and  an 

■•  MS. — "  Love  came,  with  all  his  ardent  fire, 

»vil  spirit  from  the  Lord  troubled  him. 

His  frantic  dream,  his  wild  desire." 

"  And  Saul  said  unto  his  servants,  Provide  me  now  a  man 

6  MS. — "  And  doom'd  at  once  to  undergo, 

ihat  can  play  well,  and  bring  hira  ^o  me.    And  it  came  to  pass, 

Each  varied  outrage  of  the  foe." 

when  tlie  evil  spirit  from  God  was  upon  Saul,  that  David  took 
43 

«  MS. — "  And  looking  timidly  around  " 

338 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


He  sftitl.  •*  that  wouM  a  Miiwtrul  \»Touff, 

■  >otl  iiud  ill, 

And  with  your  honor'd  loavo,  would  fiiin 

KtJ.'icv'  V'Hi  with  11  lovid  Btruirj." 
'1";    ,     ,.  ■.  ,-..r..,l  l,v  «;.'n  luid  limk, 
I  I  he  ti>t>k  ; 

And  Hnrixxil  .ii<.j.|.  M,  luid  turii'd  to  hear 
A  ditt)  of  tho  CiiviUior. 

XX. 

SsonQ. 

THE  CAVALIER. 

AV  i\vTi  on  the  niouiitaiiiwa.'!  misty  lUid  gray, 

My  J  has  mounted  his  steed  and  away 

Over  hill,  over  valley,  o'er  dale,  and  o'er  down ; 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  GaUant  that  fights  for 

tl„.  rr.>\vii' 

He  has  dolTd  the  eilk  doublet  the  breast-plate  to 
bear,  [hair, 

He  lias  placed  his  steel-cap  o'er  his  long  flowing 

From  his  Iwlt  to  his  stirrup  his  broadsword  hangs 
down, —  [the  Crown  ! 

Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights  for 

For  the  rights  of  fair  England  that  broadsword  he 

draws. 
Her  King  is  his  leader,  her  Church  is  liis  Cause ; 
His  watcliword  is  honor,  his  pay  is  renown, — 
God  strike  with  the  Gallant  that  strikes  for  the 

Crown! 

They  may  boast  of  their  Fairfax,  then-  Waller,  and 

all 
The  roundheadcd  rebels  of  "Westminster  Hall ; 
But  tfU  tliese  bold  traitors  of  London's   proud 

tciwn,  [Crown!' 

Tliat  the  i-jiears  of  the  North  have  encircled  the 

Tliere's  Derby  and  Cavendish,  dread  of  their  foes ; 

"Iliprc's  Erin's  high  Ormond,  and  Scotland's  Mon- 
trose !  [and  BroxvTi, 

Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon,  and  Massey, 

With  the  Barona  of  England,  that  fight  for  the 
Cr<  >wn  f 

Now  joy  to  the  crest  of  the  brave  Cavalier ! 
Be  hia  banner  uncoiujuord,  resistless  his  spear, 


»MS. 


'  of  pronil  London  town, 


That  the  North  baa  breve  noblei  to  6ght  for  the 
Crown." 

«  In  the  >!.''.  the  last  qaatrain  of  this  song  is, 

"  If  they  boast  tliat  fair  Rt'ading  by  treachery  fell. 
Of  .<^traIton  and  Laniuloune  the  Cuniish  can  tell, 
And  ths  !North  tcU  of  Uramhain  and  Adderton  Down, 


Till  in  peace  and  in  triumph  hLs  toils  he  may  drown 
In  a  pledtce  to  fair  England,  her  Church,  and  ner 
Crowu." 

XXI. 

"  Alas !"  Matilck  said,  "  that  strain. 
Good  harper,  now  is  heard  in  vain ! 
Tlic  time  has  been,  at  such  a  sound, 
Wlien  Kokeby's  va.«sal8  gather'd  round, 
An  hundred  manly  hearts  would  bound  ; 
But  now  the  stirring  verse  we  hear. 
Like  trump  in  dying  soldier's  ear !' 
Listless  and  sad  the  notes  we  own, 
Tlie  power  to  answer  them  is  flown. 
Yet  not  without  his  meet  applause. 
Be  he  that  sings  the  riglitfid  cause. 
Even  when  the  crisis  of  its  fate 
To  human  eye  seems  desperate. 
Wliilo  Rokcby's  Heir  such  power  retains, 
Let  this  slight  guerdon  pay  thy  pains : — 
And,  lend  thy  harp  ;  I  fain  would  try, 
If  my  poor  skill  can  aught  supply. 
Ere  yet  I  leave  my  fathers'  hall. 
To  mourn  the  cause  in  which  we  fall" 

XXIL 

Tlie  harper,  with  a  downcast  look. 
And  trembling  hand,  her  bounty  took. — 
As  yet,  the  conscious  pride  of  art 
Had  steel'd  him  in  his  treacherous  part ; 
A  powerful  spring,  of  force  unguess'd. 
That  hath  each  gentler  mood  suppress'd, 
And  rcign'd  in  many  a  human  breast ; 
From  liis  that  plans  the  red  campaign. 
To  his  that  wastes  the  woodland  reign. 
The  failing  wing,  the  blood-shot  eye, — 
Tlie  sportsman  marks  with  apathy, 
Each  feeling  of  his  victim's  ill 
Drown'd  in  his  own  successful  skill 
The  veteran,  too,  who  now  no  more 
Aspires  to  head  the  battle's  roar,* 
Loves  still  the  triumph  of  his  art, 
And  traces  on  the  pencill'd  chart 
Some  stem  invader's  destined  way, 
Tlirough  blood  and  ruin,  to  his  prey ; 
Patriots  to  dcatli,  and  towns  to  flame. 
He  dooms,  to  raise  another's  name. 
And  shares  the  guUt,  though  not  the  fame. 
"WTiat  pays  him  for  his  span  of  time 
Spent  in  premecUtating  crime? 

WTiere  God  bless   the  brave  gallants  who  fougr* 
for  the  Crown.' 
'  MS. — "  Bnl  now  it  sinks  npon  the  ear. 

Like  dirge  beside  a  hero's  bier." 
*  MS. — "  Marking,  with  sportive  cruelty, 

The  failing  wing,  the  blood-shot  eye." 
'  MS. — "  The  veteran  chief,  whose  broken  age, 
Np  more  can  lead  the  battle's  rage." 


CANTO  V. 


KOKEBY. 


339 


Wliat  against  pity  arms  his  heart  ? — 
It  »  the  conscious  pride  of  ai-t.' 

XXIII. 
But  principles  in  Edmund's  mind 
"Were  baseless,  vague,  and  undefined. 
His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 
On  Passion's  chaugeful  tide  was  tost ; 
Nor  Vice  nor  Vu-tue  had  the  power 
Beyond  the  impression  of  the  hour  ; 
And,  0  !  when  Passion  rules,  how  rare 
The  hours  that  fall  to  Virtue's  share  ! 
Ytt  now  she  roused  her — for  the  pride, 
That  lack  of  sterner  guUt  suppUed, 
Could  scarce  support  him  when  arose 
The  lay  that  moum'd  Matilda's  woes. 

THE    FAREWELL. 

The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  hear. 

They  mingle  with  the  song : 
Dark  Greta's  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

I  must  not  hear  them  long. 
From  every  loved  and  native  haunt 

Tlie  native  Heir  must  stray. 
And,  like  a  ghost  whom  sunbeams  daunt, 

Must  part  before  the  day. 

Soon  from  the  halls  my  fathers  rear'd, 

Theh  scutcheons  may  descend, 
A  line  so  long  beloved  and  fear'd 

May  soon  obscm-ely  end. 
No  longer  here  Matilda's  tone 

Shall  bid  those  echoes  swell ; 
Yet  shall  they  hear  her  proucUy  own 

The  cause  in  which  we  feU. 

The  lady  "^paused,  and  then  again 
Resiuned  the  lay  in  loftier  strain." 

XXIV. 
Let  our  halls  and  towers  decay, 

Be  our  name  and  line  forgot, 
Lauds  and  manors  pass  away, — 

We  but  share  our  Monarch's  lot. 
If  no  more  our  anuals  show 

Battles  won  and  banners  taken, 
Still  in  death,  defeat,  and  woe, 

Ours  be  loyalty  unshaken ! 

Constant  stiU  in  danger's  hour, 
Princes  own'd  our  fathers'  aid ; 

1  '•  Surely,  no  poet  has  ever  paid  a  finer  tribnte  to  the  power 
of  hig  art,  than  in  the  foregoing  description  of  its  effects  on  the 
mind  of  this  unliappy  boy  !  and  none  has  ever  more  justly  ap- 
preciated the  worthlessness  of  the  sublimest  genius,  unre- 
strained by  reason,  and  abandoned  by  virtue." — Critical  Re- 
view 


Lands  and  honors,  wealth  and  power,' 

Well  theu"  loyalty  repaid. 
Perish  wealth,  and  power,  and  pride ! 

Mortal  boons  by  mortals  given ; 
But  let  Constancy  abide, — 

Constancy's  the  gift  of  Heaven.  . 

XXV. 
While  thus  Matilda's  lay  was  heard, 
A  thousand  thoughts  iu  Edmund  sthr'd. 
In  peasant  hfe  he  might  have  known 
As  fair  a  face,  as  sweet  a  tone  ; 
But  village  notes  could  ne'er  supply 
That  rich  and  varied  melody  ; 
And  ne'er  in  cottage-maid  was  seen 
The  easy  dignity  of  mien. 
Claiming  respect,  yet  waiving  state, 
That  marks  the  daughters  of  the  great. 
Yet  not,  perchance,  had  these  alone 
His  scheme  of  purposed  guilt  o'erthrown ; 
But  while  her  energy  of  mind 
Superior  rose  to  griefs  combined. 
Lending  its  kindling  to  her  eye, 
Giving  her  form  new  majesty, — 
To  Edmimd's  thought  MatUda  seem'd 
The  very  object  he  had  ch-eam'd  ; 
"WTien,  long  ere  guilt  his  soul  had  known, 
In  Winston  bowers  he  mused  alone, 
Taxing  his  fancy  to  combine 
The  face,  the  au",  tlie  voice  divine, 
Of  princess  fair,  by  cruel  fate 
Reft  of  her  honors,  power,  and  state,* 
Till  to  her  rightful  realm  restored 
By  destined  hero's  conquering  sword. 

XXVL 
"  Such  was  my  vision  !"     Edmund  thought ; 
"  And  have  I,  then,  the  ruin  wrought 
Of  such  a  maid,  that  fancy  ne'er 
In  fairest  vision  form'd  her  peer  ? 
Was  it  my  hand  that  could  unclose 
The  postern  to  her  ruthless  foes  ? 
Foes,  lost  to  honor,  law,  and  faith, 
Their  kindest  mercy  sudden  death ! 
Have  I  done  this  ?  I !  who  have  swore, 
That  if  the  globe  such  angel  bore, 
I  would  have  traced  its  circle  broad, 
To  kiss  the  ground  on  which  she  trode ! — 
And  now — 0  !  would  that  earth  would  riv^ 
And  close  upon  me  wlule  aUve  ! — 
Is  there  no  hope  ?     Is  all  then  lost  ?— 
Bertram's  already  on  his  post  I 

2  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

s  MS.—"  Knightly  titles,  wealth  and  power." 

*  MS. — "  Of  some  fair  princess  of  romance, 
The  guerdon  of  a  hero's  lance." 


S40 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


Even  now,  besiilo  the  HuH's  jurch'J  iloor, 

I.  •       •     '  'l.onm.r! 

II.  d  .ttriiiu — 
A  little  rc!<pitc  thus  wo  gain : 

By  what  I  Imanl  tlie  iiu-iiinU  r'uy, 

Y«niii^  Wyi-lilTe'it  trtM>j>  iiro  <>ii  their  wny — 

Abrm  prccipitntca  the  crime ! 

Mv  hii! ;  :i\v:iy  the  time." — 

Anil  til  r.iiiit  and  low, 

He  loltcr'J  furth  n  tule  uf  wuu.' 

XXVII. 
^  a  1 1  a  Tj  . 
"Anil  wliitlier  wiiulil  you  leail  me,  then?" 

Quoth  the  Friar  of  orders  (rray  ; 

And  the  Ruthans  twain  replied  again, 

"  By  a  dying  woman  to  pray." — 

"  I  «ee,"  ho  said,  "  a  lovely  sight, 

A  .xight  bodes  little  harm, 
A  lady  as  a  lily  bright. 

With  an  iuf;uit  on  her  arm." — 

"  Tlien  do  thine  office,  Friar  gray, 

And  see  thou  shrive  her  free?* 
El«4,'  shall  tlie  ."iirite,  that  parts  to-night, 

FliiiiT  all  it>*  LTuilt  on  thee. 

"Let  UKLss  be  sail),  and  trcntrals  read, 

^V^len  thou'rt  to  convent  gone. 
And  bid  the  bell  of  St.  Benedict 

Toll  out  its  deepest  tone." 

Tlie  shrift  is  done,  the  Friar  is  gone, 

Blindfolded  as  he  came — 
Next  morning,  all  in  Littlecot  Hall 

Were  weeping  for  their  dame. 

Wild  Darrell  is  an  altered  man. 

The  villiige  crones  can  tell ; 
lie  ItKjks  pale  as  clay,  and  strives  to  pray, 

If  he  hears  the  convent  bell. 

If  prince  or  peer  cross  Darrell's  way, 

He'll  beard  him  in  his  pride — 
If  he  meet  a  Friar  of  orders  gray. 

He  droops  and  turns  aside.' 

XXVIII. 
"  Harper  !  mcthinks  thy  magic  lays," 
Matilda  said,  "  can  goblins  raise  ! 
Welhugh  my  fancy  can  discern. 
Near  the  dark  porch,  a  visage  stem; 

»  The  MS.  haJi  not  tliU  conplct. 

'  MS. — "  Anil  nee  tliy  ulirifl  lie  Ime, 

EIk  shall  the  mtoI.  tlnit  parl<i  to-day, 
Fllnj  all  ii«  jiiilt  on  yon." 
•  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G, — (to  wliii  h  the  aothor,  in  his  in- 
terleaved co]iy,  has  matle  consiJerable  adililiona. — Ed.) 


E'en  now,  in  yonder  shadowy  nook, 

I  SCO  it  1 — Redmond,  Wilfriil,  look! — 

A  human  form  distimt  and  clear — 

God,  for  thy  mercy  I — It  draws  near !" 

She  saw  too  true.     Stride  after  stride, 

The  centre  of  that  chamber  wide 

Fierce  Bertram  gain'd  ;  then  made  a  stand, 

And,  proudly  waviug  with  his  hand, 

Tiumder'd — "  Be  still,  upon  your  lives! — 

He  bleeds  who  speaks,  he  dies  who  strivea 

Behind  their  chief,  the  robber  erew 

Forth  from  the  darketi'd  j)ortal  drew 

In  silence — save  that  echo  dread 

Return'd  their  heavy  measured  tread.* 

The  lamp's  uncertain  lustre  gave 

Their  arms  to  gleam,  their  plumes  to  wave  , 

File  after  file  in  order  pass, 

Like  forms  on  Banquo's  mystic  glass. 

Tlien,  halting  at  their  leader's  sign, 

At  once  they  form'd  and  curved  tlieir  line. 

Hemming  witliin  its  crescent  drear 

Their  victims,  like  a  herd  of  deer. 

Another  sign,  and  to  the  aim 

Levell'd  at  once  their  muskets  came. 

As  waiting  but  their  chieftain's  word, 

To  make  their  fatal  volley  heard. 

XXIX. 
Back  in  a  heap  the  menials  drew ; 
Yet,  even  in  mortal  terror,  true. 
Their  pale  and  startled  group  oppose 
Between  Matilda  and  the  foes. 
"  O,  haste  thee,  Wilfrid  !'  Redmond  cried ; 
"  Undo  that  wicket  by  thy  side  1 
Bear  hence  Matilda' — ^gain  the  wood — 
The  pass  may  be  a  while  made  good — 
Thy  band,  ere  tliis,  must  sure  be  nigh — 
O  speak  not — dally  not — but  fly  !" 
While  yet  the  crowd  their  motions  hide. 
Through  the  low  wicket  door  they  glide. 
Through  vaulted  passages  they  wind. 
In  Gothic  intricacy  twined ; 
W^ilfred  half  led,  and  half  he  bore, 
Matilda  to  the  postern-door. 
And  safe  beneath  the  forest  tree, 
The  Lady  stands  at  liberty, 
nie  moonbeams,  the  fresh  gale's  caress, 
Rcnew'd  suspended  consciousness ; — 
"  Wicrc's  Redmond  ?"  eagerly  she  cries : 
"Thou  answer'st  not — he  dies!  he  dies  I 
And  thou  hast  left  him,  all  bereft 
Of  mortal  aid — with  murderers  left ! 


*  MS. — "  Heliinil  liim  came  his  savage  crevr 
File  aftir  file  in  onler  ilue  ; 
Silent  from  that  ilark  j)ortaI  p».33, 
Like  forms  on  Banquo's  magic  glass.' 

6  MS.—"  Conduct  Matilda,"  &c.  . 


CANTO  V. 


HOKEBY. 


341 


I  know  it  well — he  would  not  yield 

It  is,  it  is,  the  tramp  of  steeds, 

His  sword  to  man — his  doom  is  seal'd ! 

MatUda  hears  tlie  sound  :  she  speeds, 

For  my  scorn'd  life,  which  thou  hast  bought 

Seizes  upon  the  leader's  rein — 

At  price  of  his,  I  thank  thee  not." 

"  0,  haste  to  aid,  ere  aid  be  vain ! 

Fly  to  the  postern — gain  the  Hall !" 

XXX. 

From  saddle  spring  the  troopers  all  ;* 

The  unjust  reproach,  the  angry  look. 

Then-  gaUant  steeds,  at  hberty, 

The  heart  of  Wilfrid  could  not  brook. 

Run  wild  along  the  moonlight  lea. 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  my  band  so  near, 

But,  ere  they  burst  upon  the  scene, 

In  safety  thou  mayst  rest  thee  here. 

Full  stubborn  had  the  confhct  been. 

For  Redmond's  death  thou  shalt  not  mourn, 

When  Bertram  mark'd  Matilda's  flight. 

If  mme  can  buy  liis  safe  return." 

It  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight ; 

He  turn'd  away — his  heart  tlu'obb'd  high, 

And  Rokeby's  veterans,  seam'd  with  scars 

The  tear  was  bursting  from  his  eye ; 

Of  Scotland's  and  of  Erm's  wars. 

The  sense  of  her  mjustice  press'd 

Their  momentary  panic  o'er, 

Upon  the  Maid's  distracted  breast, — 

Stood  to  the  arms  which  then  they  bore ; 

"  Stay,  Wilfrid,  stay  !  aU  aid  is  vain !" 

(For  they  were  weapon'd,  and  prepared' 

He  heard,  but  turn'd  hhn  not  again ; 

Their  Mistress  on  her  way  to  guard.) 

He  reaches  now  the  postern-door, 

Then  cheer'd  them  to  the  fight  O'Neale, 

Now  enters — and  is  seen  no  more. 

Then  peal'd  the  shot,  and  clash'd  the  steel ; 

The  war-smoke  soon  with  sable  breath 

XXXI. 

Darken'd  the  scene  of  blood  and  death. 

With  aU  the  agony  that  e'er 

WhUe  on  the  few  defenders  close 

Was  gender'd  twixt  suspense  and  fear, 

The  Bandits,  with  redoubled  blows. 

She  watch'd  the  line  of  windows  tall,' 

And,  twice  driven  back,  yet  fierce  and  fell 

Wliose  Gotliic  lattice  hghts  the  Hall, 

Renew  the  charge  with  frantic  yeU.' 

Distinguish'd  by  the  paly  red 

The  lamps  in  dim  reflection  shed,'' 

XXXIII. 

While  all  beside  in  wan  moonlight 

Wilfrid  has  fall'n — but  o'er  him  stood 

Each  grated  casement  glimmer'd  white. 

Young  Redmond,  soil'd  with  smoke  and  blood. 

No  sight  of  harm,  no  sound  of  Ul, 

Cheering  his  mates  with  heart  and  hand 

It  is  a  deep  and  midnight  still. 

StiU  to  make  good  their  desperate  stand. 

Who  look'd  upon  the  scene,  had  guess'd 

"  Up,  comrades,  up !     In  Rokeby  halla 

All  in  the  Castle  were  at  rest : 

Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 

When  sudden  on  the  windows  shone 

What !  faint  ye  for  then  savage  cry. 

A  hghtning  flash,  just  seen  and  gone !' 

Or  do  the  smoke-wreaths  daunt  your  eye  ? 

A  shot  is  heard — Again  the  flame 

These  rafters  have  return'd  a  shout 

Flash'd  tliick  and  fast — a  volley  came 

As  loud  at  Rokeby's  wassail  rout, 

Then  echo'd  wildly,  from  within. 

As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 

Of  shout  and  scream  the  mingled  din, 

At  HaUow-tide  or  Christmas-even.'' 

And  weapon-clash  and  maddening  cry, 

Stand  to  it  yet !  renew  the  fight. 

Of  those  who  kill,  and  those  who  die  ! — 

For  Rokeby's  and  Matilda's  right ! 

As  fill'd  the  Hall  witli  sulphurous  smoke, 

These  slaves  !  they  dare  not,  hand  to  hand. 

More  red,  more  dark,  the  death-flash  broke  ; 

Bide  buffet  from  a  true  man's  brand." 

And  forms  were  on  the  lattice  cast. 

Impetuous,  active,  fierce,  and  young, 

That  struck,  or  struggled,  as  they  past. 

Upon  the  advancing  foes  he  sprung. 

Woe  to  the  wretch  at  whom  is  bent 

XXXII. 

His  brandish'd  falcliion's  sheer  descent ! 

What  sounds  upon  the  midnight  wind 

Backward  they  scatter'd  as  he  came. 

Approach  so  rapidly  behind  ? 

Tiike  wolves  before  the  levin  flame,* 

1  MS.—"  Matilda,  shrouded  by  the  trees, 

4  MS.—"  '  Haste  to— postern— gain  the  Hall !' 

The  line  of  lofty  windows  sees." 

Sprung  from  their  steeds  the  troopers  all  " 

8  MS. — "  The  dying  lamps  reflection  shed. 

6  MS. — "  For  as  it  hap'd  they  were  prepared." 

While  all  around  the  moon's  wan  light. 

6  In  place  of  this  couplet  the  MS.  reads,— 

On  tower  and  casement  glimmer'd  white  ; 

"  And  as  the  hall  the  troopers  gain. 

No  sights  bode  harm,  no  sounds  bode  ill, 

Their  aid  had  welhiigh  been  in  vair.' 

It  is  as  calm  as  midnight  still." 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

«  MS.—"  A  brief  short  flash,"  &c. 

«  MS.—"  Like  wolves  at  lightning's  midnight  flams 

84: 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


Wion,  'niiJ  thoir  howliiii;  concluvo  driven, 

J,     .      ,  ,    .      .,       ,,,.., 

i:, 

HiM  kiires,  although  in  death  bo  i^tp'd, 

j[-     ■  •■  ■•     •        • 

A  ng. 

JuBt  then,  tho  soldiora  fill'd  t}io  dumo, 
A '  '     "  '       home 

■^i        ■ 

Tlioy  broke,  they  yielded,  foil,  or  fled.' 

E.  ...  ^^^^  ,)n,re^ 

Ti rojir; 

WhiU',  trampling  ilown  tlie  dyiiiy  man. 
He  struve,  witli  volley'd  threat  and  ban, 
In  scorn  of  odd.s  in  fate's  de.-tpite, 
To  rally  up  the  desperate  fight.* 

XXXIV. 
Soon  murkier  clouds  the  Hall  enfold 
Thnu  e'er  from  battle-thunders  roU'd, 
So  dense,  the  combatants  scarce  know 
To  aim  or  to  avoid  tlie  blow. 
Smothering  and  blindfold  grows  the  fight — 

Pi:'  '     "    •  '■  1  light! 

Ml  :  .  there  came 

Tl:c  liollow  sound  of  rushing  flame ; 
New  horror.-i  on  the  tunnilt  dire 
Arii^j — the  C:u^tle  is  on  fire  !* 
Doubtful,  if  chance  had  cast  the  brand, 
Or  frantic  Bertram's  desperate  hand. 
Matilda  saw — for  frequent  broke 
From  the  dim  casements  gusts  of  smoke. 
Yon  tower,  which  late  so  clear  defined 
On  the  fair  hemisphere  reclined, 
Tliat,  pencill'd  on  its  azure  pure, 
The  eye  could  count  eacli  enibrazure, 
Now,  swathed  within  the  sweeping  cloud, 
Seems  giant-spectre  in  its  shroud ; 
Till,  from  each  loophole  flashing  light, 
A  spout  of  fire  shines  ruddy  bright, 
And,  gathering  to  united  glare. 
Streams  high  into  the  midnight  air ; 
A  ■'        '  '  "  !■  and  wide 


Tl 


s  slumbering  side.* 


Soon  all  beneatli,  through  gallery  long, 
A'  '  '  '    ;he  fire  flash'd  stroi 

Si.  .  I  could  maintain, 

Raise,  or  extend,  its  furious  reign ; 


'  MS. — '■  nprtnm  1  a  ;  \\\i\]c  lie  ga.ij)'d 

In  death.  .  '  il  Ilnrpool  cla.«p'd, 

HU  (lyin;;  i  ..■rjr^.    I^tlore  him  flung." 

'  MS. — "  So  liiffly  cliargeil  tlicm  that  they  bled, 
Disbanded,  yielded,  fell,  or  fled." 

'  MS.— "  To  rally  them  ;t  ■  ... 

And  fonirht  hii  ." 

MS  — "Chn  :  "u.iJ  tiic  tumult  dire, 

Thi  '  vcr  lit  all  on  fire. 

Matilua  saw,"  jcc. 


Startling,  with  closer  cause  of  dread, 
The  females  who  the  onflict  fled, 
And  now  rusli'd  ft>rth  npun  the  j)lain. 
Filling  the  air  with  clamors  vain. 

XXXV. 

But  ceased  not  yet,  the  Hall  within, 

Tlie  ."ihriek,  tlie  sliout,  the  carnage-din, 

Till  bmsting  lattices  give  proof* 

Tlie  flames  hate  caught  the  rafter'd  roof 

Wliat !  wait  they  till  its  beams  amain 

Cia>h  on  the  slayers  and  the  slain ? 

Tlie  alarm  is  caught — the  drawbridge  fidls, 

Tlie  warriors  hurry  from  the  walls, 

But,  by  the  conflagration's  liglit, 

Upon  the  lawn  renew  the  fight. 

Each  struggling  felon  down  was  hew'd. 

Not  one  could  gain  the  sheltering  wood  ; 

But  forth  the  affrighted  liarper  sprung, 

And  to  Matilda's  robe  he  clung. 

Her  shriek,  entreaty,  and  command, 

Stopp'd  the  pursuer's  lifted  hand.' 

Denzil  and  he  alive  were  ta'en ; 

The  Tctt,  save  Bertram,  all  are  slain. 

XXXVI. 

And  where  is  Bertram  ? — Roaring  high' 
The  general  flame  ascends  the  sky ; 
In  gather'd  group  the  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  broad  and  roaring  blaze. 
When,  like  infernal  demon,  sent, 
Red  from  his  penal  element, 
To  plague  and  to  pollute  the  nir, — 
His  fiice  all  gore,  on  fire  his  hair, 
Forth  from  the  central  mass  of  smoke 
Tlie  giant  form  of  Bertram  broke  ! 
His  brandish'd  sword  on  higli  he  rears, 
Tlien  plunged  among  opposing  spears; 
Round  his  left  arm  his  mantle  truss'd. 
Received  and  foil'd  three  lances'  thrust ;" 
Nor  these  liis  headlong  course  withstood,"' 
Like  reeds  he  snapp'd  the  tough  ash-wood 
In  vain  his  foes  around  him  clung; 
With  matchless  force  aside  he  flung 
Their  boldest, — as  the  bull,  at  bay, 
Tosses  the  ban-dogs  from  nis  way. 
Through  forty  foes  his  jiath  he  made, 
And  safely  gain'd  the  forest  glade. 


'  The  MS.  has  not  tliis  conplet. 

"  MS. — "  The  glowing  lattices  give  pwof." 

'  MS. — "  Her  shrieks.  entreatie.s,  and  commands, 

Avail'd  to  stop  pursuing  brands." 
s  MS. — "  Where's  Bertram  now  ?     In  fury  driveB 

The  general  flame  ascends  to  heaven  ; 

The  gather'd  groups  of.ooldiers  gaze 

Upon  the  red  and  roaring  blaze." 
»  The  MS.  want.s  this  couplet. 
ID  MS. — "  In  vain  the  opposing  spears  withstood." 


i 


CANTO  VI.                                               ROKEBY.                                                        343 

XXXVII. 

Her  duteous  orisons  to  pay, — 

Scarce  was  this  final  conflict  o'ei-, 

That  morning  smi  has  three  times  seen 

"When  from  the  postern  Redmond  bore 

The  flowers  imfold  on  Rokeby  green, 

"Wilfrid,  who,  as  of  life  bereft, 

But  sees  no  more  the  shmibers  fly 

Had  in  the  fatal  Hall  been  left,' 

From  fair  Matilda's  hazel  eye ; 

Deserted  there  by  all  his  train  ; 

That  morning  sun  has  tlu-ee  times  broke 

But  Redmond  saw,  and  tm-n'd  again. — 

On  Rokeby's  glades  of  elm  and  oak, 

Beneath  an  oak  he  laid  him  down. 

But,  rising  from  then*  silvan  screen. 

ITiat  in  the  blaze  gleam'd  ruddy  brown, 

Marks  no  gray  tmTcts  glance  between. 

And  then  liis  mantle's  clasp  undid ; 

A  shapeless  mass  lie  keep  and  tower, 

Matilda  held  his  droopmg  head, 

That,  hissing  to  the  morning  shower. 

Till,  given  to  breathe  the  freer  air, 

Can  but  with  smoulderhig  vapor  pay 

Retm-ning  life  repaid  their  care. 

The  early  smile  of  summer  day. 

He  gazed  on  them  with  heavy  sigh, — 

The  peasant,  to  liis  labor  bound. 

"  I  could  have  wish'd  even  thus  to  die  !" 

Pauses  to  view  the  blacken' d  mound. 

No  more  he  said — for  now  with  speed 

Striving,  amid  the  ruin'd  space, 

Each  trooper  had  regain'd  his  steed ; 

Each  well-remember'd  spot  to  trace. 

The  ready  palfreys  stood  array'd. 

That  length  of  fraU  and  fire-scorch'd  wall 

For  Redmond  and  for  Rokeby's  Maid ; 

Once  screen'd  the  hospitable  hall ; 

Two  "Wilfrid  on  his  horse  sustain. 

"When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole, 

One  leads  his  charger  by  the  rein. 

'Twas  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole ; 

But  oft  Matilda  look'd  behind, 

And  where  yon  tottering  columns  nod, 

As  up  the  Vale  of  Tees  they  wmd, 

The  chapel  sent  the  hymn  to  God. — 

Where  far  the  mansion  of  her  sires 

So  flits  the  world's  uncertain  span  ! 

Beacon'd  the  dale  with  midnight  fires. 

Nor  zeal  for  God,  nor  love  for  man. 

In  gloomy  arch  above  them  spread, 

Gives  mortal  monuments  a  date 

The  clouded  heaven  lower'd  bloody  red ; 

Beyond  the  power  of  Time  and  Fate. 

Beneath,  in  sombre  light,  the  flood 

The  towers  must  share  the  btiilder's  doom ; 

Appear'd  to  roll  in  waves  of  blood. 

Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomb  : 

Then,  one  by  one,  was  heard  to  faU 

But  better  boon  benignant  Heaven 

The  tower,  the  donjon-keep,  the  hall. 

To  Faith  and  Charity  has  given, 

Each  rushing  down  with  thunder  sound, 

And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublime 

A  space  the  conflagration  di-owu'd ; 

Transcend  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time* 

TiU,  gathermg  strength,  again  it  rose, 

Announced  its  triumph  m  its  close, 

II. 

Shook  wide  its  light  the  landscape  o'er, 

Now  the  third  night  of  stumner  came, 

Then  sunk — and  Rokeby  was  no  more  l'* 

Since  that  which  witness'd  Rokeby's  flame. 

On  Brignall  cliffs  and  Scargill  brake 

The  owlet's  homilies  awake. 

The  bittern  scream'd  from  rush  and  flag, 

Ho  xcbtt. 

The  raven  slnmber'd  on  his  crag. 

Forth  from  his  den  the  otter  drew, — 

Grayling  and  trout  their  tyrant  knew, 

As  between  reed  and  sedge  he  peers, 
"With  fierce  round  snout  and  sharpen'd  ears, 
Or,  prowling  by  the  moonbeam  cool, 

CANTO    SIXTH. 

I. 

Watches  the  stream  or  swims  the  pool ; — 

The  summer  sun,  whose  early  power 

Perch'd  on  his  wonted  eyiie  high, 

"Was  wont  to  gild  Matilda's  bower. 

Sleep  seals  the  tercelet's  wearied  eye. 

And  rouse  her  with  his  matin  ray^ 

That  all  the  day  had  watch'd  so  well 

1  MS.—"  Had  in  the  smouldering  hall  been  left." 

■*  MS. — "  And  bids  our  hopes  ascend  sublime 

*  "  The  castle  on  fire  has  an  awful  sublimity,  which  wonid 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time." — 

throw  at  a  humble  distance  the  boldest  reaches  of  the  pictorial 

art We  refer  our  readers  to  Virgil's  ships,  or  to  his 

"  Faith,  prevailing  o'er  his  sullen  doom, 

Troy  in  flames ;  and  though  the  Virgilian  pictures  be  drawn 

As  bursts  the  morn  on  night's  unfathom'd  gloon^ 

on  a  very  extensive  canvas,  with  confidence,  we  assert  that  the 

Lured  his  dim  eye  to  deathless  hope  sublime. 

castle  on  fire  is  much  more  magnificent.     It  is,  in  truth,  incom- 

Beyond  the  realms  of  nature  and  of  time." 

arably  grand." — British  Critic,. 

CiMPBELi 

3  MS. "glancing  ray 

6  The  MS.  has  not  thi;  couplet. 

34i 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


Tl  '    '    liirt  acros*  tho  ilelL 

III  ;.  In'iim  n-tli-oti'd  sliono 

lliat  lofty  cliff  of  pftlo  fjray  stouo, 
IJ.  •  j  cava 

Tu:., 

Tlic  crnjf's  wild  crest  of  copso  anil  yew 
On  (irtta'4  bn-nst  dark  sluulows  tlirow; 
Sluulow*  tlmt  luot  or  (*liim»M  the  fight, 
With  every  chanjje  of  litful  lii^ht ; 
A»  hope  and  four  altiMiiate  chase 
Our  cuuDM)  through  life's  uncertain  race. 

III. 
Gliding  by  crng  and  copse  wood  green, 
A  solitarj'  form  was  seen 
To  trace  with  stealthy  pace  the  wold. 
Like  fox  that  seeks  the  midnight  fold, 
And  pauses  oft,  and  cowers  dismay'd. 
At  ever)'  breatli  that  stirs  the  shade. 
He  jMissos  now  the  ivy  busli, — 
Tlie  owl  has  seen  him,  luid  is  hush ; 
He  passes  now  tho  dodder'd  oak, — 
He  heard  the  startled  raven  croak ; 
Lower  and  lower  he  descends, 
Kustle  the  leaves,  the  brushwood  bends ; 
The  otter  hears  him  tread  the  shore, 
And  dives,  and  is  beheld  no  more : 
And  by  the  cliflf  of  pale  gray  stone 
Tlie  midnijjht  wanderer  stands  alone. 
Methinks,  that  by  the  moon  we  trace 
A  well-remember'd  form  and  face  1 
That  stripling  shape,  that  cheek  so  pale, 
Combine  to  tell  a  rueful  tale. 
Of  powers  misused,  of  passion's  force. 
Of  guilt,  of  grief,  and  of  remorse  ! 
'Tis  PMmund's  eye,  at  every  sound 
Tliat  flings  that  guilty  glance  around ; 
Tis  Edmund's  trembling  haste  divides 
Tlic  brushwood  that  the  cavern  hides ; 
And,  wlien  its  narrow  porch  lies  bare,* 
Tis  Edmund's  form  that  enters  there. 

IV. 
Hin  flint  and  steel  have  sparkled  bright, 
A  lamp  hath  lent  the  cavern  light. 
Fearful  and  quick  his  eye  surveys 
Eacli  angle  of  the  gloomy  maze. 
Since  last  he  left  that  stern  abode. 
It  seem'd  as  none  its  floor  liad  trode ; 
Untouch'd  appear'd  the  various  spoil, 
Tlie  purchiu«e  of  his  comrades'  toil ; 
llaaks  and  disguises  grim'd  with  mud, 
Arms  broken  and  defiled  with  bl(K)d, 
And  all  the  nameless  tools  that  aid 
Night-felons  in  their  lawless  trade, 

'  Fally-port  Iie«  liarp.'' 


IMS. 

s  MS. — "  Or  on  the  floor*  (ii.«orilor'(l  flnng." 
•  MS. — "  SeaLi  overthrown  and  flagonj  draio'd, 


Upon  the  gloomy  wall  i  were  hung. 

Or  lay  in  n<M)k3  obscurely  flung.' 

Still  on  the  sordid  board  appear 

The  relics  of  the  noontide  cheer  : 

Flagons  and  emptied  flasks  were  there,* 

And  bench  o'erthrown,  and  shatter'd  cliair ; 

And  all  arotuid  the  semljlance  show'd, 

A.S  wlicn  the  final  revel  glow'il, 

When  the  red  sun  was  setting  fast, 

And  ])artiiig  pledge  Guy  Dcnzil  piist. 

"  To  Kokeby  treasure-vaults  !"  tliey  quaff'd. 

And  shouted  loud  and  wildly  laugh'd, 

Pour'd  maddening  from  the  rocky  door, 

And  parted — to  return  no  more  ! 

They  found  in  llokeby  vaults  their  doom, — 

A  bloody  death,  a  burning  tomb ! 


Tliere  his  own  peasant  dress  he  spies. 
Doff 'd  to  assume  that  quaint  disguise ; 
And,  slmddering,  thought  upon  liis  glee, 
"Wlien  prank'd  in  garb  of  minstrelsy. 
"  0,  be  the  fatal  art  accurst," 
He  cri;'d,  "  that  moved  my  folly  first ; 
Till,  bribed  by  bandits'  base  applause, 
I  burst  through  God's  an<l  Nature's  laws  I 
ITu'ee  summer  days  are  scantly  past 
Since  I  have  trod  this  cavern  last, 
A  thoughtless  wietch,  and  prompt  to  err — 
.  But,  0,  as  yet  no  murderer ! 
Even  now  I  list  my  comrades'  cheer, 
Tliat  general  laugh  is  in  mine  ear. 
Which  raised  my  pulse  and  steel'd  my  heart, 
As  I  rehearsed  my  treacherous  part — 
And  would  that  all  since  then  could  seem 
Tlie  phantom  of  a  fever's  dream  1 
But  fatal  Memory  notes  too  well 
The  hoiTors  of  the  dying  yell 
From  my  despairing  mates  that  broke, 
\Vhen  flash'd  the  foi-e  and  roU'd  the  smoke ; 
When  the  avengers  shouting  came. 
And  hemni'd  us  'twixt  the  sword  and  flame  1 
My  frantic  flight, — the  hfted  brand, — 

That  angel's  interposing  hand  ! 

If,  for  my  life  from  slaughter  freed, 
I  yet  could  pay  some  grateful  meed  1 
Perchance  this  object  of  my  quest 
May  aid" — he  turn'd,  nor  spoke  the  rest. 

VI. 

Due  northward  from  the  rugged  hearth, 
With  paces  five  he  metes  the  earth, 
Then  toil'd  with  mattock  to  explore 
The  entrails  of  the  cavern  floor. 
Nor  paused  till,  deep  beneath  the  ground. 

Still  on  the  cavern  floor  remain'd. 
And  all  the  cavo  that  semblance  bore. 
It  show'd  when  late  the  revel  wore." 


CANTO  VI. 


ROKEBY. 


34i 


His  search  a  small  steel  casket  found- 
Just  as  be  stoop'd  to  loose  its  hasp, 
llis  shoulder  felt  a  giaut  grasp  ; 
He  started,  aud  look'd  up  iighast. 
Then  shriek'd  ! — 'Twas  Bertram  held  lum  fast. 
"  Fear  not  !'*  he  said ;  but  who  could  hear 
That  deep  stern  voice,  aud  cease  to  fear  ? 
"  Fear  not ! — By  heaven,  he  shakes  as  much 
As  jjartridge  in  the  falcon's  clutch :" — • 
He  raised  him,  and  unloosed  his  hold, 
"While  from  the  opening  casket  roll'd 
A  chain  and  reliquahe  of  gold.' 
Bertram  beheld  it  with  surprise, 
Gazed  on  its  fashion  and  device. 
Then,  cheering  Edmund  as  he  could. 
Somewhat  he  smooth'd  his  rugged  mood : 
For  still  the  youth's  half-Ufted  eye     • 
Quiver'd  with  terror's  agony. 
And  sidelong  glanced,  as  to  explore, 
In  meditated  flight,  the  door. 
"  Sit,"  Bertram  said,  "  from  danger  fi'ee : 
Thou  canst  not,  and  thou  shalt  not,  flee. 
Chance  brings  me  hither  ;  hill  and  plain 
I've  sought  for  refuge-place  in  vain.^ 
And  tell  me  now,  thou  aguish  boy. 
What  makest  thou  here  ?  what  means  this  toy  i 
DenzU  and  thou,  I  mark'd,  were  ta'en ; 
What  lucky  chance  unbound  yom-  chain  ? 
I  deem'd,  long  since  on  Baliol's  tower, 
Yom-  heads  were  warp'd  with  smi  and  shower.' 
TeU  me  the  whole — and,  mark  !  naught  e'er 
Chafes  me  like  falsehood,  or  Uke  fear." 
Gathering  his  courage  to  his  aid. 
But  trembling  still,  the  youth  obey'd. 

VII. 

"  Denzd  and  I  two  nights  pass'd  o'er 

In  fetters  on  the  dungeon  floor. 

A  guest  the  third  sad  morrow  brought ; 

Our  hold  dark  Oswald  Wycliffe  sought,^ 

And  eyed  my  comrade  long  askance. 

With  fix'd  and  penetratmg  glance. 

'  Guy  Denzil  art  thou  call'tl  V — '  The  same.' — 

'  At  Com-t  who  served  wild  Buckinghame  ; 

Thence  banish'd,  won  a  keeper's  'place. 

So  Villiers  will'd,  in  Marwood-chase  ; 

That  lost — I  need  not  tell  thee  why — 

Thou  madest  thy  wit  thy  wants  sujjply, 

Then  fought  for  Rokeby : — Have  I  guess'd 

My  prisoner  right  ?' — '  At  thy  behest.' — ^ 

He  paused  a  while,  and  then  went  on 


MS.- 


-"  carcanet  of  gold." 


«  The  MS.  adds  :— 


8M3.- 


'  No  surer  shelter  from  the  foe 
Than  wliat  this  cavern  can  bestow." 


-"  perched  in  sun  and  shower.-" 
44 


With  low  and  confidential  tone  ; — 
Me,  as  I  judge,  not  then  he  saw, 
Close  nestled  in  my  couch  of  straw. — 
'  List  to  me,  Guy.     Thou  know'st  the  great 
Have  frequent  need  of  what  they  hate ; 
Hence,  in  then-  favor  oft  we  see 
Unscrupled.  useful  men  like  thee. 
Were  I  disposed  to  bid  thee  live. 
What  pledge  of  f;uth  hast  thou  to  give  ?' 

VIII. 

"  The  ready  Fiend,  who  never  yet 

Hath  fail'd  to  sharpen  Denzil's  Avit, 

Prompted  lus  lie — '  His  only  child 

Should  rest  his  pledge.' — The  Baron  smiled 

And  turu'd  to  me — '  Thou  art  his  son  V 

I  bow'd — our  fetters  were  undone. 

And  we  were  led  to  hear  apart 

A  di-eadful  lesson  of  his  art. 

Wilfrid,  he  said,  his  heir  and  .son, 

Had  fan-  MatUda's  favor  won ; 

And  long  since  had  their  union  been. 

But  for  her  father's  bigot  spleen. 

Whose  brute  and  bhndfold  party  rage 

Would,  force  per  force,  her  hand  engage 

To  a  base  kern  of  Irish  earth. 

Unknown  liis  hneage  and  his  birth, 

Save  that  a  dying  rufli;m  bore 

The  infant  brat  to  Rokeby  door. 

Gentle  restramt,  he  said,  wovdd  lead 

Old  Rokeby  to  enlarge  his  creed ; 

But  fair  occasion  he  must  find 

For  such  restraint  well-meant  and  kind. 

The  Knight  being  render'd  to  his  charge 

But  as  a  prisoner  at  large. 

IX. 

"  He  school'd  us  in  a  well-forged  tale, 
Of  scheme  the  Castle  walls  to  scale," 
To  wliich  was  leagued  each  Cavalier 
That  dwells  upon  the  Tyne  and  Wear ; 
Tliat  Rokeby,  his  parole  forgot, 
Had  dealt  with  us  to  aid  tlie  plot. 
Such  was  the  charge,  wliich  Denzil's  zeal 
Of  hate  to  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 
Profter'd,  as  witness,  to  make  good, 
Even  though  the  forfeit  were  their  blood. 
I  scrupled,  until  o'er  and  o'er 
His  prisoners'  safety  Wycliffe  swore ; 
And  then — alas !  what  needs  there  more  ? 
I  knew  I  should  not  live  to  say 


^  MS. — "  With  the  third  morn  that  baron  old, 

Darlv  Oswald  Wycliffe,  sought  the  hold." 

6  MS.—"  '  And  last  didst  ride  in  Rokeby's  band. 

Art  tliou  the  man  V — '  At  thy  command.'  " 
MS. — "  He  school'd  ns  then  to  tell  a  tale 
Of  plot  the  Castle  walls  to  scale, 
To  which  had  sworn  each  Cavalier." 


340 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VL 


Tin'  |>r"flrt'r  I  rcfuj»0(l  that  day ; 

His  luuul  like  summer  sapling  shook, 

:  to  livo,  yet  loth  to  die. 

Terror  imd  guilt  were  m  his  look. 

iiy  1  — 

Deiizil  ho  judged,  in  time  of  need, 

a,  •' w:ivcrin^  still,' 

Fit  counsellor  for  evil  deed; 

'  idike  for  gmxl  or  ill ! 

And  thus  apart  his  counsel  broke, 

'■*"''-                    '                 '                                                   " 

^Vllile  witli  a  gliastly  smile  he  s])oke: — 

Thtro  uoTor  yet,  t«u  trugic  ntjigo. 

XI. 

^.                        ..         -       .        ^ 

•••As  111  tlie  paLji;ants  of  the  stage, 

.\                                                     ,1  alarm 

The  tlead  awake  in  tliis  wild  age,* 

111  lall'd  hi*  gnrrisoi  tti  urm; 

Mortham — whom  all  men  deem'd  decreed 

r                             ■           'to  ]jo3t, 

In  Ills  own  deadly  snare  to  bleed, 

1 

Slain  by  a  bravo,  whom,  o'er  sea. 

(.'oii-i^ni'd  to  dungeon  and  to  chain 

He  traiu'd  to  aid  in  uiurdering  me, — 

' '            .    .  -  --  .  .          1  ^^^j  j^.^  tniiii; 

Mortham  has  'soapcil  I    Tlie  coward  thot 

\'          .                ,          i  CiivalicT, 

The  steed,  but  harm'd  the  rider  not.' '' 

Withui  Ids  litiuts,  to  appc^^r 

Here,  with  an  execration  fell. 

To-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  noon, 

Bertram  leap'il  up,  and  paced  the  cell : — 

In  t'„.  Ir  -1,  ,-!,i!r,li  of  EgUstou." 

"  Thine  own  gray  head,  or  bosom  dark," 

He  muttcr'd,  "may  be  surer  mark  !" 

X. 

Tlicn  sat,  and  sign'd  to  Edmund,  pale 

•  Of  Rjjliston  ! — Even  now  I  pass' J," 

"With  terror,  to  resume  his  tale. 

Said  Bertram,  "  as  the  night  closed  fast ; 

"  "Wycliffe  went  on : — '  Mark  with  what  flights 

Torches  and  cressets  gleam'd  around. 

Of  wildcr'd  reverie  he  writes : — 

I  heard  the  saw  and  luiuiiner  sound. 

And  I  could  mark  tliey  tojl'd  to  raise 

tr\)e  icttcr. 

A  soitfold,  liung  with  sable  baize, 

" '  Ruler  of  Mortham's  destiny ! 

Wliii-h  the  grim  hea<lsman's  scene  displuyd. 

Tlumgh  dead,  thy  victim  lives  to  thee.' 

r.l'  >k,  axe,  and  ssiwdust  ready  laid. 

Once  had  he  all  that  binds  to  life. 

Some  evil  deed  will  there  be  done, 

A  lovely  child,  a  lovelier  wife ; 

Unless  Matilda  wed  his  son; — 

"Wealth,  fame,  and  friendship,  were  liis  own — 

She  loves  him  not — 'tis  shrewdly  guess'd 

Tliou  gavost  the  word,  and  they  are  flown."" 

Tliat  Redmond  rules  the  damsel's  breast. 

Mark  how  he  pays  thee : — To  thy  hand 

Tliis  is  a  turn  of  Oswald's  skill ; 

He  yields  liis  honors  and  his  land,* 

But  I  mav  meet,  and  foil  liim  still  I ^ 

One  bona  premised; — Restore  liis  child! 

How  camest  thou  to  thy  freedom  ?" — "  Tliere 

And,  from  his  native  land  exiled. 

T  '              'TV  more  dark  and  rare. 

Mortham  no  more  returns  to  claim 

I               ■  f  WycIifFe's  well-feign'd  rage. 

His  lands,  his  honors,  or  his  nsime ; 

A  scroll  was  offer'd  by  a  page, 

Refuse  liim  this,  and  from  the  slain 

Wlio  told,  a  muffled  horseman  late 

Thou  shalt  see  Mortliam  rise  again.' — 

Had  left  it  at  the  Castle-gate. 

He  broke  the  seal — ^liis  cheek  shoVd  change. 

XII. 

Sudden,;                 ,  wild,  and  strange  ; 

"Tliis  billet  while  the  baron  lead. 

Tlic  minii;  j ..    .  .i  of  his  eye 

His  faltering  accents  sliow'd  liis  dread ; 

Was  tum'd  to  actual  agony ; 

He  press'd  his  forehead  with  his  palm, 

MS. "  KOTO  bcdtftd ! 

'  "  '  Mortham  escaped — the  toward  sliot 

WaTerinj;  alike  in  good  and  bod." 

The  liorsr, — bvt  harm'd  the  rider  not.' 

'  MS. "  O,  when  at  large 

is  trnly  laughable.     How  like  the  drnnurment  >f  the  Covent 

Waji  scroU'd  and  iiianM  oat  fatal  charge. 

Garden  Tragedy  !  in  which  the  hero  is  sujiposed  lo  liave  been 

v.. 

killed,  but  thus  accounts  for  his  escafie, 

B                                              ." 

'  I  llirough  the  coat  was,  not  the  body,  run!'  " 

•  After  lhi»  line  the  Mii.  rt-ads  : — 

Monthly  Keviea, 

"  Ahhongh  his  aoldien  anatch'd  awayi 

«  MS.—"  Though  dead  to  all,  he  lives  to  thee." 

When  in  my  very  graup,  my  prey. — 

'  MS. — "  Wealth,  fame,  and  happiness,  his  own — 

Eiimnnd,  how  cam'it  Ihoa  freeV— "  O  there 

Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  all  is  flown." 

Lie*  my'tery,"  kc. 

e  The  M<.  adds  :— 

•  M3. — "  Thp  dead  nrhe  ir,                      .e, 

"  Nay  more,  ere  one  day's  course  had  mn. 

Mortham — whom  r                  •■■avcn  decreed 

IIo  rescued  twice  from  dcatli  thy  son. 

Caaglit  in  liis  own  fell  anare  to  bleed." 

Mark  his  demand  : — Restore  his  child  .'" 

1ANT0  vr.                                              ROKEBY.                                                       347 

llica  took  a  scoraful  tone  and  calin  ; 

An  interloper's  prying  toiL 

'  Wild  as  the  winds,  as  billows  wild ! 

The  words,  but  not  the  sense,  I  knew, 

Wliat  wot  I  of  liis  spouse  or  child  ? 

TiU  fortune  gave  the  guiding  clew. 

Hither  he  brought  a  joyous  dame, 

Unknown  her  lineage  or  her  name  : 

XIV. 

Her,  in  some  frantic  fit  he  slew ; 

" '  Three  days  since,  was  that  clew  reveal'd. 

Tlie  nurse  and  child  in  fear  withdrew. 

In  ThorsgUl  as  I  lay  conceal'd,' 

Heaven  be  my  Avitness !  wist  I  where 

And  heard  at  full  when  Rokeby's  Maid 

To  find  this  youth,  my  kinsman's  heu", — 

Her  uncle's  history  display'd ; 

Unguerdou'd,  I  would  give  with  joy 

And  now  I  can  interpret  well 

The  father's  arms  to  fold  his  boy. 

Each  syllable  the  tablets  tell. 

And  Mortham's  lands  and  towers  resign 

Mark,  then :  Fan-  Edith  was  the  joy 

To  the  just  heirs  of  Mortham's  Une.' — 

Of  old  O'Neale  of  Chmdeboy ; 

Thou  know'st  that  scarcel}'  e'en  liis  fear 

But  from  her  su-e  and  country  fled. 

Suppresses  Denzil's  cynic  sneei ; — 

In  secret  Mortham's  Lord  to  wed. 

'  Then  happy  is  tliy  vassal's  part,' 

O'Xeale,  his  first  resentment  o'er, 

He  said,  '  to  ease  liis  patron's  heart ! 

Despatch'd  his  son  to  Greta's  shore. 

In  tliine  own  jailer's  watchful  care 

Enjoining  he  should  make  him  known 

Lies  Mortham's  just  and  rightful  heir ; 

(Until  his  farther  will  were  shown) 

Thy  generous  wish  is  fully  won, — 

To  Edith,  but  to  her  alone. 

Kedmond  O'Neale  is  Mortham's  son.' — 

What  of  their  ill-starr'd  meeting  fell, 

XIII. 

Lord  Wycliffe  knows,  and  none  so  weU. 

"  Up  starting  with  a  phi-ensied  look, 

XV. 

His  clenched  hand  the  Baron  shook: 

"  '  O'Xeale  it  was,  who,  in  despair. 

'  Is  Hell  at  work  ?  or  dost  thou  rave, 

Robb'd  Mortham  of  his  infant  heir ; 

Or  darest  thou  palter  with  me,  slave  ! 

He  bred  him  in  their  nurture  wild. 

Perchance  thou  wot'st  not,  Barnard's  towers 

And  call'd  hiiTi  miurder'd  Connel's  child. 

Have  racks,  of  strange  and  ghastly  powers.' 

Soon  died  the  nurse ;  the  Clan  beUeved 

Denzd,  who  weU  his  safety  knew, 

^Tiat  fi-om  their  Chieftain  they  receivcd- 

Fumly  rejoin' d,  '  I  tell  thee  true. 

His  pm-pose  was,  that  ne'er  again" 

Thy  racks  could  give  thee  but  to  know 

The  boy  should  cross  the  Irish  main ; 

The  proofs,  which  I,  untortured,  show. — 

But,  like  his  mountain-sires,  enjoy 

It  chanced  upon  a  winter  night. 

The  woods  and  wastes  of  Clandeboy. 

When  early  snow  made  Stanmore  white, 

Then  on  the  land  wild  troubles  came, 

That  very  night,  when  first  of  all 

And  stronger  Chieftains  m-ged  a  claim. 

Redmond  O'^eale  saw  Rokeby-hall, 

And  wrested  fi-om  the  old  man's  hands 

It  was  my  goodly  lot  to  gain 

His  native  towers,  liis  father's  lands. 

A  rehquary  and  a  chain, 

Unable  then,  amid  the  strife. 

Twisted  and  chased  of  massive  gold. 

To  guard  young  Redmond's  rights  or  life, 

— Demand  not  how  the  prize  I  hold ! 

Late  and  reluctant  he  restores 

It  was  not  given,  nor  lent,  nor  sold. — 

The  mfant  to  his  native  shores, 

Gilt  tablets  to  the  chain  were  hung. 

With  goodly  gifts  and  letters  stored. 

With  letters  in  the  Ii-ish  tongue. 

With  many  a  deep  conjuring  word, 

I  hid  my  spoU,  for  there  was  need 

To  Mortham  and  to  Rokeby's  Lord. 

That  I  should  leave  the  land  with  speed ; 

Naught  knew  the  clod  of  Irish  earth, 

Nor  then  I  deem'd  it  safe  to  bear 

VV  ho  was  the  gmde,  of  Redmond's  birth ; 

On  mine  own  person  gems  so  rare. 

But  deem'd  his  Chief's  commands  were  laid 

Small  heed  I  of  the  tablets  took. 

On  both,  by  both  to  be  obey'd.^ 

But  since  have  spell'd  them  by  the  book. 

How  he  was  wounded  by  the  way, 

When  some  sojourn  in  Erin's  land 

I  need  not,  and  I  list  not  say.' — 

Of  then"  wild  speech  had  given  command. 

But  darkhng  was  the  sense ;  the  phrase 

XVL 

And  language  those  of  other  days, 

" '  A  wondrous  tale  !  and,  grant  it  true, 

Involved  of  purpose,  as  to  foil 

What,'  WycMe  answer'd,  'might  I  do?  . 

MS. — "  It  chanced,  three  days  since,  I  was  laid 

The  boy  should  visit  Albion's  shore  ' 

Conceal'd  in  Thorsgill's  bosky  shade." 

s  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 
•— 

348 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VL 


Ilt'ureu  kntlw^  nn  willini^ly  M  now 
I  rid-M.'  tlio  iNiiiiu-t  fr»iii  luy  hrow, 
^Voul(l  I  my  kiintinan'M  niniior.t  fulr' 

'  Ncale 
i  vri  lur  tyranny  hu  »iovl, 

.   hiwa 
Hark  thfo  apart!' — Tliey  whisjH-r'd  long, 
'lill  1'        '  \v  lx)l(l  iin J  strong ; — 

'  iU  ^  vvill,'  lie  Miiil, 

•Show  mortal  nuui  where  they  ore  Imil. 

i ._  '      >  - ; 

Fur  I  hnve  niat€s  at  large,  who  know 
^'  ■         I  am  wont  such  toys  to  stow. 
1  from  jR-ril  iiiul  from  IxinJ, 

Tljesc  tablctxS  are  at  thy  command ; 
Nor  wore  it  hard  to  form  some  train, 
To  wile  old  Jlorthain  o'er  the  main. 
Tlien,  lunatic's  nor  papist's  hand 
SlioiiM  \vro!it  from  thine  the  (goodly  land.' 
— '  1  hke  tliy  wit,'  said  Wyclitfe,  'well; 
But  here  in  host:ige  shalt  thou  dwelL 
lliy  son,  unless  my  purpose  err, 
Way  prove  the  trustier  messenger. 
A  scroll  to  Alortluun  shall  he  bear 
From  me,  and  fetch  these  tokens  rare. 
Gold  shalt  thou  luive,  and  that  good  store, 
And  freedom,  his  commission  o'er ; 
But  if  his  faith  should  chance  to  fail. 
The  gibbet  frees  thee  from  the  jail.' — 

xvn. 

"  Me.*h'd  in  the  net  liimself  had  twined, 
^Vllut  subterfuge  could  Denzil  find  ? 
He  told  me,  with  reluctant  sigh, 
T'      '    '  len  here  the  tokens  he  ;' 
I      ^        ;  my  swift  return  and  aid, 
By  all  he  scoff 'd  and  disobey'd ;' 
'     "  '     '  ■ '       if  the  noose  were  tied, 

.    i'"-t  wlio  left  his  side. 
This  Fcmll  for  Mortham  "Wycliffe  gave, 
Whom  I  k  by  Greta's  wave; 

Or  in  tliL  re  cliief  he  hides, 

Where  Thorsgill's  forester  resides. 
dlwu  rli:.ii''i-'l  it,  WMtid'Tiiii,'  in  the  glade, 
Tliat  In-  il   -cried  our  auibu.-cade.) 
I  was  dismi.ss'd  as  evening  fell. 
And  r<-ncird  \r.\t  iiuw  thi.-*  rocky  coll." — 
"Give  0.->\v:ddd  letter." — Bertram  read, 
•       And  tore  it  fiercely  shred  by  ehred  : — 
"  All  lies  and  villany  1  to  blind 


MS. — "  Wonlil  I  my  kin'man'i  land*  rwrign 

To  Morth.Tm'"  xlfaiid  Mortlinm'!!  line: 
But  .Morttiam  ravcii— .iiiil  tlili  O'Xr a!e 
Hu  drawn."  &c. 


His  noble  kin.«man's  generous  mind. 
And  triiin  him  on  from  day  to  day, 
Till  he  am  Uiki?  his  life  away. — 
And  now,  declare  thy  purpose,  youth, 
Nor  dare  to  answer,  save  the  truth ; 
If  aught  I  mark  of  Den/.il's  art, 
I'll  teiu"  the  secret  from  thy  lieart !" — 

XVI II. 
"  It  needs  not.     I  renounce,"  lie  said, 
"Sly  tutor  in  this  deailly  trade. 
I''i.\'il  was  my  purpose  to  declare 
To  Jlortliam,  Redmond  is  his  heir  ; 
To  tell  him  in  what  risk  he  stands. 
And  yield  these  tokens  to  his  hands. 
Fix'd  wius  my  j)urpose  to  atone. 
Far  as  I  may,  tiie  evil  done ; 
An<l  iix'd  it  rests — if  I  survive 
Tiiis  ni:;ht,  and  leave  this  cave  alive." — 
"And  Denzil?" — "Let  tiiem  ply  the  rack, 
Even  till  his  joints  and  sinews  crack  ! 
If  Oswald  tear  him  limb  from  limb, 
Wha*  ruth  can  Denzil  claim  from  him, 
Who.«e  thoughtless  youth  he  led  astray. 
And  (ianm'd  to  this  uniiallow'd  way? 
He  .-chool'd  me  faith  and  vows  were  vjun; 
Now  let  my  master  feap  liis  gam." — 
"True,"  answer'd  Bertram,  "'tis  his  meed; 
There's  retribution  in  the  deed. 
But  thou — thou  art  not  for  our  course, 
Hast  fear,  hast  pity,  hast  remorse : 
And  he,  with  us  the  gale  who  braves, 
Mu.st  heave  such  cargo  to  the  waves, 
Or  lag  with  overloaded  prore, 
Wliile  barks  unbiirden'd  reach  the  shore." 

XIX. 
He  paused,  and,  stretching  him  at  length, 
Seem'd  to  repose  his  bulky  strength. 
Communing  with  his  secret  mind, 
As  half  he  sat,  and  half  recUned, 
One  ample  hand  his  forehead  press'd, 
And  one  was  dropp'd  across  his  breast. 
The  shaggy  eyebrows  deeper  came 
Above  his  eyes  of  swarthy  flimie ; 
His  lip  of  pride  a  while  forbore 
The  haughty  curve  till  then  it  wore  ; 
The  unalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look 
A  shade  of  darken'd  sadness  took, — * 
For  dark  and  sad  a  presage  press'd 
Resistlessly  on  Bertram's  breast, — 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  wonted  tone, 
So  fierce,  abrupt,  and  brief,  was  gone. 


'  MS. — "  In  secret  where  the  tokens  lie." 

>  MS.—"  By  ties  he  Bcoff  "d,"  &c. 

*  MS. — "  A  darken'd  sad  expression  took. 

The  Dnalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look." 


CANTO  VI.                                              ROKEBY.                                                        349 

His  voice  was  steady,  low,  and  deep, 

No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay  ; 

Like  distant  waves  when  breezus  sleep ; 

With  disk  hke  battle-target  red, 

And  sorrow  mix'd  with  Edmund's  fear, 

He  ruslies  to  his  burning  bed. 

Its  low  unbroken  depth  to  hear. 

Dyes  the  wide  wave  witli  bloody  light, 

Then  sinks  at  once — and  all  is  night.— 

XX. 

- 

"  Edmund,  in  thy  sad  tale  I  find 

XXIL 

The  woe  tliat  warp'd  my  patron's  mind : 

"  Now  to  thy  mission,  Edmund.     Fly, 

'Twould  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye 

Seek  Mortham  out,  and  bid  liim  hie 

In  otlier  men,  but  mine  are  dry. 

To  Richmonil,  where  liis  troops  are  laid, 

Morthiun  must  nbver  see  tlie  fool. 

And  lead  liis  force  to  Redmond's  aid. 

That  sold  liimself  base  Wycliffe's  tool ; 

Say,  till  he  reaches  EgUston, 

Yet  less  from  thirst  of  sordid  gain, 

A  friend  wUl  watch  to  guard  his  son.* 

Than  to  avenge  supposed  disdain. 

Now,  fare-thee-well ;  for  uiglit  draws  on, 

Say,  Bertram  rues  his  fault ; — a  word, 

And  I  would  rest  me  here  alone." 

Till  now  from  Bertram  never  heard: 

Despite  liis  ill-dissembled  fear. 

Say,  too,  that  Mortham's  Lord  he  prays 

Tliere  swam  m  Edmund's  eye  a  tear ; 

To  think  but  on  tlieu*  former  days ; 

A  tribute  to  the  courage  high, 

On  Quariana's  beach  and  rock. 

Which  stoop' il  not  in  extremity, 

On  Cayo's  bursting  battle  shock, 

But  strove,  irregularly  great. 

On  Darien's  sands  and  deadly  dew, 

To  triumph  o'er  approaching  fate ! 

And  on  the  dart  Tlatzeca  threw  ; — 

Bertram  beheld  the  dewdrop  start. 

Perchance  my  patron  yet  may  hear 

It  almost  touch'd  liis  kou  heart : — 

More  that  may  grace  his  comrade's  bier.' 

"  I  did  not  tliink  there  lived,"  he  said, 

My  soul  hath  felt  a  secret  weight, 

"  One,  who  would  tear  for  Bertram  shed." 

A  warning  of  approacliiug  fate  : 

He  loosen'd  then  his  baldric's  hold, 

A  priest  had  said,  '  Return,  repent !' 

A  buckle  broad  of  massive  gold ; — 

As  wel]  to  bid  that  rock  be  rent. 

"  Of  all  the  spoil  that  paid  his  pains, 

Firm  as  tliat  flint  I  face  mine  end ; 

But  this  with  Risingham  remains  ; 

My  heart  may  burst,  but  cannot  bend.* 

And  tills,  dear  Edmund,  thou  shalt  take, 

And  wear  it  long  for  Bertram's  sake. 

XXL 

Once  more — to  Mortham  speed  amain; 

"  The  dawning  of  my  youth,  with  awe 

Farewell !  and  tm'u  thee  not  agaui." 

And  prophecy,  the  Dalesmen  saw  ; 

For  over  Redesdale  it  came. 

xxin. 

As  bodeful  as  their  beacon-flame. 

The  night  has  yielded  to  the  morn. 

Edmund,  thy  years  were  scarcely  mine, 

And  far  the  hom-s  of  prime  are  worn. 

"When,  challenging  the  Clans  of  Tyne, 

Oswald,  who,  since  the  dawn  of  day, 

To  bring  their  best  my  brand  to  prove, 

Had  cursed  liis  messenger's  delay. 

O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove  f 

Impatient  question'd  now  his  train. 

But  Tynedale,  nor  in  tower  nor  town, 

"  Was  DenzLl's  son  return'd  again  ?" 

Held  champion  meet  to  take  it  down. 

It  chanced  there  answer'd  of  the  crew 

My  noontide,  India  may  declare  ; 

A  menial,  who  young  Edmund  knew : 

Like  her  fierce  sun,  I  fired  the  air ! 

"  No  son  of  Denzil  this,"' — he  .said  ; 

Like  him,  to  wood  and  cave  bade  fly 

"  A  peasant  boy  from  Winston  glade, 

Her  natives,  from  mine  angry  eye. 

For  song  and  minstrelsy  renown'd, 

Panama's  maids  shall  long  look  pale 

And  knavish  pranks,  tlie  hamlets  round." — 

Wlien  Risinghara  inspb-es  the  tale ; 

"  Not  Denzil's  son  ! — From  Wuiston  vale  !^ 

ChiU's  dark  matrons  long  shall  tame 

Then  it  was  false,  that  specious  tale  ; 

The  froward  child  with  Bertram's  name. 

Or,  worse — he  hath  despatclied  the  youth 

And  now,  my  race  of  terror  run, 

To  show  to  Mortham's  Lord  its  truth. 

Mine  be  the  eve  of  tropic  sun ! 

Fool  that  I  was  ! — but  'tis  too  late; — 

No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 

This  is  the  very  turn  of  fate  ! — ^ 

1  MS. — "Perchance,  that  Mortliam  yet  may  hear 

4  MS.—"  With  him  and  Fairfax  for  his  friend. 

Something  to  grace  liis  comrade's  bier." 

No  risk  that  Wyclitft;  dares  contend. 

»  MS.                  "  ne'er  shall  bend.-" 

Tell  him  tha  while,  at  Egliston 

Tliere  will  be  one  to  guard  his  son." 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I. 

6  MS.—"  This  is  the  crisis  of  uiy  fate.'" 

J50 


SCO'lT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


Tlio  tulc,  ur  true  ur  btUo,  relios 
On  Uinzil'it  oviJeiico ! — He  dies ! — 

1  •       ■        -  •  •  ■       •   •  ■  I  y 

Allow  him  not  h  {Nirtuif;  wurd  , 

re  the  cunl ! 

..     .  .1-1 

iMurauJurs  (hun  tlio  Ciuttle-widl. 

'  '    \y  done, 

— Itosil,  ti>ll  Wilfrid  ho  must  striiight 
Attund  mo  at  tho  Cuatle-gate." — 

XXIV. 
•*  A\n3 1"  llie  old  domestic  said, 
And  iih<H>k  his  vencTuble  head, 
"  Alas,  my  Lord !  fidl  ill  to-tlay 
May  u\j  youiig  master  brtwk  the  way ! 
'llie  leech  has  spoke  with  grave  ohirm, 
Of  unseen  hurt,  of  secret  harm. 
Of  s<irrow  lurking  at  the  heart, 
Tliat  mars  and  lets  his  healing  art." — 
"Tush,  tell  not  me! — Romantic  boys 
Pine  themselves  sick  for  airy  toy& 
I  will  find  cure  for  Wilfrid  .«oon ; 
Bid  him  fur  Kgliston  be  Ijoune, 
And  quick ! — I  hear  the  didl  death-cbnim 
Tell  Donzil's  hour  of  fate  is  come." 
He  paused  with  scornful  smile,  and  then 
Resumed  his  train  of  thought  agcn. 
"Now  Comes  my  fortune's  crisis  near! 
Entreaty  boots  not — instant  fear, 
Naught  else,  can  bend  Matilda's  pride, 
Or  win  her  to  be  Wilfrid's  bride. 
But  when  she  sees  the  .scaffold  placed. 
With  axe  and  block  and  headsman  graced, 
And  when  she  cleems,  that  to  deny 
Dooms  Redmond  and  her  sire  to  die. 
She  must  give  way. — Then,  were  the  line 
Of  Rokebv  once  combined  with  mine, 
I  train  the  weather-gage  of  fate  I 
If  Mortliam  come,  he  comes  too  late, 
Whiitf  I,  allied  thus  ami  prepared. 
Bid  him  detiancc  to  his  beard. — 
— If  she  prove  stubboni,  shall  I  dare 
To  drop  the  axe? — Soft  I  pause  we  there. 
Mortliam  still  lives — yon  youth  may  tell 
His  tale — and  Fairfiuc  loves  liim  well ; — 


1  M.''. — "  .Marki  the  dark  clond  iiwcep  down  tlie  Tees." 
1  "Thii  iobordinate  villaia  tlm*  mcebi  the  reward  which  he 
deserve*.  He  u  altogether  one  of  the  minor  sketches  of  the 
poem,  hot  otill  a/Ida  a  varirty  and  a  life  to  the  ^.Toup.  lie  is 
beside*  aliwlotcly  neecMtarr  Tor  tho  development  of  the  plot ; 
and  indceil  a  pecali,ir  propriety  in  tJiis  respect  is  observable 
thronjhont  the  rtory.  No  charartfr,  and,  comparatively  npeak- 
ing,  hot  lillle  dewription,  U  intro<lnre<l  that  ij  nni-SHrnlial  to 
Ihe  narrative  ;  it  procccnU  clearly,  if  not  mpiilly,  tliron^liont  ; 
and  although  the  plot  iMromes  adilitiunally  involved  to  appcar- 
ftocc  as  it  advances,  all  if  satiafactorily  explained  at  the  lad,  or 


Else,  wherefore  should  I  now  delay 

To  sweep  this  llcclmond  from  my  way  I — 

But  she  tt)  piety  perforce 

Must  yield. — Witliout  there  !  Sound  to  horae." 

XXV. 

'Twa-s  bustle  in  tho  court  below, — 

"  Mount,  and  march  forward  !" — Forth  they  go 

Steeds  neii,'h  and  trample  all  around. 

Steel  riny^s,  s])ears  glinumtr,  trumpets  sound. — 

Just  then  was  sung  liis  parting  hymn  ; 

And  Deiizil  tiirn'd  liis  eyeballs  dim, 

And,  scarcely  conscious  what  he  sees. 

Follows  the  horsemen  down  the  Tees  ;• 

And,  .scarcely  conscious  what  he  hears. 

The  trumpets  tingle  in  his  cars. 

O'er  the  long  bridge  they're  sweeping  now, 

Tlio  van  is  hid  b}'  greenwood  bough  ; 

But  ere  the  rearward  had  pass'd  o'er, 

Guy  Denzil  heard  and  saw  no  more  1* 

One  stroke,  upon  the  Ca-stle  bell. 

To  Oswald  rung  his  dying  knell. 

XXVI. 
0,  for  that  pencil,  erst  profuse 
Of  chivalry's  emblazon'd  hues. 
That  traced  of  old,  in  Woodstock  bower, 
The  pageant  of  the  Leaf  and  Flower, 
And  Ixjdied  forth  the  tourney  high. 
Held  for  the  hand  of  Emily ! 
Tlien  might  I  paint  the  tumult  broad, 
lliat  to  the  crowded  abbey  ilow'd. 
And  pour'd,  as  with  an  ocean's  sound. 
Into  the  church's  ample  boimd  ! 
Then  might  I  show  each  varying  mien. 
Exulting,  woeful,  or  serene ; 
Indifference,  with  his  idiot  .stare. 
And  Sympathy,  with  anxious  air, 
Paint  the  dejected  Cavalier, 
Doubtful,  disarm'd,  and  sad  of  cheer; 
And  his  proud  foe,  whose  formal  eye 
Claim'd  conquest  now  and  mastery  ; 
And  the  brute  crowd,  whose  envious  zeal 
Huzzas  each  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel. 
And  loudest  shouts  when  lowest  lie 
Exalted  worth  and  station  high. 
Yet  what  may  such  a  wish  avail  ? 
'TLs  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tide,' 

rather  explains  itself  by  gradual  nnravelment." — Monthly  R9 
view. 
3  The  Clnarterly  Reviewer,  after  qaoting  from 


to 


"  'Tis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale," 
"  Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough," 


adds,  "  Assoredly,  if  snch  lines  as  these  had  occorred  more 
frequently  in  Rokeby,  it  would  have  extorted  our  unqualified 
admiration  :  and  although  we  lament  that  numerous  little 
blemishes,  which  might  easily  be  removed,  have  been  eafTered 


CANTO  vr. 


ROKEBY. 


35i 


Hurrying,  as  best  I  can,  along, 
The  hearers  and  the  hasty  song ; — 
Like  traveller  when  approaching  home, 
Who  sees  the  shades  of  evening  come, 
And  must  not  now  his  course  delay. 
Or  choose  the  fair,  but  -winding  way ; 
Nay,  scarcely  may  his  pace  suspend. 
Where  o'er  his  head  the  wildings  bend. 
To  bless  the  breeze  that  cools  his  brow, 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough. 

XXVII. 

The  reverend  pile  lay  wild  and  waste, 

Profaned,  dishonor'd,  and  defaced. 

Through  storied  lattices  no  more 

In  soften'd  hght  the  smibeams  pour, 

Gilding  the  Gothic  sculpture  rich 

Of  shrine,  and  monument,  and  niche. 

Tlie  Civil  fury  of  the  time 

Made  sport  of  sacrilegious  crime  ;^ 

For  dark  Fanaticism  rent 

Altar,  and  screen,  and  ornament. 

And  peasant  hands  the  tombs  o'erthrew 

Of  Bowes,  of  Rokeby,  and  Fitz-Hugh.^ 

And  now  was  seen,  unwonted  sight. 

In  holy  walls  a  scaffold  dight ! 

Where  once  the  priest,  of  grace  divine 

Dealt  to  his  flock  the  mystic  sign ; 

Tliere  stood  the  block  display'd,  and  there 

The  headsman  grim  his  hatchet  bare ; 

And  for  the  word  of  Hope  and  Faith, 

Resounded  loud  a  doom  of  death. 

Thi-ice  the    fierce    trumpet's    breath   was 

heard, 
And  echo'd  thi'ice  the  herald's  word, 
Dooming,  for  breach  of  martial  laws, 
And  treason  to  the  Commons'  cause. 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 
To  stoop  their  heads  to  block  and  steel. 
The  trumpets  flom-ish'd  liigh  and  shrill. 
Then  was  a  silence  dead  and  stUl ; 
And  silent  prayers  to  heaven  were  cast, 
And  stifled  sobs  were  bursting  fast. 
Till  from  the  crowd  began  to  rise 
Murmurs  of  sorrow  or  surprise, 
And  from  tlie  distant  aisles  there  came 
Deep-mutter'd    threats,   with    Wychffe's 

name.^ 

to  remain  ;  that  many  of  the  poetical  ornaments,  thongh  just- 
ly conceived,  are  faintly  and  indistinctly  drawn  ;  and  that  those 
finishing  touches,  which  Mr.  Scott  has  the  talent  of  placing 
w.th  peculiar  taste  and  propriety,  are  too  sparingly  scattered  ; 
we  readily  admit  that  he  has  told  his  '  onward  tale'  with  great 
vigor  and  animation  ;  and  that  he  has  generally  redeemed  his 
faults  by  the  richness  and  variety  of  his  fancy,  or  by  the  intet^ 
est  of  his  narrative." 

»  The  MS.  lias  not  this  nor  the  preceding  couplet. 

3  MS. — "  And  peasants'  base-born  hands  o'erthrew 
The  tombs  of  Lacy  and  Fitz-Hugh." 


XXVIII. 
But  Oswald,  guarded  by  his  band. 
Powerful  in  evil,  waved  liis  hand. 
And  bade  Sedition's  voice  be  dead. 
On  peril  of  the  murmur er's  head. 
Then  first  his  glance  sought  Rokeby's  Knight  '* 
Wlio  gazed  on  the  tremendous  sight, 
As  calm  as  if  he  came  a  guest 
To  kuidred  Baron's  feudal  feast,* 
As  calm  as  if  that  trumpet-call 
Were  summons  to  the  bamier'd  hall ; 
Firm  in  his  loyalty  he  stood, 
And  prompt  to  seal  it  witli  his  blood. 
Witli  downcast  look  drew  Oswald  nigh, — 
He  dm-st  not  cope  with  Rokeby's  eye  ! — ° 
And  said,  with  low  and  faltering  breath, 
"Thou  know'st  the  terms  of  hfe  and  death." 
The  Knight  then  tiu-n'd,  and  sternly  smiled ; 
"  The  maiden  is  mine  only  child, 
Yet  shall  my  blessing  leave  her  head. 
If  with  a  traitor's  son  she  wed." 
Then  Redmond  spoke :  "  The  life  of  one 
Might  thy  malignity  atone,'' 
On  me  be  flung  a  double  guUt ! 
Spare  Rokeby's  blood,  let  mine  be  spilt !" 
Wycliffe  had  listen'd  to  liis  suit, 
But  dread  prevail'd,  and  he  was  mute. 

XXIX. 
And  now  he  poiu-s  his  choice  of  fear 
In  secret  on  Matilda's  ear  ; 
"  An  union  form'd  with  me  and  mine, 
Ensures  the  faith  of  Rokeby's  line. 
Consent,  and  all  this  dread  array, 
Like  morning  dream  shaU  pass  away ; 
Refuse,  and,  by  my  duty  press'd, 
I  give  the  word — thou  know'st  the  rest." 
Matilda,  still  and  motionless. 
With  terror  heard  the  dread  address. 
Pale  as  the  sheeted  maid  who  dies 
To  hopeless  love  a  sacrifice  ; 
Then  wrimg  her  hands  in  agony. 
And  rotmd  her  cast  bewilder'd  eye. 
Now  on  the  scaffold  glanced,  and  now 
On  Wycliffe's  unrelentuig  brow. 
She  veU'd  her  face,  and,  with  a  voice 
Scarce  audible, — "  I  make  my  choice  ! 
Spare  but  thek  lives ! — for  aught  beside, 

s  MS.— "Muttering  of  threats,  and  Wycliffe's  name.' 
*  M.S. — "  Then  from  his  victim  sought  to  know 

The  working  of  his  tragic  show. 

And  first  his  glance,"  &c. 

6  MS. — "  To  some  high  Baron's  feudal  feast, 
And  that  loud  pealing  trumpet-call 
JVas  summons,"  &c. 

6  MS. — "  He  durst  not  meet  his  scornful  eye." 

7  MS. "  the  blood  of  one 

Might  tliis  malignant  plot  atone." 


352 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  n. 


I^'t  Wilfriii's  (loom  my  futo  deciile. 

'  he  cjKikL', 

.,..,  "  J- _•  •■■  .i......j-..  Ijriikc: — 

wluTi-  luitcr'il  ye  «j  Into  / 
\s  ,  i   1.)  ut  thy  weight  / 

V  ...  1    ..,.  .  .  wand  ? — 

IlhI  hand;' 
'.i  h«T  with  ruptun-s,  miujiIu  buy  ! 
..  niKl    t»'ars    utul    trtiuliliiig  speak    tliy 

j">  '  — 
**  O  hu(Ji.  my  wro !     To  prayer  aiul  tear 

(  V  mine  thttu  lia>t  refused  tbiiio  ejir  ; 

r  .    now  the  awful  hour  draw.s  on, 

Wlieu  truth  muftt  sjH-uk  iu  loftier  tone." 

XXX. 

lie  took  Matilda's  hand :' — "  Dear  maid, 
(■  ■^Mst  tlit>u  !<o  injure  nu-,"  he  i>ai(l, 
■  I  II  lliy  piKir  friend  so  biu^ely  di'cin, 
A»  blend  with  him  thid  buibarous  scheme  ? 
AI  1- !  ii         '"  ''in  vain, 

.Mi^i;!  \\.  .1  tlii.s  added  pain.* 

But  now,  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven, 
'  r  was  hope  to  mortal  given, 

■  J*  with  the  strings  of  life, 
As  this — to  call  ^latilda  wife  1 
I  bid  it  now  for  ever  i)art, 
And  with  the  elfort  bursts  my  heart!" 
lli.s  feeble  frame  was  worn  so  low, 
With  wounds,  with  watching^,  and  with  woe, 
Tliiit  nature  could  no  more  sustain 
T\ie  iigony  of  mental  pain, 
lie  kneel'd — his  lip  her  hand  had  press'd, — ' 
Just  then  lie  felt  the  stern  arrest. 
Lfjwer  and  lower  sunk  his  head, — 
Tlii.y  raised  him, — but  the  life  was  fled  ! 
Then,  first  alarra'd,  his  sire  and  train 
Tried  every  aid,  but  tried  iu  viua 
Tlie  soul,  too  soft  its  Ills  to  bear, 
ilad  left  our  mortal  hemisphere, 

>  In  place  o'  ng  cooplet,  the  M.S.  has, 

"  .~  M-  scheme  he  plaiin'il  : 

Kneel,  VVilinii !  take  her  yielded  hand  I" 
3  MS.—-  He  kneel'd,  and  took  her  hand." 
•  >!3. — "  To  Kive  the  complicated  pain." 
I  ^;p.-"  JUrnilrd." 
s  .'.;.S.  — ••  y  •  li;-"  opon  her  hands  were  press'd, — 

Ju»t  a*  he  felt  the  stem  arrest." 
"  "  The  charnctT  of  ^Vi'^■^if|  i^i  a.i  exten-sively  drawn,  and 
even   more  »<>  of  Bfrtram.     And  amidst 

the  fine  anil   i'  tions  aecompanyin^  it,  a 

Jeop  in^iffht  into  the  human  heart  is  discemihle : — we  had 
almmt  >aid  an  inloition  more  penetrating  llian  even  his,  to 
whom  were  given  theitc  '  golden  keys'  that  '  unlock  the  gates 
ofjoy.' 

'  Of  horror  that  and  thrilling  Tcan, 
Or  ope  Uie  sacred  soarce  of  sympathetic  tcar^.'  " 

SritUk  Critic. 

"  In  delineating  the  artors  of  this  dramatic  tale,  we  have 
llttl«  hesitation  in  saying,  that  Mr.  Scolt  has  been  more  suc- 


And  sought  in  better  world  the  ntoed, 
To  blimielesa  life  by  Ilea vea. decreed.* 

XXXI. 

Ilii'  wretched  sire  beheld,  aghiust, 

^Villl  WillViil  all  liis  projects  jntst, 

All  turn'd  and  centred  on  his  son. 

On  ^VillVid  all — and  he  wa-s  gone. 

"  And  I  am  childless  now,"  he  sjiid ; 

"Chihlle.ss  through  that  relentless  maid  1 

A  lifetime's  arts  in  vain  essay 'd, 

Are  bursting  on  their  artist's  head  ! — 

Here  lies  )ny  AVilfrid  dead — and  there 

Comes  hated  Mortham  for  his  heir, 

Eager  to  knit  in  liajipy  band 

AViili  Kokehy's  heire.«s  IJedmond's  hand. 

And  sliall  their  triumph  soar  o'er  all 

The  schemes  deep-laid  to  work  their  fall? 

No ! — ileeds  which  prudence  might  not  dare, 

Appal  not  vengeance  and  despair. 

The  inurd'ress  wce|)s  iijxiii  his  bier — 

I'll  change  to  real  that  feigned  tear  1 

They  all  shall  share  destruction's  shock ; — 

Ho !  lead  the  captives  to  the  block  !" 

But  ill  his  I'rovost  could  divine 

His  feelings,  ond  fore  bore  the  sign. 

"  Slave  !  to  the  block ! — or  I,  or  they, 

Sliall  face  the  judgment-seat  this  day  !" 

XXXII. 
The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound, 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  harden'd  groimd ; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near, 
Tlie  very  death's-men  paused  to  hear. 
"Tis  in  the  churchyard  now — the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead  1 
Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulclu-al  stone, 
Return  the  tramp  in  varied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung, 
"When  tlirough  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 

ccssful  than  on  any  former  oceasion.  Wilfrid,  a  person  of  the 
first  importance  in  the  whole  i.ianngement  of  the  plot,  exhibits 
an  assemblage  of  qualities  not  nnfrequently  combined  in  real 
life,  but,  so  far  as  we  can  recollect,  never  before  represented  in 
poetry.  It  is,  indeed,  a  charactei  which  required  to  be  touched 
with  great  art  and  delicacy.  The  reader  generally  expects  to 
find  beauty  of  form,  strength,  grace,  and  ogility,  united  with 
powerful  pa.<!sion9,  in  the  prominent  figures  of  romance ;  be- 
cause these  visible  qualities  are  the  most  frequent  thomes  of 
panegyric,  and  usually  the  bcft  passports  to  ailmir.ition.  Tho 
absence  of  them  is  supposed  to  throw  au  air  of  ridicule  on  the 
pretensions  of  a  candidate  for  love  or  glory.  An  ordinary 
poet,  therefore,  would  have  despaired  of  awakening  our  sym- 
pathy in  favor  of  that  lofty  and  generous  spirit,  and  keen  sen- 
sibility, which  at  once  animate  and  consume  tho  frail  and 
sickly  frame  of  Wilfrid  ;  yet  Wilfrid  is,  in  fact,  extremely  in- 
teresting ;  and  his  death,  though  obviously  necessary  to  the 
condign  punishment  of  Oswald,  to  the  future  repose  of  Matil- 
da, and  consequently  to  the  consummation  of  the  poem,  leavei 
strong  emotions  of  pity  and  regret  iu  the  mind  of  the  reader  " 
— Quarterly  Review. 


CANTO  VI. 


ROKEBY. 


35S 


A  horseman  ann'd,  at  lieadlong  speed — 
Sable  liis  cloak,  iiis  plume,  his  steed.' 
Fu-e  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurn' d, 
Tlie  vaults  unwonted  clang  return'd  ! — 
One  mstant's  glance  around  he  tlu-cw, 
From  saddlebow  liis  pistol  drew. 
Grindy  determined  was  his  look  1 
His  charger  will    'he  spurs  he  strook — 
All  scatter'd  backward  as  he  came, 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham ! 
Three  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave  f 
The  first  has  reach'd  the  central  nave, 
The  second  clear'd  the  chancel  wide. 
The  tliird  he  was  at  Wyclift'e's  side. 
Full  levell'd  at  the  Baron's  head, 
Rung  the  report — the  bullet  sped — 
And  to  his  long  account,  and  last. 
Without  a  groan,  dark  Oswald  past 
All  was  so  quick,  that  it  might  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

XXXIII, 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  liis  ready  charger  wheels ; 
But  flounder'd  on  the  pavement-floor 
The  steed,  and  down  the  rider  bore, 
And,  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
'Twas  while  he  toil'd  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed, 
Tluat  from  amazement's  iron  trance 
All  Wycliffe's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halberd,  musket-but,  theii'  blows 
Hail'd  upon  Bertram  as  he  rose ; 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound. 
Bore  down  and  pinn'il  him  to  the  gromid  f 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spears ; 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  liim  free, 
Once  gain'd  his  feet,  and  twice  his  knee. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

»  MS. — "  Three  bounds  he  made,  that  noble  steed  ; 

The  first  the  \  L^'"'^''  '°"'b        |  has  freed." 
f  chancel  s  bound  ) 

3  MS. — "  Oppress'd  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground." 

*  MS. — "  And  when,  by  odds  borne  down  at  length." 

5  MS.— "He  bore." 

8  MS. — "  Had  more  of  laugh  in  it  than  moan." 
'  MS. — "  But  held  their  weapons  ready  set. 

Lest  tlie  grim  liing  should  rouse  him  yet." 

6  MS. — "  But  Basil  check'd  them  with  disdain, 

And  flung  a  mantle  o'er  tlie  slain." 

9  "  Whether  we  see  him  scaling  the  cliffs  in  desperate  course, 

and  scaring  the  hawks  and  the  ravens  from  tlieir  nests  ;  or, 

while  the  Castle  is  on  fire,  breaking  from  the  central  mass  of 

■moke  ;  or,  amidst  the  terrific  circumstances  of  his  death,  wlien 

his 

'  parting  groan 

Had  more  of  laughter  tlian  of  moan,' 
45 


By  tenfold  odds  oppress'd  at  length,* 
Despite  liis  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took'  a  hundred  mortal  wound.s, 
As  mute  as  fox  'mongst  mangluig  hounds ; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan  !° 
— They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies. 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes. 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain. 
Lest  the  grim  king  .should  rouse  again  !^ 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renew'd. 
And  from  the  trunk,  the  head  had  heVd, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade  f 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid : — 
"  Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mmd, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind : 
llien  give  hhu,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding-sheet.'" 

XXXIV. 
No  more  of  death  and  dying  pang, 
No  more  of  trump  and  bugle  clang. 
Though  through  the  sounding  woods  there  come 
Banner  and  bugle,  trump  and  drum. 
Arm'd  with  such  powers  as  well  had  freed 
Youiig  Redmond  at  his  utmost  need, 
And  back'd  with  such  a  band  of  horse, 
As  might  less  ample  powers  enforce ; 
Possess'd  of  every  proof  and  sign 
That  gave  an  heir  to  Mortham's  line, 
And  yielded  to  a  father's  arms 
An  image  of  his  Edith's  charms, — 
Mortham  is  come,  to  hear  and  see 
Of  tliis  strange  morn  the  history. 
"\Miat  saw  he  ? — not  the  church's  floor, 
Cumber'd  with  dead  and  stain'd  with  gore ; 
Wh.at  heard  he  ? — not  the  chimorous  crowd, 
That  shout  then-  gratulations  loud : 
Redmond  he  saw  and  heard  alone, 
Olasp'd  him,  and  sobb'd,  "  My  son !  my  son !" — " 

we  mark  his  race  of  terror,  with  tlie  poet,  like  the  '  eve  of 
tropic  sun  !' 

'  No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray. 
No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay  ; 
With  disk  like  battle-target  red, 
He  rushes  to  liis  burning  bed  ; 
Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light. 
Then  sinks  at  once — and  all  is  night.'  " 

British  Critic. 
"  I  hope  you  will  like  Bertram  to  the  end  ;  he  is  a  Caravaggio 
sketch,  which,  I  may  acknowledge  to  you — but  tell  it  not  ia 
Gath — I  rather  pique  myself  upon  ;  and  he  is  within  .lie  keep- 
ing of  Nature,  though  critics  will  say  to  the  contrary.  It  may 
be  difficult  to  fancy  that  any  one  should  take  a  sort  of  pleasure 
in  bringing  out  such  a  character,  but  I  suppose  it  is  partly 
owing  to  bad  reading,  and  ill-directed  reading,  when  £  wae 
young."— Scott  to  Miss  Baillic. — Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  49. 
10  MS.— Here  the  antlior  of  Rokeby  wrote, 

••Endof  Canto  VI." 
Stanza  zxxv.,  added  at  the  request  of  the  printer  and  another 


354 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"I 


CAXTO  VI. 


XXXV. 


1 


r  morn, 
.ivy  com: 


Hut  wlun  brtiwii  Auijii.st  »»'er  tlio  InuJ 


I 
.\ 

1: 

A  wi 

T>     • 

\ 

'1 
A 

A 


nil, 

..... 1 

,.im  .-Iiow'il. 
Illy  rustic  li'jivi's 
I    ■•■  '  file  tho  shoavc", 
lliiig  lUsMc, 
oin  uiul  on  bride, 
■  ..  .iiulfring  group  draws  near, 
-luanerd  hand.s  the  cjir 


Drops*,  while  aho  folda  theui  for  a  prayer 

1.        .  _     _     ^       ••.!  by  lIiL- following  note  lo  Mr.  Bitllan- 

Ijme: — 

"DrAR  JxxK.'i, 
"  I  wnd  yoD  thu,  out  of  deference  to  opiniona  to  itrongly 
I  ^    -        '     '"■';;  my  own,  that  it  spoiU  one  eflect 

\V.  S." 
I  Miim*c!f  within  much  narrow- 

er li'  ■'""  "oIkt  annals  of  tlie  8evcn- 

■  .   all  those  ornaments  of 

(.  -^  ,iience  of  the  ta>i|e  wiih 

whi.'h  h-  ili>|i'.ay<-<l  ilitni,  ha>l  been  tolcratiKl,  and  even  ad- 
mip-<t.  I>r  nxxltrn  ri'.iiliTt.  lie  has  sabjected  his  style  to  a 
M-viPT  CO.!  •  111"  cniiriKni.  The  language  of  the  poet  is  often 
nncori«-ioa<ly  n.-lVm-d  to  the  date  of  the  incidents  which  he  re- 
late* ;  M)  that  what  is  carclcn  or  Idiomatic  escapes  censure,  as 
:i  '       ■"  diction:    and  it  is,  perhaps, 

•  liat  the  phraseology  of  '  Mar- 
I  ul  tlii:  '  L.;iJy  ul   iJie  Lake,'  has  appeared  to  us  to 

1  'filly  than  that  of  the  present  poem. 

■■  I'  as  it  may,  we  confidently  persist  in  thinking, 

tliat  ■  xperiment,  Mr.  Scott's  |iopularily  will  be  still 

fartii   •  I  ;    because  we  have  found   by  experience, 

that.  _     'luring  the  first  hanty  inspection  of  the  poem, 

nndertaken  for  the  gratification  of  onr  curiosity,  some  blemish- 
es intraile<l  themselves  upon  our  notice,  the  merits  of  the  story, 
and  the  minute  shades  of  character  displayed  in  the  condact  of 
it,  hi  ifBcient,  during  many  succeeding  perusals,  to 

awa'  i",  and  to  reanimate  and  sustain  onrattention. 

"Tl:--  cr  .:  :.il  fiction  from  which  the  poem  is  derived,  ap- 
p<»!>r«  'o  n»  <n  III-  constructed  with  considerable  ability  ;  but  it 
with  which  the  poet  has  e.xpanderl  and  dmm- 
.  diversity  of  the  characters  ;  on  the  skill  with 
which  III  y  .ip;  unfolded,  and  on  the  ingenuity  with  wliich 
every  i  i  '  i  •  i"  n-ndcrcd  fnb!'er%icnt  to  his  final  purpose,  that 
we  '  '  oar  iireference  of  this  over  his  former  produc- 

tioiM.     i '  6ret  canto  to  the  last,  nothing  is  superfluous. 

The  arrival  of  a  uoctamal  visitor  at  Barnard  Castle  is  annonn- 

>    '      ■'  '       '  ~nity,  Uie  previous  terrors  of  O.twald,  the 

•  of  Bertram,  his  abruptness  and  discour- 

■  •  ly  delineated,  that  the  picture 

•  '1  for  the  sole  purpose  of  dis- 

•tion  !  yet  it  is  from  this 
■   naturally,  and   almost 
rtow.     O  the  very  commencement 

r  VI,  most  p"      '  ;  the  principal  actora  in 

the  scene  exhibit  tliemseU'  to  our  view,  the  devel- 

opment of  tho  plot  is  perf  .  .  >;.;.. laous,  and  our  attention 
b  never  iaterroptcd,  or  loOcred  to  relax." — Quarterly  Rc- 
tictc. 


And  blessing  on  the  lovely  pair. 
"i'u:i-i  tlii'ii  tlie  Maid  of  Rokcby  gave 
Jli-r  jilij,'litcd  troth  to  Ue<hnoiid  brave; 
And  Teesdale  can  remember  yet 
llow  Fate  to  Virtue  paid  lier  debt, 
And,  for  their  troubles,  bade  them  prove 
A  leugthen'd  life  of  peace  and  love. 


Time  and  Tide  had  thus  their  sway, 
Yielding,  like  an  Ajiril  day. 
Smiling  noon  for  sullen  morrow, 
Years  of  joy  for  hours  of  sorrow.' 


nearly  the  same  proportion  as  it  contains  more  of  dramatic  in 
cident  and  character.  Yet  some  of  the  pictures  which  it  pre- 
sents are  highly  wrought  and  vividly  colored  ;  lor  example, 
the  terribly  animated  narrative,  in  the  fifth  canto,  of  the  battle 
within  the  hall,  and  the  conflagration  ofthe  mansion  of  Rukeby. 

"  Several  defects,  of  more  or  less  importance,  we  noticed,  or 
imagined  that  we  noticed,  as  we  read.  It  apjicars  like  pre- 
sumption to  accuse  Mr.  Pcott  of  any  failure  in  n-spect  to  cos- 
tume— of  the  manners  and  character  of  the  times  which  he 
describes—  yet  the  impression  produced  on  our  minds  by  the 
jK'rusal,  ha-s  certainly  been,  that  we  are  thrown  back  in  imag- 
ination *o  a  period  considerably  antecedent  to  that  which  he 
intends  to  celebrate.  The  other  faults,  we  remarked,  consist 
principally  in  the  too  frequent  recurrence  of  those  which  we 
have  so  often  noticed  on  former  occasions,  and  which  are  so 
incorporated  with  the  poet's  style,  that  it  is  now  become  as 
useless  as  it  is  paint'ul,  to  repeat  the  censures  which  they  have 
occasioned. 

"  We  have  been  informed  that  '  Rokeby'  h.is  hitherto  circu- 
lated less  rapidly  than  has  usually  been  the  case  with  Mr. 
Scott's  works.  If  the  fact  be  so,  we  are  inclined  to  attribute 
it  solely  to  accidental  circumstances  ;  being  persu.ided  that  the 
defects  ofthe  poem  are  only  common  to  it  with  all  the  produc- 
tions of  its  author;  that  they  are  even  less  numerous  than  in 
most ;  and  that  its  beauties,  though  of  a  difTerent  stamp,  are 
more  profusely  scattered,  and,  upon  the  whole,  of  a  higher  or- 
der."— Critical  Review. 


"  This  prodnction  of  Mr.  Scott  altof  ether  abounds  in  imagery 
■a<!  description  Icn  than  either  of  iti  prccnrsors,  in  pretty 


"  Such  is  Rokeby  ;  and  our  readers  must  confess  that  it  is  a 
very  interesting  tale.  Alone,  it  would  stan.p  the  anthor  one 
of  the  most  picturcs(|ue  of  English  poets.  Of  the  story,  we 
need  hardly  say  any  thing  farther.  It  is  complicated  without 
being  confused,  and  so  artfully  suspended  in  its  unravehnent, 
as  to  produce  a  constantly  incrca.sing  sensation  of  curiosity. 
Parts,  indeed,  of  the  catastrophe  may  at  intervals  be  foreseen, 
but  they  are  like  the  partial  glimpses  that  we  catch  of  a  noble 
and  well-shaded  building,  which  does  not  break  on  us  in  .all  iU; 
proportion  and  in  all  its  beauty,  until  we  suddenly  arrive  in 
front.  Of  the  characters,  we  have  something  to  observe,  in 
addition  to  our  private  remarks.  Our  readers  may  perhaps 
have  seen  that  we  have  frequently  a|)plied  the  term  sketch,  to 
the  several  jwrsonages  ofthe  drama.  Now,  although  this  poem 
possesses  more  variety  of  well-sustained  character  than  any 
other  of  Mr.  Pcott's  performances — althongh  Wilfrid  will  be  a 
favorite  with  every  lover  of  the  soft,  the  gentle,  and  the  oa- 
thelic,  while  Edmund  offers  a  fearfu".  warning  to  misused  aoil- 
ities — and  although  Redmond  is  indeed  a  man,  compared  to  the 
Cranstoun  of  The  Lnij,  to  the  fVillon  of  JIarmion.  or  to  the 
Malcolm  ofthe  Im<1i/  of  the  Lake;  yet  is  Redmond  himseli 
but  a  sketch  compared  to  Bertram.  Here  is  Mr.  Scott's  true 
and  favorite  hero.  He  has  no  '  sneaking  kindness'  for  these 
barbarians ; — he  boldly  adopts  and  patronizes  tliem.    Delorain* 


t'ANTO  VI. 


ROKEBY. 


355 


(it  has  humorously  heen  observed)  would  have  been  exactly 
what  Marniion  was,  could  lie  have  read  and  written  ;  Bertram 
is  a  happy  mixture  of  both  ; — as  great  a  villain,  if  possible,  as 
Marmion  ;  and,  if  possible,  as  great  a  scamp  as  Deloraine. 
His  character  is  completed  by  a  dash  of  the  fierceness  of  Rod- 
erick Dhu.  We  do  not  here  enter  into  tlie  question  as  to  the 
good  taste  of  an  author  \v\to  employs  his  utmost  strength  of 
description  on  a  compound  of  bad  qnalities  ;  but  we  must  ob- 
serve, in  the  way  of  protest  for  the  present,  that  something 
must  be  wrong  where  poetical  effect  and  moral  approbation  are 
to  much  at  variance.  We  leave  untouched  the  general  argu- 
ment, whether  it  makes  any  difference  for  poetical  purposes, 
that  a  hero's  vices  or  his  virtues  should  preponderate.  Power- 
ful indeed  must  be  the  genius  of  the  poet  who,  out  of  such 
materials  as  those  above  mentioned,  can  form  an  interest- 
ing whole.  This,  however,  is  the  fact ;  and  Bertram  at  times 
so  overcomes  hatred  with  admiration,  that  he  (or  rather  bis 
painter)  is  almost  pardonable  for  his  energy  alone.  There  is  a 
charm  about  this  sjiring  of  mind  which  bears  down  all  opposi- 
tion, '  and  throws  a  brilliant  veil  of  liglit  over  the  most  hideous 
deformity.'  This  is  the  fascination — this  is  the  variety  and 
vigor  by  which  Mr.  Scott  recommends  barbarous  heroes,  un- 
dignified occurrences,  and,  occasionally,  the  most  incorrect  lan- 
guage, and  the  most  imperfect  versification — 

"  Catch  but  his  fire — '  And  yon  forgive  him  all.'  " 

JSlonlhly  Review. 

That  Rokeby,  as  a  whole,  is  equally  interesting  with  Mr. 
Scott's  former  works,  we  are  by  no  means  prepared  to  assert. 
But  if  there  be,  comparatively,  a  diminution  of  interest,  it  is 
evidently  owing  to  no  other  cause  than  the  time  or  place  of  its 
action— the  sobriety  of  the  period,  and  the  abated  wildness  of 
the  scenery.  With  us,  the  wonder  is,  that  a  period  so  late  as 
that  of  Charle.s  the  First,  could  have  been  managed  so  dex- 
terously, and  have  been  made  so  happily  subservient  to  poetic 
invention. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  declaring  our 
opinion,  tliat  the  tale  of  Rokeby  is  much  better  told  than  those 
of  ■  The  Lay,'  or  of  '  Marmion.'  Its  characters  are  introduced 
with  more  ease  ;  its  incidents  are  more  natural;  one  event  is 
more  necessarily  generated  by  another  ;  the  reader's  mind  is 
kept  more  in  suspense  with  respect  to  the  termination  of  the 
Btory ;  and  the  moral  reflections  interspersed  are  of  a  deejier 
cast.  Of  the  versification,  also,  we  can  justly  pronounce,  that 
it  is  more  polished  than  in  'Marmion,'  or  '  The  Lay  ;'  and 
though  we  have  marked  some  careless  lines,  yet  even  in  the 
instance  of  '  bold  disorder,'  Rokeby  can  furnish  little  room  for 
animadversion.  In  fine,  if  we  must  compare  him  with  him- 
self, we  judge  Mr.  Scott  has  given  us  a  poem  in  Rokeby,  su- 
perior to  '  Jlarmion,'  or  '  The  Lay,'  but  not  equal,  perhaps,  to 
'  The  Lady  of'  the  Lake.'  " — British  Critic. 


"  It  will  surprise  no  one  to  hear  that  Mr.  Morritt  assured 
his  friend  he  considered  Rokeby  as  the  best  of  all  his  poems. 
The  admirable,  perhaps  the  unique  fidelity  of  the  local  de- 
scriptions, might  alone  have  swayed,  for  I  will  not  say  it  per- 
verted the  judgment  of  the  lord  of  that  beautiful  and  thence- 
forth classical  domain  ;  and,  indeed,  I  must  admit  that  I  never 
understood  or  appreciated  half  the  charm  of  this  poem  until  I 
had  become  familiar  with  its  scenery.  But  Scott  himself  had 
not  designed  to  rest  his  strength  on  these  descriptions.  He  said 
to  James  Ballantyne,  while  the  work  was  in  progress  (Sep- 
tember 2),  '  I  hope  the  thing  will  do,  chiefly  because  the  world 
will  not  expect  from  me  a  poem  of  which  the  interest  turns 
upon  character  ;'  and  in  another  letter  (October  28,  1812),  '  I 
think  you  will  see  the  same  sort  of  difference  taken  in  all  my 
former  poems,  of  which  I  would  say,  if  it  is  fair  for  me  to  say 
any  thing,  that  the  force  in  the  Lay  is  thrown  on  style — in 
Marmion  on  descrii)tion,  and  in  the  Lady  of  the  Ijake,  on  in- 
cident.'    I  suspect  some  of  thuse  distinctions  may  have  been 


matters  of  after-thought ;  but  as  to  Rokeby  there  can  be  no 
mistake.  His  own  original  conceptions  of  some  of  its  princi- 
pal characters  have  been  explained  in  letters  already  cited ; 
and  I  believe  no  one  who  compares  the  poem  with  his  novels 
will  doubt  that,  had  he  undertaken  their  portraiture  in  prose, 
they  would  have  come  forth  with  effect  hardly  inferior  to  any 
of  all  the  groups  he  ever  created.  As  it  is,  I  question  wheth- 
er, even  in  his  prose,  there  is  any  thing  more  exquisitely  wrought 
out  as  well  as  fancied,  than  the  whole  contrast  of  tlie  two  ri- 
vals for  the  love  of  the  heroine  in  Rokeby  ;  and  that  heroine 
herself,  too,  has  a  very  particular  interest  attached  to  her. 
Writing  to  Miss  Edgewortli  five  years  after  this  time  (10th 
March,  1818),  he  says,  '  I  have  not  read  one  of  my  poems  since 
they  were  printed,  excepting  last  year  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
which  I  liked  better  than  I  expected,  but  not  well  enough  to 
induce  me  to  go  through  the  rest;  so  I  may  truly  say  with 
Macbeth — 

'  I  am  afraid  to  think  of  what  I've  done — 
Look  on't  again  I  dare  not.' 

"  '  This  much  of  Matilda  I  recollect  (for  that  is  not  so  easily 
forgotten),  that  she  was  attempted  for  the  existing  person  of  a 
lady  who  is  now  no  more,  so  that  I  am  particularly  flattered 
with  your  distinguishing  it  from  the  otheni,  which  are  in  gen- 
eral mere  shadows.'  I  can  have  no  doubt  that  the  lady  he 
here  alludes  to  was  the  object  of  his  own  unfortunate  first 
love  ;  and  as  little,  that  in  tlie  romantic  generosity  both  of  the 
}'outhful  poet  who  fails  to  win  her  higher  favor,  and  of  his 
chivalrous  competitor,  we  have  before  us  something  more  than 
a  mere  shadow. 

"  In  spite  of  these  graceful  eharacters,  the  inimitable  scenery 
on  which  they  are  presented,  and  the  splendid  vivacity  and 
thrilling  interest  of  several  chapters  in  the  story — such  as  the 
opening  interview  of  Bertram  and  Wycliffe— the  flight  up  tho 
clifi'on  the  Greta — the  first  entrance  of  the  cave  at  Brignall- 
the  firing  of  Rokeby  Castle — and  the  catastrophe  in  Egliston 
Abbey  ;  in  spite  certainly  of  exquisitely  happy  lines  profusely 
scattered  throughout  the  whole  composition,  and  of  some  de- 
tached images— that  of  the  setting  of  the  tropical  sun,  for  ex- 
ample— which  were  never  surpassed  by  any  poet ;  in  spite  of 
all  these  merits,  the  immediate  success  of  Rokeby  was  greatly 
inferior  to  that  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  ;  nor  has  it  ever  since 
been  so  much  a  favorite  with  the  public  at  large  as  any  other 
of  his  poetical  romances.  He  ascribes  this  failure,  in  his  in- 
troduction of  1830,  partly  to  the  radically  unpoetical  character 
of  the  Roundheads  ;  but  surely  their  character  has  its  poetical 
side  also,  had  his  prejudices  allowed  him  to  enter  upon  its  study 
with  impartial  sympathy  ;  and  I  doubt  not  Mr.  Morritt  suggest- 
ed the  difficulty  on  this  score,  when  the  outline  of  the  story  was 
as  yet  undetermined,  from  the  consideration  rather  of  the  po- 
et's peculiar  feelings,  and  powers  as  hitherto  exhibited,  than 
of  the  subject  absolutely.  Partly  he  blames  the  satiety  of  the 
public  ear,  which  had  liad  so  much  of  his  rhythm,  not  only 
from  himself,  but  from  dozens  of  mocking  birds,  male  and  fe- 
male, all  more  or  less  applauded  in  their  day,  and  now  all 
equally  forgotten.  This  circumstance,  too,  had  probably  r.o 
slender  effect ;  the  more  that,  in  defiance  of  all  the  hints  of  his 
friends,  he  now,  in  his  narrative,  repeated  (with  more  negli- 
gence) the  uniform  octo-syllabic  couplets  of  the  Lady  of  t!ie 
Lake,  instead  of  recurring  to  the  more  varied  cadence  of  the 
Lay  or  Marmion.  It  is  fair  to  add  that,  among  the  London 
circles  at  least,  some  sarcastic  flings  in  Mr.  Moore's  '  Twopenny 
Post  Bag'  must  have  had  an  unfavorable  influence  on  this  oc- 
casion. But  the  cause  of  failure  which  the  poet  himself  places 
last,  was  unquestionably  the  main  one.  The  deeper  and  dark- 
er passior.  of  Childe  Harold,  the  audacity  of  its  morbid  volnp 
tuousness,  and  the  melancholy  majesty  of  the  number?  in  which 
it  defied  the  world,  had  taken  the  general  imagination  by  storm 
and  Rokeby,  with  many  beauties,  and  some  sublimities,  was 
pitched,  as  a  whole,  on  a  key  which  seemed  tame  in  the  com 
parison."— LocKHART,  JJfe  of  Scott,  vol.  iv.  pp.  53-58. 


356 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Arri'NDix. 


NOTK  A. 
On  B»mmr4'i  towa-t,  and  Teet't  stream,  ^e.—P.  296. 

'•  n*ii!«ARD  Ca»tl«."  •aitli  old  Inland,  "  •Iniiilclli  •Intoly 
B|>uii  r.i-*."  ll  i»  loumlfil  u|K>ii  a  vitv  lii;;li  bunk,  and  iu 
ruiiK  imiKMid  ovtT  the  rivor,  includin);  williin  llie  area  a  cir- 
ruii  ol'  "ix  iiTTH  and  upwanU.  Tlii»  unci-  inagnififriil  fortn'wi 
diri)!"  il<  name  from  iu  Tuundrr,  Harniird  Kaliul,  tlu-  anci^lor 
of  Oil'  >lioit  Slid  unlortunatp  dynonty  ol'tlial  naiiiv,  wliiuli  auc- 
Mctiod  tu  tlieScoltiOi  lliroiic  under  the  pal roiiage  of  Edward  I. 
and  C<lwanl  III.  Baliol'a  Towrr,  al'kcrwards  mrntioncd  in 
Uio  |MK-ni,  i»  a  round  lower  of  grcal  »i/.e,  riluau-d  at  llie  west- 
ern cxln-inilj-  of  the  huildiiig.  Il  beam  marks  of  great  anli- 
quilr.  and  was  remarkable  for  the  eurious  construction  of  it" 
vaultril  roof,  whicli  ha.*  been  lately  greatly  injured  by  tlio 
©[•rnriiin-.  of  «onie  per<on<,  to  whom  the  tower  lia.s  been  lea-sed 
for  ■  of  making   patent  shot !     The   proapent   from  I 

the  '    ,         I      utVn  Tower  commandii  a  rich  and  magnificent 
Ticw  of  the  wooileil  valley  of  the  Tec«. 

Dumiinl  Castle  often  changed  mo-sters  during  the  middle 
■gn.  U|ion  the  forfeiture  of  the  Dufortunntc  John  Baiiol,  the 
lint  king  of  Scotland  of  that  family,  Edward  I.  seized  tliis 
fortre*!  among  the  other  English  c«late«  of  his  refractory  vas- 
nl.  It  was  afterwards  veated  in  the  Beaucliam|Ki  of  War- 
wick, and  in  tlie  Slaflurds  of  Buckingham,  ami  w.-ls  al.'io 
•omeiime*  in  tlie  pos^M.■»ion  of  the  Bi-liO|is  of  Durham,  and 
sometinicri  in  lliat  of  the  crown.  Ri^.-liard  III.  is  said  to  liave 
enlargeii  and  strengthened  its  fortifuntions,  and  to  have  made 
il  fur  some  time  his  principal  residence,  for  the  purpose  of 
bridling  and  suppressing  the  Lancastrian  faction  in  the  north- 
em  counties.  From  the  Staflbrds,  Barnard  Castle  pa.s.sed, 
pro'j.ilily  by  marriage,  into  the  possession  of  the  powerful 
Nevil!i-s,  Earls  of  Westmoreland,  and  belonged  to  the  last 
rcpn'V'iil.itivc  of  that  family,  when  he  engaged  witii  the  Earl 
of  Northumberland  in  the  ill-concerted  imurreclion  of  the 
twelfth  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Ujion  this  ovca.Mon,  however. 
Sir  Grorje  Bowes  of  Sheatlam,  who  hehl  great  pos.icsitions  in 
the  n<'i;,'liborhoo<l,  antivipated  the  two  insurgent  earls,  by 
■ei/ing  U|ion  and  garrisoning  Bnmanl  Castle,  which  he  held 
out  for  ten  day«  .igaiiiiit  all  their  fori'fs,  and  then  surrendered 
it  upon  honomble  term«.  See  Sadler's  Stale  Papers,  vol.  ii. 
p.  330.  In  a  ballad,  contained  in  Percy's  Relii|ucs  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  i.,  the  «iege  is  thus  commemorated  : — 

"  Then  Sir  George  Bowes  he  straight  way  rose 

After  tlicm  some  spoyle  to  make  ; 
These  noble  cries  turned  back  againe. 

And  aye  they  vowed  that  knight  to  lake. 

"  Thit  baron  he  to  his  castle  fled  ; 

To  l!am:inl  Castle  then  fled  he; 
The  uttermost  walles  were  eaihe  to  won. 

The  cries  have  won  them  presontlie. 

"The  uttermost  walles  were  lime  and  brick  ; 

But  Ihongh  they  won  them  soon  anone, 
Long  ere  they  wan  the  innermost  wales, 

For  ihey  were  cut  in  rock  and  stone." 

Hy  the  suppression  of  this  rebellion,  and  the  consequent  tor- 
Oiiore  of  the  Eari  of  Wcatmoreland    Barnard  Castle  reverted 


to  the  crown,  and  w.issold  or  leased  out  to  C-ir,  Ear!  ofPomer. 
set,  the  guilty  anil  unhappy  fiivoriti-  of  Jnni>-s  I.  It  was 
afterwards  granteil  to  Sir  Henry  Vane  the  elder,  and  was  ihero- 
fore,  in  all  probability,  occupied  for  the  Parliament,  whoso 
inten>st  during  the  Civil  War  was  so  keenly  espoused  by  the 
Vanes.  It  is  now,  with  the  other  estati>s  of  that  family,  the 
proj>i'rty  of  Uio  Right  Honorable  Earl  of  Darlington. 


Note  B. 


■  no  hvmnn  enr. 


Unsharpen'd  by  rcvrnge  and  fear. 

Could  e'er  distintruish  horse's  clank. — P.  297. 

I  have  had  occasion  to  remark,  in  real  life,  the  eflTect  of 
keen  and  f-rvent  anxiety  in  giving  aeuteness  to  the  organs  of 
sense.  My  gifted  friend.  Miss  Joanna  Baillie,  whose  drama- 
tic works  display  such  intimutc  acquaintance  with  the  opcra- 
tioiui  of  human  passion,  has  not  omitted  this  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance : — 

"  De  Montforl.  {Off  his  guard.)    'Tis  Rezenvcll :   I  heard 
his  Well-known  foot, 
From  the  first  staircase  niouuting  step  by  step. 

Frcb.  How  quick  an  ear  thou  hast  for  distant  sound  ! 
I  heard  him  not. 

{De  Montford  looks  embarrassed,  and  is  silent.") 


Note  C. 


The  morion's  plvmrs  his  visage  hide, 

Jirul  the  bvff-cont,  iti  ample  fold, 

Mantles  his  form.'s  gigantic  mould. — P.  298. 

The  use  of  complete  suits  of  armor  was  fallen  into  disDse 
during  the  Civil  War,  though  they  were  still  worn  by  leaders 
of  rank  and  importance.  "  In  the  reign  of  King  James  I.," 
says  our  military  antiquary,  '•  no  great  alterations  were  made 
in  the  article  of  ilefeii.sive  armor,  except  that  the  bufT-eoat, 
or  jerkin,  which  was  originally  worn  under  the  cuirass,  now 
became  frequently  a  substilnte  for  il,  it  having  been  found 
that  a  good  buff  leather  would  of  itself  resist  the  stroke  of  a 
sword  ;  this,  however,  only  occasionally  took  place  among  the 
light-armed  cavalry  and  infantry,  complete  suits  of  armor 
being  still  used  among  the  heavy  horse.  Bud-coals  continued 
to  be  worn  by  the  city  trained-bands  till  within  the  memory 
of  pervons  now  living,  fo  that  defensive  armor  may,  in  some 
measure,  be  said  to  have  terminated  in  the  same  materials 
with  which  it  began,  that  is,  the  skins  of  animals,  or  lea- 
ther."—Grose's  Military  JIntiquitics.  Lond.  1601,  4to. 
vol.  ii.  p.  .123. 

Of  the  bulT-coats,  which  were  worn  over  the  corslets,  seve- 
ral are  yet  preserved  ;  and  Captain  Grose  has  given  an  engra- 
ving of  one  which  w:is  used  in  the  time  of  Charles  I.  by  Sir 
Francis  Rhodes,  Bart,  of  Balbiough-Hall,  Derbyshire.  They 
I  were  usually  lined  with  silk  or  linen,  secured  before  by  hut- 
I  ions,  or   by  a   lace,  anil  often  richly  decorated   with  gold  oi 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


357 


si'ver  embroidery.  From  the  following  curious  account  of  a 
dispute  resjiecting  a  buff-coal  between  an  oM  rouiidheail  caj)- 
tain  and  a  j  ustice  of  the  peace,  by  whom  his  arms  were  seized 
after  the  Restoration,  we  learn,  that  the  value  and  importance 
of  this  defensive  garment  were  considerable : — "  A  party  of 
iiorse  came  to  my  liouse,  commanded  by  Mr.  Peebles  ;  and  he 
told  me  he  was  come  for  my  arms,  and  that  I  must  deliver 
them.  I  asked  him  for  liis  order.  He  told  me  he  had  a  better 
order  than  Oliver  used  to  give ;  and,  clapping  his  hand  upon 
his  sword-hilt,  he  s-aid,  that  was  his  order.  I  told  him,  if  he 
had  none  but  that,  it  was  not  sufficient  to  take  my  arms  ; 
and  then  he  pulled  out  liis  warrant,  and  I  read  it.  It  was 
signed  by  Wentworth  Armitage,  a  general  warrant  to  search 
all  persons  they  suspected,  and  so  left  the  power  to  the  soldiers 
at  their  pleasure.  They  came  to  us  at  Coalley-IIall,  about 
sunsetting ;  and  I  caused  a  candle  to  be  lighted,  and  conveyed 
Peebles  into  the  room  where  my  arms  were.  My  arms  were 
near  the  kitchen  fire  ;  and  there  they  took  away  fowling- 
pieces,  pistols,  muskets,  carbines,  and  such  like,  better  than 
jC20.  Then  Mr.  Peebles  asked  me  for  my  buff-coat ;  and  I 
told  him  they  had  no  order  to  take  away  my  a|)])arel.  lie 
told  me  I  was  not  to  dispute  their  orders  ;  but  if  1  would  not 
deliver  it,  he  would  carry  me  away  jirisoner,  and  had  me  out 
of  doors.  Yet  he  let  me  alone  unto  the  next  morning,  that  I 
must  wait  upon  Sir  John,  at  Halifax  ;  and,  coming  before 
him,  he  threatened  me,  and  said,  if  1  did  no_t  send  the  coat, 
for  it  was  too  good  for  me  to  keep.  I  told  ITim  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  demand  my  apparel ;  and  lie,  growing  into  a  fit, 
called  nie  rebel  and  traitor,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  the  coat 
with  all  speed,  he  would  send  me  where  I  did  not  like  well. 
]  told  him  I  was  no  rebel,  and  he  did  not  well  to  call  me  so 
before  these  soldiers  and  gentlemen,  to  make  me  tlie  mark 
for  everj'  one  to  shoot  at.  I  departed  the  room  ;  yet,  notwith- 
standing all  the  threatenings,  did  not  send  the  coat.  But  tlie 
next  day  he  sent  John  Lyster,  the  son  of  Mr.  Thomas  Lyster, 
of  Shipden  Hall,  for  this  coat,  with  a  letter,  verbatim  thus  : — 
'  Mr.  Hodson,  I  admire  you  will  play  the  child  so  with  me  as 
you  have  done,  in  writing  such  an  inconsiderate  letter.  Let 
me  have  the  buff-coat  sent  forthwith,  otherwise  you  shall  so 
hear  from  me  as  will  not  very  well  please  you.'  1  was  not  at 
home  when  this  messenger  came  ;  but  I  had  ordered  my  wife 
not  to  deliver  it,  but,  if  they  would  take  it,  let  them  look  to 
it :  and  lie  took  it  away  ;  a.'id  one  of  Sir  John's  brethren  wore 
it  many  years  after.  They  sent  Captain  Butt  to  compound 
withmy  wife  about  it ;  but  I  sent  word  I  would  have  my  own 
again  :  but  he  advised  me  to  take  a  price  for  it,  and  make  no 
more  ado.  I  said  it  was  hard  to  take  my  arms  and  Apparel 
too  ;  I  had  laid  out  a  great  deal  of  money  for  them  ;  I  hoped 
they  did  not  mean  to  destroy  me,  by  taking  my  goods  illegally 
from  me.  He  said  he  would  make  up  the  matter,  if  I  pleased, 
betwixt  us;  ami,  it  seems,  had  brought  Sir  John  to  a  price 
for  my  coat.  I  would  not  have  taken  XIO  for  it  ;  he  would 
have  given  abou'  £4  ;  but,  wanting  my  receipt  for  the  money, 
he  kept  both  sides,  and  I  had  never  satisfaction." — Memoirs 
of  Captain  Hodgson.     Edin.  1806,  p.  178. 


Note  D. 


L 


Ore  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime. 

And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time. 

*  »  »  *  « 

Death  had  he  seen  l/y  sudden  blow. 

By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow. — P.  298. 

In  this  character,  I  have  attempted  to  sketch  one  of  those 
Test  Indian  adventurers,  who,  during  the  course  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  were  pojjularly  known  by  the  name  of  Buca- 
niers.     The  successes  of  the  English  in  the  predatory  incui^ 
(ions  upon  Spanish  America,  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 


had  never  been  forgotten  ;  and,  from  that  period  downward, 
the  ex])loits  of  Drake  and  Raleigh  were  imitated,  U|)on  a 
smaller  scale  indeed,  but  with  equally  desperate  valor,  by 
small  bands  of  pirates,  gathered  from  all  nations,  but  chiefly 
French  and  English.  The  engrossing  policy  of  the  Sjianiards 
tended  greatly  to  increase  the  number  of  these  freebooters, 
from  whom  their  commerce  and  colonies  suffered,  in  the  issue, 
dreadful  calamity.  The  Windward  Islands,  whicli  the  Sjian- 
iards  did  not  deem  worthy  their  own  occupation,  had  been 
gradually  settled  by  adventurers  of  the  French  and  English 
nations.  But  Frederic  of  Toledo,  who  was  despatched  in 
iC30,  with  a  powerful  fleet,  against  the  Dutch,  had  orders  from 
the  Court  of  Madrid  to  destroy  these  colonies,  whose  vicinity 
at  once  offended  the  pride  and  excited  the  jealous  suspicions 
of  their  Spanish  neighbors.  This  order  the  Spanish  Admiral 
executed  with  sufficient  rigor;  but  the  only  consequence 
was,  that  the  planters,  being  rendered  desperate  by  persecu- 
tion, began,  under  the  well-known  name  of  Bucaniers,  to  com- 
mence a  retaliation  so  horridly  savage,  that  the  perusal  makes 
the  reader  shudder.  When  they  carried  on  their  depredations 
at  sea,  they  boarded,  without  respect  to  disparity  of  number, 
every  Spanish  vessel  that  came  in  their  way  ;  and,  demeaning 
themselves,  both  in  the  battle  and  after  the  conquest,  more 
like  demons  than  human  beings,  they  succeeded  in  impress- 
ing their  enemies  with  a  sort  of  superstitious  terror,  which 
rendered  them  incapable  of  offering  effectual  resistance.  From 
piracy  at  sea,  they  advanced  to  making  predatory  descents 
on  the  Spanish  territories  ;  in  which  they  displayed  the  same 
furious  and  irresistible  valor,  the  same  thirst  of  spoil,  and 
the  same  brutal  inhumanity  to  their  captives.  The  large 
treasures  which  they  acquired  in  their  adventures,  they  dissi- 
pated by  the  most  unbounded  licentiousness  in  gaming,  wo- 
men, wine,  and  debauchery  of  every  species.  When  their 
spoils  were  thus  wasted,  they  entered  into  some  new  associa- 
tion, and  undertook  new  adventures.  For  farther  particulars 
concerning  these  extraordinary  banditti,  the  reader  may  consult 
Raynal,  or  the  common  and  popular  book  called  the  History 
of  the  Bucaniers. 


Note  E. 


On  Marston  heath 


Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death. — P.  299. 

The  well-known  and  desperate  battle  of  Long-Marston  Moor, 
which  terminated  so  unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  Charles 
commenced  under  very  diflerent  auspices.  Prince  Rupert 
had  marched  with  an  army  of  20,000  men  for  the  relief  of 
York,  then  besieged  by  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  at  the  head  of 
the  Parliamentary  army,  and  the  Earl  of  Leven,  with  the 
Scottish  auxiliary  forces.  In  this  he  so  completely  succeeded, 
that  he  compelled  the  besiegers  to  retreat  to  Marston  Moor, 
a  large  open  plain,  about  eight  miles  distant  from  the  city. 
Thither  tliey  were  followed  by  the  Prince,  who  had  now 
united  to  his  army  the  garrison  of  York,  probably  not  less  than 
ten  thousand  men  strong,  under  the  gallant  Marquis  (then 
Earl)  of  Newcastle.  Whitelocke  has  recorded,  with  ranch 
impartiality,  the  following  particulars  of  this  eventful  day  : — 
"  The  rijrht  wing  of  the  Parliament  was  commaniied  by  Sii 
Thomas  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  all  his  liorsc,  and  three 
regiments  of  the  Scots  horse  ;  the  left  wing  was  commanded 
by  the  Earl  of  Manchester  and  Colonel  Cromwell.  One  body 
of  their  foot  was  commanded  by  Lord  Fairfax,  and  consisted 
of  his  foot,  and  two  brigades  of  the  Scots  foot  for  reserve  ;  anf. 
the  main  body  of  the  rest  of  the  foot  was  commanded  bj 
General  Leven. 

"  The  right  wing  of  the  Prince's  army  was  commanded  by 
the  Earl  of  Newcastle:  the  left  wing  by  the  Prince  himself 
and  the  main  body  by  General  Goring,  Sir  Charles  Lucas,  ant 


^58 


scorrs  poetical  works. 


Maior-Genml  Porter.     Tliu«  were  l>olh  lidrs  <lnmii   u|i  into 
ir.44        III  lliia  iMMture  botli  BriuiM  fared  rach 

■iiitl  idiMii  11  j;r>'ai 

c ,  ■ .  1  mill   I'lirliT,   iijioii 

I  lU'*  iiiaiii  botly.    Tlio  llipw  ifriirniU.  civiiiR  nil  lor 

out  of  tlie  liplJ,  anil  iiioiiy  of  llicir  wliliom  Owl,  and 

\,      .,  ,!.,«  h  (lirir  annt ;  llir  Kin^'i  fon-c»  loo  oagrrly  follow- 

'  '  V  lliciii,  was  ngnin 

I   rolMWi-U,  Willi  llio 

:i,  ;i:id  :iir  Tlioinat  Fairfax, 

f'-ll  ii|>oii  tlie  I'riiio''*  riglit 

M  a«,  mid  roiilMil  tlicm  ; 

.  rl<J,  iIh'V  fell  nllogctliiT 

tiilcil  ti«<lic4  ol  KiiiMTt  ami  (•orliij;.  anil  tulally  di»- 

I ,  and  oblainrd  a  uoiiiplclc  victory,  after  tliree  lioiirs' 

I  i  r.'u  I  Ml  battle  and  the  pursuit,  Konip  rfrkon  were  buried 

I     TlliMI  lvi::li>><inpn  ;  all  agrro  tliat  above  30(M)  of  the  Prince's 

Inin  in  thp  battle,  bexiileii  tlio.ic  in  the  clinoo,  and 

r^  tnkrii.  many  of  tlieir  chief  olTieiTS,  twenty-five 

veil  colon",  lO.lKH)  arin«,  two  wag- 

130  barp'U  of  (luwder,  anil  all  tiieir 

•." — WiiiTKLOCKlc's   Memoirs,  fol.   p.  89. 

I 

Ixinl  Clarendon  informn  os,  that  the  KiiiK,  previous  to  re- 
ceiving the  true  account  of  the  battle,  had  been  informed,  by 
an  expreMi  from  Oxfonl,  "  that  Prince  Rujiert  had  not  only  re- 
lieved York,  but  totally  defeated  the  ."cotii,  with  many  partic- 
nlan  to  confirm  it,  all  which  wai  so  much  believed  tliere,  that 
Ihcy  made  public  fires  of  joy  for  the  victory." 


Note  F. 


Monekton  and  Mitton  told  the  news. 

How  troops  of  Roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

.Ind  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast. 

Spurring  hi.i  palfrnj  northward,  past, 

Cursing  the  day  when  leal  or  meed 

First  lured  their  J.eslcy  o'er  the  Tweed.— V.  302. 

Monekton  and  Milton  are  villages  near  the  river  Ouse,  and 
not  very  ili<tant  from  the  field  of  battle.  The  particulars  of 
the  action  were  violently  disputed  at  the  time  ;  but  the  follow- 
ing extract,  from  the  Manuscript  History  of  the  Baronial  House 
of  Soinirville,  in  decisive  as  to  the  flight  of  the  Scotti-sh  gen- 
eral, the  Earl  of  Lcven.  The  parliculars  are  given  by  the  au- 
thor of  the  history  on  the  authority  of  his  father,  then  the  rep- 
res^nt.itive  of  the  family.  This  curious  manuscript  has  hcen 
pnb'i<hed  by  consent  of  my  noble  friend,  the  present  Lord  &'ora- 
frville. 

'•  The  order  of  this  preat  batti-U,  wherin  both  armies  was 
neer  of  ani>  cquall  niiinliT,  coasistinf,  to  the  best  calcnlatione, 
D'-^r  to  thn-i'  ■core  ilinii-.ind  men  upon  both  sydes,  I  shall  not 
take  OjKjn  me  to  tliiiryvc  ;  allieit,  from  the  draughts  then  taken 
upon  the  place,  and  iTilorniation  I  reccaved  from  this  gentle- 
man, who  being  then  a  volunteer,  as  having  no  command,  h.id 
opportunilie  and  liberlie  to  ryde  from  the  one  wing  of  the  armie 
to  the  other,  to  view  all  ther  several  squadrons  of  horse  and 
battallioni  tf  foot,  how  formed,  and  in  what  manner  drawn 
np,  with  every  other  circumstance  relating  to  the  fight,  and 
thai  both  as  to  the  King's  nr  '  that  of  the  Parliament's, 

amongst  whom,  untill  the  '.he  went  from  statione 

to  statiene  to  observe  ther  orilir  aail  '  •  that  the   dc- 

scriptione  of  this  battell,  with  the  vnr  on  both  fides 

at  the  beginning,  with  the  loss  of  the  roy.i  'I  the  sad 

cfTeel.s  ihat  followed  that  misfortune  us  to  I        >i  '■'«  inter- 

•U,  he»  been  so  often  done  alreaily  by  English  authors,  little  to 


our  rommendalione,  how  justly  I  shall  not  dispute,  seing  ths 
truth  is,  an  our  principall  geiierull  lied  that  night  iieer  fuurtia 
niylles  Iruin  ihe  place  of  Ihe  fight,  thai  part  of  the  arniiu  where 
iiininiided  being  totallic  routed  ;  but  it  is  at  true,  that  much 
viclurie  is  atlributi-d  to  Ihe  good  conduct  of  David  Lc»- 
►.  lie,  lievctemieiil-geiierall  of  our  hor^e.  Cruiiiwell  hiniself, 
that  iiiiiiioiic  of  fortune,  but  the  rod  of  (Sod's  wralli,  to  punish 
eftirwiiiil  lliri'e  rebellious  nations,  iliadained  not  to  lake  onlen 
from  him,  albeit  then  in  ihcKamc  qualilie  of  eoinniainl  for  the 
Parliaiiient,  as  being  lievcleiineiit-gcneral  to  the  K:irl  of  Miin- 
cht'Kler's  horse,  whom,  with  the  axsistance  of  the  Siots  horse, 
hnveing  routed  the  Prince's  right  wing,  as  he  had  done  thai  of 
the  I'urlianieiit's.  These  two  commamlcni  of  Ihu  iiome  upon 
that  wing  wisely  restrained  the  great  bodies  of  their  liorse  from 
perMiiiig  these  brockeii  troups,  but,  wheelling  to  the  left-hand, 
falls  in  upon  the  naked  Hanks  of  the  Prince's  main  baltullion  of 
foot,  carving  them  doniie  with  great  violence  ;  iielher  nictt 
lliey  with  any  great  resistance  untill  lliey  came  to  the  .Mari|ue» 
of  Newcastle  his  baltallioiie  of  White  Coats,  who,  first  pepjH'r- 
ing  lliein  soundly  with  tliershott,  when  they  came  to  charge, 
stoutly  bore  them  np  with  their  picks  that  they  could  not  enter 
to  break  them.  Here  the  Parliament's  horse  of  Ihat  wing  re- 
ccaved ther  greatest  losse,  and  a  stop  for  sometyme  putt  to  titer 
ho|>cd-for  viclorie  ;  and  that  only  by  the  stout  resistance  of  this 
gallant  hattallione,  which  consisted  necr  of  four  thousand  foot, 
until  at  length  a  Scots  regiment  of  dragonns,  coinmamled  by 
ColloiicU  Frizeall,  with  other  two,  was  brought  to  open  them 
upon  some  hand,  which  at  length  they  did,  when  all  the  am- 
munjtione  was  spent.  Having  refused  i|uarlers,  every  man  fell 
in  the  same  order  and  ranUc  wherein  he  had  foiiglilcn. 

"  Be  this  execution  was  done,  the  Prince  returned  from  the 
pcrsuite  of  the  right  wing  of  the  Parliament's  horse,  which  he 
had  beatten  and  followed  too  farrc,  to  the  losse  of  the  battell, 
which  ccrtanely,  in  all  men's  o|>inions,  he  might  have  caryed 
if  he  had  not  been  too  violent  upon  the  pnrsuite ;  which  gave 
his  enemies  upon  the  left-hand  opportunilie  to  disperse  and  cut 
douiic  his  infantrie,  who,  haveing  cleared  the  field  of  all  the 
standing  bodies  of  foot,  wer  now,  with  many 
of  their  oune,  standing  ready  to  r.'ceave  the  charge  of  his  all- 
most  s|iont  horses,  if  he  should  attempt  it ;  which  the  Prince 
observeing,  and  seeing  all  lost,  he  retreated  to  Yorke  with  two 
thousand  horse.  Notwithstanding  of  this,  ther  was  that  night 
such  a  consternatione  in  the  Pariiament  armies,  that  it's  be- 
lieved by  most  of  those  that  wer  there  present,  that  if  the  Prince, 
haveing  so  great  a  body  of  horse  inteire,  had  made  ane  onfall 
that  night,  or  the  ensueing  morning  be-tyme,  he  had  carryeil 
the  viclorie  out  of  ther  hands ;  for  it's  certane,  by  the  morn- 
ing's light,  he  had  rallyed  a  body  often  thousand  men,  wherof 
ther  was  neer  three  thousand  gallant  hor-e.  These,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  toune  and  garrisounc  of  Yorke,  might  have 
done  much  to  have  recovered  the  victory,  for  the  loss  of  this 
battell  in  effect  lost  the  King  and  his  inlerert  in  the  three  king- 
domes  ;  his  Majestie  never  being  able  eftir  this  to  make  head 
in  the  north,  but  lost  his  garrisons  every  day. 

"  As  for  Gencrall  Lesselie,  in  the  beginning  of  this  flight 
haveing  that  part  of  the  army  quite  brocken,  whare  he  had 
placed  himself,  by  the  valonr  of  the  Prince,  he  imagined,  ami 
was  confermed  by  the  opinione  of  others  then  upon  the  place 
with  him,  that  the  battell  was  irrecoverably  lost,  seeing  they 
wer  fleeing  upon  all  hands  ;  thcirfore  they  hurablie  intreated 
his  excellence  to  reteir  and  wait  his  better  fortune,  which, 
without  farder  advyscing,  he  did  ;  and  never  drew  bridle  untill 
he  came  the  lenth  of  Leads,  having  ridden  all  that  night  with 
a  cloak  of  drop  de  bcrric  about  him,  belonging  to  this  gentle- 
man of  whom  I  write,  then  in  his  retinue,  with  many  other 
officers  of  good  qualitie.  It  was  neer  twelve  the  next  day  be- 
for  they  had  the  certanety  who  was  ma.ster  of  the  field,  when 
at  length  ther  arryves  ane  expresse,  sent  by  David  Lesselie,  to 
acquaint  the  General  they  had  obtained  a  most  glorious  vic- 
tory, and  that  the  Prince,  with  his  brocken  troupes,  was  fled 
from  Yorke.  This  intelligence  was  somewhat  amazeing  to 
these  gentlemen  that  had  been  eye-witnesses  to  the  disorder  oi 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


35U 


tlie  armie  before  tlier  letearing,  and  ha;l  tlien  accompany ed 
the  General  in  liis  flight ;  wl.o,  ie.nj,  much  wcjryed  that  eve- 
ning of  the  battel!  with  ordering  of  h's  trrrie,  and  now  quite 
spei'.t  with  his  long  journey  in  the  night,  had  casten  iiimselfe 
douue  upon  a  bed  to  rest,  when  this  gentleman  comeing  quy- 
etly  into  his  chamber,  he  awoke,  an;l  hastily  cryes  out,  "  Lieve- 
teunent-co.'lone!!,  what  news  V — 'AH  is  safe,  may  it  please 
vour  Excellenoe  "  the  Parliament's  armie  hes  obtained  a  great 
victory;'  and  then  delyvers  the  letter.  The  Generall,  upon 
the  hearing  of  this,  knocked  upon  his  breast,  and  sayes,  '  I 
would  to  God  I  had  died  upon  the  place  !'  and  then  opens  the 
letter,  which,  in  a  few  lines,  gave  ane  account  of  the  victory, 
and  in  the  close  pressed  liis  speedy  returne  to  the  armie,  which 
he  did  the  next  day,  being  accompanyed  some  niylles  back  by 
this  gentleman,  who  then  takes  his  leave  of  him,  atid  receaved 
at  parting  many  expressions  of  kyndenesse,  with  promises  that 
he  would  never  be  unmyndful  of  his  care  anil  res])ect  towards 
him  ;  and  in  the  end  he  intreats  him  to  present  his  service  to 
all  his  friends  and  acquaintances  in  Scotland.  Thereftir  the 
Generall  sets  forward  in  his  journey  for  the  armie,  as  this  gen- 
tleman did  for  ,  in  order  to  his 
transportations  for  Pcotland,  wliere  he  arryved  sex  dayes  eftir 
the  fight  of  Mestonne  Muir,  and  gave  the  first  true  account  and 
deserijitione  of  that  great  battell,  wherein  the  Covenanters  then 
gloryed  soe  much,  that  they  impiously  boasted  the  Lord  had 
now  signally  appeared  for  his  cause  and  jjcople  ;  it  being  ordi- 
nary for  them,  dureing  the  whole  time  of  this  warre,  to  attrib- 
ute the  greatness  of  their  success  to  the  goodnes  and  justice 
of  ther  cause,  untill  Divine  Justice  trysted  them  with  some 
Crosse  dispensatione,  and  then  you  might  have  heard  this  lan- 
guage from  them,  '  That  it  pleases  the  Lord  to  give  his  oune 
the  heavyest  end  of  the  tree  to  bear,  that  the  saints  and  the 
people  of  God  must  still  be  sufterers  while  they  are  here  away, 
that  the  malignant  party  was  God's  rod  to  punish  them  for 
ther  unthankfulnesse,  which  in  the  end  he  will  cast  into  the 
fire;'  with  a  thousand  other  expressions  and  scripture  cita- 
tions, prophanely  and  blasphemously  uttered  by  them,  to  palli- 
ate ther  villainie  and  rebellion." — Memoires  of  the  Somcr- 
vilUs.     Edin.  1815. 


Note  G. 


With  his  barh'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say, 
Stout  Cromwell  has  redcem'd  the  day. — P.  302. 

Cromwell,  with  liis  regiment  of  cuirassiers,  had  a  principal 
share  in  turning  the  fate  of  the  day  at  Marston  Moor ;  which 
was  equally  matter  of  triumj)h  to  the  Independents,  and  of 
grief  and  heart-burning  to  the  Presbyterians  and  to  the  Scot- 
tish. Principal  Baillie  expresses  his  dissatisfaction  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  The  Independents  sent  up  one  quickly  to  assure  that  all 
the  glory  of  that  night  was  theirs  ;  and  they  and  their  Major- 
General  Cromwell  had  done  it  all  there  alone  ;  but  Captain 
Stuart  afterward  showed  the  vanity  and  falsehood  of  their 
.  disgraceful  relation.  God  gave  us  that  victory  wonderfully. 
There  were  three  generals  on  each  side,  Lesley,  Fairfax,  and 
Manchester  ;  Rupert,  Newcastle,  and  King.  Within  half  an 
hour  and  less,  all  six  took  them  to  their  heels  ; — this  to  you 
a'lone.  The  disadvantage  of  the  ground,  and  violence  of  the 
flower  of  Prince  Rupert's  horse,  carried  all  our  right  wing 
down  ;  only  Eglinton  kept  ground,  to  his  great  loss  ;  his  lieu- 
tenant-crowner,  i  brave  man,  I  fear  shall  die,  and  his  son  Rob- 
ert be  mutilated  of  an  arm.  Lindsay  had  the  greatest  hazard 
of  any  ;  but  the  beginning  of  the  victory  was  from  David  Les- 
ly',  who  before  was  much  suspected  of  evil  designs  ;  he.  with 
the  Scots  and  Cromwell's  horse,  having  the  advantage  of  the 
ground,  did  dissipate  all  before  them." — Bailhe's  Letters 
o»(Z  Journals.     Edin.  1785,  8vo.  ii.  36. 


Note  H. 

Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 

Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 

Train'  d  forward  to  his  bloody  fall. 

By  Oirsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  ? — P.  302. 

In  a  poem,  entitled  "  The  Lay  of  the  Reedwater  Minstrel,' 
Newcastle,  1809,  this  tale,  with  many  others  peculiar  to  the 
valley  of  the  Reed,  is  commemorated  : — "The  particular  of 
the  traditional  story  of  I'arcy  Reed  of  Trougher/3  and  lie 
Halls  of  Girsonfield,  the  author  had  from  a  des.cndant  of  th« 
family  of  Reed.  From  his  account,  it  appears  that  Percivil 
Reed,  Esquire,  a  keeper  of  Reedsdale,  was  betrayed  by  the 
Halls  (hence  denominated  tlie  false-hearted  Ha's)  to  a  band  of 
moss-troopers  of  the  name  of  Crosier,  who  slew  him  at  Bating- 
hope,  near  the  source  of  the  Reed. 

"  The  Halls  were,  after  the  murder  of  Parcy  Reed,  held  in 
such  universal  abhorrence  and  contempt  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Reedsdale,  for  their  cowardly  and  treacherous  behavior,  that 
they  were  obliged  to  leave  tlie  country."  In  another  jiassage, 
we  are  informed  that  the  ghost  of  the  injured  Borderer  is 
supposed  to  haunt  the  banks  of  a  brook  called  the  Pringle. 
These  Redes  of  Troughend  were  a  very  ancient  family,  as  may 
be  conjectured  from  their  deriving  their  surname  irom  the 
river  on  which  they  had  their  mansion.  An  epitaph  on  one 
of  their  tombs  afBrms,  that  tlie  family  held  their  lands  of 
Troughend,  which  are  situated  on  the  Reed,  nearly  opposite  to 
Otterburn,  for  the  incredible  space  of  nine  hundred  yearn. 


Note  I. 

And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name. 
The  moated  mound  of  Risingham, 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Woodbarne's  cottages  and  trees. 
Some  ancient  sculptor' s  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone. — P.  302. 

Risingham,  upon  the  river  Reed,  near  the  beautiful  hamlet 
of  Woodburn,  is  an  ancient  Roman  station,  formerly  called 
Habitancum.  Camden  says,  that  in  his  time  the  popular  ac- 
count bore,  that  it  had  been  the  abode  of  a  deity,  or  giant, 
called  Magon  ;  and  appeals,  in  support  of  this  tradition,  as 
well  as  to  the  etymology  of  Risingham,  or  Reisenham,  which 
signifies,  in  German,  the  habitation  of  the  giants,  to  two  Ro- 
man altars  taken  out  of  the  river,  inscribed,  Deo  Mogoxti 
Cadenorum.  About  half  a  mile  distant  from  Risingham, 
upon  an  eminence  covered  with  scattered  birch-trees  and  frag- 
ments of  rock,  there  is  cut  upon  a  large  rock,  in  alto  relievo, 
a  remarkable  figure,  called  Robiu  of  Risingham,  or  Robin  of 
Reedsdale.  It  presents  a  hunter,  with  his  bow  raised  in  ono 
hand,  and  in  the  other  wliat  seems  to  be  a  hare.  There  is  a 
quiver  at  the  back  of  the  figure,  and  he  is  dressed  in  a  long 
coat,  or  kirtle,  coming  down  to  the  knees,  and  meeting  close, 
with  a  girdle  hound  round  him.  Dr.  Horseley,  who  saw  all 
monuments  of  antiquity  with  Roman  eyes,  inclines  to  think 
this  figure  a  Roman  archer:  and  certainly  ihe  bow  is  rather 
of  tlie  ancient  size  than  of  that  which  was  so  formidable  in 
the  hands  of  the  English  archers  of  the  middle  ages.  But  the 
rudeness  of  the  whole  figure  prevents  our  founding  strongly 
upon  mere  inaccuracy  of  proportion.  The  po))ular  tradition 
is,  that  it  represents  a  giant,  whose  brother  resided  at  Wood- 
burn,  and  he  himself  at  Risingham.  It  adds,  that  they  sub- 
sisted by  hunting,  and  that  one  of  them,  finding  the  game  be- 
come too  scarce  to  support  them,  poisoned  his  companion,  in 
whose  memory  tiie  monument  was  engraved.  What  strange 
and  tragic  circumstance  may  be  concealed  under  this  legend, 
or  whether  it  is  utterly  apocryphal,  it  is  now  impossible  in 
discover. 

The  name  of  Robin  of  Redesdale  was  given  to  one  of  the 
Umfravilles,  Lords  of  Prudhoe   and  afterwards  to  one  Milliard, 


3G0 


scorr'S  poetical  ^voRKs. 


•  frlr.n!    -  k- 

Thi.  i.f  |«I 

f»il„  ,    ..  .  .........  ^  ., a  liw  M>o,  t<ir  Julin 

Wixolttlle. — i)«e  HoLlNauiCD,  ad  aaauM,  MtiO. 


Note  K. 

— ^  />•  Man  retrre 

//Mfanirr.— P.  308. 

Xl'-  '•  '               ^"  worr.  in  ro»1ity.  morf  rqui- 

lat  lro'»  tl""  •                      '  'y 

on,:.  Tiloy  cli;                   '.as 

ma>  tnrrd,  lo  Ibe  distribution  aiul  the  iniicril- 

\\  on  wu  completed,  the  fund  of  prize-mon- 

ey .%  l.r,  each  part jr  taking  his  oath 

tha;  I  no  part  ufthe  conimon  utouk. 

If  i,  iilar,  llic  pUM- 

fh"  key  or  island, 

I  t.,  ul'  llif  vcscci  had 

"!' tlio  oiittit.  TliC!* 
wrt-i  <>,  Jamaica,  St.  Do- 

miiv  'tlomcnt.    Tlic  sur- 

geon's n  '    the   price  of  provisions 

knd    ?•■  -d.     Then   followed   tlie 

con  uo  to  the  !  1  woonded,  rated  accord- 

ing' d  ;  tui  six  hundred  pieces 

of  •  '   an  arm  or  leg,  and  so  in 

projH.r:    .a. 

'•  AH'.r  tlii«  net  of  jo«tic«  and  hnmanity,  the  remainder  of 
ihf  '  n»  there  were  Buca- 

nii  r  .iin  to  a  sin^'le  share, 

a*  (he  n^i  ;  i>'  i.im  wiili  two  or  three,  in 

proiMiriiun  as  1  ,  i-elf  to  their  satisfaction. 

VVIkmi  tlie  vessel  was  not  the  property  of  the  whole  company, 
the  |~'r-on  who  had  fitted  it  oat,  and  furnished  it  with  necessary 
arni~  ai.d  .an:  i;ii.:'.;on,  was  entitled  to  a  tliirJ  of  all  tlie  prizes. 
Favur  had  nevtr  any  influence  in  the  division  of  the  booty,  for 
every  share  was  determined  by  lot.  Inslances  of  snch  rigid 
jn.«'!  ly  met  with,  and  tliey  extended  even 

to   ■.  •   was  piven  lo  (he  man  who  was 

knowi.  ;■  :'ore  their 

heir.     I''  :nate,  hia 

par'  :is,  when  tliey  were  known.    If  there 

wrr  I'ons,  it  was  distributed  in  charity  to 

the  jMjor  and  to  churches,  which  were  to  pray  for  tiie  person  in 
win."'  i.amo  tlicsc  benefactions  were  given,  the  fruits  of  i.nhu- 
maii.  !  lit  necessary  piratical  plunders." — Raynal's  History 
of  /.i,ri,pean  Setllemmts  in  the  East  and  West  Indies,  by 
Juiicniund.    Lond.  177C,  8vo.  iii.  p.  41. 


Note  L. 
The  course  of  Tecs.—T.  306. 

T  Castle  commands  the  rich  and  mag- 

niltv  Iininediately  adjacent  to  the  river, 

the  binks  arc  vrr)  ■  .ded  ;  at  a  little  dii-tance  they 

are  more  open  anii  '■■••,   being  interspersed  with 

hedgp-rows,  and  wi  ..f"  great  size  and  age,  they 

■till  retain  the  richnt  -  i-,  vr.  ,  ry.    The  river  itself 

flows  in  a  deep  trench   of  *•■  ai-(ly  limestone  and 

marble.    The   :        ■  '  ■  conrH!   is   from   a 

handsome  mi.  f  ■<«,  hy  (ho  late  Mr. 

Morrilt  of   Rokcl>y.      I  '  ■  quarries 

•eem  to  have  been  of  son  ,.  cliff  by 

Egli.-lon,  13  found  on  eche  side  ot   I  iile,  wont 

to  be  taken  up  booth  by  marbelers  i      i  L   ^lelle  and 


of  r.gli'ton,  and  partly  to  have  been  wrought  by  them,  ar.J 
partly  nold  onwroujjht  to  others." — Itinerary.  0»fonl,  1708 
8vo,  p.  H« 


Note  iL 

Kaliston')  Sray  ruins. — P.  307. 

The  ruins  of  this  abbey,  or  priory  (for  Tanner  calls  it  tho 
former,  and  Leiand  tho  laltcr),  are  beautifully  situated  upon 
the  angle,  formed  by  a  little  dell  called  Thon>gni,  at  its  junc- 
tion with  the  Tees.  A  good  part  of  the  religiuut  house  is  still 
in  M  '  liabitahlo,  but  (he  church  in  in  ruin*.     Kjilixtor. 

wa~  !u  St.  Mary  and  St.  John  the  Baplik(,  and  is 

supput.l  lu  liuvc  been  founded  by  Ralph  de  Mullun  about  (he 
end  o(  Henry  the  t-econd'»  reign.  There  were  formerly  the 
tombs  of  tlio  fauulic«  of  Rokuby,  Bowes,  and  Fitz-Ilugh. 


Note  N. 


the  mound. 


liaised  by  that  Lrgion  lon/r  rcnoicn'd. 

Whose  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim. 

Of  pious,  faithful,  coyqucring  famt. — P.  307. 

Close  behind  the  George  Inn  at  Greta  Bridge,  there  is  a  well- 
°  Roman  encampment,  surroonded  with  a  triple  ditch, 
,'  ecn   (lie  river  fJrela  nml   n  brook  called  the  Tutta. 
Tiio  I'yur  cntr:'  I.     Very  many  Ro- 

man altars  an  .und  in  the  vicinity, 

most  of  which  ore  prei^crvcd  at  Kokeby  by  my  friend  iMr.  Mor- 
ritt.  Among  otliers  is  a  small  votive  altar,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion, LKo.  VI.  VIC.  p.  F.  F.,  which  has  been  rendered,  Legio. 
Sezta.  f'iclrix.  Pia.  Fortia.  Fidelia. 


Note  0. 

Rokeby's  turrets  high.— P.  307. 

This  ancient  manor  long  gave  name  to  a  family  by  whom  it 
is  said  to  have  been  '  from  (he  Conquest  downward, 

and  who  are  at  dilTi .  listingnished  in  history.    It  was 

the  Bnroii  of  Rokeby  who  finally  defeated  the  in.surrection  of 
the  Earl  of  North uinberland,  tempore  Hen.  If.,  of  which 
Ilolinshed  gives  the  following  account: — "  The  King,  adver- 
tised hereof,  caused  a  great  armie  to  be  assembled,  and  came 
forward  with  the  same  towards  his  enemies  ;  but  yer  the  King 
came  to  Nottingham,  Sir  Thomas,  or  (as  other  copies  haiic) 
Sir  Rafe  Rokesbie,  Shiriffe  of  Yorkeshire,  assembled  the  forces 
of  the  countrie  to  resist  the  Earlo  and  his  power  ;  coming  lo 
Grimbautbrigs,  beside  Knarcsborongh,  there  to  stop  them  the 
jia'sage  ;  but  they  returning  aside,  got  to  Weatherbie,  and  so 
to  Tadcaster,  and  finally  came  forward  unto  Bramhum-nioor, 
near  to  Haizlcwood,  where  they  chose  their  ground  meet  to 
fight  upon.  The  ShirifTe  was  as  rcadie  to  giue  hattell  as  the 
Erie  lo  receiue  it ;  and  so  with  a  standard  of  S.  George  spread, 
set  fiercclic  vpon  the  Earic,  who,  vndcr  a  standard  of  his  owne 
armes,  encountered  his  aduci^aries  with  great  manhood.  There 
was  a  sore  incounter  and  cruell  conflict  betwixt  the  parlies,  but 
in  the  end  the  victorie  fell  to  thi  ShirifTe.  The  Lord  Bardolfe 
was  taken,  but  sore  wounded,  so  that  he  shortlie  after  (iied  of 
tlie  hurts.  As  for  the  Earle  of  Northumberland,  he  was  slain 
outright ;  so  (hat  now  the  jjrophecy  was  fulfilled,  which  gaue 
an  inkling  of  this  his  heauy  bap  long  before,  namelie, 

'  Stirps  Fersitina  perict  confusa  ruina.' 

For  this  Earle  was  the  stocke  and  maine  roote  of  all  that  were 
left  aliue,  called  by  the  name  of  Per^ie  ;  and  of  manie  more  by 
diners  slaughters  dispatched.     For  whose  misfortune  the  peo- 


pte  were  not  a  little  sorrie,  making  report  of  tlie  gentleman's 
valiantnesse,  renowne,  and  honour,  and  applieing  vnto  him 
ferteine  lamentable  verses  out  of  Lucaine,  saieng, 

'  Sed  nos  nee  sanguis,  ncc  tantum  vulnera  nostri 
Affecere  senis  :  quantum  gestata  per  urbem 
Ora  (lucis,  qua;  transfixo  deformia  pilo 
Vidimus.' 

For  his  head,  full  of  siluer  horie  haires,  being  put  upon  a  stake, 
was  openlie  carried  through  London,  and  set  vjion  the  bridge 
of  the  same  citie  :  in  like  manner  was  the  Lord  Uardolfes." — 
Holinsued's  C/ironidcs.  Loud.  1808,  4to,  iii.  45.  The 
Rokeby,  or  Rokesby  family,  continued  to  be  distinguished  un- 
til the  great  Civil  War,  wlien,  having  embraced  the  cause  of 
Charles  I.,  they  suffered  severely  by  fines  and  confiscations. 
The  estate  then  passed  from  its  ancient  possessors  to  the  family 
of  the  Robinsons,  from  whom  it  was  purchased  by  the  father 
of  my  valued  friend,  the  present  proprietor. 


Note  P. 


j3  stern  and  lone,  yet  lovely  road, 

^s  e'er  the  foot  of  Mins&el  trade.— V.  308. 

What  follows  is  an  attempt  to  describe  the  romantic  glen,  or 
rather  ravine,  through  which  the  Greta  finds  a  passage  between 
Rokeby  and  Jlortham  ;  the  fornter  situated  upon  the  left  bank 
of  Greta,  the  latter  on  the  right  bank,  about  half  a  mile  nearer 
to  its  junction  with  the  Tees.  The  river  runs  with  very  great 
rapidity  over  a  bed  of  solid  rock,  broken  by  many  shelving  de- 
scents, down  which  the  stream  dashes  with  great  noise  and 
imi)etuosity,  vindicating  its  etymology,  which  has  been  derived 
from  the  Gothic,  Oridan,  to  clamor.  The  banks  partake  of 
the  same  wild  and  romantic  character,  being  chiefly  lofty  cliffs 
of  limestone  rock,  whose  gray  color  contrasts  admirably  with 
the  various  trees  and  shrubs  whicli  find  root  among  their  crev- 
ices, as  well  as  with  the  hue  of  the  ivy,  which  clings  around 
them  in  profusion,  and  hangs  down  from  their  projections  in 
long  sweeping  tendrils.  At  other  points  the  rocks  give  place  to 
precipitous  banks  of  earth,  bearing' large  trees  intermixed  with 
copsewood.  In  one  si)ot  the  dell,  which  is  elsewhere  very 
narrow,  widens  for  a  space  to  leave  room  for  a  dark  grove  of 
yew-trees,  intermixed  liere  and  there  with  aged  pines  of  un- 
common size.  Directly  opposite  to  this  sombre  thicket,  the 
cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  the  Greta  are  tall,  white,  and  fringed 
with  all  kinds  of  deciduous  shrubs.  The  whole  scenery  of  this 
spot  is  so  much  adapted  to  the  ideas  of  superstition,  that  it  has 
acquired  the  name  of  Blockula,  from  the  place  where  the 
Swedish  witches  were  supposed  to  hold  their  Sabbath.  The 
dell,  however,  has  superstitions  of  its  own  growth,  for  it  is 
supposed  to  be  haunted  by  a  female  spectre,  called  the  Dobie 
of  Mortham.  The  cause  assigned  for  her  appearance  is  a  la- 
dy's having  been  whilom  murdered  in  the  wood,  in  evidence 
of  which,  her  blood  is  shown  upon  the  stairs  of  the  old  tower 
at  Mortham.  But  whether  she  was  slain  by  a  jealous  husband, 
or  by  savage  banditti,  or  by  an  uncle  who  coveted  her  estate, 
or  by  a  rejected  lover,  are  points  upon  which  the  traditions  of 
Rokeby  do  not  enable  us  to  decide. 


Note  Q. 

Ifow  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar. — P.  309. 

That  this  is  a  general  superstition,  is  well  known  to  all  who 
have  been  on  ship-board,  or  who  have  conversed  with  sea- 
men. The  most  formidable  whistler  that  I  remember  to  have 
met  with  was  the  apparition  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Leakey,  who, 
about  1636,  resided,  we  are  told,  at  Mynehead,  in  Somerset, 
■x'here  her  only  son  drove  a  considerable  trade  between  that 
46 


port  and  Waterford,  and  was  owner  of  several  vessels.  Tho 
old  gentlewoman  was  of  a  social  disposition,  and  so  accejjtable 
to  her  friends,  that  they  used  to  say  to  her  and  to  each  other, 
it  were  pity  such  an  excellent  good-natured  old  lady  should 
die  ;  to  which  she  was  wont  to  reply,  that  whatever  p.easure 
they  might  find  in  her  company  just  now,  they  would  not 
greatly  like  to  see  or  converse  with  her  after  death,  which  nev- 
ertheless she  was  apt  to  think  might  hajipen.  Accordingly, 
after  her  death  and  funeral,  she  began  to  appear  to  various 
persons  by  night  and  by  noonday,  in  her  own  house,  in  the 
town  and  fields,  at  sea  and  upon  shore.  So  far  had  she  de- 
parted from  her  former  urbanity,  tjiat  she  is  recorded  to  have 
kicked  a  doctor  of  medicine  for  his  impolite  negligence  in 
omitting  to  hand  her  over  a  stile.  It  was  also  her  humor  to 
appear  upon  the  quay,  and  call  for  a  boat.  But  es|)ecially  so 
soon  as  any  of  her  son's  ships  approached  the  Ii  arbor,  "this 
ghost  would  appear  in  the  same  garb  and  likeness  as  when  she 
was  alive,  and,  standing  at  the  mainmast,  would  blow  with  a 
whistle,  and  though  it  were  never  so  great  a  calm,  jet  immediate- 
ly there  would  arise  a  most  dreadful  storm,  that  would  break, 
wreck,  and  drown  ship  and  goods."  When  she  had  thus  pro- 
ceeded until  her  son  had  neither  credit  to  freight  a  vessel,  nor 
could  have  procured  men  to  sail  in  it,  she  began  to  attack  the 
persons  of  his  family,  and  actually  strangled  their  only  child  in 
the  cradle.  The  rest  of  her  story,  showing  how  the  spectre 
looked  over  the  shoulder  of  Iier  daughter-in-law  while  dressing 
her  hair  at  a  looking-glass,  and  how  Mrs.  Leakey  the  younger 
took  courage  to  address  her,  and  how  the  beldam  dispatched 
her  to  an  Irish  prelate,  famous  for  his  crimes  and  misfortunes, 
to  exhort  him  to  repentance,  and  to  apprize  him  that  otherwise 
he  would  be  hanged,  and  how  the  bishop  was  satisfied  with 
replying,  that  if  he  was  born  to  be  hanged,  he  should  not  be 
drowned  ; — all  these,  with  many  more  particulars,  may  be 
found  at  the  end  of  one  of  John  Dunton's  publications,  called 
Athenianism,  London,  1710,  where  the  tale  is  engrossed  uudei 
the  title  of  The  Apparition  Evidence. 


Note  R. 


Of  EricJc's  cap  and  Elmo's  light.— P.  309. 

"  This  Ericus,  King  of  f^weden,  in  his  time  was  held  seeoni 
to  none  in  the  magical  art ;  and  he  was  so  familiar  with  the 
evil  spirits,  which  he  exceedingly  adored,  that  which  way 
soever  he  turned  his  cap,  the  wind  would  presently  blow  that 
way.  From  this  occasion  he  was  called  Windy  Cap  ;  and 
many  men  believed  that  Regnerus,  King  of  Denmark,  by  the 
conduct  of  this  Ericus,  who  was  his  nephew,  did  happily 
extend  his  piracy  into  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  and 
conquered  many  countries  and  fenced  cities  by  his  cunning, 
and  at  last  was  his  coadjutor;  that  by  the  consent  of  the 
nobles,  he  should  be  chosen  King  of  Sweden,  which  continue'' 
a  long  time  with  him  very  happily,  until  lie  died  of  old  age 
— Olaus,  ut  supra,  p.  45. 


Note  S. 


The  Demon  Frigatc.—V.  309. 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  well-known  nautical  superstition 
concerning  a  fantastic  vessel,  called  by  sailors  the  Flying 
Dutchman,  and  supposed  to  be  seen  about  the  latitude  of  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope.  She  is  distinguished  from  earthly  vessels 
by  bearing  a  press  of  sail  when  all  others  are  unable,  from 
stress  of  weather,  to  show  an  inch  of  canvas.  The  cause  of 
her  wandering  is  not  altogether  certain ;  but  the  general  ac- 
count is,  that  she  was  originally  a  vessel  loaded  with  great 
wealth,  on  board  of  which  some  horrid  act  of  murder  and 
piracy  had  been  committed  ;  that  the  plague  broke  out  among 
he  wicked  crew  who  had  perpetrated  the  crime,  and  that  they 


362 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


■aiUal  li  rain  from  port  to  port.  afTrrine,  a*  the  pricf  ofdipltrr, 

V  I 

Ir 

li   . 

r  -1 

I  '  coiMiilrnxi  by  l)ie  luimucri 

* 

>  l»r.  John  I^ydrti,  ha*  iiitroclncpJ 

I'  ,...  ,.:-  .->.>Mmor  liidinrr,  ini|>uliii;:,  willi 

.   iliP  drvsiHul  juclgincnt  to  tlio  Tint  uliip 
iiiji  111  ril  lbs  «lave  iraJa  : — 


•  lu.-n  r\>.i 

r 
It 
i: 

I! 
A 

Faint  Bi 

To r 

i;         .! 
A' 

T.. 
T.. 
T. 


i'     '  >'»  palmjr  slioro 
il  iM|iiivii<  lion.' ; 
^tlll  with  vhrinkiiig  bcanu 
the  oi-onn  sln-nni!! ; 
.i-r  hi>m»  lind  n-arM, 
■  i-il  plii'ine  uppt-ar'd. 
.'.  on  their  watery  bier, 
,...  ,..M.  riiorc  the  sailon  aleer ; 
from  |>ort  to  |)ort,  they  cue  in  vain, 
'     '    A,  mutoatly  fail  tlic  main. 

:;lil  anil  buoynnt  wavo  is  seen 

II  till' K'a-weetis  greon, 
•  I  liTilli'si  tree, 
'ca  • 

Hi-ara  to  sing. 
Nor  liovrnns  snow-birN  spread  tlic  downy  wing, 
Fix'd  ax  a  rock  amid  the  boundless  plain. 
The  yellow  Klreani  (loUutes  the  stagnant  main, 

Ti"  '   -  ■'  - '■  ■  ■  -lit  the  funeral  flames  axpire, 

A  ■  imites  the  glia«tly  pyre. 

'       on  weltering  billows  roll'd, 
A''  •«  eoune  to  hold, 

Srei:;:..;;  ;h.  -..y  sailor"  guide 

Til''  [row  «!•  .1  wind  and  tide; 

T'      ~  ~  lip.  ill  iiii'l  (;liiii|»ing  light, 

G.  on  the  shuddering  wnteh  at  night, 

Unbiest  ot  God  and  man! — Till  lime  i-ball  end, 
Its  ^iew  f-lrrinre  horror  lo  the  ^tlirln  .shall  lend.*' 


Note  T. 

Bff  some  desert  isle  or  hiij. — P.  309. 

What  contributed  much  to  the  security  of  the  Bacaniers 
about  the  Windward  Islands,  was  the  great  number  of  little 
islrtt,  called  in  that  country  knjs.  These  are  !.^nall  sandy 
pal.  h.-n.  ap|iearing  just  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  covered 
oiil,  with  a  few  bushes  and  weeds,  but  sometimes  affording 
spnniri  of  water,  and,  in  general,  much  frequented  by  turtle. 
Borh  little  uninhabited  spots  afforded  the  pirates  good  harbors, 
either  for  refitting  or  for  the  purpose  of  ambush  ;  they  were 
O'  '      'lie  hiding-place  of  their  treasure,  and  often  af- 

f  'er  to  themselves.     As  many  of  the   atrocities 

w  eil   on   their   prLioners  were  committed  in 

■  I.  —  -ome  of  these  keys  which  even  now  have 

B'  among  seamen,  and  where  they  are 

w  I  .  on  to  remain  ashore  at  night,  on  ac- 

count of  the  visionary  terrors  incideut  to  places  which  have 
been  tbo*  contamin-ii'd. 


2SOTE   V 

Before  the  gate  of  Morth .,: ..—P.  310. 

The  castle  of  Mortham,  which  Leiand  terms  "Mr.  Rokes- 
by's  Place,  in  ripa  ciltr,  scant  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Greta 
Uridge,  and  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beneath  into  Tees,"  is  a 
picturesque  tower,  surroDuded  by  buildings  of  different  ages, 


now  converted  into  a  fnrin-house  and  ofKces,  The  battlements 
of  the  tower  itiwdf  are  ningularly  elegant,  the  arcbileel  having 
broken  them  at  n-giilnr  intervals  into  ditVen'nt  heighls ;  while 
tliuw!  at  the  corners  of  the  tower  project  iiilo  oeluiigular  tur- 
rets. They  are  aluo  from  space  lo  space  covered  wilh  ntuni'S 
laid  Ben>>s  lliem,  as  in  modern  enibmnures,  the  whole  forming 
an  nneuinmon  and  beaulifiil  effect.  The  surroiiniliiig  build- 
iiign  aru  of  a  less  happy  form,  being  poiiiled  into  high  and  Kleep 
roofs.  A  wall,  with  embrasures,  encloses  the  southi  rn  front, 
where  a  low  portal  arch  aflbrds  an  entry  to  what  was  the  cas- 
tle-court. At  some  ilislance  is  most  happily  placed,  b<Mweeu 
tlie  stems  of  two  niagnitieent  elms,  the  nionumeiit  alluded  lo 
in  the  text.  It  is  said  to  have  been  brought  from  the  ruins  of 
Eglislon  Priory,  and,  from  the  armory  wilh  wliieli  il  is  richly 
carved,  np|»':>rs  to  have  been  a  lonih  of  the  Fil/.-IIughs. 

The  situaliun  of  Morlham  is  eminenlly  beautiful,  oci-upying 
a  high  bank,  at  the  bottom  of  wliieli  the  Greta  winds  out  of 
the  dark,  narrow,  and  romantic  dell,  which  the  text  bus  at- 
tempted to  describe,  and  flows  onwani  throngli  a  more  0|icn 
valley  to  meet  the  Tees  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
castle.  Mortham  is  surrounded  by  old  trees,  liappily  and 
widely  grouped  wilh  Mr.  Morrill's  new  plantations. 


Note  V. 


There  dig,  and  tomb  your  jirrciviis  lirnp, 
And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep. — P.  311. 

If  time  did  not  |M'rmil  the  Bucaniers  to  lavish  away  their 
plunder  in  their  usual  debaucheries,  they  were  wont  to  hide 
it,  with  many  superstitious  solemnities,  in  the  desert  i.slaiids 
and  keys  which  they  frequented,  and  where  much  treasure, 
whose  lawless  owners  perished  without  reclaiming  it,  is  still 
sup|iosed  to  be  concealed.  The  most  cruel  of  mankind  are 
often  the  most  superstitious ;  and  these  pirates  are  said  to 
have  had  recourse  to  a  horrid  ritual,  in  order  lo  secure  an 
unearthly  guardian  lo  tlieir  treasures.  They  killcil  a  negro 
or  Spaniard,  and  buried  him  wilh  the  treasure,  believing  that 
his  spirit  would  haunt  the  spot,  and  terrify  away  all  inlruiUrs. 
I  cannot  produce  any  other  authority  on  which  this  custom  is 
ascribed  lo  them  than  that  of  maritime  tradition,  which  is, 
however,  anijily  snflicient  for  the  purposes  of  poetry. 


Note  W, 


The  power 


That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 
To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, 
.Ind  foree  him,  as  by  magic  spell, 
In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell. — P.  311. 

All  who  are  conversant  with  the  administration  of  criminal 
justice,  must  remember  many  occasions  in  which  malefactors 
appear  to  have  conducted  themselves  wilh  a  specie-s  of  in- 
fatuation, either  by  making  unnecessary  confidences  resjK-cliiig 
their  guilt,  or  by  sudden  and  involuntary  allusions  lo  cireum- 
stances  by  which  it  could  not  fail  lo  be  exposed.  A  remarka- 
ble instance  occurred  in  the  celebrated  case  of  Eugene  Aram 
A  skeleton  being  found  near  Knaresborough,  was  supposed, 
by  the  persons  who  gathered  around  the  spot,  lo  be  the  r» 
mains  of  one  Clarke,  who  had  disappeared  some  years  before, 
under  circumstances  leading  lo  a  suspicion  of  his  having  U'cr. 
murdered.  One  Houseman,  who  had  mingled  in  the  crowd, 
suddenly  said,  while  looking  at  the  skeleton,  and  hearing  llie 
opinion  which  was  buzzed  around,  "  That  is  no  more  Dan 
Clarke's  bone  than  it  is  mine!" — a  sentiment  expre,-.~ed  so 
positively,  and  with  such  peculiarity  of  manner,  as  lo  lead  all 
who  bejird  him  to  infer  that  he  must  necessarily  know  wher» 
the  real  body  had  been  interred.     Accordingly,  being  apjira 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


a()3 


hended,  lie  confessed  iiaving  assisted  Eugene  Aram  to  murder 
Clarke,  and  to  hide  his  hody  in  Saint  Robert's  Cave.  It  hap- 
pened to  the  author  himself,  while  conversing  with  a  person 
accused  of  an  atrocious  crime,  for  the  purpose  of  rendering 
him  professional  assistance  upon  his  trial,  to  hear  the  prisoner, 
after  the  most  solemn  and  reiterated  protestations  that  he  was 
guiltless,  suddenly,  and,  as  it  were,  involuntarily,  in  the  course 
of  liis  communications,  make  such  an  admission  as  was  alto- 
gether incompatible  with  innocence. 


Note  X. 


Brackenbury' s  dismal  tower. — P.  314. 

Tliis  tower  has  been  already  mentioned.  It  is  situated  near 
the  northeastern  extremity  of  the  wall  which  encloses  }Sar- 
nard  Castle,  and  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been  tlie  prison. 
By  an  odd  coincidence,  it  bears  a  name  which  we  naturally 
connect  with  imjirisonment,  from  its  being  that  of  Sir  Robert 
Brackenbury,  lieutenant  of  the  Tower  of  London  under  Ed- 
ward IV.  and  Richard  ill.  There  is,  indeed,  some  reason  to 
conclude,  that  the  tower  may  actually  have  derived  the  name 
from  that  family,  for  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  himself  possessed 
considerable  property  not  far  from  Barnard  Castle. 


Note  T. 


JVobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late. 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 

Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be, 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee ! — P.  314. 

After  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor,  the  Earl  of  Newcastle 
retired  beyond  sea  in  disgust,  and  many  of  his  followers  laid 
down  their  arms,  and  made  the  best  composition  they  could 
with  the  Committees  of  Parliament.  Fines  were  imposed 
upon  them  in  proportion  to  their  estates  and  degrees  of  delin- 
quency, and  these  fines  were  often  bestowed  upon  such  per- 
sons as  had  deserved  well  of  the  Commons.  In  some  circum- 
stances it  happened,  that  the  oppressed  cavaliers  were  fain  to 
form  family  alliances  with  some  powerful  person  among  the 
triumphant  party.  The  whole  of  Sir  Robert  Howard's  excel- 
lent comedy  of  The  Committee  turns  upon  the  plot  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Day  to  enrich  their  family,  by  compelling  Arabella, 
xvhose  estate  was  under  sequestration,  to  marry  their  son 
Abel,  as  the  jiice  by  which  she  was  to  comjiound  with  Par- 
liament for  delinquency  ;  that  is,  for  attachment  to  the  royal 
cause. 


Note  Z. 


The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey, 

Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way. — P.  315. 

The  patience,  abstinence,  and  ingenuity,  exerted  by  the 
North  American  Indians,  when  in  pursuit  of  plunder  or  ven- 
geance, is  the  most  distinguished  feature  in  their  character; 
and  the  activity  and  address  which  they  display  in  their  re- 
treat is  equally  surprising.  Adair,  whose  absurd  hypothesis 
and  tnrgid  style  do  not  affect  the  general  authenticity  of  his 
anecdotes,  has  recorded  an  instance  which  seems  incredible. 

"  AVhen  the  Chiekasah  nation  was  engaged  in  a  former  war 
with  the  Muskohge,  one  of  their  young  warriors  set  off  against 

them  to  revenge  the  blood  of  a  near  relation He 

went  through  the  most  unfrequented  and  thick  parts  of  the 
woods,  as  such  a  dangerous  enterprise  required,  till  he  arrived 
opposite  to  the  great  and  old  beloved  town  of  refuge.  Koo- 
sah,  wmch  stands  high  on  the  eastern  side  of  a  bold  river,  about 


2.50  yards  broad,  that  runs  by  the  late  dangerous  Albehama- 
Fort,  down  to  the  bl.ack  poisoning  Mobile,  and  so  into  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  he  concealed  himself  under  cover  of 
the  top  of  a  fallen  pine-tree,  in  view  of  the  ford  of  the  old 
trading-path,  where  the  enemy  now  and  then  pass  the  river  in 
their  light  poplar  canoes.  All  his  war-store  of  jirovisions  con- 
sisted of  three  stands  of  barbicued  venison,  till  he  had  an  op- 
portunity to  revenge  blood,  and  return  home.  He  waited  with 
watchfulness  and  patience  almost  three  days,  when  a  young 
man,  a  woman,  and  a  girl,  passed  a  little  wide  of  him  an  hour 
before  sunset.  The  former  he  shot  down,  tomahawked  the 
other  two,  and  scalped  each  of  them  in  a  trice,  in  full  view  of 
the  town.  By  way  of  bravado,  he  shaked  the  scalps  before 
them,  sounding  the  awful  death-wlioop,  and  set  off  along  the 
trading-jjatli,  trusting  to  his  heels,  while  a  great  many  of  the 
enemy  ran  to  their  arms  and  gave  chase.  Seven  miles  from 
thence  he  entered  the  great  blue  ridge  of  the  Apalache  Moun- 
tains. About  an  hour  before  day  he  had  run  over  seventy 
miles  of  that  mountainous  tract  ;  then,  after  sleeping  two 
hours  in  a  sitting  posture,  leaning  his  back  against  a  tree,  he 
set  off  again  with  fresh  speed.  As  lie  threw  away  the  venison 
when  he  found  himself  pursued  by  the  enemy,  he  was  obliged 
to  support  nature  with  such  herbs,  roots,  and  nuts,  as  his  sharp 
eyes,  with  a  running  glance,  directed  him  to  snatch  up  in  his 
course.  Though  I  often  have  rode  that  war-path  alone,  when 
delay  might  have  proved  dangerous,  and  with  as  fine  and 
strong  horses  as  any  in  America,  it  took  me  five  days  to  ride 
from  the  aforesaid  Koosah  to  this  sprightly  warrior's  place  in 
the  Chiekasah  country,  the  distance  of  300  computed  miles  ; 
yet  he  ran  it,  and  got  home  safe  and  well  at  about  eleven 
o'clock  of  the  third  day,  which  was  only  one  day  and  a  half 
and  two  nights." — Adair's  History  of  the  American  In- 
dians.   Lond.  1775,  4to.  p.  395. 


Note  2  A. 


In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared. 

When  Rooken-cdge,  and  Redswair  high. 

To  bugle  rung  and  blood-hound' s  cry. — P.  315. 

"  What  manner  of  cattle-stealers  they  are  that  inhabit  these 
valleys  in  the  marches  of  both  kingdoms,  John  Lesley,  a  Scotche 
man  himself,  and  Bishop  of  Ross,  will  inform  you.  They 
sally  out  of  their  own  borders  in  the  night,  in  troops,  through 
unfrequented  by-ways  and  many  intricate  windings.  All  the 
day-time  they  refresh  themselves  and  their  horses  in  lurking 
holes  they  had  pitched  upon  before,  till  they  arrive  in  the  dark 
in  those  places  they  have  a  design  upon.  As  soon  as  they 
have  seized  upon  the  booty,  they,  in  like  manner,  return  home 
in  the  night,  through  blind  ways,  and  fetching  many  a  com- 
pass. The  more  skilful  any  captain  is  to  pass  through  those 
wild  deserts,  crooked  turnings,  and  deep  precipices,  in  the 
thickest  mists,  his  reputation  is  the  greater,  and  he  is  looked 
upon  as  a  man  of  an  rxcellent  head.  And  they  are  so  very 
cunning,  that  they  seldom  have  their  booty  taken  from  them, 
unless  sometimes  when,  by  the  help  of  bloodhounds  following 
them  exactly  tipon  the  tract,  they  may  chance  to  fall  into  me 
hands  of  their  adversaries.  When  being  taken,  they  have  tc 
much  persuasive  eloquence,  and  so  many  smooth  insinuating 
words  at  command,  that  if  they  do  not  move  their  judges,  nay, 
and  even  their  adversaries  (notwithstanding  the  severity  of  their 
natures)  to  have  mercy,  yet  they  incite  them  to  admiration 
and  compassion." — Camden's  Britannia. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  of  Tyne  and  Reed  were,  in 
ancient  times,  so  inordinately  addicted  to  these  depredations, 
that  in  1564,  the  Incorporated  Merehant-adventureis  of  New 
castle  made  a  law  that  none  born  in  these  districts  should  be 
admitted  apprentice.  The  inhabitants  are  stated  to  be  so 
generally  addicted  to  rapine,  that  no  faith  should  be  reposed 
in  those  proceeding  from  "such  lewde  and  wicked  progeni 


304 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ton,".     Tliii  rv^lalion  continoed  to  •land  unrrpealmt  unlil 
1771.      r   '  ■.     .         .      -Iiw  liiinM-lf  B»  '•  liorn 


imi-  of  a  wi'.'lil-riiliii;! 
.    mid   tru<<, 
Ihrml"— 
vkliKli  MuuM  liitvii  a|i|i:i.Hl  lu  iuu.-t  llunlfrvn  on 

I  I  for  a  nkiriniith  to  wliii'li  it  Bi»f«  natno  [noe 

li  >..'     il    r.  l.'i".  in  uii  llio   vi-ry  I'lljic  of  llie 

I'  rmiii  8i'otl»iicl.     Tin-  Roo- 

k..,  ,.    .  I   „  llirtniiii,  bciii-;  ilt>«<'ribi'J  «§ 

■  nalivo  of  ■  "'  tim  liabil*  of  liodtilu  dopreda- 

li,,    '  H.ii  of  the  iTownn,  limy  linvo  b'fii, 

il,  'I   by  tiluvalion  for  the  cxurvUa  of  a 
•iuuiai  Lralc  m  lla-  »\  .ir<  of  thf  Buvank'ni. 


7/ 


Note  2  B. 

•  i<T,  Irst  foemen  spy 
J  of  Ilia  nicnrlAi/ ri/r. — P.  315. 

A(\fT  one  of  the  reroiit  battles,  in  which  the  Irish  rebels 
were  defealwl,  one  of  their  mast  aetivo  leaders  was  found  in  a 
bop,  in  which  ho  was  immersed  up  to  the  slionUlers,  while  his 
h,  '  d  by  an  impending  ledge  of  turf.     Being  de- 

l,  iiotwithsi.-inOing  his  precaution,  he  became 

f.,  how  his  rrlreat   h:id  been  discovered.     "  I 

r  !  tlio  fj„tl,rrlniid   Highlander,  by  whom   he 

\v  ■•."     Those  who  are  accn»- 

(,,  :  11,  usually  discover  thcra  by 

tbo  Minio  circomslance.' 


Note  2  C. 


Tfrre  ftood  n  vrttrh,  prepared  to  chnnrre 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge! — P.  317. 

It  is  agreed  by  all  the  writera  upon  magic  and  witchcraft, 
that  revenge  was  the  most  common  motive  for  the  pretended 
eoinp.nct  between  Satan  and  his  vassals.  The  ingenuity  of 
n  ~  s  very  happily  stated   liow  such  an  opinion 

c   .  .  not  oidy  in  the  minds  of  the  public  and  of 

the  jiulgi'-i,  l>ul  even  in  that  of  the  poor  wretches  themselves 
who  were  accused  of  sorcery,  and  were  often  firm  believers  in 
their  own  |iower  and  their  own  guilt. 

"  One  sort  of  such  as  are  eaid  to  be  witches,  are  women 
which  be  commonly  old,  lame,  blear-eyed,  pale,  foul,  and  full 
of  wrinkles;  poor,  sullen,  superstitions,  or  papists,  or  such  as 
know  no  religion  ;  in  whose  drowsie  minds  the  devil  hath  got- 
1.  't  ;  so  as  what  mischief,  mischance,  calamity,  or 

I.  brought  to  pass,  they  are  easily  perswadcd   the 

^  by  them«e1ves,  imprinting  in  their  minds  an  ear- 

I  -!Tnt  imagination  lliereof These  go  from 

li  d  from  door  to  door,  for  a  pot  of  milk,  yest, 

1.:  r  Kjnie  such  relief,  without  the  which   they 

cnulil  li.ir.My  live  ;  neither  obtaining  for  their  service  or  pains, 
nor  Vet  by  ili'  ir  nn.  nur  yet  at  the  devil's  hands  (with  whom 
they  an;  >:■  a  jicrfect  and  vi.nible  bargain),  either 

}>• •      ■         ; .  |M..,,,.j;ion,  wealth,  pleasure,  honour,  knowl- 

I  ;;,  or  any  other  benefit  whatsoever. 

•■I  •  many  a  time,  that  neither  their  necessities 
nor  1'  lion  is  answered  or  served  in  those  places 
wlii  ri'  i!.  V  il  _■  <ir  borrow,  but  nther  their  lewdness  is  by  their 
n'i_''''">'ir-'  r-;.rovd.  An')  frTtliiT.  in  tract  of  time  the  witch 
V  liboum,  anil  they  again 

;ii  •  sometimes  she  cnrseth 

one,  and  so:  nther,  nml  that  from  tlie  m.T»ter  of  the 

honie,  his  \....,  rju,  cattle,  &o.,tolhe  little  pig  that  lietb 

1  Sii  Walter  S'wll  wmlinaed  to  be  foiKl  of  eoanini;  ham  \ang  after  lio 
*•!  laid  aaide  all  other  flelil.«porlt,  and  he  nasd  to  i»y  joeolarly,  thai  lie 


In  the  atio.  Thun,  in  procetn  of  time,  they  have  all  (.inpleased 
her,  and  >lio  hnth  wliheil  evil  luck  unto  them  all  ;  iH-rhaps 
with  euroei  and  iinprecationa  mado  in  form.  Doubili-iw  (at 
lerv:h)  Foine  of  her  neighbours  die  or  fall  sick,  or  aonie  of  their 
children  are  viiiited  with  diNeaseii  that  vex  them  ttrangely,  aa 
apopli'Xii-s,  epilepsies,  convulsions,  hot  feveni,  worinn,  ttc., 
which,  by  ignorant  jiarents,  are  sn|>posed  to  be  the  vengcaaco 

of  wileheii 

"The  witch,  on  the  other  aide,  expecting  her  neighboDia' 
mischances,  and  seeing  things  nometiiiics  come  to  pa«M  accord- 
ing to  her  widies,  curses,  and  incaiitalions  (for  lloilin  himself 
confessen,  that  not  above  two  in  a  humlred  of  their  witching! 
or  wi'<hiiigs  take  efleel),  being  called  before  a  justice,  by  due 
examination  of  the  circumstances,  is  driven  to  see  her  imprw 
cations  and  desires,  and  her  neighbours'  harms  and  losses,  to 
concur,  ami,  as  it  were,  to  take  effect ;  and  so  confesscth  that 
she  (as  a  goddess)  hath  brought  such  things  to  pass.  Where- 
in not  only  she,  but  the  accuser,  and  also  the  justice,  are  foully 
deceived  and  abused,  as  being,  through  her  confession,  and 
other  circumstances,  perswailed  (to  the  injury  of  God's  glory) 
that  she  bath  done,  or  can  do,  that  which  is  pioper  only  tc 
God  himself." — Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft.  Lond. 
IG55,  fol.  p.  4,  5. 


Note  2  D. 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns 

Of  Calverlcy  and  Bradford  downs. — P.  317. 

The  •'oops  of  the  King,  when  they  first  took  the  field,  wera 
as  well  disciplined  !is  could  be  ex|>ected  from  circunislnnces. 
But  as  the  circum.stances  of  Charles  became  less  favorable, 
and  his  funds  for  regularly  paying  his  forces  decreased,  habits 
of  military  license  prevailed  among  them  in  greater  excess. 
Lacy,  the  player,  who  served  his  master  during  the  Civil  War, 
brought  out,  after  the  Restoration,  a  piece  called  The  Old 
Troop,  in  which  he  seems  to  have  commemorated  some  real 
incidents  which  occurred  in  his  military  career.  The  names 
of  the  otficers  of  the  Troop  sufficiently  express  their  habits. 
We  have  Flea-flint  Plunder-Master-General,  Captain  Ferret- 
farm,  and  Quarter-Master  Burn-<lrop.  The  oflicers  of  the 
Troop  are  in  league  with  these  worthies,  and  connive  at  their 
plundering  the  country  for  a  suitable  share  in  the  booty.  All 
this  w;is  undoubtedly  drawn  from  the  life,  which  Lai?y  had  an 
opportunity  to  study.  The  moral  of  the  whole  is  compre- 
hended in  a  rebuke  given  to  the  lieutenant,  whose  disorders  in 
the  country  are  said  to  prejudice  the  King's  cause  more  than 
his  courage  in  the  field  could  recompense.  The  piece  is  by  no 
means  void  of  farcical  humor. 


Note  2  E. 


BrignalV s  woods,  and.  Scargr^i     lerive, 

E'en  now,  o'er  m'iny  a  sister  cave. — P.  318. 

The  banks  of  the  Greta,  below  Rutherford  Bridge,  abound 
in  seams  of  grayish  slate,  which  arc  wrought  in  some  places  to 
a  very  great  depth  under  groniid,  thus  forming  artificial  cav- 
erns, which,  when  the  seam  has  been  exhausted,  arc  gradually 
hidden  by  the  underwood  which  grows  in  profusion  ;i)»on  the 
romantic  tanks  of  the  river.  In  times  of  public  confusion, 
they  might  be  well  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  banditi:. 


Note  2  F. 
When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.—?.  320 

There  was  a  short  war  with  S'liain  in  1C25-C,  which  will  b« 
found  to  agree  pretty  well  with  the  chronology  of  the  poem. 

had  more  ploaaiiro  in  beinp  coniidered  an  excelleot  findtr,  than  in  all  hia 
I   repntatiun  as  a  trouteur. — Eo. 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


36c 


B'lt  i)rol)ably  Bertram  lielJ  an  opinion  very  common  among 
fl<!  maritinii;  heroes  of  the  age,  that  "  there  was  no  peace  be- 
yond the  Line."  The  Spunit^hg uarda-custas  were  constantly 
employeil  in  agjjressions  upon  the  trade  and  settlements  of  the 
English  and  French  ;  and,  by  their  own  severities,  gave  room 
for  tlie  system  of  bucaiiiering,  at  fii-st  adopted  in  sclf-dcfejice 
and  retaMation,  and  afterwards  persevered  in  from  habit  and 
thirst  of  plunder. 


Note  2  G. 


Our  comrade's  strife. — P.  331. 

The  laws  of  the  Bucaniers,  and  tlieir  successors  the  Pirates, 
however  severe  and  equitable,  were,  like  other  laws,  often  .set 
aside  by  the  stronger  party.  Their  (juarrels  about  the  division 
of  the  spoil  fill  their  history,  and  they  as  frequently  arose  ou' 
of  mere  frolic,  or  the  tyrannical  humor  of  their  chiefs.  Ail 
anecdote  of  Teach  (called  Blackbeard)  shows  that  their  ha- 
bitual indilference  for  human  life  extended  to  their  compan- 
ions, as  well  as  their  enemies  and  cai)tives. 

"  One  night,  drinking  in  his  cabin  with  Hands,  the  pilot, 
and  another  man,  Blackbeard,  without  any  provocation,  pri- 
vately draws  out  a  small  pair  of  pistols,  and  cocks  them  under 
the  table,  which,  being  perceived  by  the  man,  he  withdrew 
upon  deck,  leaving  Hands,  the  pilot,  and  the  captain  together. 
When  the  pistols  were  ready,  he  blew  out  the  candles,  and, 
crossing  his  hands,  discharged  them  at  his  company.  Hands, 
the  master,  was  shot  through  the  knee,  and  lamed  for  life  ;  the 
jther  pistol  did  no  execution." — Johnsox's  History  of  Pi- 
rates.    Lond.  1724,  8vo.  vol.  i.  p.  38. 

Another  anecdote  of  this  worthy  may  be  also  mentioned. 
"  The  hero  of  whom  we  are  writing  was  thoroughly  accom- 
plished this  way,  and  some  of  his  frolics  of  wickedness  were 
BO  extravagant,  as  if  he  aimed  at  making  his  men  believe  he 
was  a  devil  incarnate  ;  for,  being  one  day  at  sea,  and  a  little 
flushed  with  drink,  '  Come,'  says  he,  '  let  us  make  a  hell  of 
our  own,  and  try  how  long  we  can  bear  it.'  Accordingly,  he, 
with  two  or  three  othei-s,  went  down  into  the  hold,  and,  clo- 
sing up  all  the  hatches,  filled  several  pots  full  of  brimstone  and 
other  combustible  matter,  and  set  it  on  fire,  and  so  continued 
till  tliey  were  almost  suffocated,  when  some  of  the  men  cried 
out  for  air.  At  length  he  opened  the  hatches,  not  a  little 
pleased  that  he  held  out  the  longest." — Ibid.  p.  90. 


Note  2  H. 


my  rangers  go 

Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe. — P.  321. 

"  Immediately  after  supper,  the  huntsman  should  go  to  his 
master's  chamber,  and  if  he  serve  a  king,  then  let  him  go  to 
the  master  of  the  game's  chamber,  to  know  in  what  quarter 
lie  determineth  to  hunt  the  day  following,  that  he  may  know 
his  own  quarter  ;  that  done,  he  may  go  to  bed,  to  the  end  that 
he  may  rise  the  earlier  in  the  morning,  according  to  the  time  and 
season,  and  according  to  the  place  where  he  must  hunt  :  then 
when  he  is  up  and  ready,  let  him  drinke  a  good  drauglit,  and 
fetch  his  hound,  to  make  him  breake  his  fast  a  little  :  and  let 
him  not  forget  to  fill  his  bottel  with  good  wine  :  that  done,  let 
him  take  a  little  vinegar  into  the  palme  of  his  hand,  and  put 
it  in  the  nostrils  of  his  bound,  for  to  make  him  snufie,  to  the 
end  his  scent  may  be  the  perfecter,  then  let  him  go  to  the 

wood When  the  huntsman  perceiveth  that  it  is 

time  to  begin  to  beat,  let  him  put  his  hound  before  him,  and 
beat  the  outsides  of  springs  or  thickets  ;  and  if  he  find  an  hart 
or  deer  that  likes  iiim,  let  him  mark  well  whether  it  be  fresh 
or  not,  which  he  may  know  as  well  by  the  maner  of  his  hounds 

drawing,  as  also  by  the  eye When  he  hath  well 

considered  what  maner  of  hart  it  may  be,  and  hath  marked 


every  thing  to  judge  by,  then  let  him  draw  till  he  come  to  the 
couert  where  he  is  gone  to  ;  and  let  him  harbour  him  if  he 
can,  still  marking  all  his  tokens,  as  well  by  the  slot  as  by  the 
entries,  foyles,  or  such-like.  That  done,  let  him  plash  or  bruse 
down  small  twigges,  some  aloft  and  some  "jflow,  as  the  art 
requireth,  and  therewithall,  whilest  his  hound  is  bote,  let  him 
beat  the  outsides,  and  make  his  ring-walkes,  twice  or  thrice 
about  the  wood." — T/te  JVoblc  Art  of  Veneric,  or  Hunting. 
Lond.  1611,  4to.  p.  76.  77. 


Note  2  I. 


Song- 


Adieu  for  evermore. — P.  322. 

The  la-st^ verse  of  this  song  is  taken  from  the  fragment  of  an 
jld  Scottish  ballad,  of  which  i  only  recollected  two  verses 
when  the  first  edition  of  Rokeby  was  published.  Mr.  Thomas 
Sheridan  kindly  pointed  out  to  me  an  entire  copy  of  this  beau- 
tiful song,  which  seems  to  ex|)ress  the  fortunes  of  some  fol- 
lower of  the  Stuart  family  ; — 

"  It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  left  fair  Scotland's  strand, 
tt  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 
My  dear, 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

"  Now  all  is  done  that  man  can  do, 
And  all  is  done  in  vain  ! 
My  love  !   my  native  land,  adieu  ! 
For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

My  dear, 
For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

"  He  turn'd  him  round  and  right  :jbc^ 
All  on  the  Irish  shore. 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake 
With,  Adieu  for  evermore, 

Jly  dear ! 
Adieu  for  evermore ! 

"  The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns^ 
And  tlie  merchant  frae  the  main. 
But  I  bae  parted  wi'  my  love, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

My  dear, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

"  When  day  is  gone  and  night  is  come, 
And  a'  are  boun'  to  sleep, 
I  think  on  them  ihat's  far  awa 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 
My  dear. 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep." 


Note  2  K 


Here-cross  on  Stanmorc. — P.  323. 

This  is  a  fragment  of  an  old  cross,  with  its  pediment,  sur- 
rounded by  an  intrencliment,  upon  the  very  summit  of  thn 
waste  ridge  of  Stanmore,  near  a  small  house  of  entertainmeni 
called  the  Spittal  It  is  called  Rere-cross,  or  Ree-cross,  of 
which  Holinshed  gives  us  the  following  explanation  : — 

"At  length  a  peace  was  concluded  betwixt  the  two  kings 
vnder  these  conditions,  that  Malcolme  should  enjoy  that  part 
of  Northumberland  which  lieth  betwixt  Tweed,  Cumberland, 
and  Stainmore,  and  doo  homage  to  the  Kinge  oi'  England  fof 
the  same.     In  the  midst  of  Stainmore  there  shall  be  a  cro^s« 


0C6 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


•  y.  ■-.  aiiJ 

■  ■ii>  u 

I.  ■   !      'l.l.S- 

-    -Ilo.  V.  9B0. 
..,ri.„rily  amni   to   have  l>ron   ncK-lliiu*. 
,!  iiiii  liu  arcoont  rosy  be  tin-  true  oiic, 

•  occur  in  Wiiiloun'*  Cliro- 
I  tiio  paiiu  taken  to  ilvrend 
It,  M>  111  lo  maualo  ilial  il  was  uitcndetl  for  a  land-ninrk  of 
Bjiurtaiic*. 


Ui 

nil 
ea 

•11 

II 
But  11 

a!ti    ' 


Note  2  L. 

//.wt  lAou  lodged  our  deer  1 — P.  323. 

Till"  iluty  of  tlie  ranger,  or  pricker,  won  first  to  lodge  or  liai^ 
lor  the  de<T:  i.  e.  lo  discover  Ilia  retreat,  as  described  at 
U-iictli  in  note,  3  II,  and  tlicn  to  make  bia  report  to  bis  prince, 
or  nia-"l<i  ; — 

'    Before  the  King  I  come  report  to  make, 

Tlnn  hu-lit  and  |iface  for  noble  Tri'lramc's  sake  .  .  . 
My  \'\'"i>-,  I  Weill  lliii  morning  on  my  quest. 
Mv  lioniid  did  stick,  and  seem'd  to  vent  some  beast. 
I  liolit  liim  short,  and  drawing  after  him, 
I  Plight  bidiold  the  hart  wai  feeding  trym  ; 
Hi-  !  '     '      iiid  large  in  each  degree, 

\V.  iiid  seom'd  full  sound  lo  be. 

Of  nil  tcnne, 

Of  ■  !  then. 

Hi-  [rroporlioii  led, 

\\\  Mfli'd  neare  his  head. 

He  MfiiM'd  layre  tweene  blacke  and  berrie  brounde 
lie  Monies  well  fed  by  all  the  signes  I  found. 
For  when  I  had  well  marked  him  with  eye, 
I  slept  aside,  to  watch  where  he  would  lye. 
And  when  I  bad  so  wayted  full  an  houre. 
That  be  might  be  at  layre  and  in  his  bonre, 
I  cast  about  lo  harbour  him  full  sure  ; 
My  hound  by  sent  did  me  thereof  assure  .  .  . 
"Then  if  be  ask  what  slot  or  view  I  found, 
I  say  the  slot  or  view  was  long  on  ground  ; 
The  tO"-*  were  great,  the  joynt  bones  round  and  short, 
The  shinne  bones  large,  the  dew-claws  close  in  port : 
Short  ioynted  was  he,  hollow-footed  eke. 
An  hart  to  hunt  as  any  man  can  secke." 

The  Jlrt  of  Vencrie,  nt  supra,  p.  97. 


Note  2  M. 


323. 


irhrn  Denmnrk'a  rattn  soar'd  on  hiph, 
Triumphnnt  throufrh  J\'orlhumbrian  sky, 
Till,  horerinp  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Jiade  Regcd'a  Rritona  dread  the  yoke. — P. 

About  the  year  of  Go<l  806,  the  Danes,  under  their  cele- 
bnted  leaden  Ingu.ir  (more  properly  Agnar)  and  Hubba,  sons, 
it  i»  said,  of  til'-  still  more  celcbrate<l  Rcgnar  Lodbrog,  invaded 
Nortbunibtrlaiid,  !'  n  tbcm  the  m.igical  standard,  so 

often  m'-ntion-d  \:,  led  Reafen,  or  Romfan,  from 

its  bearing  the  (igare  of  a  raven  : — 

Wrought  by  the  sisten  of  the  Danish  king, 

Of  furious  Ivar  in  a  midnight  hour : 

While  the  sick  moon,  at  their  encbanled  song 

Wrapt  in  pale  tempest,  labor'd  through  the  clouds. 

The  demons  of  destruction  then,  they  say. 

Were  all  abroad,  and  mixing  with  the  woof 


Thi>ir  baleful  power  :  The  sisters  ever  sung, 

*  dbake,  slandiinl,  bhake  thiK  ruin  on  our  for*.'  " 

Thomson  and  Mallkt'ii  Jilfred. 

The  Danes  renewed  and  extended  iheir  incnr>ions,  and  began 
to  euloiii/e,  fslnblishing  n  kind  of  capital  at  York,  fnini  ubii'h 
they  upr-ad  their  eonquestji  and  Ini'nrsionH  in  every  dir>M<ion. 
Sinniiiore,  which  divides  the  mountains  of  Westmoreland  and 
Cumberland,  was  probably  the  boundary  of  the  Danish  king- 
dom in  that  direction.  The  district  lo  the  west,  known  in  on- 
cient  Brilish  history  by  the  name  of  Regcd,  had  never  ln-en 
coniguered  by  the  Sa.vons,  and  continued  to  maintain  a  pp-ca- 
rious  independence  until  it  was  ceded  to  Malcolm,  King  of 
Scots,  by  William  the  Conqueror,  probably  on  account  of  its 
similarity  in  language  and  manners  to  the  neighboring  Itritisb 
kingdom  of  Stratb-CIydc. 

Upon  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  Danish  sovereignty  in 
Northumberland,  the  curious  may  consult  the  various  authori- 
ties quoted  in  the  Qcsta  et  Vestigia  Danorum  eztra  JJaninm 
torn.  ii.  p.  40.  The  most  powerfjfl  of  their  Northnmbriao 
leaders  soems  lo  have  been  Ivar,  called,  from  the  extent  of  bis 
conquests,  If'idfam,  tliat  is.  The  Slrider. 


Note  2  N. 


Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came, 
Fiz'd  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name. — P.  323. 

The  kcathen  Danes  have  left  several  traces  of  their  religion 
in  the  upper  part  of  Tcesdale.  Balder-garth,  wliieli  derives  its 
name  from  the  unfortunate  son  of  Odin,  is  a  tract  of  waste 
land  on  the  very  ridge  of  Stanmore  ;  and  a  brook,  which  falls 
into  the  Tecs  near  Barnard  Ca.stle,  is  named  after  the  same 
deity.  A  lield  upon  the  banks  of  the  Tees  is  also  termed 
Woden-Croft,  from  the  supreme  deity  of  the  Edda.  Tborsgill, 
of  which  a  description  is  attempted  in  stanza  ii.,  is  a  beautiful 
little  brook  and  dell,  running  up  behind  the  ruins  of  Egliston 
Abbey.  Tlior  was  the  Hercules  of  the  .^'candinavian  mytho- 
logy, a  dreadful  giant-queller,  and  in  that  capacity  the  cham- 
pion of  the  gods,  and  the  defender  of  Asgard,  the  northern 
Olympus,  against  the  frequent  attacks  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Jotunhem.  There  is  an  old  poem  in  the  Edda  of  Sa-mund, 
called  the  Song  of  Thrym,  which  turns  upon  the  loss  and  re- 
covery of  the  Mace,  or  Hammer,  which  was  Thor's  principal 
weapon,  and  on  which  much  of  bis  power  seems  to  have  de- 
pended. It  may  be  read  to  great  advantage  in  a  version 
equally  spirited  and  literal,  among  the  Miscellaneous  Transla- 
tions and  Poems  of  the  Honorable  William  Herbert, 


Note  2  O. 


Who  has  not  i.eard  how  brave  O'JVenlc 

In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel? — P.  325. 

The  O'Neale  here  meant,  for  more  than  one  succeeded  to 
the  chieftainship  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  Hugh,  tlie 
grandson  of  Con  O'Neale,  called  Con  Bacco,  or  the  Lame. 
His  father,  Matthew  O'Kelly,  was  illegitimate,  and,  being  the 
son  of  a  blacksmith's  wife,  was  usually  called  Matthew  the 
Blacksmith.  His  father,  nevertheless,  destined  his  succes- 
sion to  him  ;  and  he  was  created,  by  Elizabeth,  Baron  of 
Dungannon.  Ujion  the  death  of  Con  Bacco,  this  Matthew 
was  slain  by  his  brother.  Hugh  narrowly  escaped  the  same 
fate,  and  was  protected  by  the  English.  Shane  O'Neale,  his 
uncle,  called  Shane  Dymas,  was  succeeded  by  Turlough 
Lynogh  O'Neale ;  after  whose  death,  Hugh,  having  assumed 
the  chieftainship,  became  nearly  as  formidable  to  the  English 
as  any  by  whom  it  had  been  possessed.  He  rebelled  repeat- 
edly, and  as  often  made  submissions,  of  which  it  was  usually 
a  condition  that  he  should  not  any  longer  assume  the  title  of 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


367 


O'Neale  ;  in  lien  of  wliich  he  was  created  Earl  of  Tyrone. 
Bat  this  condition  he  never  observed  longer  than  nntil  the 
pre-suw  of  superior  force  was  withdrawn.  His  baffling  the 
gallant  Earl  of  Essex  in  the  field,  and  overreaching  hira  in  a 
treaty,  was  tjie  induction  to  that  nobleman's  tragedy.  Lord 
Mountjoy  succeeded  in  finally  subjugating  O'Neale  ;  but  it  was 
not  till  the  .succession  of  James,  to  whom  he  made  personal 
submissioi,  and  was  received  with  civility  at  court.  Yet,  ac- 
cording to  Morrison,  "no  respect  to  him  could  containe  many 
weonien  in  those  narts,  who  had  lost  husbands  and  children  in 
the  Irish  waires,  from  flinging  durt  and  stones  at  the  earle  as 
he  passed,  and  from  reuiliiig  him  with  bitter  words ;  yea,  when 
the  eaile  had  been  at  court,  and  there  obtaining  his  majestie's 
direction  for  his  pardon  and  performance  of  all  conditions  pro- 
mised him  by  the  Lord  Mountjoy,  was  about  September  to  re- 
turne,  he  durst  not  pass  by  those  parts  without  direction  to  the 
ehiriffes,  to  convey  hira  with  troops  of  horse  from  place  to 
place,  till  he  was  safely  imbarked  and  put  to  sea  for  Ireland." 
■Itinerary,  p.  296. 


Note  2  P. 


But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride. 

When  that  brave  Marshal  fought  and  died. — P.  325. 

The  chief  victory  which  Tyrone  obtained  over  the  English 
was  in  a  battle  fought  near  Blackwater,  while  he  besieged  a 
fort  garrisoned  by  the  English,  which  commanded  the  passes 
into  his  country. 

"  This  captain  and  his  few  warders  did  with  no  less  courage 
suffer  hunger,  and,  having  eaten  the  few  horses  they  had,  lived 
vpon  hearbes  growing  in  the  ditches  and  wals,  suffeiing  all  ex- 
tremities, till  the  lord-lientenant,  in  the  month  of  August,  sent 
Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  marshall  of  Ireland,  with  the  most  choice 
companies  of  foot  and  horse-troopes  of  the  English  army  to 
victual  this  fort,  and  to  raise  the  rebels  siege.  When  the  Eng- 
lish entered  the  place  and  thicke  woods  beyond  Armagh,  on 
the  cast  side,  Tyrone  (with  all  the  rebels  assembled  to  him) 
pricked  forward  with  rage,  enuy,  and  settled  rancour  against 
the  marshal!,  assayled  the  English,  and  turning  his  full  force 
against  the  marshall's  person,  had  the  successe  to  kill  him, 
valiantly  fighting  among  the  thickest  of  the  rebels.  Where- 
upon the  English  being  dismayed  with  his  death,  the  rebels 
obtained  a  great  victory  against  them.  I  terme  it  great,  since 
the  Enghsh,  from  their  first  arriual  in  that  kingdome,  neuer  had 
received  so  great  an  ouerthrow  as  this,  commonly  called  the 
Defeat  of  Blackewater ;  thirteene  valiant  captaines  and  1500 
common  souldiers  (whereof  many  were  of  the  old  companies 
which  had  serued  in  Brittany  vnder  General  Norreys)  were 
slain  in  the  field.  The  yielding  of  the  fort  of  Blackewater 
followed  this  disaster,  when  the  assaulted  guard  saw  no  hope 
of  relief;  but  especially  vpon  messages  sent  to  Captain  WU- 
liams  from  our  broken  forces,  retired  to  Armagh,  professing 
that  all  their  safety  depended  vpon  his  yielding  the  fort  into 
je  hands  of  Tyrone,  without  which  danger  Caj)laine  Williams 
professed  that  no  want  or  miserie  should  have  induced  him 
thereunto." — Ftnes  Morysox's  Itinerary.  London,  1617, 
fol.  part  ii.  p.  24. 

Tyrone  is  said  to  have  entertained  a  personal  animosity 
against  the  knight-marshal.  Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  whom  he  ac- 
cused of  detaining  the  letters  which  he  .sent  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, ex  jlanatory  of  his  conduct,  and  off'ering  terms  of  sub- 
mission. The  river,  called  by  the  English,  Blackwater,  is 
termed  ic  Irish,  Avon-Duff,  which  has  tlie  same  signification. 
Both  names  are  mentioned  by  Spenser  in  his  "  Marriage  of  the 
Thames  and  the  Medway."  But  I  understand  that  his  verses 
relate  not  to  the  Blackwater  of  Ulster,  but  to  a  river  of  the 
•ame  name  in  tlie  south  of  Ireland  : — 

"  Swift  Avon-Duff,  which  of  the  Englishmen 
is  called  Blackwater" 


IfoTE  2  Q. 
The  Tanist  he  tog^iai.  OWii/e.—V.  325. 

"  Eudox.  What  is  that  which  you  call  Tanist  and  TanLstry  ? 
These  be  names  and  terms  never  heard  of  nor  known  to  us. 

"  Iren.  It  is  a  custom  amongst  all  the  Irish,  that  presently 
after  the  death  of  one  of  their  chiefe  lords  or  captaines,  they 
doe  presently  assemble  themselves  to  a  place  gerorally  appoint- 
ed and  knowne  unto  them,  to  choose  another  in  his  stead, 
where  they  do  nominate  and  elect,  for  the  most  part  not  the 
eldest  Sonne,  nor  any  of  the  children  of  the  lord  deceased,  but 
the  next  to  liim  in  blood,  that  is,  the  eldest  and  worthiest,  as 
commonly  the  next  brother  unto  him,  if  he  have  any,  or  the 
next  cousin,  or  so  forth,  as  any  is  elder  in  that  kindred  or  sept ; 
and  then  next  to  them  doe  they  choose  the  next  of  the  blood 
to  be  Tanist,  who  shall  next  succeed  him  in  the  said  captaiury, 
if  he  live  thereunto. 

"  Kudox.  Do  they  not  use  arj  ceremony  in  this  election, 
for  all  barbarous  nations  are  comIno^ly  great  observers  of  cere- 
monies and  superstitions  rites  1 

"  Iren.  They  used  to  place  him  tnat  shall  be  tlieir captaine 
upon  a  stone,  always  reserved  to  that  purpose,  and  placed 
commonly  upon  a  hill.  In  some  of  which  I  have  seen  formed 
and  engraven  a  foot,  which  they  say  was  the  measure  of  theii 
first  captaine's  foot  ;  whereon  hee  standing,  receives  an  oath 
to  preserve  all  the  ancient  former  cnstomes  of  the  countrey 
inviolable,  and  to  deliver  up  the  succession  peaceably  to  his 
Tanist,  and  then  hath  a  wand  delivered  nnto  him  by  some 
whose  proper  office  that  is  ;  after  which,  descending  from  the 
stone,  he  tnrnetli  himself  round,  thrice  forwards  and  tlirice 
backward?. 

"  Eudox.     But  how  is  the  Tanist  chosen  ? 

"  Iren.  They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot  upon  the  stone, 
and  receiveth  the  like  oath  that  the  captaine  did." — Spen- 
ser's View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud  Works,  London, 
1805,  8vo.  vol.  viii.  p.  306. 

The  Tanist,  therefore,  of  O'Neale,  was  the  heii^apparent  of 
his  power.  This  kind  of  succession  appears  also  to  liave  regu- 
lated, in  very  remote  times,  the  succession  to  the  crown  of 
Scotland.  It  would  have  been  imprudent,  if  not  impossible, 
to  have  asserted  a  minor's  right  of  succession  in  those  stormy 
days,  when  the  principles  of  policy  were  summed  up  in  my 
friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines  : — 

"  the  good  old  rule 


Sufliceth  them  ;  the  simple  plan. 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  should  keep  who  can.-" 


F OTE  3  R. 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread,  S-c. — P.  325. 

There  is  here  an  attempt  to  describe  the  ancient  Irish  dresi, 
of  which  a  poet  of  (iueen  EUzabelh's  day  has  given  us  iha 
following  particulars : — 

"  I  marvailde  in  my  mynde, 

and  thereupon  did  muse, 
To  see  a  bride  of  heavenlie  hewe 

an  ouglie  fere  to  chuse. 
This  bride  it  is  the  soile, 

the  bridegroome  is  the  kame. 
With  writhed  glibbes,  like  wicked  sprits, 

with  visage  rough  and  stearne  ; 
With  seniles  npon  their  poalles, 

instead  of  civill  cappes  ; 
With  speares  in  hand,  and  swordes  besydei 

to  beare  off  after  clappes  ; 
With  jackettes  long  and  large, 

which  shroud  simplicitie, 


.108 


SCOIT'S  POKTICAL  WORKS. 


Tb. 

t.. 

•  wliicli  lliry  do  hfue 

Ttwir 

•Iiirln 

be 

very  ttrance, 

no' 

... ,.  i,,i 

.  ,,1  il..-  il.ju  ; 

\V. 

i  |ileatMl  art 

&<  ( 

l!t-^      O' 

1 

\  **. 

Wtiow-  alrar 

r« 

:;  iluana 

Al>.' 

■imnionUe 

tli 

No- 

10 

ll. 

A.. 

_i'  llrvuo 
111  brrado. 

w 

IK. 

•rle. 

V 

k  aliout, 

An.l  1 

ri- 

» •  to  put 

tlifir  >ii 

'  loun  out.' 

1)i:kiu 

.'J  Ire/and,  apuii  ssomers' 

Tracts, 

1. 

J.  \ol.  i.  p.  563. 

•'ntni'  rnrnn'  \Toot1'>n  rnrrnvinr*  arrompany  tlii'  jwym,  from 

t  I                                  ■  bon- 

If  ■  ■            .               :     ■           .   i  i    _       iiiilcre. 

T  .in  till-  head  was  puppUed  by  ibe  mode 

01  ''■■■  '■•'"•   wliifli  was  calU'd  the  glibbe. 

Ti  r.  were  fit  marks  for  a  tliief, 

»i  M-.-  Iiimneir,  he  could  fillier  cut 

i(  .  ..or  bis  eyes  as  lo  render  it  very 

I..  i.<  nolbing  lo  the  ro[)- 

r  Ills  that  favorite  part 

of    111.- 

"  It  w  :law,  a  meet  bed  for  a  rebel,  and 

B!  I,  the  outlaw  being  for  lli^ 

I  r  :   from  the  towiR-s  and  hoi- 

.g  in  waste  places  far  from  danger  of 

.-  , bis  house,  and  under  il  covereth  him- 

wratli  of  heaven,  from  the  offence  of  the  earth, 
'  '  of  men.     When  it  raineth,  it  is  his  penl- 
.wetli,  il  is  his  tent ;  wlieu  it  freezcth,  it  is 
In  summer  he  can  wear  it  loose,  in  winter  he 
c.i  lose ;  at  nil  times  he  can  use  it ;  never  heavy, 

oevtf  cuuiUr^ome.  Likewise  for  a  rebel  it  is  as  serviceable  ; 
for  in  his  warre  that  he  ranketh  (if  at  le.xsi  it  deserve  the  name 
of  warre),  when  he  still  flyeth  from  his  foe,  and  lurketh  in  the 
thicke  wood.)  and  struitc  passages,  waiting  for  advantages,  it 
is  hii  l>ed,  yea,  and  almost  his  household  stnlT.  For  the  wood 
is  hi*  houw  n<:3inst  all  weathers,  and  his  mantle  is  his  couch 
to  ulecp  in.  Therein  he  wrappeth  himself  round,  and  couch- 
cth  hini~lf  '.trongly  against  the  gnau,  which  in  that  country 
doc  more  annoy  the  naked  rebels  while  they  kcL^i  the  woods, 
.nil. I  c'r-  more  sharply  wound  them,  than  all  their  enemies 
fwr  .  r>r  aivi^ares,  which  can  seldom  come  nigh  them:  yea, 
n  «  tlicir  mantle  seri'cth  them  when  they  are  neere 

I'f  wnppcd  about  their  left  armc,  instead  of  a  tar- 

p  ■  1  cut  thorough  with  a  sword  ;  besides,  it  i- 

I  .  '.to  throw  away,  and  being  (as  they  coni- 

r.  it  is  to  tliem  all  in  all.     Lastly,  for  a  thiefe 

it  .  it  miy  seem  it  was  first  invented  for  him  ; 

fii-  ..  cleanly  convey  any  fit  pillage  that  cometh 

\\'  v.  and  when  he  goelh   abroad  in  the 

iiL  his  best  and  sorest  friend  ;  for,  lying, 

'its  together  abro.-ul  to  watch 
prettily  shroud  themselves 
may  conveniently  do  their 
■  fnn  in  hii  mantle  passe 
'lose  hooded  over  his 
■  iiy  to  whom  he  is  in- 
djng'-red.  Bejidcs  this,  he  or  any  man  els  that  Is  disposed  to 
mischief  or  villany,  may,  onder  his  mantle,  goc  privily  armed 
without  suspicion  of  any,  carry  his  head-piece,  his  skean,  or 
nLitol,  i!  '  ',  t4)  be  always  in  readiness." — Spe-nser's 


Virtc  ef  the  State  of  Ireland,  npud    fVorks,   ut   supn,  viii. 
367. 

The  jnvrliiK,  or  darts,  of  the  Irixh,  which  they  ihr.'W  with 
Krrnt  ilrxti  rily.  Bp|«.ar,  from  one  of  the  priiilH  Blr>-uily  nifii- 
tioned,  lu  have  been  about  four  feet  long,  with  a  strong  steel 
head  and  thick  knotted  shafl. 


Note  2  S. 


JI'i'tA  wild  majestic  port  and  tone, 

Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne. — P.  32C. 

The  Irish  chiefs,  in  their  intercourse  with  the  Knglixh,  and 
with  each  other,  were  wont  to  assume  the  laiifjuage  un<l  ftylo 
of  indc|iendent  royalty.  Morrison  Ilts  preserved  a  i.umnions 
from  Tyrone  to  a  neighboring  chieftain,  wliicli  runs  in  tlie  fol- 
low inj;  terms  : — 

"  O'Nealecoramendeth  him  unto  yon,  Morish  Fitz-Thomas  ; 
O'Neale  reqnrsteth  you,  in  God's  name,  to  take  part  with  him, 
and  fight  for  your  conscience  and  right ;  and  in  so  doing, 
O'Neale  will  spend  lo  see  you  righted  in  all  your  affaires,  and 
will  help  you.  And  if  you  come  not  at  O'Neale  betwixt  this 
and  to-morrow  at  twelve  of  the  clocke,  and  lake  his  part, 
O'Neale  is  not  beholiling  to  yon,  and  will  doe  to  the  uttcrino-t 
of  his  power  to  overthrow  you,  if  you  come  not  to  lilm  at  fur- 
thest by  S.-itturday  at  noonc.  From  Knocke  Dumayne  in 
Calrie.  the  fourth  of  February,  1599. 

"O'Neale  rcquestelli  you  to  coma  speako  with  him,  and 
doth  piui!  you  his  word  thtit  yon  shall  receive  no  harme  neither 
in  comming  nor  going  from  him,  whether  you  be  friend  or  not, 
and  bring  with  yon  to  O'Neale  Gerat  Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed)  "  0'Neai.e." 

Nor  did  the  roy.nlty  of  O'Neale  consist  in  words  alone.  Sif 
I  ihii  Harrington  paid  him  a  visit  at  the  time  of  his  truce  with 
Essex,  and,  after  mentioning  his  "  fern  table,  and  fern  forms, 
spread  under  the  stalely  canopy  of  heaven,"  he  notices  what 
constitutes  the  real  power  of  every  monarch,  the  love,  namely, 
and  allegiance  of  his  subjects.  '•  His  guards,  for  the  most 
part,  were  beardless  boys  without  shirts ;  who  in  the  frost 
wade  as  familiarly  through  rivers  as  watei^paniels.  With 
what  charm  such  a  master  makes  them  love  him,  I  know 
not ;  but  if  he  bid  come,  they  come  ;  if  go,  they  do  go  ;  if  he 
say  do  this,  they  do  it." — JVuga:  Antique.  Lond.  ITS-l,  8vo. 
vol.  i.  p.  251. 


Note  2  T. 


ihrongh  any  town  or  ■ 
head,  as  he  U".th,  from 


His  foster-father  was  his  guide. — P.  326 

There  was  no  tie  more  sacred  among  the  Irish  than  that 
which  connected  the  foster-father,  as  well  as  the  nurse  herself 
with  the  child  they  brought  up. 

"Foster-fathers  spend  much  more  time,  money,  and  affec- 
tion on  their  foster-children  than  their  own  ;  and  in  retnm  lake 
lem  clothes,  money  for  their  several   professions,  and 

, und,  even  for  any  vicious  purposes,  fortunes  and  cattle, 

not  so  much  by  a  claim  of  right  as  by  extortion  ;  and  they  will 
even  carry  those  things  off  as  plunder.  All  who  have  been 
nursed  by  the  same  person  preserve  a  greater  mutual  affection 
and  confidence  in  each  other  than  if  they  were  natural  broth? 
ere,  whom  they  will  even  hate  for  the  sake  of  these.  Wheo 
chid  by  their  parents,  they  fly  to  their  foster-fathers,  wno  fre- 
quently encourage  them  to  make  open  war  on  their  parents, 
train  them  up  to  every  excess  of  wickedness,  and  make  them 
most  abandoned  miscreants  ;  as,  on  the  other  band,  the  nurses 
make  the  young  women,  whom  they  bring  up  for  every  ex 
cess.  If  a  foster-child  is  sick,  it  is  incredible  how  soon  the 
nurses  hear  of  it,  however  distant,  and  with  what  solicitude 
they  attend  it  by  day  and  night." — Oiraldus  Cambrensis, 
quoted  by  Camden,  iv.  368. 

This  custom,  like  many  other  Irish  usages,  prevailed  till  of 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


361^ 


late  in  the  Scottisli  Highlands,  and  was  clicrished  by  Uie  cliiefs 
as  an  easy  mode  of  extending  their  influence  and  connection ; 
and  even  in  the  Lowlands,  during  the  last  century,  the  con- 
nection between  the  nurse  and  foster-child  was  seldom  dis- 
solved but  by  the  death  of  one  party. 


Note  2  U. 

Great  Mial  of  the  Pledges  JVjne.— P.  327. 

Tfeal  Naiglivallach,  or  Of  the  Nine  Hostages,  is  said  to  have 
been  Monar<:li  of  all  Ireland,  during  the  end  of  the  fourth  or 
beginning  of  the  fifth  century.  He  exercised  a  predatory  war- 
fare on  the  coast  of  England  and  of  Brctagne,  or  Arniorica ; 
and  from  the  latter  country  brought  ofl"  the  celebrated  Saint 
Patrick,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  among  other  captives,  whom  he 
transported  to  Ireland.  Neal  derived  his  epithet  from  nine 
nations,  or  tribes,  whom  be  held  under  liis  subjection,  and 
from  whom  he  took  hostages.  From  one  of  Neal's  sons  were 
derived  the  Kinel-eoguin,  or  Race  of  Tyrone,  which  ailbrded 
monarchs  both  to  Ireland  and  to  Ulster.  Neal  (according  to 
O'Flaherty's  Ogygia)  was  killed  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  in  one 
•f  his  descents  on  llie  coast  of  Bretagne. 


Note  2  V. 


-327. 


Skane-Dymas  wild. 

This  Shane-Dymas,  or  John  the  Wanton,  held  the  title  and 
power  of  O'Neale  in  the  earlier  part  of  Elizabeth's  reign, 
against  whom  he  rebelled  repeatedly. 

"  This  chieftain  is  banded  down  to  us  as  the  most  proud 
and  profligate  man  on  earth.  He  was  immoderately  addicted 
to  women  and  wine.  He  is  said  to  have  had  200  tuns  of  wine 
at  once  in  his  cellar  at  Dandram,  but  usquebaugh  was  his 
favorite  liquor.  He  spared  neither  age  nor  condition  of  the 
fair  sex.  Altho'  so  illiterate  that  he  could  not  write,  he  was 
not  destitute  of  address  ;  his  understanding  was  strong,  and 
his  courage  daring.  He  had  600  men  for  his  guard  ;  4000  foot, 
1000  hoiNc  for  the  field.  He  claimed  superiority  over  all  the 
lords  of  Ulster,  and  called  himself  king  thereof.  When  com- 
missioners were  sent  to  treat  with  him,  he  said,  '  That,  tho' 
tiie  Q.ueen  were  his  sovereign  lady,  he  never  made  peace  with 
her  but  at  iter  lodging' ;  that  she  had  made  a  wise  Earl  of 
Macartymore,  but  that  he  kept  as  good  a  man  as  he  ;  that 
he  cared  not  for  so  mean  a  title  as  Earl  ;  that  his  blood  and 
power  were  better  than  the  best ;  that  his  ancestors  were  Kinga 
of  Ulster  ;  and  that  he  would  give  place  to  none.'  His  kins- 
man, the  Earl  of  Kildare,  having  persuaded  him  of  the  folly 
of  contending  with  the  crown  of  England,  he  resolved  to  at- 
tend the  Q.ueen,  but  in  a  style  suited  to  his  princely  dignity. 
He  appeared  in  London  with  a  magnificent  train  of  Irish  Gal- 
loglasses,  arrayed  in  the  richest  habiliments  of  their  country, 
their  heads  bare,  their  hair  flowing  on  their  shoulders,  with 
their  long  and  open  sleeves  dyed  with  saffron.  Thus  dressed, 
and  surcharged  with  military  harness,  and  armed  with  battle- 
axes,  they  afforded  an  astonishing  spectacle  to  the  citizens,  who 
regarded  them  as  the  intruders  of  some  very  distant  part  of 
the  globe.  But  at  Court  his  versatility  now  prevailed  ;  his 
title  to  the  sovereignty  of  Tyrone  was  pleaded  from  Englisli 
laws  and  Irish  institutions,  and  his  allegations  were  so  specious, 
that  the  (lueen  dismissed  him  with  presents  and  assurances  of 
favor.  In  Englant*  this  transaction  was  looked  on  as  the  hu- 
miliation o<'  a  repenting  rebel  ;  in  Tyrone  it  was  considered  as  a 
treaty  of  peace  between  two  potentates." — Camden's  Brj- 
tannia,  by  Gough.     Lond.  1806,  fol.  vol.  iv.  p.  442. 

When  reduced  to  extremity  by  the  English,  and  forsaken 
by  his  allies,  this  Shane-Dymas  flet,'  to  Clandeboy,  then  occu- 
pied by  a  colony  of  Siwttish  Highlanders  of  the  family  of  Mac- 
Douell.    He  was  at  fi^t  courteously  received  ;    but   by  de- 


grees they  began  to  quarrel  about  the  slaughter  of  some  of 
their  friends  whoin  Shane-Dymas  had  put  to  death,  and  ad- 
vancing from  words  to  deeds,  fell  upon  him  with  theii  broad- 
swords, and  cut  him  to  jiieces.  After  his  death  a  law  was 
made  that  none  should  presume  to  take  the  name  and  title  of 
O'Neale. 


Note  2  "W. 


Geraldine.—P.  327. 


The  O'Neales  were  closely  allied  with  this  powerful  and 
warlike  family  ;  for  Henry  Owen  O'Neale  married  tJie  daugh- 
ter of  Thomas  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  their  son  Con-More  mar 
ricd  his  cousin-german,  a  daughter  of  Gerald  Earl  of  K  idare 
This  Con-More  cursed  any  of  his  posterity  who  should  learn 
the  English  language,  sow  corn,  or  build  houses,  so  as  to  in 
vite  the  English  to  settle  in  their  country.  Others  ascribe  Ms 
anathema  to  his  son  Con-Bacco.  Fearflatha  O'Gnive,  bard 
to  the  O'Neales  of  Clannaboy,  compl.ains  in  the  same  spirit 
of  the  towers  and  ramj)arts  with  which  the  strangers  had  dis 
figvrcd  the  fair  sporting  fields  of  Erin. — See  Walker's  Irish 
Bards,  p.  140. 


Note  2  X. 


He  chose  that  honor'dflag  to  bear. — P,  328. 

Lacy  informs  us,  in  the  old  play  already  quoted,  how  the 
cavalry  raised  by  the  country  gentlemen  for  Charle#s  service 
were  usually  officered.  "  You,  cornet,  have  a  name  that's 
projjer  for  all  cornets  to  be  called  by,  for  they  are  all  beardless 
boys  in  our  army.  The  most  part  of  our  horse  were  raised 
thus : — The  honest  country  gentleman  raises  the  troop  at  his 
own  charge  ;  then  he  gets  a  Low-country  lieutenant  to  fight 
his  troop  safely  ;  then  he  sends  for  his  son  from  school  to  be  his 
comet :  and  then  he  puts  off  his  child's  coat  to  put  on  a  bnfF- 
coat :  and  this  is  the  constitution  of  our  army.' 


Note  2  Y. 


•  his  page,  the  next  degree 


In  that  old  time  to  chivalry. — P.  32c}. 

Originally,  the  order  of  chivalry  embraced  three  ranks : — 
1.  The  Page  ;  2.  The  Squire  ;  3.  The  Knight  ;— a  gradation 
which  seems  to  have  been  imitated  in  the  mystery  of  free- 
masonry. But,  before  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  the  custom  of 
SLTving  as  a  squire  had  fallen  into  disuse,  though  the  order  of 
the  page  was  still,  to  a  certain  degree,  in  observant'e.  This 
state  of  servitude  was  so  far  from  inferring  any  thing  degrad- 
ing, that  it  was  considered  as  the  regular  school  for  acquiring 
every  quality  nece.ssary  for  future  distinction.  The  proper  na- 
ture, and  the  decay  of  the  institction,  are  pointed  ont  by  old 
Ben  Jonson,  with  his  own  foriible  moral  coloring.  The  dia- 
logue occurs  between  Lovell,  "  a  compleat  gentleman,  a  sol- 
dier, and  a  scholar,  known  to  have  been  page  to  the  old  Lord 
Beaufort,  and  so  to  have  followed  him  in  the  French  waiB, 
after  companion  of  his  studies,  and  left  guardian  to  his  son,'" 
and  the  facetious  Good»tock,  host  of  the  Light  Heart.  Lovell 
had  offered  to  take  Goodstock's  son  for  his  page,  which  tho 
latter,  in  reference  to  the  recent  abuse  of  the  establishment 
declares  as  "  a  de.sperate  course  of  life  :" — 

"  Lovell.  Call  yon  that  desperate,  which  by  a  line 
Of  institution,  from  our  ancestors 
Ilath  been  derived  down  to  us,  and  received 
In  a  succession,  for  the  noblest  way 
Of  breeding  np  oar  yontfa,  in  letters,  arms, 


sro 


scorr's  poetical  works. 


lircaras 
I,  ill  the  praclico,  now, 


Fair  mien,  iliwoanM,  eivQ  cxenebe, 

Ai  '  '     '  ■■"  1  -'"'  Mian  T 

\\  ■•  tiiie,  lo  feboe, 

T..  ^k 

11:  inJ, 

Or  .>  ul'iialaiv, 

Tu  1 

'  t '(  Kir  was  coble, 
A 
That  i.tU'a  urm  not  vvnlvd  at  the  •Iruni, 

:)r 

A^ 
Ar, 
\V. 
Uu- 

L  siiy  no  1 
Dr  I '        ■  v  not  still 

I..-  ■  !li<-  art  of  Thrace 

T..  0  7 

Th'  ind  xpring 

In  amior,  to  l>o  active  in  thu  won  7 
To  itiKly  ligun-*,  numben,  anil  proportion!!, 
Mav  \  I 'M  them  gtvat  in  coon-ieln,  and  the  arts 
Gm'.     N  '    '  •  Ulyraes  practised  ? 

To  •  ct  njHjn  their  tongue, 

Ai  r^\  trt  iiil  Ciiiuctr  j^iya  I 

"  H-''    Ht.  yon  iiiiiitake ; 
To  :■  -.  my  copy  hnth  it, 

An  lo  Madanv  Cn-ssida  ; 

Iii»'  '  10  brave  steeds  o'  mornings. 

To  '     _".nnaid  ;  and  for  a  leap 

O'  tlio  vnu'tins  horse,  to  ply  the  vaalling  hoase: 

For  pxerciw  of  arms,  a  bale  of  dice, 

Or  two  or  three  packs  of  cards  to  show  the  cheat, 

And  niiiililrnt-m  of  hand  ;  minlake  a  clouk 

Upon  wy  luril's  hack,  and  pawn  it  ;  ease  his  pocket 

Of  I  M  watch  ;  or  geld  a  jewel 

Of  ■  or  so  ;  twinge  two  or  three  bnttoos 

From  oti"  my  lady's  gown  :  These  are  the  arts 

Or  *evfn  MIktiI  deadly  sciences 

Of  pa;,'rry,  or  rather  paganism. 

As  tlic  tides  run  ;  to  which  if  he  apply  him. 

He  may  iierhaps  take  a  degree  at  Tyburn 

A  year  the  earlier  ;  come  to  take  a  lecture 

Upon  Aqninat  at  St.  Thomas  a  Watering's, 

And  so  go  forth  a  laoreat  in  hemp  circle  !" 

Ben  Jonso.n's  JVew  Inn,  Act  I.  Scene  III. 


Note  2  Z. 

Serm' d  half  abandon' d  to  decay. — P.  332. 

Tlif  ni  !•  ^.f  .•.-''(•  ofRokfby  stood  exactly  upon  the  site  of 
the  (ir-<'it  m  i;i-ion,  by  which  a  part  of  its  walls  is  enclosed. 
It  B  snrroanded  by  a  profusion  of  fine  wood,  and  the  park  in 
which  it  stands  is  adorned  by  the  junction  of  the  Greta  and  of 
the  Tec».  The  title  of  Baron  Rokeby  of  Armagh  was,  in  1777, 
corifrrri'd  on  iln-  Bii-li!  R.'v.  nnd  Richard  Roliiiison.  Primate 
of  Irflriri'l.  i!.-;,:,,l...,i  of  t!ic  Robiniions,  formerly  of  Rokeby, 
in  )fork>liiro 


Note  3  A. 


liokrhy't  lords  of  martial  fame, 

Jean  count  them  name  by  name. — P.  334 

The  following  brief  pedigree  of  this  very  ancient  and  once 

'     '  J  T«np.  Edw.  ?<li.  ■•  Temp.  Edw.  !til. 

4  Temp.  Uenr   *mi,  and  from  bim  is  tlM  Iwbm  of  Sky  en,  of  a  foar*^ 
■ntlier. 


powerful  family,  was  kindly  supplied  to  the  author  by  Ml. 
Rukrhy  of  Nortlmmptunshin',  doceniWd  of  tlio  aiicir'i  |t  ...^,, 
of  Rokeby  :— 

"  Pedigrte  of  the  House  of  Rokebij. 

1.  Sir  Alex.  Rokeby,  Knt.  mnrriirV  to  Pir  Hump.  I.iltle'b' 

dnughier. 

2.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Eiiq.  to  Tlio.  Luniley's  dau;;ht.|-. 

3.  ."^ir  Tlio.  Rokeby,  Km.  to  Tlio.  IlubborirA  ilaujif.iter. 

4.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Raljih  Biggot's  daugh- 

ter. 

5.  Sir  Thou.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  de  Melsast'  daugh- 

ter of  Bennet-hall,  in  Ilolderness. 
0.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Sir  Brian  Stapleton'a  daoghta 
ofWeighill. 

7.  Sir  Tlio^.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Ury's  daughter.' 

8.  Ralph  Rokeby,  E-iq.  to  daughter  of  Mansfield,  heir  of 

Morton.' 

9.  Sir  Tlio.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Slroode's  daughter  and  heir. 

10.  Fir  Ralph   Rokeby,   Knt.  to   Sir  James  Straiigwayes 

daughter. 

11.  Pir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  Hotham's  daughter. 

12.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Danby  of  Yafforth's  daughter 

and  heir.* 

13.  Tho.   Rokeby,  E-^q.   to  Rob.  Constable's  daughter  of 

Clifl",  serjt.  at  law. 

14.  Christopher  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  La.sscells  of  Brackenbargh's 

daughter." 

15.  Tlio«.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Thweng. 

16.  Sir  1  huiiias  Rokeliy,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Lawson's  daugh- 

ter of  Brough. 

17.  Frans.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Fancett's  daughter,  citizen  of 

London. 

18.  Thoa.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Wicklifle  of 

Gales. 

Jlifsh  S!icrijfj  of  Yorkshire. 
1337.  11  Edw.  3.  Ralph  Hastings  and  Thos.  de  Rokeby. 
1343.   17  Edw.  3.  Tlios.  de  Rokeby,  pro  sept,  annis. 
1358.  25  Edw.  3.  Sir   Thomas  Rokeby,   Justiciary  of  Ire- 
land for  six  years  ;  died  at  the  castle  of 
Kilka. 
1407.     8  Hen.  4.  Tlios.   Rokeby  Miles,  defeated   and  slew 
the   Duke  of  Norlbumbtrland   at  the 
battle  of  Brambam  Moor. 
12  Hen.  4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles. 

Thomas  Rokeby,  Esq. 

Robert   Holgate,  Bish.   of  LandalT,  after- 
wards P.  of  York,  Ld.  President  of  the 
Council  for  the  Preservation  of  Peace 
in  the  North. 
Thomas  Younge,   Archbishop  of  Yorke, 
Ld.  President. 
30  Hen.  8.  Tlio.  Rokeby,  LL.D.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jn,  Rokeby,  LL.D.  one  of  the  Council. 
Henry  Hastings,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  Ld. 

President. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  LL.D.  ditto. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Secreta- 
ries. 
1574.  17  Eliz.        Jo.  Rokeby,  t.eMntor  of  York. 

7  Will.  3.  Sir  J.  Rokeby,  Knt.  one  of  the  Justices  of 
the  King's  Bench, 
family  of  De  Rokeby  came  over  with  the  Conqueror, 
old  motto  belonging  to  the  family  is  In  Bivio  iJcrtra. 
arms,    argent,    chevron    sable,   between  three    rooks 


1411 
1480 
1539, 


15C4.    6  Eliz. 


1572.  15  Eliz. 


The 

The 

Tho 

proper. 


E  From  him  is  tho  hoaae  of  Hothiun,  and  of  the  ncosd  brother  that  hod 
iwue. 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


37. 


There  is  somewhat  more  to  be  fonnd  in  our  family  in  tlie 
Scottish  history  abont  the  affaire  of  Dun-Bretton  town,  bnt 
what  it  is,  and  in  what  time,  I  know  not,  nor  can  have  con- 
venient leisure  to  search.  But  Parson  Blackwood,  the  Scot- 
tish chaplain  to  the  Lord  of  Shrewsbury,  recited  to  me  once  a 
piece  of  a  Scottish  song,  wherein  was  mentioned,  that  Wil- 
liam Wallis,  the  great  deliverer  of  the  Scots  from  the  English 
bondage,  should,  at  Dnn-Bretton,  have  been  brought  up  under 
a  Rokeby,  captain  then  of  the  place  ;  and  as  he  walked  on  a 
cliff,  should  thrust  him  on  a  sudden  into  the  sea,  and  tnereby 
have  gotten  that  hold,  which,  I  think,  was  about  the  33d  of 
Edw.  I.  or  before  Thus,  leaving  our  ancestors  of  record,  we 
must  also  with  them  leave  the  Chronicle  of  Malmesbury  Ab- 
bey, called  Eulogium  Historiarum,  out  of  which  Mr.  Leland 
reporteth  this  history,  and  coppy  down  unwritten  story,  the 
which  have  yet  the  testimony  of  later  times,  and  the  fresh 
memory  of  men  yet  alive,  for  their  warrant  and  creditt,  of 
whom  I  have  learned  it,  that  in  K.  Henry  the  7th's  reign,  one 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  was  owner  of  Morton,  and  I  guess  that 
this  was  he  that  deceived  tlie  fryars  of  Richmond  with  his 
felon  swine,  on  wiiich  a  jargon  was  made." 

The  above  is  a  quotation  from  a  manuscript  written  by  Ralph 
Rokeby  ;  when  he  lived  is  uncertain. 

To  what  metrical  Scottish  tradition  Parson  Blackwood  al- 
luded, it  would  be  now  in  vain  to  inquire.  But  in  Blind  Har- 
ry's History  of  Sir  William  Wallace,  we  find  a  legend  of  one 
Rukbie,  who.li  he  makes  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle  under  the 
English  usurpation,  and  whom  Wallace  slays  with  his  own 
hand  : — 

"  In  the  great  press  Wallace  and  Rukbie  met, 
With  his  good  sword  a  stroke  U])on  him  set ; 
Derfly  to  death  the  old  Rukbie  lie  drave. 
But  his  two  sons  escaped  among  the  lave." 

These  sons,  according  to  the  romantic  Minstrel,  surrendered 
the  castle  on  conditions,  and  went  back  to  England,  but  re- 
turned to  Scotland  in  tiie  days  of  Bruce,  wiien  one  of  them 
became  again  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle.  Immediately  after 
this  achievement  follows  another  engagement,  between  Wal- 
lace and  those  W^estern  Highlanders  who  embraced  the  English 
interest,  at  a  pass  in  Glendonchart,  where  many  were  precipi- 
tated into  the  lake  over  a  precipice.  These  circumstances  may 
have  been  confused  in  the  narrative  of  Parson  Blackwood,  or 
in  the  recollection  of  Mr.  Rokeby. 

In  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  there  is  mentioned,  among 
the  English  warriors,  "  Sir  Raft"  the  ryche  Rugbe,"  which  may 
apply  to  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  the  tenth  baron  in  the  pedigree. 
The  more  modern  copy  of  tlie  ballad  runs  tiius  : 

"  Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  ther  was  slain, 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount." 

This  would  rather  seem  to  relate  to  one  of  the  Nevilles  of 
Raby.  But,  as  the  whole  ballad  is  romantic,  accuracy  is  not 
to  be  looked  for. 


Note  3  B. 
The  Felon  Sow.— P.  334. 


The  ancient  minstrels  had  a  comic  as  well  as  a  serious  strain 
of  romance  ;  and  although  the  e.xamples  of  the  latter  are  by 
far  the  most  numerous,  they  are,  ])prhaps,  the  less  valuable. 
The  comic  romance  was  a  sort  of  parody  upon  the  usual  sub- 
jects of  minstrel  poetry.  If  th<i  latter  described  deeds  of  he- 
roic achievement,  and  the  events  of  the  battle,  the  tourney, 

)  Both  the  MS.  and  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  read  an««(or«,  evidently  a 
•onr.ptior  ii^utiUrs.,  idventures,  as  corrected  by  Mr.  Evans. — 2  Sow 
fttv-oriiiag  t«  ^r(>VAnci«i  pionunciation. — 3  So ;  Yorksiiire  dialect. — 1  FelOt 


and  the  chase,  the  former,  as  in  the  Tonmament  of  Totten- 
ham, introduced  a  set  of  clowns  debating  in  the  field,  with  all 
the  assumed  circumstances  of  chivalry  ;  or,  as  in  the  Hunting 
of  the  Hare  (see  Weber's  Metrical  Romances,  vol.  iii.), 
persons  of  the  same  description  following  the  chase,  witli  all 
the  grievous  mistakes  and  blunders  incident  to  such  unprac- 
tised sportsmen.  The  idea,  therefore,  of  Don  duixote's 
phreiisy,  although  inimitably  embodied  and  brought  out,  was 
not,  perhaps,  in  the  abstract,  altogether  original.  One  of  the 
very  best  of  these  mock  romances,  and  which  has  no  small 
portion  of  comic  humor,  is  the  Hunting  of  the  Felon  Sow  of 
Rokeby  by  the  Friars  of  Richmond.  Ralph  Rokeby,  who 
(for  the  jest's  sake  a])parently)  bestowed  this  intractable  ani- 
mal on  the  convent  of  Richmond,  seems  to  have  flourished 
in  the  time  of  Henry  VII.,  which,  since  we  know  not  the 
date  of  Friar  Theobald's  wardenship,  to  which  the  jioem  re- 
fers us,  may  indicate  that  of  the  composition  itself.  Morton, 
the  Mortham  of  the  te.xt,  is  mentioned  as  being  this  facetious 
baron's  place  of  residence ;  accordingly,  Leland  notices,  that 
"  Mr.  Rokeby  hath  a  place  called  Mortham,  a  little  beneath 
Grentey-bridge,  almost  on  the  mouth  of  Grentey."  That  no 
information  may  be  lacking  which  is  in  my  power  to  supply,  I 
have  to  notice,  that  the  Mistress  Rokeby  of  the  romance,  who 
so  cliaritably  refreshed  the  sow  after  she  had  discomfited 
Friar  Jliddleton  and  his  auxiliaries,  was,  as  appeare  from  the 
pedigree  of  the  Rokeby  family,  daughter  and  heir  of  Danby 
of  Yaiforth. 

This  curious  poem  was  first  published  in  Mr.  Whitaker's 
History  of  Craven,  but,  from  an  inaccurate  manuscrij)t,  not 
corrected  very  happily.  It  was  transferred  by  Mr.  Evans  to 
the  new  edition  of  his  Ballads,  with  some  well-judged  conjec- 
tural improvements.  I  have  been  induced  to  give  a  more  au- 
thentic and  full,  though  still  an  imperfect,  edition  of  this 
humorsome  coinposilion,  from  being  furnished  with  a  copj 
from  a  manuscript  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Rokeby,  to  whom 

I  have  acknowledged  my  obligations  in  the  last  Note.  It  has 
three  or  four  stanzas  more  than  that  of  Mr.  Whitaker,  and  the 
language  seems,  where  they  ditier,  to  have  the  more  ancient 
and  genuine  readings. 

The  Felon  Sow  of  liokeby  and  the  Friars  of  Richmond. 

Ye  men  that  will  of  annters'  winne, 
That  late  within  this  land  hath  beene, 

Of  one  I  w'ill  you  tell  ; 
And  of  a  sew^  that  was  sea^  Strang, 
Alas  !  that  ever  she  lived  sae  lang, 

For  fell!  folk  did  she  whell.s 

She  was  mare^  than  other  three, 
The  grisliest  beast  that  ere  might  oe, 

Her  head  was  great  and  gray  : 
She  was  bred  in  Rokeby  wood. 
There  were  few  that  thither  goed,^ 

That  came  on  live^  away. 

Her  walk  was  endlong^  Greta  side  ; 
There  was  no  breni"  that  durst  her  bide, 

That  was  froe"  heaven  to  hell ; 
Nor  never  man  that  had  that  might, 
That  ever  durst  come  in  her  sight. 

Her  force  it  was  so  fell. 

Ralph  of  Rokeby,  with  good  will. 
The  Fryers  of  Richmond  gave  her  till,'* 

Full  well  to  garrei^  them  fare 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name. 
He  was  sent  to  fetch  her  hame, 

That  rude  him  sine'*  full  sare. 

many  Sax. — 5  A  corruption  of  gueU,  to  kill. — 0  More,  greater. — 7  Went, 
— 8  Alive. — 9  Along  the  aide  of  Greta. — 10  Bam,  cliild,  man  in  general,-" 

II  From.— 12  To.— 13  Make.— H  Since. 


872 


scorr's  poktical  works. 


With  him  looke  lie  wii-ht  raun  two, 
Pricf  n  .  ■■  of  llioo, 

A  "■: 

Wuat  tiiue  0*  muter  ware.' 

Tl>mc  three  mrn  wriit  at  GoJ'i  will, 
TliU  nickol  WW  wliilv  tliey  came  till, 

I.i.:^-.iii'  oitdrr  a  tree  ; 
Ruci;  anil  rutty  wnj  hrr  haire  ; 
0he  niiM?  u)i  with  a  ft'loti  fare,^ 

To  light  agaiiut  the  three. 

pi  I'lir  to  nici'te, 

ti,  np  with  lu-r  feete, 

Ami  iro  the  treo  ; 

Whni  1        -  '^i      I  iton  liiT  MUgh,* 
Wwl  yc  wi-ll  he  iiiiilit  not  laugh, 

Full  carin'slly  look't  lieo. 

Thwe  men  of  aontcni  that  wa5  so  wijht,* 
They  bound  them  banldly^  for  to  fight, 

And  tlrikc  at  her  full  wire : 
Until  a  kiln  lln-y  garrcd  hrr  flee, 
Wold  God  fond  ihom  the  victory, 

The  wold  ask  him  noa  mare. 

The  •''W  woii  in  the  kiln  hole  down, 
A»  tlu-y  were  on  the:  balkc  aboon,<* 

For'  hurling  of  their  feet ; 
They  were  w  ranltedi"  with  this  «cw, 
That  among  lliem  wo.^  a  slolworth  stew. 

The  kilu  bcgao  to  rccke. 

Dont  noe  man  neigh  her  with  his  hand. 
But -put  a  ra|>e>>  down  with  his  wand. 

Ami  haltered  her  full  meete ; 
TIk  y  hurled  her  forth  ug;iinst  her  will, 
Wliili-^  they  came  into  a  hill 

A  little  fro  the  itreet."* 

And  there  she  made  them  such  a  fray, 
If  tlicy  should  live  to  Doomes-day, 

They  tharrowi^  it  ne'er  forgett ; 
She  braded'*  upon  every  side, 
Anrl  ran  on  them  gaping  full  wide. 

For  nothing  would  she  lett.'* 

Fhc  pnve  snch  brades"  at  the  band 
That  PeU-r  Dale  had  in  his  hand, 

He  mizht  not  hold  his  feel. 
Fhe  chafed  them  to  and  fro. 
The  wi„'ht  men  was  never  soe  woo. 

Their  measure  was  not  so  meete. 

She  bound  her  boldly  to  abide ; 
To  Peter  Dale  she  came  aside, 
Wit!.  :  l.idcoos  yell; 


I  r  '■'■'.  Whilaker'i  ropy  reads,  pcrbspi  in  conie- 

quenc*- >-:  ;...'.: — ■■^  L.c  MS.,  "  T'othtr  wiu  Br>-An  of  Benr." — Q  Need 
were.  Mr.  U  liiuiker  rods  mutura. — s  Lyinf^. — I  A  fierce  couote- 
BAnce  oT  iTnnr.-r.— a  ?.  .  ■■.    The   Rokeby  MS.  reads 

mfoimtert,  ar.'l   Mr.   'W  —1   Boldly. — 9  On  the  beam 

Above. — 9  To  prev." '.-- ;  ;.«. — n  Watlifi)^  Street.    See 

the  seqoel.— IJ  D.i-  ■•  it.— n  Pulli.— 17  This  line 

J»  wsr'"  "  ^"  \tr    'A  It   )"•■  t'f-' n  conjertared  thai 

Mine'.  I  DO  occasion  to 

•opi"'  r.—ai  Sheltered 

hiimelf.— a  Fierce. — V  Tlie  MS.  reads,  lo  labour  vtert.  The  leil 
aec-is  to  mean,  that  all  their  labor  to  obLsia  their  iateaded  meat  was 


B)  nta  to  them.    Mr.  Whitaker  reads. 


She  gsjied  soe  wide  and  cried  soe  hee. 
The  Fryarseid,  "  I  conjure  thee," 
Thou  art  a  feind  of  hell. 

"  Thou  art  come  hither  for  some  traino," 
I  runjnre  thee  lo  go  againe 

When-  thou  wa.st  wont  to  dwell." 
He  nuyned"  liiir.  with  croue  and  crecde, 
Took  forth  a  book,  began  to  ruade 

In  St.  John  his  gos|>ell. 

The  sew  she  would  not  Latin  hearo. 
But  rudely  rushed  at  the  Frear, 

That  blinked  all  his  blee  ;» 
And  when  she  would  have  taken  her  hold 
The  Fryar  leaped  as  Jesus  wold, 

And  bcalcd  liiin^'  with  a  tree. 

She  was  as  brim"  a.s  any  beare. 
For  all  their  meete  lo  labour  there,"' 

To  them  it  was  no  boote  : 
Upon  trees  and  bushes  that  by  her  stood. 
She  ranged  as  she  was  wood," 

And  rave  them  up  by  roote. 

He  sayd,  "  Al.ta,  mat  I  was  Frear ! 
And  I  shall  be  rugi.'ed>'  in  sunder  here, 

Hard  is  my  desiinic! 
Wisi>'''  my  brethren  in  this  hoare. 
That  I  was  Rett  in  sueh  a  stoure," 

Tliey  would  pray  for  me." 

This  wicked  beast  that  wrought  this  woe, 
Tooke  that  ra|ic  from  the  other  two. 

And  then  they  lledd  all  three  ; 
They  fledd  away  by  VValling-«trcet, 
They  had  no  succour  but  their  feet. 

It  was  the  more  pily. 

The  feild  it  was  both  lost  and  wonne  ;* 
The  sew  went  hamc,  and  that  full  soone, 

To  Morion  on  the  Greene  ; 
When  Ralph  of  Rokeby  saw  the  rape,** 
He  wist'"  thai  there  had  been  debate, 

Whereat  the  sew  had  beene. 

He  bade  them  stand  out  of  her  way, 
For  she  had  had  a  sudden  fray, — 

"  I  saw  never  so  keene  ; 
pome  new  things  shall  we  hcare 
Of  her  and  Aliildleton  the  Freai, 

Some  battcll  hath  there  beene." 

But  all  that  served  him  for  nonght. 
Had  they  not  belter  succour  sought, 

They  were  served  therefore  loe. 
Then  Mistres.^  Rokeby  came  anon, 
And  for  her  brought  shee  mcate  full  sooDe, 

The  sew  came  her  unto. 


"  She  woa  brim  as  any  boar, 
And  ^nve  n  ^^isly  hidiruus  roar. 
To  them  it  was  no  boot." 

Besides  the  want  of  connection  between  the  last  line  and  the  two  formei^ 
the  second  has  a  very  modern  sound,  and  the  reading  of  the  Rokeby  M3, 
with  the  alight  alteration  in  the  text,  is  much  better. 

M  Mad.— »  Tom,  pulled.— 9S  Knew.- 27  Combat,  perilons  fight.— 
aB  Thia  stanza,  with  the  two  followiug,  and  the  fragment  of  a  fourth,  ar* 
not  in  Mr.  Whilaker's  edition.- ai  The  rope  about  the  K/w'a  ae«k.— 
30  Knew. 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


3>, 


1 


She  gave  her  meate  upon  the  flower, 
•  •  »  •  •     1 

\_Hiatus  valde  deflendus.'] 

When  Fryar  Middleton  came  home, 
His  brethren  was  full  fain  ilkone," 

Anil  thanked  God  of  liis  life  ; 
He  told  them  all  unto  the  end, 
How  he  had  foujjhten  with  a  fiend, 

And  lived  through  mickle  strife. 

"  We  gave  her  battel!  half  a  day, 
And  sithin^  was  fain  to  lly  away. 

For  saving  of  our  life  ;' 
And  Pater  Dale  would  never  hlinn,* 
But  as  fast  as  he  could  ryn,^ 

Till  he  carae  to  his  wife." 

The  warden  said,  "  I  am  full  of  woe. 
That  ever  ye  should  be  torment  so, 

But  wee  with  you  had  beene  ! 
Had  wee  been  there  your  brethren  all. 
Wee  should  have  garred  the  warle'   fall, 

That  wrought  you  all  this  teyne."8 

Fryar  Middleton  said  soon,  "  Nay, 
In  faith  you  would  liave  fled  away, 

When  most  mister^   had  beene  ; 
You  will  all  speake  words  at  hame, 
A  man  would  ding'"  you  every  ilk  ane. 

And  if  it  be  as  I  weine." 

He  look't  so  griesly  all  that  night, 
The  warden  said,  "  Yon  man  will  fight 

If  you  say  oaght  but  good  ; 
Yon  guest"  hath  grieved  him  so  sare, 
Hold  your  tongues  and  speake  noe  mare 

He  looks  as  he  were  woode." 

The  warden  waged  12  on  the  morne, 
Two  boldest  men  that  ever  were  borne, 

I  weine,  or  ever  shall  be  ; 
The  one  was  Gibbert  Griffin's  son. 
Full  mickle  worship  has  he  wonne. 

Both  by  land  and  sea. 

The  other  was  a  bastard  son  of  Spain, 
Many  a  Sarazin  hath  he  slain, 

His  diuti3  hath  gart  them  die. 
These  two  men  the  battle  undertooke, 
Against  the  sew,  as  says  the  booke, 

And  sealed  security. 

That  they  should  boldly  bide  and  fight. 
And  skomfit  her  in  maine  and  might. 

Or  therefore  should  they  die. 
The  warden  sealed  to  them  againe, 
And  said,  "  In  feild  if  ye  be  slain. 

This  condition  make  I : 

"  We  shall  for  you  pray,  sing,  and  read 
Till  doomesday  with  hearty  speede 

With  all  our  progeny." 
Then  the  letters  well  was  made, 

I  Thia  line  ia  almost  illegible.— 2  Each  one. — 3  Since  then,  after  that. 
—4  The  above  lines  are  wantijig  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy. — 5  Cease,  atop. 
—6  Run. — 7  Warlocli,  or  wizard. — S  Hann.— 9  Need. — 10  Beat.  The  copy 
in  Mr.  Wliitalier's  History  of  Craven  reads,  perhaps  better, — 

"  The  fiend  would  ding  you  down  ilk  one." 
11  "  Yon  guest,"  may  be  yon  g*«5?,  i.  e.,  that  adventure  ;  or  it  may  mean 
yon  g'\ai8t,  or  apparition,  which  in  old  poems  is  applied  si  metimes  to  what 
la  supsmaturally liideouB.    The  printed  copy  reads, — "The  beast  liath," 


Bands  bound  with  scales  brade,'* 
As  deedes  of  armes  should  be. 

These  men  of  armes  that  weere  so  wight, 
With  armour  and  with  brandes  bright, 

They  went  this  sew  to  see  ; 
She  made  on  them  slike  a  rerd,i5 
That  for  her  they  were  sare  afer'd, 

And  almost  bound  to  flee. 

She  came  roveing  them  againe  ; 
That  saw  the  bastard  son  of  Spaine, 

He  bradedif  out  his  brand  ; 
Full  spiteously  at  her  he  strake. 
For  all  the  fence  that  he  could  make. 

She  gat  sword  out  of  hand  ; 
And  rave  in  sunder  half  liis  shielde, 
And  bare  him  backward  in  the  feilde, 

He  might  not  her  gaiustaud. 

She  would  have  riven  his  privich  geara 
But  Gilbert  with  his  sword  of  werre. 

He  strake  at  her  full  strong, 
On  her  shoulder  till  she  lield  the  swerd  : 
Then  was  good  Gilbert  sore  afer'd, 

When  the  blade  brake  in  throng." 

Since  in  his  hands  he  hath  her  tane. 
She  tooke  him  by  the  shoulder  bane,i8 

And  held  her  hold  full  fast ; 
She  strave  so  stiffly  in  tliat  stower,!* 
That  through  all  his  rich  armour 

The  blood  came  at  the  last. 

Then  Gilbert  grieved  was  sae  sare. 
That  he  rave  off  both  hide  and  haire, 

The  flesh  came  fro  the  bone  ; 
And  with  all  force  he  felled  her  there. 
And  wann  her  worthily  in  werre, 

And  band  her  him  alone. 

And  lift  her  on  a  horse  sae  hee. 
Into  two  paniers  well-made  of  a  tre. 

And  to  Richmond  they  did  hay  '."^ 
When  they  saw  her  come, 
They  sang  merrily  Te  Deum, 

The  Fryers  on  that  day .21 

They  thanked  God  and  St.  Francis, 
As  tiiey  had  won  the  best  of  pris,23 

And  never  a  man  was  slaine  : 
There  did  never  a  man  more  manly, 
Knight  Marcus,  nor  yett  Sir  Gui, 

Nor  Loth  of  Louthyane.23 

If  ye  will  any  more  of  this. 
In  the  Fryers  of  Richmond  'tis 

In  parchment  good  and  fine  ; 
And  how  Fryar  Middleton  that  was  so  kend,'.'* 
At  Greta  Bridge  conjured  a  feind 

In  likeness  of  a  swine. 

It  is  well  known  to  many  a  man, 
That  Fryar  Theobald  was  warden  than, 

&c.— 12  Hired,  a  Yorkshire  phrase.— 13  Blow.— 14  Broad,  large.— 16  Su«9 
like  a  roar.- Iti  Drew  out.— n  In  the  combat.— IS  Bone.— 19  Meetmg,  but- 
tle.—20  Hie,  hasten.— 21  The  MS.  reads,  mistakenly,  ci-try  day.—  22  Price. 
—23  The  father  of  Sir  Gawain,  m  the  romance  of  Arthur  and  Merlin 
The  MS.  ifl  thus  corrupted — 

More  loth  of  Louth  Ryme. 
S4  Well  known,  or  perhaps  kmd,  well  disposed. 


8Y4 


Sr'OTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ar-(  fhw  frll  In  hi*  lini"  ; 


and  nrarv, 

Iff*, 


ilarv. 


And  liiu  tlul  u»il«  Ibe  tliiine. 

Ral|ih  Rokptiy  with  full  good  will, 
TIk'  Kryrnof  Ku'tiniond  lie  Save  IxT  till, 
TliM  arw  to  uirnil  llioir  rani ; 

r      • :...», 

\  cw  Imine, 

TKaI  iullI  hiiu  uucv  I  uil  •ar«. 


Note  8  C. 

The  Filea  of  O'J^tate  was  he.—V.  334. 

nr  Ollaiiili  Re  Dan,  wtu  the  proper  bant,  or,  ax 
illy  iniiilifii.  [lovt.     Kaeli  cliii-riaiii  ot'iiintiiiotion 
ruro,  wlioHu  oHiw  was  unually  liereil- 
n  Mr.  Coojier  Walker  has  u^s('lllllle(i 
n  'iculnn  conci-rniiig  thin  onlir  of  nu>n, 

I',  III' (lie  IrJAii  Hardx.     There  were  illn- 

cr  I.,  hill  nil  wi're  held  in  the  higli- 

r-i  !         '  .   who  eoii-iilered  lliem  as  chief 

ru;i|><>r-.iT4  of  the  •pint  of  iiatioiml  inde|K-ndenee,  were  much 
li-inf..- 1  to  |)ro«"-ril>e  thi.4  nee  of  iK)oi»,  as  lidward  I.  is  said  to 
>:>\<'<luii'  III  W.ilt'A.  Spciuer,  while  he  admit-s  the  merit  of 
Hiiir  wild  jKM-lry,  oa  "savoring  of  sweet  wit  and  good  inven- 
tion, and  >priukled  with  wine  pretty  tluwers  of  their  natural 
device,"  yet  rigorouiiljr  eo  '        lun  of  their 

poetry.  n«  nliawd  to  "i  ind  vice." 

Tl:  I  niin»ln-l  w;i.>  ailnniud  even  to  iliu  fca.«t  of  the 

|ir.  i  lie  MTved,  and  sat  ul  the  same  table.     It  was 

one  ot  tile  eU!>toins  of  which  Sir  Richard  Scwry,  (o  whose 
charge  Rii-hanl  II.  committed  the  instruction  of  four  Irish 
monarchs  in  the  civilization  of  the  (HTiod,  found  it  nio.'^t  dilli- 
cnlt  to  break  lii*  royal  disciples,  though  he  had  also  much  ado 
to  subject  them  to  other  English  roles,  and  particularly  to  rec- 
oncile them  to  wear  breeches.  "  The  kyng,  my  Kouerevigne 
lonl's  enteut  was,  that  in  nianer,  countenannce,  and  apparel  of 
cloihyng,  they  sholde  use  according  to  the  maner  of  Englande, 
for  the  kyngo  thought  to  make  them  all  four  knyghtcs  :  they 
had  a  fayre  house  to  lodge  in,  in  Duvelyn,  and  I  was  charged 
to  ahydo  slyll  with  them,  and  not  to  ileparte ;  and  .^o  two  or 
thivc  dayes  I  suffered  them  to  do  as  they  list,  and  sayde  noth- 
jrng  to  them,  but  folowcd  their  owne  appetytes :  they  wolde 
(ittc  at  the  table,  and  make  countenances  nother  good  nor 
fayre.  Than  I  thought  I  shulde  cause  them  to  chaunge  that 
maner;  tliey  wolde  cause  their  rayastrells,  tlieir seruantes,  and 
vorlcttes,  to  sytte  with  them,  and  to  e.ite  in  their  owne  dyssche, 
*ai  to  drinke  of  tlieir  cup|)e»;  and  they  shewed  me  that  the 
ornje  of  their  eiintre  wa.s  good,  for  they  sayd  in  all  thyngs 
(.x..|.t  th.ir  l)il.ie:>;  they  were  and  lyved  as  comen.  So  the 
f<"  '  unlayned  other  tables  to  be  couercd  in  the  hall, 

ai  -of  Eii^landc,  and  I  made  these  four  knyghtes 

I"  and  there  myiistrels  at  another  horde, 

n  •'   varlettes    at  another   byneth    them, 

wherof  by  semyngo  they  were  displea.<ed,  and  beheld  each 
other,  and  woldu  not  eate,  and  sayde,  how  I  wolde  take  fro 
thera  tJicir  good  usage,  wherein  they  had  been  norished.  Then 
I  answered  them,  smylyng,  to  apeacc  thera,  that  it  was  not 
honourable  for  their  estates  to  do  as  they  dyde  before,  and  that 
tJicy  must  leave  it,  and  use  the  custom  of  Englande,  and  thai 
It  was  the  kynge's  ph.a.»ure  they  sholde  so  do,  and  how  ho  was 
charg<.-d  so  to  onler  them.  When  they  h.irile  that,  they  suffer- 
ed it,  byeause  they  had  pnttc  them'tlfe  under  the  obesyance 
of  the  Kyngp  of  England,  and  parceuered  in  the  same  as  long 
as  I  was  with  ihem  ;  yet  they  had  one  use  which  I  knew  was 
well  used  in  their  contre,  and  that  was,  ihey  dyde  were  no 
beeches  ;  I  caused  breches  of  lynen  clothe  to  be  made  for  them. 
Wbyle  I  was  with  them  I  oiased  them  to  Icane  many  rude 


ihynges,  as  well  in  clothyng  nt  in  other  causes.  Motdie  ado  I 
had  at  the  fyrnl  to  cau«'  them  to  weare  gowni"»  of  sylke,  fnr- 
n-d  Willi  myneuere  and  gray  ;  for  before  these  kyiiges  thoii;,'hl 
tbcMinvlfe  weir  apparelled  whan  they  had  on  a  niantill.  They 
rode  alwayrs  without  saddles  and  styropes,  and  with  gn-at 
payno  I  made  them  to  ride  after  our  usage." — Lord  BieRKKna' 
Fnihuarl.     Loud.  1812,  4to.  vol.  ii.  p.  621. 

The  inlluenco  of  these  bards  upon  their  patrons,  and  theii 
adniitled  title  to  interfere  in  matters  of  the  weightiest  concern, 
may  he  also  provid  from  the  luliavior  of  one  of  them  at  an  in- 
terview between  Tlioiiias  Fiiz^iriild,  non  of  the  Earl  of  Kil- 
dare,  then  about  to  renounce  the  English  allegiance,  B«d  the 
Lord  Chancellor  Cromer,  who  made  a  long  ami  goodly  oration 
to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose.  The  young  loni  had  come 
to  the  council  "  armed  and  w<a|>onecl,"  and  attended  by  seven 
score  horsemen  in  their  shirU  of  mail ;  and  we  are  assured  that 
the  chancellor,  having  set  forth  his  oration  "  with  such  a  la- 
mentable action  as  his  checkcs  were  all  beblubbered  with  teares, 
the  horsemen,  namelie,  such  as  understood  not  English,  began 
to  diuine  what  the  lord-chancellor  meant  with  all  this  long  cir- 
cuniKtance;  some  of  thera  reporting  that  he  was  preaching  a 
sermon,  olliers  said  that  ho  stood  making  of  some  heroieall 
l>oetry  in  the  praise  of  the  Lord  Thomas.  And  thus  as  every 
idiot  shot  his  foolish  boll  at  the  wise  chancellor  his  discourse, 
who  in  ert'ect  liad  nought  else  but  drop  prelious  hloiies  before 
hogs,  one  Bard  do  Nelan,  an  Irish  ritlimour,  and  a  rotten  Blieepo 
to  infect  a  whole  llocke,  was  chatting  of  Irish  verses,  as  tliongli 
his  toong  had  run  on  pattens,  in  commendation  of  the  Lord 
Thomas,  investing  him  with  the  title  of  ."-"ilken  Thomas,  bicaus 
his  horxcmens  jacks  were  gorgeously  imbroidered  with  eilke : 
and  in  the  end  he  told  him  that  he  lingered  there  ouer  long , 
whereat  the  Lord  Thomas  being  quickened,"'  as  Ilolin^hed 
expresses  it,  hid  defiance  to  the  chancellor,  thr<-w  down  con 
temptuously  the  sword  of  office,  which,  in  his  father's  absence 
be  held  as  deputy,  and  rushed  forth  to  engage  in  open  insur 
rection. 


KOTE  3  D. 


^h,  Clandcboy  I  thy  friendly  jloor 
Slieve-Doiiard's  oak  shall  light  no  more. — P.  335. 

Clandeboy  is  a  district  of  Ulster,  formerly  possessed  by  the 
sept  of  the  O'Neales,  and  Slieve-Donard,  a  romantic  mountain 
in  the  same  province.  The  clan  was  ruined  after  Tyrone's 
great  rebellion,  and  their  places  of  abode  laid  desolate.  The 
ancient  Irish,  wild  and  uncultivated  in  other  respects,  did  not 
yield  even  to  their  descendants  in  practising  the  most  free  and 
extended  hospitality  ;  and  doubtless  the  bards  mourned  the 
decay  of  the  mansion  of  their  chiefs  in  strains  similar  to  tho 
verses  of  the  British  Llywarch  Hen  on  a  similar  occasion, 
which  are  affecting,  even  through  the  discouraging  medium  of 
a  literal  translation — 

"  Silent-breathing  gale,  long  wilt  tliou  be  heard  ! 
There  is  scarcely  another  deserving  praise, 
Since  Urien  is  no  more. 

Many  a  dog  thai  scented  well  tho  prey,  and  aiirial  hawk, 
Have  been  train'd  on  this  floor 
Before  Erlleon  became  jiollnled  .  .  . 

This  hearth,  ah,  will  il  nol  be  covered  with  nettles  I 

Whilst  its  defender  lived, 

More  congenial  to  it  was  the  foot  of  the  needy  petitioner. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  green  sod  I 

In  the  lifetime  of  Owain  and  Eljjhin, 

Its  ample  caldron  boiled  the  prey  taken  from  the  foe. 

1  HoUinslied.    Lend.  iS08, 4to.  vol.  vi.  p.  291. 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


375 


This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  toad-stools ! 
Around  the  viand  it  prepared,  more  cheering  was 
The  clattering  sword  of  the  fierce  dauntless  warrior. 

This  l.earth,  will  it  not  be  overgrown  with  spreading 

brambles  ! 
Till  now,  logs  of  burning  wood  lay  on  it, 
Accustom'd  to  proj)are  the  gifts  of  Reged  ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  thorns  I 

More  congenial  on  it  would  have  been  the  mixed  group 

Of  Owain's  social  friends  united  in  harmony. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  ants  ! 

More  adapted  to  it  would  have  been  the  bright  torches 

And  harmless  festivities  ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  dock-leaves ! 

More  congenial  on  its  floor  would  have  been 

The  mead,  and  the  talking  of  wine-cheer'd  warriors. 

Tin's  hearth,  will  it  not  be  turned  up  by  the  swine  I 
More  congenial  to  it  would  liave  been  the  clamor  of  men, 
And  the  circling  horns  of  the  banquet." 

Heroic  Elegies  of  lAyicarc  Hen,  hy  Owen. 
Lond.  1792,  8vo.  p.  41. 

"  The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  bed — 

I  must  weep  a  while,  and  then  be  silent! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  tire,  without  candle — 

Except  God  doth,  who  will  endue  me  with  patience ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  being  lighted — 
Be  thou  encircled  with  spreading  silence  ! 

The  liall  of  Cynddylan,  gloomy  seems  its  roof 
Since  the  sweet  smile  of  humanity  is  no  more — 
Woe  to  him  that  saw  it,  if  lie  neglects  to  do  good  ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  art  thou  not  bereft  of  thy  appear- 
ance ? 
Thy  shield  is  in  the  grave  ; 
Whilst  lie  lived  there  was  no  broken  roof! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  without  love  this  night, 

Since  he  that  own'd  it  is  no  more — 

Ah,  death  :  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  he  will  leave  me  ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  not  easy  this  night, 
On  the  top  of  the  rock  of  Hydwyth, 

Without  its  lord,  without  company,  without  the  circling 
feasts ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Wiilioul  fire,  without  songs — 
Tears  afflict  the  cheeks  ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  family — 
My  overflowing  tears  gush  out ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddjlan  pierces  me  to  see  it, 
Without  a  covering,  without  fire — 
My  general  dead,  and  I  alive  myself  I 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  the  seat  of  chill  grief  this  niglit. 

After  the  respect  I  experienced  ; 

IVithout  th*.  men,  without  the  women,  who  reside  there  ! 


The  hall  of  Cynddylan  13  silent  this  night. 

After  losing  its  master — 

The  great  merciful  God,  what  shall  I  do  1' 


ma.  p.  77. 


Note  3  E. 


M'Curtin's  harp.— P.  336. 

"MacCurtin,  hereditary  OUamh  of  North  Munster,  act, 
Filea  to  Donough,  Earl  of  Thomond,  and  President  of  Mun- 
ster.  This  nobleman  was  amongst  those  who  were  prevailed 
upon  to  join  Elizabeth's  forces.  Soon  as  it  Wcis  known  thai 
he  had  basely  abandoned  tlie  interests  of  his  country,  Mac- 
Curtin presented  an  adulatory  poem  to  MaeCarthy,  chief  of 
South  Munster,  and  of  the  Eugenian  line,  who,  with  O'Neil, 
O'Donnel,  Lacy,  and  others,  were  deeply  engaged  in  protect 
ing  their  violated  country.  In  this  poem  he  dwelt  with  rap- 
ture on  the  courage  and  patriotism  of  MaeCarthy  ;  but  the 
verse  that  should  (according  to  an  established  law  of  the  order 
of  the  bards)  be  introduced  in  tlie  praise  of  O'Brien,  he  turns 
into  severe  satire : — '  How  am  I  afflicted  (says  he)  that  the 
descendant  of  the  great  Brion  Boiroinb  cannot  furnish  me 
with  a  theme  worthy  the  honor  and  glory  of  his  exalted  race  !' 
Lord  Thomond,  hearing  this,  vowed  vengeance  on  the  spirited 
bard,  who  fled  for  refuge  to  the  county  of  Cork.  One  day, 
observing  the  exasperated  nobleman  and  his  equipage  at  a  small 
distance,  he  thought  it  was  in  vain  to  fly,  and  pretended  to  be 
suddenly  seized  with  the  pangs  of  death  ;  directing  his  wife  to 
lament  over  him,  and  tell  his  lordship,  that  the  sight  of  him, 
by  awakening  the  sense  of  his  ingratitude,  had  so  much  affected 
him  that  he  could  not  support  it ;  and  desired  her  at  the  same 
time  to  tell  his  lordship,  that  he  entreated,  as  a  dying  request, 
his  forgiveness.  Soon  as  Lord  Thomond  arrived,  the  feigned 
tale  was  related  to  him.  That  nobleman  was  moved  to  com- 
passion, and  not  only  declared  that  he  most  heartily  forgave 
him,  but,  opening  his  purse,  presented  the  fair  mourner  with 
some  pieces  to  inter  him.  This  instance  of  his  lordship's  pity 
and  generosity  gave  courage  to  the  trembling  bard  ;  who,  sud- 
denly springing  up,  recited  an  extemporaneous  ode  in  praise  of 
Donough,  and,  re-entering  into  his  service,  became  once  more 
his  favorite." — Walker's  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards. 
Lond.  1786,  4to.  p.  141. 


Note  3  F. 


The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress. — P.  336. 

Among  the  entertainments  presented  to  Elizabeth  at  Kenil- 
worth  Castle,  was  the  introduction  of  a  person  designed  to 
represent  a  travelling  minstrel,  who  entertained  her  with  a 
solemn  story  out  of  the  Acts  of  King  Arthur.  Of  this  person's 
dress  and  appearance  Mr.  Laneham  has  given  us  a  very  accu- 
rate account,  transferred  by  Bishop  Percy  to  the  preliminary 
Dissertation  on  Minstrels,  prefixed  to  his  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  i. 


WOTE  8  G, 
Littleeote  Hall.—?.  340. 

The  tradition  from  which  the  ballad  is  founded  was  .=upplied 
by  a  friend  (the  late  Lord  Webb  Seymour),  whose  account  I 
will  not  do  the  injustice  to  abridge,  as  it  contains  an  admirable 
picture  of  an  old  English  hall : — 

"  Littleeote  House  stands  in  a  low  and  lonely  situation. 
On  three  sides  it  is  surrounded  by  a  park  that  spreads  over 
the  adjoining  hill  ;  on  the  fourth,  by  meadows  which  are  wa- 
tered by  the  river  Keiinet.     Close  on  one  side  of  the  house  is  a 


370 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


an 

A-  ^ «. 

un>)  thero  U  i 

III.' 

I„» 

r>.ru.  ,  . 


thick  trove  of  lofty  Um*.  aloiif  the  ver^  of  which  rant  one 

of  ;■  '  ^   to  it  tlirov   '    ■' It  i«  an 

irr-  antiquity.  >  crrcliHl 


i  old 
II  lel'l  a  jin-v  to  rust. 

...     of  nini'  ■■>  '<!  Ii'-lriu'ti, 

•  of  oUI-f.  lols 

i-lockn.       IliiMM    (i.ii    1}    1>0- 

rn  jtirkins,  ma<lo  in  the 
ariiiur  by  tJie 

»•...'.  >im  oni*  end  of 

.c  ;'i.;k.^ti>l  llio  whole  iici^'hbor- 
■  rivl  of  it  mado  it  aiLswer  at 
rl.    Tlif  FL-i  of  iho 
;  ,  .  rly  an  arni-tliair  of 

cunilirjiit  workniaiL-^Iiip,  constructed  of  wood,  curiously  turned, 
witli  .1  luL'li  bnrk  and  triangular  seat,  said  to  have  been  used 
by  JiiiL'<>  Popbam  in  the  roi^  of  Elizabeth.  The  entrance 
into  III'-  li:ill  U  at  one  end,  by  a  low  door,  communicating  with 
a  p.To.i;.'  ilinl  UatU  from  the  outer  door  in  the  front  of  the 
•'  :•  within  ;  at  the  other,  it  op^n.^  npon  a 
■  wliirh  yon  s«ccnd  to  the  fir>t  floor,  and, 
,1.1-  r^,  enter  a  narrow  gallery, 

w!i  nf  the  hoDse  from  one  ctid 

lo  tli>'  utii  T  o\  it.  am!  looks  upon  an  old  garden.  This  gallery 
i^  htir ;:  with  ivorlrait-",  cliielly  in  the  Spanish  dresses  of  the 
«i.\ti-<  lith  century.  In  one  of  the  bedchambers,  which  yoa 
pass  ill  going  towards  the  gallery,  is  a  bedstead  with  blue  for- 
nitoie,  which  time  has  now  made  dingy  and  threadbare,  and 
in  t'     '  '  -   •     •     '.  -urtains  you  are  shown  a  place 

wl:  lit  out  and  sewn  in  again, — a 

circui..  :.'ti;cu  wliich  &ciie.>  u>  identify  the  scene  of  the  follow- 
ing f tory  : — 

"  It  was  on  a  dark  rainy  ni;ht  in  the  month  of  November, 
that  an  old  midwife  sat  mnsing  by  licr  cottage  fire-fide,  v.li  :i 
on  a  sadden  she  was  startled  by  a  load  knocking  at  the  <. 
On  opening  it  she  fonnd  a  horseman,  who  told  her  thai  ..^. 
as5i-iaiH;e  was  required  immediately  by  a  person  of  rank,  and 
that  ?lic  flionld  be  handsomely  rewarded  ;  bnt  that  there  were 
rea-wns  for  keeping  tlie  affair  a  strict  secret,  and,  therefore,  she 
mnii  submit  to  be  blindfolded,  and  to  be  condncted  in  that 
con  l!;:0ii  to  the  bedchamber  of  the  lady.  With  some  hesita- 
tion the  midwiff.'  consented;  the  horseman  bound  her  eyes, 
ott!  -'-fd  heron  a  pillion  behind  him.  After  proceeding  in 
r  many  miles  through  rough  and  dirty  lanes,  they 
•ind  the  midwife  was  led  into  a  house,  which,  from 
the  !•  ii^tli  of  her  walk  through  tlie  apartments,  as  well  as  the 
sound*  abont  her,  she  discovered  to  be  the  seat  of  wealth  and 
power.  When  the  bandage  was  removed  from  her  eyes,  she 
foil    '   '  '"  in  a  bedchamber,  in  which  were  the  lady  on 

wl.  •  she  had  been  sent  for,  and  a  man  of  a  haughty 

onl  ;.     The  lady  was  delivered  of  a  fine  boy. 

Iw.  1  commanded  the  midwife  to  give  him  the 

child,  and,  ca  irn  her,  he  hurried  across  the  room, 

and   threw  it  ■  ';  of  the  fire,  that  was  blazing  in  the 

chimney.     Tl  '.  wa-«  strong,  and,  by  its  Strug- 

gles, rolled  it--   i     ,  'li,  when  the  ruffian  again  seized 

it  with  fury,  and,  in  spite  of  the  intercession  of  the  midwife, 
and  the  more  piteous  entreaties  of  the  mother,  thrust  it  under 
the  grate,  and,  raking  the  live  coals  opon  it,  soon  put  an  end 
to  its  life.    The  midwife,  after  '  '^ me  in  affording 

all  the  relief  in  her  power  to  other,  was  told 

that  Kbp  mn«t  be  gone.     Her  I  red,  who 

again  bonnd  her  eye=i,  and  co  iin  to  her 

own  home  :  he  then  paid  her  handsomely,  and  departed.    The 


I  I  tiiiok  there  U  •  chapel  on  one  side  of  it,  but  mm  Dot  qaitc  lorc. 


midwife  was  strongly  agitated  by  the  liorron  of  the  jin-eeding 
night ;  and  the  immediately  made  a  depo.^ltiou  of  the  facts 
before  a  mngiatmte.  Two  circumslniices  allonled  boi>es  of 
'  :  the  house  in  which  the  crime  had  been  cuniiiiiitcd  ; 

tlial  the  midwife,  as  hlic  xal  by  the  bedniile,  hud,  with 
a  » lew  to  di«cover  the  place,  cut  out  a  piece  of  the  bed-ciirluin, 
and  sewn  it  in  again  ;  the  other  was,  that  as  she  hud  deDcended 
the  stnirca.He  kIic  bad  counted  the  stejis.  Some  buapiciuns  fell 
npon  one  D.irrell,  at  that  time  the  prujirictor  of  Lilllecoto 
House,  and  the  domain  around  it.  The  house  was  examined, 
and  identified  by  the  midwife,  and  D.irrull  was  tried  at  Salis- 
bury for  the  murder.  By  corrupting  his  judge,  be  escaped  tbo 
sentence  of  the  law ;  but  broke  his  neck  by  a  fall  from  his 
hot«c  in  hunting,  in  a  few  montlis  after.  The  place  where  this 
I  is  still  known  by  the  name  of  Darrull's  i-'tyle, — a 
dreaded  by  the  ])easant  whom  the  shades  of  evening 
h:ive  ovi-rlaken  on  his  way. 

"  Littlceote  House  is  two  miles  from  Hungerford,  in  Bcrk- 
ehin?,  through  which  the  Bath  road  passes.  The  fact  occurred 
in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  All  llie  imjiorlant  clrcum»iances  I 
have  given  exactly  as  they  are  told  in  the  country  ;  some  trifles 
only  are  added,  either  to  render  the  whole  couuectcd,  or  to 
increase  the  impression." 

To  LonI  Webb's  edition  of  this  singular  story,  the  author 
can  now  add  the  following  account,  extracted  from  Aubrey's 
'"  o.     It  occurs  among  other  particulars  respecting 

im : — 

"  c^ir  *  *  *  D.-iyrell,  of  Littlecote,  in  Corn.  Wilts,  hav- 
ing gott  Ms  lady's  waiting-woman  with  child,  when  her  travell 
came,  sent  a  servant  with  a  horse  for  a  midwife,  whom  he 
was  to  bring  hood-winked.  She  was  brought,  and  layd  the 
woman,  but  aa  soon  as  the  child  was  born,  she  sawe  the  knight 
take  the  child  and  murthcr  it,  and  bum  it  in  the  fire  in  the 
chamber.  She  having  done  her  businesi?e,  was  extraordinarily 
rewarded  for  her  paines,  and  sent  blindfolded  away.  This 
horrid  action  did  much  run  in  her  mind,  and  she  bad  a  desire 
to  discover  it,  but  knew  not  where  'twas.  She  considered 
with  herself  the  lime  that  she  was  riding,  and  how  many  miles 
she  might  have  rode  at  that  rate  in  that  time,  and  that  it 
inu^t  be  some  great  person's  house,  for  the  roome  was  12  foot 
I  ;  and  she  should  know  the  chamber  if  she  sawe  it.  She 
..  .::;t  to  a  Justice  of  Peace,  and  search  was  made.  The  very 
chamber  found.  The  Knight  was  brought  to  his  tryall ;  and, 
to  be  short,  this  judge  had  ibis  noble  house,  parke  and  manner, 
and  (I  thinke)  more,  for  a  bribe  to  save  his  life. 

"  Sir  John  Popham  gave  sentence  according  to  lawe,  but 
being  a  great  person  and  a  favourite,  he  procured  a  noli 
prosequi.^' 

With  this  tale  of  terror  the  author  has  combined  some  cir- 
cnmstancef  of  a  similar  legend,  which  was  current  at  Edin- 
burgh during  his  childhood. 

About  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  wncA  the 
large  castles  of  the  Scottish  nobles,  and  even  the  secluded 
hotels,  like  those  of  the  French  noblesse,  which  they  possessed 
in  Edinburgh,  were  sometimes  the  scenes  of  strange  and  mys- 
terious transactions,  a  divine  of  singular  sanctity  was  called  up 
at  midnight  to  pray  with  a  person  at  the  point  of  deatli.  This 
was  no  unusual  summons  ;  but  what  followed  was  alarming. 
He  wa.?  put  into  a  sedan-ehair,  and  after  he  had  been  trans- 
ported to  a  remote  i)art  of  the  town,  the  bearers  insisted  upon 
his  being  blindfolded.  The  request  was  enforced  by  a  cocked 
pistol,  and  submitted  to ;  but  in  the  course  of  the  discussion, 
he  conjectured,  from  the  phrases  employed  by  the  chairmen, 
and  from  some  part  of  their  dress,  not  completely  concealed  bf 
their  cloaks,  that  they  were  greatly  above  the  menial  station 
they  had  assumed.  After  many  turns  and  windings,  the  chair 
was  carried  up  stairs  into  a  lodging,  where  his  eyes  were  un- 
covered, and  he  was  introduced  into  a  bedroom,  where  he 
found  a  lady,  newly  delivered  of  an  infant.  He  was  com- 
manded by  his  attendants  to  say  such  prayers  by  her  bedside 
as  were  fitting  for  a  person  not  expected  to  survive  a  moiial 
disorder.    He  ventured  to  remonstrate,  and  observe  tb«t  bci 


safe  delivery  warranted  better  hopes.  But  lie  was  sternly 
commanded  to  obey  tlie  orders  first  given,  and  with  difficulty 
recollected  himself  sufficiently  to  acquit  himself  of  the  task 
imposed  on  him.  He  was  then  again  hurried  into  the  chair ; 
but  as  they  conducted  him  down  stairs,  he  lieard  the  report  of 
a  pistol.  He  was  safely  conducted  home  ;  a  purse  of  gold  was 
forced  ujion  him ;  but  he  was  warned,  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  least  allusion  to  this  dark  transaction  would  cost  him  his 
life.  He  betook  himself  to  rest,  and,  after  long  and  broken 
musing,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  From  this  he  was  awakened 
Dy  his  servaiit,  with  the  dismal  news  that  a  fire  of  uncommon 
fury  had  broke.i  out  in  the  house  of  *  *  *  *,  near  the  head 
of  t!ie  C^noiigate,  and  that  it  was  totally  consumed  ;  with  the 
shocking  addition,  that  the  daughter  of  the  proprietor,  a  young 
lady  eminent  for  beauty  and  accomplishments,  had  perished  in 
the  flames.  The  clergyman  had  his  suspicions,  but  to  have 
made  them  public  would  have  availed  nothing.  He  was  timid  ; 
tlie  family  was  of  the  first  distinction  ;  above  all,  the  deed  was 
done,  and  could  not  be  amended.  Time  wore  away,  however, 
and  with  it  Iiis  terroi-s.  He  became  unhappy  at  being  the  soli- 
tary depositary  of  lliis  fearful  mystery,  and  mentioned  it  to 
some  of  his  brethren,  through  whom  the  anecdote  acquired  a 
sort  of  publicity.  The  divine,  however,  had  been  long  dead, 
and  the  story  in  some  degree  forgotten,  when  a  fire  broke  out 
again  on  the  very  same  spot  where  the  house  of  *  *  *  *  had 
formerly  stood,  and  which  was  now  occupied  by  buildings  of 
an  inferior  description.  When  the  flames  were  at  their  height, 
the  tumult,  which  usually  attends  such  a  scene,  was  suddenly 
suspended  by  an  unexpected  apparition.  A  beautiful  female, 
in  a  night-dress,  extremely  rich,  but  at  least  half  a  century  old, 
ajtpeared  in  the  very  midst  of  the  fire,  and  uttered  these  tre- 
mendous words  in  her  vernacular  idiom  :  "  Anes  burned,  twice 
burned  ;  the  third  time  I'll  scare  you  all  I"  The  belief  in  this 
gtorv  was  formerly  so  strong,  that  on  a  fire  breaking  out,  and 
seeming  to  approach  the  fatal  spot,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
anxiety  testified,  lest  the  apparition  should  make  good  her  de- 
nunciation. 


Note  3  H. 


Jis  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 
.it  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas-even. — P.  341. 

Such  an  exhortation  was,  in  similar  circumstances,  actually 
given  to  his  followers  by  a  Welsh  chieftain  : — 

"  Enmity  did  continue  betweene  Howell  ap  Rys  ap  Howell 
Vaughan  and  the  sonnes  of  John  ap  Meredith.  After  the 
death  of  Evan  ap  Rebert,  Griffith  ap  Gronw  (cosen-german  to 
John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  of  Gwynfryn,  who  had  long  served 
in  France,  and  had  charge  there)  comeing  home  to  live  in  the 
countrey,  it  happened  that  a  servant  of  his,  comeing  to  fish  in 
StymUyn,  his  fish  was  taken  away,  and  the  fellow  beaten  by 
Howell  aj)  Rys  and  his  servants,  and  by  his  commandment. 
Griiuth  ap  John  ap  Gronw  took  the  matter  in  such  dudgeon 
that  he  cliallenged  Howell  ap  Rys  to  the  field,  which  he  re- 
fusing, assembling  his  cosins  John  ap  5!eredith's  sonnes  and 
his  friends  together,  assaulted  Howell  in  his  own  house,  after 
the  maner  he  had  seene  in  the  French  wan-es,  and  consumed 
with  fire  his  barnes  and  his  out-houses.  Whilst  he  was  thus 
assaulting  the  hall,  which  Howell  ap  Rys  and  many  other 
people  kept,  being  a  very  strong  house,  he  was  shot,  out  of  a 
crevice  of  the  house,  through  the  sight  of  his  beaver  into  the 
nead,  ari  slayne  outright,  being  otherwise  armed  at  all  points. 
Notwithstanding  his  death,  the  assault  of  the  house  was  con- 
tinued with  great  vehemence,  the  doores  fired  with  great  bur- 
thens of  straw  ;  besides  this,  the  sinoake  of  the  out-houses  and 
barnes  not  farre  distant  annoj-ed  greatly  the  defendants,  for  that 
most  of  thpm  lay  under  boordes  and  benches  u))on  the  floore,  in 
the  hall,  the  better  to  avoyd  the  smoake.  During  this  scene 
of  confusion  onely  the  old  man,  Howell  ap  Rys,  never  stooped, 

but  stood  valiantly  in  the  midst  of  the  floore,  armed  with  a 
'48 


gleve  in  his  hand,  and  called  unto  them,  and  bid  '  them  arise 
like  men,  for  shame,  for  he  had  knowne  there  as  great  a  smoake 
in  that  hall  upon  Christmas-even.'  In  the  end,  seeing  the  house 
could  noe  longer  defend  them,  being  overlayed  with  a  multi- 
tude, upon  parley  betweene  them,  Howell  ap  Rys  was  con- 
tent to  yeald  himself  prisoner  to  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith, 
John  ap  Meredith's  eldest  sonne,  soe  as  he  would  swear  unto 
him  to  bring  him  safe  to  Carnarvon  Castle,  to  abide  the  triall 
of  the  law  for  the  death  of  Grafl"'  ap  John  ap  Gronw,  who 
was  cosen-german  removed  to  the  said  Howell  ap  Rys,  and  of 
the  very  same  house  he  was  of.  Which  Morris  ap  John  af 
Meredith  undertaking,  did  put  a  guard  about  the  said  Howell 
of  his  trustiest  friends  and  servants,  who  kept  and  defended 
him  from  the  rage  of  his  kindred,  and  especially  of  Owen  ap 
John  ap  Meredith,  his  brother,  who  was  very  eager  against 
him.  They  passed  by  leisure  thence  like  a  campe  to  Carnar 
von :  the  whole  countrie  being  assembled,  Howell  his  friends 
posted  a  horseback  from  one  |)lace  or  other  by  the  way,  who 
brought  word  that  he  was  come  thither  safe,  for  they  were  in 
great  fear  lesi  he  siiould  be  murthered,  and  that  Morris  ap  John 
ap  Meredith  could  not  be  able  to  defend  him,  neither  durst 
any  of  Howell's  friends  be  there,  for  fear  of  the  kindred.  Ir 
the  end,  being  delivered  by  IMorris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  to  the 
Constable  of  Carnarvon  Castle,  and  there  kept  safely  in  ward 
nntill  the  assises,  it  fell  out  by  law,  that  the  burning  of  How 
ell's  houses,  and  assaulting  him  in  his  owne  house,  was  a  more 
haynons  offence  in  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  and  the  rest, 
than  the  death  of  Graff'  ap  John  ap  Gronw  in  Howell,  who 
did  it  in  his  own  defence  ;  whereupon  Morris  ap  John  ap  Mere- 
dith, with  thirty-five  more,  were  indicted  of  felony,  as  appear- 
eth  by  the  copie  of  the  indictment,  which  I  had  from  the  rec- 
ords."— Sir  John  Wynne's  History  of  the  Gwijdir  Family 
Lond.  1770,  8vo.  p.  116." 


Note  3  I. 


O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove. — P.  349. 

This  custom  among  the  Redesdale  and  Tynedale  Borderers  is 
mentioned  in  the  interesting  Life  of  Barnard  Gilpin,  where 
some  account  is  given  of  these  wild  districts,  which  it  was  the 
custom  of  that  excellent  man  regularly  to  visit. 

"  This  custom  (of  duels)  still  prevailed  on  the  Borders, 
where  Saxon  barbarism  held  its  latest  possession.  These  wild 
Northumbrians,  indeed,  went  beyond  the  ferocity  of  their  an- 
cestors. They  were  not  content  with  a  duel :  each  contending 
party  nsed  to  muster  what  adherents  he  could,  and  commence 
a  kind  of  petty  war.  So  that  a  private  grudge  would  often 
occasion  much  bloodshed. 

"  It  happened  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  was  on  foot  when 
Mr.  Gilpin  was  at  Rothbnry,  in  those  parts.  During  the  two 
or  three  first  days  of  his  preaching,  the  contending  parties  ob- 
served some  decorum,  and  never  appeared  at  church  together. 
At  length,  however,  tliey  met.  One  party  had  been  early  at 
church,  and  just  as  Mr.  Gilpin  began  his  sermon,  the  othej 
entered.  They  stood  not  long  silent.  Inflamed  at  the  sight  of 
each  other,  they  began  to  clash  their  weapons,  for  they  were 
all  armed  with  javelins  and  swords,  and  mutually  approached. 
Awed,  however,  by  the  sacredness  of  the  place,  the  tumult  ic 
some  degree  ceased.  Mr.  Gilpin  proceeded  :  when  again  the 
combatants  began  to  brandish  their  weapons  and  draw  to- 
wards each  other.  As  a  fray  seemed  near,  Mr.  Gilpin  stepped 
from  the  pulpit,  went  between  them,  and  addressed  the  leaders 
put  an  end  to  the  quarrel  for  the  present,  but  could  not  effect 
an  entire  reconciliation.  They  promised  him,  however,  that 
till  tlie  sermon  was  o%er  they  would  make  no  more  disturbance. 
He  then  went  again  into  the  pulpit,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the 
time  in  endeavoring  to  make  them  ashamed  of  what  they  had 
done.  His  behavior  and  discourse  affected  them  so  much, 
that,  at  his  farther  entreaty,  they  promised  to  forbear  all  acts 
of  hostility  while  he  continued  in  the  countr.v      And  so  mud* 


378 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


respected  was  he  among  them,  tliat  whoever  was  in  fear  of  Iiis 
enemy  used  to  resort  where  Mr.  Gilpin  was,  esteeming  his  pres- 
ence the  best  proieeiion. 

"  One  Sunday  morning,  coming  to  a  church  in  those  parts, 
before  the  people  were  assembled,  he  observed  a  glove  hang- 
ing up,  and  was  informed  by  the  sexton,  that  it  was  meant  as 
a  challenge  to  anj'  one  who  should  take  it  down.  Mr.  Gilpin 
ordered  the  sexton  to  reach  it  to  him  ;  but  upon  his  utterly 
refusing  to  touch  it,  he  took  it  down  himself,  and  put  it  into 
Ills  breast.  When  the  peojile  were  assembled,  he  went  into 
the  pulpit,  and,  before  he  concluded  his  sermon,  took  occasion 
to  rebuke  them  severely  for  these  inhuman  challenges.  '  I 
hear,'  ssith  he,  '  that  one  among  yon  hath  hanged  np  a  glove, 
even  in  this  sacred  place,  threatening  to  fight  any  one  who 
taketh  it  down  :  see,  I  have  taken  it  down  ;'  and,  pulling  out 
the  glove,  he  held  it  up  to  the  congregation,  and  then  showed 
them  how  unsuitable  such  savage  practices  were  to  the  pro- 
fession of  Christianity,  using  such  persuasives  to  mutual  love 
as  he  thought  would  most  affect  them." — Life  of  Barnard 
Oilpin.    Lond.  1753,  8vo.  p.  177. 


Note  3  K. 


A  Horseman  arm'd,  at  headlong  speed. — P.  353. 

This,  and  what  follows,  is  taken  from  a  real  achievement  of 
Major  Robert  Philipson,  called,  from  his  desperate  and  adven- 
turous courage,  Robin  the  Devil  ;  which,  as  being  very  inac- 
curately noticed  in  this  note  upon  the  first  edition,  shall  be 
now  given  in  a  more  authentic  ibrm.  The  chief  place  of  his 
retreat  was  not  Lord's  Island,  in  Dervventwatcr,  but  Curwen's 
Island,  in  the  Lake  of  Windermere  : — 

"This  island  formerly  belonged  to  the  Philipsons,  a  family 
of  note  in  Westmoreland.  During  the  Civil  Wars,  two  of  them, 
an  elder  and  a  younger  brother,  served  the  King.  The  former, 
who  was  the  proprietor  of  it,  commanded  a  regiment ;  the  lat- 
ter was  a  major. 

"  Tlie  major,  whose  name  was  Robert,  was  a  man  of  great 
spirit  and  enterprise  ;  and  for  his  many  feats  of  personal  bra- 
very had  obtained,  among  the  Oliverians  of  those  parts,  the 
appellation  of  Robin  the  Devil. 

"  After  the  war  had  subsided,  and  the  direful  effects  of  pub- 
ic opposition  had  ceased,  revenge  and  malice  long  kept  alive 


the  animosity  of  individuals.  Colonel  Briggs,  a  steajy  fr/etd 
to  usurpation,  resided  at  this  time  at  Kendal,  and,  ouder  tho 
double  character  of  a  leading  magistrate  (for  he  was  a  Justico- 
of-Peace)  and  an  active  commander,  held  the  country  in  awe. 
This  person  having  heard  that  Major  Fhilipson  was  at  his 
brother's  house  on  the  island  in  Windermere,  resolved,  if  po.~ 
sible,  to  seize  and  punish  a  man  who  had  made  himself  so 
particularly  obnoxious.  How  it  was  conducted,  my  author^ 
ity'  does  not  inform  us — whether  he  got  together  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  lake,  and  blockaded  the  place  by  sea,  or  whether 
he  landed  and  carried  on  his  ap])roaches  in  form.  Neither  do 
we  learn  the  strength  of  the  garrison  within,  nor  of  the  works 
without.  All  we  learn  is,  that  Major  Philipson  endured  a 
siege  of  eight  months  with  great  gallantry,  till  his  brother,  the 
Colonel,  raised  a  party  and  relieved  him. 

"  It  was  now  the  Blajor's  turn  to  make  reprisals.  He  put 
himself,  therefore,  at  the  head  of  a  little  troop  of  horse,  and 
rode  to  Kendal.  Here,  being  informed  that  Colonel  Briggs 
was  at  prayers  (for  it  was  on  a  Sunday  morning),  he  sta- 
tioned his  men  properly  in  the  avenues,  and  himself  armed, 
rode  directly  into  the  church.  It  probably  was  not  a  regular 
church,  but  some  large  place  of  meeting.  It  is  said  he  in- 
tended to  seize  the  Colonel  and  carry  him  off;  but  as  this 
seems  to  liave  been  totally  impracticable,  it  is  rather  probable 
that  his  intention  was  to  kill  him  on  the  spot,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  confusion  to  escape.  Whatever  his  intention  was,  it 
was  frustrated,  for  Briggs  happened  to  be  elsewhere. 

"  The  congregation,  as  might  be  expected,  was  thrown  into 
great  confusion  on  seeing  an  armed  man  on  horseback  make 
his  appearance  among  them  ;  and  the  Major,  taking  advantage 
of  their  astonishment,  turned  his  horse  round,  and  rode  quietly 
out.  But  having  given  an  alarm,  he  was  presently  assaulted 
as  he  left  the  assembly,  and  being  seized,  his  girths  were  cut, 
and  he  was  unhorsed. 

"  At  this  instant  his  party  made  a  furious  attack  on  the  as- 
sailants, and  the  Major  killed  with  his  own  hand  the  man  who 
had  seized  him,  clapped  the  saddle,  nngirthed  as  it  was,  upon 
his  horse,  and,  vaulting  into  it,  rode  full  speed  through  the 
streets  of  Kendal,  calling  his  men  to  follow  liim  ;  and.  with 
his  whole  party,  made  a  safe  retreat  to  his  asylum  in  the  lake. 
The  action  marked  the  man.  Many  knew  him  :  and  they  who 
did  not,  knew  as  well  from  the  exploit  that  it  could  be  nobodj 
but  Robin  the  Devil." 

1  Dr.  Bom's  History  of  Westmoiiland. 


®:i)e   Sriial  of  ©rtcrmaiu; 


OR, 


(?rije   l)al£    of   0t.    loljn. 


A   LOVER'S    TALE. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION.' 

In  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  the  year 
1809,  Three  Fragments  were  inserted,  written  in 
imitation  of  Living  Poets.  It  must  have  been  ap- 
parent, that,  by  these  prolusions,  notliing  burlesque, 
or  disrespectful  to  the  authors  was  intended,  but 
that  they  were  offered  to  the  public  as  serious, 
though  certainly  very  imperfect,  imitations  of  that 
style  of  composition,  by  wliich  each  of  the  writers 
is  supposed  to  be  distinguished.  As  these  exer- 
cises attracted  a  greater  degree  of  attention  than 
the  author  anticipated,  he  has  been  induced  to 
complete  one  of  them,  and  present  it  as  a  separate 
pubhcation.^ 

It  is  not  in  this  place  that  an  examination  of  the 
works  of  the  master  whom  he  has  here  adopted  as 
his  model,  can,  with  propriety,  be  introduced ;  since 
his  general  acquiescence  in  the  favorable  suffrage 
of  the  pubUc  must  necessarily  be  inferred  fi-om  the 
attempt  he  has  now  made.  He  is  induced,  by  the 
nature  of  his  subject,  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on 
what  has  been  called  romantic  poetry  ; — the  pop- 
ulaiity  of  which  has  been  revived  m  the  present 
day,  under  the  auspices,  and  by  the  unparalleled 
success,  of  one  individual. 

The  original  purpose  of  poetry  is  either  religious 
or  historical,  or,  as  must  frequently  happen,  a  mix- 
ture of  both.  To  modern  readers,  the  poems  of 
Homer  have  many  of  the  features  of  pure  romance ; 
but  in  the  estimation  of  his  contemporaries,  they 
probably  derived  their  cliief  value  from  their  sup- 
posed historical  authenticity.  The  same  may  be 
generally  said  of  the  poetry  of  all  early  ages.  The 
marvels  and  miracles  which  the  poet  blends  with 
his  song,  do  not  exceed  in  number  or  extravagance 
the  figments  of  the  historians  of  the  same  period 

1  Published  in  March,  1813,  by  John  Ballantyne  and  Co. 
]2mo.  7s.  6d. 

2  Sir  Waher  Scott,  in  his  Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  s.iys, — "  Being  much  urged  by  my  intimate  friend,  now 
unhappily  no  m&re,  William  Erskine,  I  agreed  to  write  the 
little  romantic  tale  called  the  '  Bridal  of  Triermain  ;'  bnt  it 
was  on  the  condition,  that  he  should  make  no  serious  effort  to 
disown  the  compo?itioc   if  report  ^  lould  lay  it  at  his  door. 


of  society;  and,  indeed,  the  difference  betwixt 
poetry  and  prose,  as  the  veliicles  of  liistorical  truth, 
is  ahvays  of  late  introduction.  Poets,  under  vari- 
ous denominations  of  Bards,  Scalds,  Chroniclers, 
and  so  forth,  are  the  first  historiims  of  all  nations. 
Their  intention  is  to  relate  the  events  they  have 
witnessed,  or  the  traditions  that  have  reached 
them;  and  they  clothe  the  relation  in  rhyme, 
merely  as  the  means  of  rendering  it  more  solemn 
in  the  narrative,  or  more  easily  committed  to  mem- 
ory. But  as  the  poetical  historian  improves  in  the 
art  of  conveying  information,  the  authenticity  of 
his  narrative  unavoidably  declines.  He  is  tempted 
to  dilate  and  dwell  upon  the  events  that  are  in- 
teresting to  his  imagination,  and,  conscious  how  in- 
different his  audience  is  to  the  naked  truth  of  his 
poem,  liis  history  gradually  becomes  a  romance. 

It  is  in  this  situation  that  those  epics  are  found, 
which  have  been  generally  regarded  the  standards 
of  poetry ;  and  it  has  happened  somewhat  strange- 
ly, that  the  moderns  have  pointed  out  as  the  char- 
acteristics and  peculiar  excellencies  of  narrative 
poetry,  the  very  circumstances  which  the  authors 
themselves  adopted,  only  because  then'  art  involved 
the  duties  of  the  historian  as  well  as  the  poet.  It 
cannot  be  believed,  for  example,  that  Homer  se- 
lected the  siege  of  Troy  as  the  most  appropriate 
subject  for  poetry ;  his  purpose  was  to  write  the 
early  histoiy  of  liis  country ;  the  event  he  has 
chosen,  though  not  very  fruitful  in  varied  incident, 
nor  perfectly  well  adapted  for  poetry,  was  nevei- 
theless  combined  with  traditionary  and  genealo- 
gical anecdotes  extremely  interesting  to  those  who 
were  to  listen  to  him ;  and  tliis  he  has  adorned  by 
the  exertions  of  a  genius,  which,  if  it  has  been 
equalled,  has  certainly  been  never  surpassed.  It 
was  not  till  comparatively  a  late  period  that  the 

As  he  was  more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  as  I 
took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something  which  might  re- 
semble (as  far  as  was  in  my  power)  my  friend's  feeling  and 
manner,  the  train  easily  caught,  and  two  large  editions  were 
sold.  A  third  being  called  for,  Lord  Kinedder  became  unwill- 
ing to  aid  any  longer  a  deception  which  was  going  further 
than  he  expected  or  de?'red,  and  the  real  author's  name  was 
given." 


380 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


general  accuracy  of  his  narrative,  or  liis  purpose  in 
composing  it,   was  brought  into  question.     Aox-a 

vpSTOi  U>  Avci^aydpasl  (khOu  (pijat  'VuBop'ivus  cv  iravTobaTzri 
'larapla)  tijv  'Ojit'ipn  Troiriaiv  uTroipi'/i'aaOtn  tlvai  Titpi  ap£~fj( 

Kai  CiKatoavvni.^  But  whatever  tlieories  might  be 
framed  by  speculative  men,  liis  work  Vas  of  an 
historical,  not  of  an  allegorical  nature.    EvauriXXero 

pint  Tj  MivTcij),  Kal  oirn  tKaaroTe  aiji'iKuiTO,  Trdvra  rd  fat- 
X>ipi"  itepwraro.  Kai  laTopcoiv  titvvQdvtTo'  cikos  6i  fiiv  ijv  Kui 

nvriiiocrvia  TrafTwv  ypdtpcaBai."  Instead  of  recommend- 
ing the  clioice  of  a  subject  similar  to  that  of  Ho- 
mer, it  was  to  be  expected  that  critics  should  have 
exliorted  the  poets  of  these  latter  days  to  adopt 
or  mvent  a  narrative  in  itself  more  susceptible  of 
poetical  ornament,  and  to  avail  themselves  of  that 
advantage  in  order  to  compensate,  in  some  degree, 

1  Diogenes  Laertius,  lib.  ii.  Anaxag.  Scgm.  11. 

2  Homeri  Vita,  in  Herod.  IJcnr.  Steph.  1570,  p.  356. 

3  A  RECEIPT  TO  MAKE  AN  EPIC  POEM. 
FOR  THE  FABLE. 

"  Talce  out  of  any  old  poem,  history  book,  romance,  or  le- 
gend (for  instance,  Geoliry  of  Monmoutb,or  Don  Belianis  of 
Greece),  those  ])arts  of  story  wliich  aftbrd  most  scope  for  long 
descriptions.  Put  these  pieces  together,  and  tlirow  all  tlie  ad- 
ventures you  fancy  into  one  tale.  Then  talie  a  hero  whom 
jrou  may  choose  for  tlie  sound  of  his  name,  and  put  him  into 
the  midst  of  these  adventures.  There  let  him  wor.k  for  twelve 
books  ;  at  the  end  of  whicli  you  may  take  him  out  ready  pre- 
pared to  conquer  or  marry,  it  being  necessary  that  the  conclu- 
sion of  an  epic  poem  be  fortunate." 

To  make  an  Episode.—"  Take  any  remaining  adventure  of 
your  former  collection,  in  wliich  you  could  no  way  involve 
your  liero,  or  any  unfortunate  accident  that  was  too  good  to  be 
thrown  away,  and  it  will  be  of  use,  ap|)lied  to  any  other  per- 
son, wlio  may  be  lost  and  evajiorate  in  the  course  of  tlie  work, 
without  the  least  damage  to  tlie  composition." 

For  the  Moral  and  Allegory .^"  Theae  you  may  extract 
out  of  the  fable  afterwards  at  your  leisure.  Be  sure  you  strain 
them  sufficiently." 

FOR  THE  MANNERS. 

"  For  those  of  the  hero,  take  all  the  best  qualities  you  can 
find  in  all  the  celebrated  heroes  of  anti(iuity  ;  if  tliey  will  not 
be  reduced  to  a  consistency,  lay  them  all  on  a  heap  upon  him. 
Be  sure  they  are  qualities  which  your  patron  would  be  tliought 
to  have;  and,  to  prevent  any  mistake  which  the  world  may 
be  subject  to,  select  from  the  alphabet  those  capital  letters  that 
compose  his  name,  and  set  tliem  at  the  liead  of  a  dedication 
before  your  poem.  However,  do  not  absolutely  observe  tlie 
e.xact  quantity  of  these  virtues,  it  not  being  determined  whether 
or  no  it  be  necessary  for  the  hero  of  a  poem  to  be  an  honest 
man.  For  the  under  characters,  gather  them  from  Homer  and 
Virgil,  and  cnange  the  names  as  occasion  serves." 

FOR  THE  MACHINES. 

"  Take  of  deitieii,  male  and  female,  as  many  as  you  can  use. 
Separate  them  into  equal  jiarts,  and  keep  Jupiter  in  the  middle. 
Let  Juno  put  him  in  a  ferment,  and  Venus  mollify  him.  Re- 
member on  all  occasions  to  make  use  of  volatile  Mercnry.  If 
you  have  need  of  devils,  draw  them  0>>t  of  Milton's  Paradise, 
and  extract  your  spirits  from  Tasso.  The  use  of  th<^se  ma- 
cliines  is  evident,  for,  since  no  epic  poem  can  possibly  subsist 
without  them,  the  wisest  way  is  to  reserve  them  for  your  great- 
est necessities.  When  you  cannot  extricate  your  hero  by  any 
human  means,  or  yourself  by  your  own  wits,  seek  relief  from 
Heaven,  and  the  gods  will  do  your  business  very  readily.    This 


the  uiferiority  of  genius.  The  contrary  course  baa 
been  inculcated  by  almost  all  the  writers  upon  the 
Epopoeia;  with  what  success,  the  fate  of  Homer's 
numerous  imitators  may  best  show.  The  ultimum 
supp/icium  of  criticism  was  indicted  on  the  author 
if  he  did  not  choose  a  subject  which  at  once  de- 
prived liim  of  all  claim  to  originahty,  and  placed 
him,  if  not  in  actual  contest,  at  least  in  fatal  com- 
parison, with  those  giants  in  the  land,  whom  it  was 
most  his  interest  to  avoid.  The  celebrated  receipt 
for  writing  an  epic  poem,  which  appeared  in  The 
Guardian,^  was  the  first  instance  in  which  common 
sense  was  applied  to  this  department  of  poetry ; 
and,  indeed,  if  the  question  be  considei-ed  on  its 
own  merits,  we  must  be  satisfied  that  narrative 
poetry,  if  strictly  confined  to  the  great  occm'rences 

is  according  to  the  direct  prescription  of  Horace  in  his  Art  of 
Poetry : 

'  Nee  Deus  intersit,  nisi  dignus  vindice  nodus 
luciderit.' — Vei-se  191. 

'  Never  jiresume  to  make  a  god  appear 
But  for  a  business  worthy  of  a  god.' — Roscommon. 

That  is  to  say,  a  poet  phoald  never  call  upon  the  gods  for  their 
assistance,  but  when  he  is  in  great  perplexity." 

FOR  THE  BESCRIPTIONS. 

For  a  Tempest. — "  Take  Eurus,  Zephyr,  Auster,  and  Core- 
as,  and  cast  them  togetlier  into  one  verse.  Add  to  these,  of 
rain,  lightning,  and  of  thunder  (tlie  loudest  you  can),  quantum 
svfficit.  Mi.x  your  clouds  and  billows  well  together  until  they 
foam,  and  thicken  your  description  here  and  there  with  a 
quicksand.  Brew  your  tempest  well  in  your  head  before  yon 
set  it  a-blowiiig." 

For  a  Battle. — "  Pick  a  large  quantity  of  images  and  de- 
scriptions from  Homer's  Iliad,  with  a  spice  or  two  of  Virgil ; 
and  if  tliere  remain  any  overplus,  you  may  lay  them  by  for  a 
skiimish.  Season  it  well  with  similes,  and  it  will  make  an  ex- 
cellent battle." 

For  a  Burning-  Town. — "  If  such  a  descript'ion  be  necessary, 
because  it  is  certain  there  is  one  in  Virgil,  Old  Troy  is  ready 
burnt  to  your  hands.  But  if  you  fear  that  would  be  thought 
borrowed,  a  chapter  or  two  of  the  Theory  of  Conflagration,! 
well  circumstanced,  and  done  into  verse,  will  be  a  good  suo 
cedaneum." 

As  for  similes  and  metaphors,  "  they  may  be  found  a!! 
over  the  creation.  Tlie  most  ignorant  may  gather  them,  but 
the  danger  is  in  applying  them.  For  this,  advise  with  your 
bookseller." 

FOR  THE  LANGUAGE. 

(I  mean  the  diction.)  "  Here  it  will  do  well  to  be  an  imita- 
tor of  Milton  ;  for  you  will  find  it  easier  to  imitate  him  in  this 
than  any  tiling  else.  Hebraisms  and  Grecisms  are  to  be  found 
in  him  without  the  trouble  of  learning  the  languages.  I  knew 
a  painter,  who  (like  our  poet)  had  no  genius,  make  his  daub- 
ings  to  be  thought  originals,  by  setting  them  in  the  smolie. 
You  may,  in  the  same  manner,  give  the  venerable  air  of  an- 
tiquity to  your  piece,  by  darkening  up  and  down  like  Old  Eng- 
lish. With  this  you  may  be  easily  furnished  upon  any  occa- 
sion, by  the  Dictionary  commonly  printed  at  the  end  of  Chau- 
cer." 

1  From  Lib.  iii.  De  Conflafn-ntione  Mundi,  or  TeUnris  Theoria  Sacr^ 
published  in  4to.  1689.  By  Dr.  Thomas  Burnet,  master  of  the  Charter- 
House. 


THE  BllIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


381 


of  history,  would  be  deprived  of  theiiidividual  in- 
terest •which  it  is  so  well  calculated  to  excite. 

Modern  poets  may  therefore  be  pardoned  in 
seeking  simpler  subjects  of  verse,  more  interesting 
in  proportion  to  their  sinipUcity.  Two  or  tluee 
figures,  well  grouped,  suit  the  artist  better  than 
a  crowd,  for  whatever  purpose  assembled.  For 
the  same  reason,  a  scene  immediately  presented 
to  the  imagination,  and  dkectly  brouglit  home  to 
the  feelings,  though  mvolving  the  fate  of  but  one 
or  two  persons,  is  more  favorable  for  poetry  than 
tlie  pohtical  struggles  .and  convulsions  which  in- 
fluence the  fate  of  kingdoms.  The  former  are 
within  the  reach  and  comprehension  of  all,  and. 
if  depicted  with  vigor,  seldom  fail  to  fix  atten- 
tion :  The  other,  if  more  sublime,  are  more  vague 
and  distant,  less  capable  of  beuig  distinctly  un- 
derstood, and  infinitely  less  cajjable  of  exciting 
those  scntunents  which  it  is  the  very  piu-jjose  of 
poeti-y  to  inspire.  To  generahze  is  always  to 
destroy  effect.  We  would,  for  example,  be  more 
uiterested  in  the  fate  of  an  individual  soldier  in 
combat,  tl}an  in  the  grand  event  of  a  general 
action ;  with  the  happmess  of  two  lovers  raised 
from  misery  mid  anxiety  to  peace  and  union,  than 
with  tlie  successful  exertions  of  a  whole  nation. 
Froni  wliat  causes  this  may  originate,  is  a  sep- 
arate and  obviously  an  immaterial  consideration. 
Before  ascribing  this  peculiarity  to  causes  de- 
cidedly and  odiously  selfish,  it  is  proper  to  recol- 
lect, that  while  men  see  only  a  limited  space,  and 
wliile  their  affections  and  conduct  ai-e  regulated, 
not  by  aspiring  to  an  universal  good,  but  by 
exerting  their  power  of  making  themselves  and 
others  happy  within  the  limited  scale  allotted  to 
each  individual,  so  long  will  individual  history 
and  individual  virtue  be  the  readier  and  more 
a,ccessible  road  to  general  interest  and  attention  ; 

"  I  must  not  conclude  without  cautioning  all  writers  without 
genius  ill  one  material  point,  which  is,  never  to  be  afraid  of 
having  too  much  fire  in  their  works.  I  should  advise  rather 
to  take  their  warmest  thoughts,  and  spread  them  abroad  upon 
paper  ;  for  they  are  observed  to  cool  before  they  are  read." — 
Pope.     The  Guardian,  ?Jo.  Its. 

1  "  In  all  this  we  cheerfully  acquiesce,  without  abating  any 
thing  of  our  former  hostility  to  the  modern  Romnuvt  style, 
whieli  is  founded  on  very  different  principles.  Nothing  is,  in 
our  opinion,  so  dangerous  to  the  very  existence  of  poetry  as 
the  extreme  laxity  of  rule  and  consequent  facility  of  compo- 
sition, wliich  are  its  principal  characteristics.  Our  very  ad- 
mission in  favor  of  that  license  of  plot  and  conduct  which  is 
claimed  by  the  Romance  writers,  ought  to  render  us  so  much 
the  more  guarded  in  extending  the  privilege  to  the  minor 
poets  of  composition  and  versification.  The  removal  of  all 
technical  bars  and  impediments  sets  wide  open  the  gates  of 
Parnassus ;  and  so  much  the  better.  We  dislike  mystery 
quite  as  much  in  matters  of  taste,  as  of  politics  and  religion. 
But  let  us  not,  in  opening  the  door,  pull  down  the  wall,  and 
level  the  very  foundation  of  the  edifice." — Critical  Review, 
i8l3. 


and,  perhaps,  we  may  add,  that  it  is  the  more 
useful,  as  well  as  the  more  accessible,  inasmuch 
as  it  affords  an  example  capable  of  being  easily 
imitated. 

According  to  the  author's  idea  of  Romantic 
Poetry,  as  distinguislicd  from  Epic,  the  former 
comprehends  a  fictitious  narrative,  framed  and 
combined  at  the  pleasure  of  the  writer;  begin- 
ning and  ending  as  he  may  judge  best :  wliiclx 
neither  exacts  nor  refuses  the  use  of  supernaturtxl 
macliinery  ;  which  is  free  from  the  teclmical  rules 
of  the  Epee  ;  and  is  subject  only  to  those  wliich 
good  sense,  good  taste,  and  good  morals,  ajiply 
to  every  species  of  poetry  without  exception. 
The  date  may  be  in  a  remote  age,  or  in  the 
present ;  the  story  may  detail  the  adventiu-es  of 
a  prince  or  of  a  peasant.  In  a  word,  the  author 
is  absolute  iniastcr  of  his  country  and  its  mhabi 
tants,  and  every  thing  is  permitted  to  him,-  except 
ing  to  be  heavy  or  prosaic,  for  wliicli,  free  and 
unembarrassed  as  he  is,  he  has  no  manner  of 
apology.  Those,  it  is  probable,  will  be  fomid  the 
pecidiarities  of  this  sjsecies  of  composition ;  and, 
before  joining  the  outcry  against  the  vitiated  taste 
that  fosters  and  encourages  it,  the  justice  and 
grounds  of  it  ought  to  be  made  perfectly  ap- 
parent. If  the  want  of  sieges,  and  battles,  and 
great  military  evolutions,  in  our  poetry,  is  com- 
plained of,  let  us  reflect,  that  the  campaigns  and 
heroes  of  our  days  are  perpetuated  in  a  recfa-d 
that  neither  requires  nor  admits  of  the  aid  of  fic- 
tion ;  and  if  the  complaint  refers  to  the  inferiority 
of  our  bards,  let  us  pay  a  just  tribute  to  then' 
modesty,  limiting  them,  as  it  does,  to  subjects 
which,  however  indifferently  treated,  have  still 
the  interest  and  charm  of  novelty,  and  which  thus 
prevents  them  from  adding  insipidity  to  their 
other  more  insuperable  defects.* 

"  [n  the  same  letter  in  which  William  Erskine  acknowl- 
edges the  receipt  of  the  first  four  pages  of  Kokeby,  lie  ad- 
verts also  to  the  Bridal  of  Triermain  as  being  already  in  rapid 
progress.  The  fragments  of  this  second  poem,  inserted  in  the 
Register  of  the  preceding  year,  had  attracted  considerable 
notice  ;  the  secret  of  their  authorship  had  been  well  kept ; 
and  by  some  means,  even  in  the  shrewdest  circles  of  Edin- 
burgh, the  belief  had  become  prevalent  that  they  proceeded 
not  from  Scott,  but  from  Erskine.  Scott  had  no  sooner  com- 
pleted his  bargain  as  to  the  copyright  of  the  unwritten  Rokeby, 
than  he  resolved  to  pause  from  time  to  time  in  its  composi- 
tion, and  weave  those  fragments  into  a  shorter  and  lighter 
romance,  executed  in  a  difl^erent  metre,  and  to  be  published 
anonymously,  in  a  small  pocket  volume,  as  nearly  as  possible 
on  the  same  day  with  the  avowed  quarto.  He  expected 
great  amusement  from  the  comparisons  which  the  critics 
would  no  doubt  indulge  themselves  in  drawing  between  liim- 
self  and  this  humble  candidate  ;  and  Erskine  good-humoredly 
entered  into  the  scheme,  undertaking  to  do  nothing  which 
should  effectually  suppress  the  notion  of  his  having  set  hira 
self  up  as  a  modest  rival  to  his  friend." — Life  of  Scott,  vol 
iv.  p.  12. 


382 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


S:i)e   iSribal  of  ®rttrmain. 


INTRODUCTION". 


Come,  Luct  !  -while  'tis  morning  hour, 

The  woodland  brook  we  needs  must  pass ; 
So,  ere  the  sun  assume  his  power, 
We  shelter  in  oui-  poplar  bower, 
Where  dew  lies  long  upon  the  flower, 

Though  vanish'd  from  the  velvet  grass. 
Cm-bing  the  stream,  this  stony  ridge 
May  serve  us  for  a  silvan  bridge  ; 

For  here,  compeU'd  to  disunite, 

Roiuid  petty  isles  the  riumels  glide, 
And  chafing  off  their  puny  spite, 
The  shallow  munnurers  waste  their  might. 

Yielding  to  footstep  free  and  hght 
A  dry-shod  pass  from  side  to  side. 

II. 

Nay,  why  this  hesitating  pause  ? 
And,  Lucy,  as  thy  step  withdraws. 
Why  sidelong  eye  the  streamlet's  brim  ? 

Titania's  foot  without  a  shp, 
Like  thine,  though  timid,  Ught,  and  slim, 
From  stone  to  stone  miglit  safely  trip. 
Nor  risk  the  glow-worm  clasp  to  dip 
That  bmds  her  slipper's  silken  lim. 
Or  trust  thy  lover's  strength  :  nor  fear 
That  this  same  stalwart  arm  of  mine. 
Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  uprear, 
Shall  shrmk  beneath  the  burden  dear 

Of  form  so  slender,  light,  and  fine. — 
So, — now,  the  danger  dared  at  last, 
Look  back,  and  smUe  at  perils  past ! 

in. 

And  now  we  reacli  the  favorite  glade. 

Paled  in  by  copsewood,  cliff,  and  stone, 
Where  never  harsner  sounds  invade. 

To  break  affection's  whispering  tone, 
Than  the  deep  breeze  that  waves  the  shade, 

Than  the  small  brooklet's  feeble  moan. 
Come !  rest  thee  on  thy  wonted  seat ; 

Moss'd  is  the  stone,  the  turf  is  green, 

»  MS.—"  HaBghty  eye." 


A  place  where  lovers  best  may  meet, 

Who  would  not  that  their  love  be  seen. 
The  boughs,  that  dim  the  summer  sky. 
Shall  hide  us  from  each  lurking  spy, 

That  fain  would  spread  the  invidious  tale, 
How  Lucy  of  the  lofty  eye,* 
Noble  in  bhth,  in  fortimes  high, 
She  for  whom  lords  and  barons  sigh, 
Meets  her  poor  Ai-thur  in  the  dale. 

IV. 
How  deep  that  blush ! — how  deep  that  sigh ! 
And  why  does  Lucy  shun  mine  eye  ? 
Is  it  because  that  ci"imson  draws 
Its  color  fi-om  some  secret  cause, 
Some  hidden  movement  of  the  breast. 
She  would  not  that  her  Arthur  guess'd  ? 
0  !  quicker  far  is  lovers'  ken 
Than  the  dull  glance  of  eonunon  men,' 
And,  by  strange  sympathy,  can  spell 
The  thoughts  the  loved  one  will  not  tell ! 
And  mine,  in  Lucy's  blush,  saw  met 
The  hues  of  pleasure  and  regret ; 
Pride  mingled  in  the  sigh  her  voice. 

And  shared  with  Love  the  crimson  glow 
Well  pleased  that  thou  art  Arthur's  choice. 
Yet  shamed  thine  own  is  placed  so  low : 
Thou  turn'st  thy  self-confessing  cheek. 

As  if  to  meet  the  breeze's  cooling ; 
Then,  Lucy,  hear  thy  tutor  speak. 

For  Love,  too,  has  his  hours  of  schooling. 


V. 
Too  oft  my  anxious  eye  has  spied 
That  secret  grief  thou  fain  wouldst  hide, 
The  passing  pang  of  humbled  pride ; 

Too  oft,  when  through  the  splendid  hall, 

The  load-star  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
My  fair  one  leads  the  gUttering  ball. 
Will  her  stol'n  glance  on  Arthur  fall. 
With  such  a  blush  and  such  a  sigh ! 
Thou  wouldst  not  yield,  for  wealth 
rank. 
The  heart  thy  worth  and  beauty  won, 


or 


"  with  winjs  as  swift 


As  meditation  or  the  thoughts  of  love." — Hamlet. 


PANTO  I. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


383 


Nor  leave  me  on  tLis  mossy  bank, 

To  meet  a  rival  on  a  throne : 
"WTiy,  then,  should  vain  repiuings  rise, 
That  to  thy  lover  fate  denies 
A  nobler  name,  a  wide  domain, 
A  Baron's  birth,  a  menial  train, 
Since  Heaven  assign'd  him,  for  his  part, 
A  lyre,  a  falchion,  and  a  heart ! 

VI. 

My  sword its  master  must  be  dumb ; 

But,  when  a  soldier  names  my  name. 
Approach,  my  Lucy !  fearless  come, 

Nor  dread  to  hear  of  Ai'thur's  shame. 
"Mj  heart — 'mid  all  yon  courtly  crew. 

Of  lordly  rank  and  lofty  line. 
Is  there  to  love  and  honor  true, 

That  boasts  a  pulse  so  warm  as  mine  ?' 
They  praised  thy  diamonds'  lustre  rare — 

Match'd  with  thine  eyes,  I  thought  it  faded  ; 
They  praised  the  pearls  that  boimd  thy  hair — 

I  only  saw  the  locks  they  braided  ; 
They  talk'd  of  wealthy  dower  and  land, 

And  titles  of  high  birth  the  token — 
.  thought  of  Lucy's  heart  and  hand, 

Nor  knew  the  sense  of  what  was  spoken. 
And  yet,  if  rank'd  in  Fortune's  roU, 

I  might  have  Icarn'd  then-  choice  unwise, 
"iVTio  rate  the  dower  above  the  soul, 
And  Lucy's  diamonds  o'er  her  eyes.* 

vn. 

My  lyre — it  is  an  idle  toy, 

That  boiTows  accents  not  its  own, 

Like  warbler  of  Colombian  sky. 
That  sings  but  in  a  mimic  tone.' 

Ne'er  did  it  sound  o'er  sainted  well. 

Nor  boasts  it  aught  of  Border  spell ; 

1  MS. — "  That  boasts  so  warm  a  heart  as  mine." 

2  MS. — "  And  Lucy's  gems  before  her  eyes." 

3  The  Mocking  Bird. 

*  MS. — "  Perchance,  because  it  snng  their  praise." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

6  "  The  Introduction,  though  by  no  means  destitute  of  beau- 
I'es,  is  decidedly  inferior  to  the  Posm  :  its  plan,  or  conception, 
;6  neitlier  very  ingenious  nor  very  striking.  T!ie  Iiest  passages 
ire  those  in  which  the  author  adheres  most  strictly  to  his  ori- 
ginal :  in  those  which  are  composed  without  I)av!ng  liis  eyes 
fixed  on  his  model,  there  is  a  sort  of  aifectation  and  straining 
at  humor,  that  will  probably  excite  some  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment, cither  because  the  effort  is  not  altogether  successful,  or 
bec<.n?e  it  does  not  perfectly  harmonize  with  the  tone  and  col- 
oring of  the  whole  piece. 

"  The  '  Bridal'  itself  is  purely  a  tale  of  chivalry  ;  a  tale  of 
'  Britain's  isle,  and  Arthur's  days,  when  midnight  fairies 
Jaunced  the  maze.'  The  author  ne%'er  gives  us  a  glance  of 
ordinary  life,  or  of  ordinary  personages.  From  the  splendid 
court  of  Arthur,  we  are  conveyed  to  the  halls  of  enchant- 
ment, and,  of  coarse,  are  introduced  to  a  system  of  man- 
ners, perfectly  decided  and  appropriate,  but  altogether  remote 


Its  strings  no  feudal  slogan  pour. 
Its  heroes  draw  no  broad  claymore  ; 
No  shoutmg  clans  applauses  raise. 
Because  it  sung  then  fathers'  praise  ;* 
On  Scottish  moor,  or  English  down. 
It  ne'er  was  graced  with  fair  renown ; 
Nor  won, — best  meed  to  minstrel  true, — 
One  favoring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch  ! 
By  one  poor  streamlet  sounds  its  tone, 
And  heard  by  one  dear  maid  alone. 

VIII. 

But,  if  thou  bid'st,  these  tones  shaU  tell 

Of  eiTant  knight,  and  damozelle  ; 

Of  the  dread  knot  a  "Wizard  tied. 

In  punishment  of  maiden's  pride. 

In  notes  of  marvel  and  of  fear. 

That  best  may  charm  romantic  ear. 
For  Lucy  loves, — hke  Collixs,  ill-starred  name  !* 
Wliose  lay's  requital,  was  that  tardy  fame, 
"Who  bound  no  lam'el  roimd  his  hving  head, 
Should  hang  it  o'er  his  monument  when  dead, — 
For  Lucy  loves  to  tread  enchanted  strand, 
And  thread,  like  him,  the  maze  of  Fairy -land ; 
Of  golden  battlements  to  view  the  gleam. 
And  slumber  soft  by  some  Elysian  stream  ; — 
Such  lays  she  loves, — and  such  my  Lucy's  choice, 
"What  other  song  can  claim  her  Poet's  voice  1" 


®lje  Brllial  of  (S^ricrmain. 


C.\>'TO    FIRST. 


"Where  is  the  Maiden  of  mortal  strain. 

That  may  match  with  the  Baron  of  Triermain  ?' 


from  those  of  this  vulgar  world."- 
1813. 


■Quarterly  Review,  July, 


"  The  poem  now  before  us  consists  properly  of  two  distinct 
subjects,  interwoven  together  something  in  the  mnnner  of  the 
Last  Minstrel  and  his  Lay,  in  the  first  and  most  enchanting  of 
Walter  Scott's  romances.  The  first  is  the  history  (real  or  im- 
aginary, we  presume  not  to  guess  which)  of  the  author's  pas- 
sion, courtship,  and  murriage,  with  a  young  lady,  his  superior 
in  rank  and  circumstances,  to  whom  he  relates  at  intervals  tlie 
story  which  may  be  considered  as  the  principal  design  of  the 
work,  to  which  it  gives  its  title.  This  is  a  mode  of  introdu- 
cing romantic  and  fabulous  nairatives  which  we  very  much 
approve,  though  there  may  be  reason  to  fear  that  too  frequent 
repetition  may  wear  out  its  effect.  It  attaches  a  degree  of 
dramatic  interest  to  the  work,  and  at  the  same  time  softens  the 
absurdity  of  a  Gothic  legend,  by  throwing  it  to  a  greater  dis- 
tance from  the  relation  and  auditor,  by  representing  it,  not  as 
a  train  of  facts  which  actually  took  place,  but  as  a  mere  fable, 
either  adopted  by  the  credulity  of  former  times,  or  invented 
for  the  purposes  of  amusement,  and  the  exercise  of  the  im- 
agination."— Critical  Review,  1813. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


384 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  1. 


Slie  must  be  lovely,  and  constant,  and  kind, 

Holy  ami  pure,  and  humble  of  mind, 

Blithe  of  cheer,  and  gentle  of  mood, 

Courteous,  and  generous,  and  noble  of  blood — 

Lovely  as  the  sun's  first  ray, 

Wlicn  it  breaks  tlie  clouds  of  an  AprU  day ; 

Constant  and  true  as  the  widow'd  dove, 

Kind  as  a  minstrel  that  sings  of  love ; 

Pure  as  tlie  fountain  in  rocky  cave, 

"Where  never  sunbeam  kiss'd  the  wave  ; 

Humble  as  maiden  that  loves  in  vain, 

Holy  as  liermit's  vesper  strain ; 

Gentle  as  breeze  that  but  whispers  and  dies. 

Yet  blitlie  as  the  light  leaves  that  dance  in  its 

sighs ; 
Courteous  as  monarch  the  morn  he  is  crown'd, 
Generous  as  spring-dews  that  bless  the  glad 

ground ; 
Noble  her  blood  as  the  currents  that  met 
In  the  veins  of  the  noblest  Plantagenet — 
Such  must  her  form  be,  her  mood,  and  her 

strain. 
That  shall  match  with  Sir  Roland  of  Triermain. 

II. 

Sir  Roland  de  Vaux  he  hath  lain  him  to  sleep. 
His  blood  it  was  fever'd,  his  breathing  was  deep, 
He  had  been  pricldng  against  the  Scot, 
Tlie  foray  was  long,  and  the  skirmish  hot : 
His  dinted  helm  and  his  buckler's  plight 
Bore  token  of  a  stubborn  fight. 

All  in  the  castle  must  liold  them  stUl, 
Harpers  must  luU  liim  to  his  rest. 
With  the  slow  soft  tunes  he  loves  the  best, 
TiU  sleep  sink  down  \»pon  liis  breast, 

Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hilL 

HI 

It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day ; 
The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  gray, 
That  like  a  silvery  crape  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head, 
And  faintly  gleam'd  each  painted  pane 
Of  the  lordly  halls  of  Triermain, 

When  that  Baron  bold  awoke. 
Starting  lie  woke,  and  loudly  did  call. 
Rousing  liis  menials  m  bower  and  hall, 

While  hastily  he  spoke. 

IV. 
"  Hearken,  my  minstrels  !  Wliich  of  ye  aU 
Touch'd  his  harp  with  tliat  dyhig  fall, 

So  sweet,  so  soft,  so  faint. 
It  seem'd  an  angel's  whisper'd  call 

To  an  expii'ing  saint  ? 


1  Punmailraise  is  one  of  the  grand  passes  from  Cnmberland 
into  Westmoreland.    It  takes  its  name  from  a  cairn,  or  pile 


And  hearken,  my  meny-men !  What  tune  or 
where  [brow, 

Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  her  heavenly 
With  lier  look  so  sweet  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step  and  her  angel  air, 
And  the  eagle  plume  in  her  dark-brown  hair, 

That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now  ?" 

V. 
Answer'd  him  Richard  de  Bretville ;  he 
Was  chief  of  the  Baron's  minstrelsy, — 
"  Silent,  noble  chieftain,  we 

Have  sat  smce  midnight  close, 
When  such  lulling  sounds  as  the  brooklet  sings, 
Murmur'd  from  our  melting  strings, 

And  hush'd  you  to  repose. 

Had  a  harp-note  sounded  here, 

It  had  caught  .my  watchful  ear, 

Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 

As  bashful  maiden's  half-form'd  sigh, 

When  she  thinks  her  lover  near." — 
Ansi-^er'd  Phihp  of  Fasthwaite  tall. 
He  kept  guard  in  the  outer  hall, — 
"  Since  at  eve  our  watch  took  post, 
Not  a  foot  has  thy  portal  cross'd ; 

Else  had  I  heiird  the  steps,  though  low 
And  light  they  fell,  as  wlien  earth  receives, 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  wither'd  leaves. 

That  drop  when  no  winds  blow." 

VL 
"  Then  come  thou  hither,  Henry,  my  page, 
Whom  I  saved  from  the  sack  of  Hermitage, 
When  that  dark  castle,  tower,  and  spire. 
Rose  to  the  skies  a  pile  of  fire. 

And  redden'd  all  the  Nine-stane  Hill, 
And  the  slirieks  of  death,  tliat  wildly  broke 
Through  devouring  flame  and  smothering  smoke 

Made  the  wanior's  heart-blood  chiU. 
Tlie  trustiest  thou  of  all  my  train, 
My  fleetest  courser  thou  must  rein. 

And  ride  to  Lyulph's  tower. 
And  from  the  Baron  of  Triermain 

Greet  well  that  sage  of  power. 
He  is  sprung  from  Druid  sires. 
And  British  bards  that  tuned  their  lyres 
To  Arthur's  and  Pendragon's  praise, 
And  his  who  sleeps  at  Dimmaih'aise.* 
Gifted  like  his  gifted^ race. 
He  the  characters  can  trace, 
Graven  deep  in  elder  time 
Upon  Hellvellyns  cliffs  sublime ; 
Sign  and  sigil  well  doth  he  know. 
And  can  bode  of  weal  and  woe, 
Of  kingdoms'  faU,  and  fate  of  wars. 


of  stones,  erected,  it  is  said,  to  the  memory  of  Dunmail,  tha 
la.st  King  of  Cumberland 


CANTO  1. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


i85 


From  mystic  dreams  and  com-se  of  stars. 

He  sliall  tell  if  middle  earth 

To  that  enchanting  shape  gave  birth, 

Or  if  'twas  but  an  airy  thmg, 

Sucli  as  fixntastic  slumbers  bring, 

Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varymg  dyes, 

Or  fading  tmts  of  western  skies.* 

For,  by  the  Blessed  Rood  I  swear, 

If  that  fair  form  breathe  vital  air, 

No  other  maiden  by  my  side 

Shall  ever  rest  De  Vaux's  bride  '."^ 

VII. 
The  faithful  Page  he  moimts  his  steed, 
And  soon  he  cross'd  green  Irthing's  mead, 
Dash'd  o'er  Kirkoswald's  verdant  plain. 
And  Eden  barr'd  Ms  course  in  vain. 
He  pass'd  red  Penrith's  Table  Round,' 
For  feats  of  chivalry  renown' d. 
Left  Mayburgh's  mound*  and  stones  of  power, 
By  Drmds  raised  in  magic  hoiu", 
Aid  traced  the  Eamont's  winding  way. 
Till  Ulfo's  lake*  beneath  him  lay. 

VIII. 
Onward  he  rode,  the  pathway  stUl 
Winding  bet^Txt  the  lake  and  hill ; 
TUl,  on  the  fragment  of  a  rock, 
Struck  from  its  base  by  hghtnhig  shock, 

He  saw  the  hoary  Sage : 
The  silver  moss  and  lichen  twined, 
With  fern  and  deer-hair,  check'd  and  lined, 

A  cushion  fit  for  age ; 
And  o'er  him  shook  the  aspen-tree, 
A  restless,  rustling  canopy. 
Then  sprung  young  Hemy  from  his  sella. 

And  greeted  Lyulph  grave, 
And  then  his  master's  tale  did  teU, 

And  tlion  for  counsel  crave. 
The  Man  of  Years  mused  long  and  deep. 
Of  time's  lost  treasures  taking  keep. 
And  then,  as  rousing  from  a  sleep. 

His  solemn  answer  gave. 

IX. 

"  That  maid  is  born  of  middle  earth. 

And  may  of  man  be  won. 
Though  there  have  glided  since  her  birth 

Five  hundi'ed  years  and  one. 
But  Where's  the  Knight  in  all  the  north. 
That  dare  the  adventure  follow  forth, 

1  "  Just  like  Aurora,  wlien  she  ties 

A  rainbow  round  tlie  morning  skies." — MooRE. 

2  "  This  powerful  Baron  required  in  the  fair  one  wliora  he 

should  honor  with  his  hand  an  assemblage  of  qualities,  that 

appears  to   ns  rather  unreasonable  even  in  those  higli  days, 

profuse  as  they  are  known  to  have  been  of  perfections  now 

nnattainable.     His  resolution,  however,  was  not  more  inflexi- 

aie  than  that  of  any  mere  modern  youth  ;  for  he  decrees  that 
49 


So  perilous  to  knightly  worth, 
In  the  valley  of  St.  Jolm  ? 
Listen,  youth,  to  what  I  tell. 
And  bind  it  on  thy  memory  well ; 
Nor  muse  that  I  commence  the  rhyme 
Far  distant,  'mid  the  wrecks  of  time. 
The  mystic  tale,  by  bard  and  sage, 
Is  handed  down  from  Merliti's  age. 

X. 

"  King  Arthur  has  ridden  from  merry  Carlisle, 

When  Pentecost  was  o'er : 
He  jom-ney'd  like  errant-knight  the  while, 
And  sweetly  the  summer  sun  did  smile 

On  mountain,  moss,  and  moor. 
Above  liis  solitary  track 
Rose  Glaramara's  ridgy  back. 
Amid  whose  yawning  gulfs  the  sun 
Cast  umber'd  radiance  red  and  dun. 
Though  never  sunbeam  could  discern 
The  surftice  of  that  sable  tarn,® 
In  whose  black  inirror  you  may  spy 
The  stars,  while  noontide  lights  the  sky. 
Tlie  gallant  ffing  he  skii-ted  still 
The  margm  of  that  mighty  hill ; 
Rock  upon  rocks  incumbent  hung. 
And  torrents,  down  the  gullies  flung, 
Join'd  the  rude  river  that  brawl'd  on, 
Recoiling  now  from  crag  and  stone, 
Now  diving  deep  from  human  ken. 
And  raving  down  its  darksome  glen. 
The  Monarch  judged  this  desert  wild. 
With  such  romantic  ruin  piled,  • 

Was  theatre  by  Nature's  hand 
For  feat  of  high  achievement  plann'd. 

XL 

"  0  rather  he  chose,  that  Monarch  bold. 

On  vent'rous  quest  to  ride. 
In  plate  and  mail,  by  wood  and  wold, 
Than,  with  ermine  trapp'd  and  cloth  of  gold, 

In  princely  bower  to  bide  ; 
The  bursting  crash  of  a  foeman's  spear, 

As  it  shiver'd  against  his  mail. 
Was  merrier  music  to  his  ear 

Than  com-tier's  whisper'd  tale  : 
And  the  clash  of  Cahburn  more  dear, 

Wlien  on  the  hostile  casque  it  rung. 
Than  all  the  lays 
To  then"  monarch's  praise 

his  nightly  visitant,  of  whom  at  this  time  he  conld  know  noth- 
ing, but  that  she  looked  and  sung  like  an  angel,  if  of  mortal 
mould,  shall  be  his  bride." — Quarterly  Review. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  C.  ^  Ibid.  Note  D. 

5  Ulswater. 

6  The  small  lake  called  Scales-tarn  lies  so  deeply  embosomea 
in  the  recesses  of  the  huge  mountain  called  Saddleback,  mora 
poetically  Glaramara,  is  of  such  great  depth,  and  so  complete- 


38b 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


That  the  harpers  of  Reged  sung. 
He  loved  better  to  rest  by  wood  or  river, 
Tlian  in  bower  of  his  bride,  Danie  Guenever, 
For  he  left  that  lady,  so  lovely  of  cheer, 
To  follow  adventures  of  danger  and  fear ; 
And  the  frank-heai-ted  Monarch  full  httle  did 

wot,  [Launcelot. 

Tliat    she   smiled^  in  liis  absence,  on  brave 

XII. 
"  He  rode,  till  over  down  and  dell 
The  shade  more  broad  and  deeper  fell ; 
And  though  around  the  mountain's  head 
riow'd  streams  of  purple,  and  gold,  and  red. 
Dark  at  the  base,  unblest  by  beam, 
Frown'd  the  black  rocks,  and  roar'd  the  stream. 
"With  toil  the  King  his  way  pursued 
By  lonely  Tlu-elkeld's  waste  and  wood. 
Till  on  his  course  obliquely  shone 
The  narrow  valley  of  Saint  John, 
Down  sloping  to  the  western  sky. 
Where  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  lie. 
Right  glad  to  feel  those  beams  again, 
Tlie  King  di-ew  up  his  charger's  rein  ; 
"Witli  gauntlet  raised  he  screen'd  his  sight, 
As  dazzled  with  the  level  light, 
And,  from  beneath  his  glove  of  mail, 
Scann'd  at  his  ease  the  lovely  vale, 
While  'gainst  the  eun  his  armor  bright 
Gleam'd  ruddy  like  the  beacon's  light. 

XIII. 
"  Paled  in  by  many  a  lofty  liiU, 
The  narrow  dale  lay  smooth  and  still, 
And,  down  its  verdant  bosom  led, 
A  winding  brooldet  found  its  bed. 
But,  midmost  of  the  vale,  a  mound 
Ai'ose  with  any  turrets  crown'd, 
Buttress,  and  rampire's  circling  bound, 

And  mighty  keep  and  tower  ; 
Seem'd  some  primeval  giant's  liaud 
The  castle's  massive  walls  had  plaun'd, 
A  ponderous  bulwark  to  withstand 

Ambitious  Mmrod's  power. 
Above  the  moated  entrance  slun?. 
The  balanced  drawbridge  trembling  hung, 

As  jealous  of  a  foe  ; 
"Wicket  of  oak,  as  u'on  hard. 
With  iron  studded,  cleuch'd,  and  baiT'd, 
And  prong'd  portculHs,  join'd  to  guard 

The  gloomy  pass  below. 
But  the  gray  walls  no  baimers  crown'd, 
Upon  the  watch-tower's  airy  round 
No  warder  stood  his  horn  to  sound. 
No  guard  beside  the  bridge  was  found, 

ly  hidden  from  the  sun,  that  it  is  said  its  beams  never  rea.ch  it, 
and  that  tUe  rsflection  of  the  stars  may  be  seen  at  mid-day. 


And,  where  the  Gothic  gateway  frown'd, 
Glanced  neither  bQl  nor  bow. 

XIV. 

"  Beneath  the  castle's  gloomy  pride, 
Li  amjDle  round  did  Arthur  ride 
••Tlu'ee  times  ;  nor  living  thing  he  spied, 

Nor  heard  a  living  sound, 
Save  that,  awakening  from  her  dream, 
•The  owlet  now  began  to  scream, 
In  concert  with  the  rushing  stream. 

That  wash'd  the  battled  mound. 
He  hglited  from  liis  goodly  steed. 
And  he  left  him  to  graze  on  bank  and  mead , 
And  slowly  he  climb'd  the  narrow  way, 
That  reach'd  the  entrance  grim  and  gray, 
And  he  stood  the  outward  arch  below, 
And  his  bugle-liorn  prepared  to  blow, 

In  summons  bhthe  and  bold 
Deeming  to  rouse  from  iron  sleep 
The  guardian  of  this  dismal  Keep, 

Which  well  he  guess'd  the  hold 
Of  wizard  stem,  or  goblin  grim. 
Or  pagan  of  gigantic  limb. 

The  tyrant  of  the  wold. 

XV. 
"  The  ivory  bugle's  golden  tip 
Twice  touch'd  the  Monarch's  manly  lip, 

And  twice  his  hand  witlidrew. 
— Think  not  but  Arthur's  heart  was  good  i 
His  sliield  was  cross'd  by  the  blessed  rood, 
Had  a  pagan  host  before  him  stood. 

He  had  charged  them  thi-ougli  and  through 
Yet  the  silence  of  that  ancient  place 
Sunk  on  his  heart,  and  he  paused  i  space 

Ere  yet  his  horn  he  blew. 
But,  instant  as  its  'larum  rmig. 
The  castle  gate  was  open  flung, 
PortculUs  rose  with  crashing  groan 
Full  harshly  up  its  groove  of  stone : 
The  balance-beams  obey'd  the  blast. 
And  down  the  trembhng  chawbridge  cast ; 
The  vaulted  arch  before  hun  lay. 
With  naught  to  bar  the  gloomy  way, 
And  onward  Arthur  paced,  with  hand 
On  Cahbm-n's'  resistless  brand. 

XVL 
"  A  himdred  torches,  flashing  bright, 
DispeU'd  at  once  the  gloomy  night 

That  lour'd  along  the  walls, 
And  show'd  the  King's  astonish'd  sight 

The  inmates  of  the  halls. 
Nor  wizard  stern,  nor  goblin  grim, 


1  This  was  the  name  of  King  Arthur's  well-kuown  sword, 
sometimes  also  called  Excalibar. 


CANTO  I. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


)87 


Xor  giant  huge  of  fonn  and  limb, 

Raised,  with  imposmg  air,  her  hand, 

Nor  heathen  knight,  was  there ; 

iind  reverent  sUence  did  command, 

But  the  cressets,  which  odors  flung  aloft, 

On  entrance  of  their  Queen, 

Show'd  by  their  yellow  hght  and  soft, 

And  they  were  mute. — But  as  a  glance 

A  band  of  damsels  fair. 

They  steal  on  Ai-thur's  countenance 

Onward  they  came,  like  summer  wave 

Bewilder'd  with  surprise, 

That  dances  to  the  shore  ; 

Their  smother'd  mhth  again  'gan  speak, 

A  n  himdred  voices  welcome  gave. 

Li  archly  dimpled  cliin  and  cheek. 

And  welcome  o'er  and  o'er ! 

And  laughter-lighted  eyes. 

An  hundi-ed  lovely  hands  assail 

The  bucklers  of  the  monarch's  mail, 

XLX. 

And  busy  labor'd  to  unhasp 

"  The  attributes  of  those  high  days 

Rivet  of  steel  and  iron  clasp. 

Now  only  hve  in  minstrel  lays ; 

One  wrapp'd  him  in  a  mantle  fair. 

For  Nature,  now  exhausted,  still 

And  one  flung  odors  on  his  hair  ; 

Was  then  profuse  of  good  and  ill. 

His  short  cm-l'd  ringlets  one  smooth'd  down, 

Strength  was  gigantic,  valor  high. 

One  wreathed  them  with  a  myi-tle  crown. 

And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky, 

A  bride  upon  her  wedding-day, 

And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 

Was  tended  ne'er  by  troop  so  gay. 

As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  di'eam. 

Yet  e'en  in  that  romantic  age, 

XVII. 

Ne'er  were  such  charms  by  mortal  seen. 

"  Loud  laugh'd  thc.y  all, — the  King,  m  vain. 

As  Arthur's  dazzled  eyes  engage. 

With  questions  task'd  the  giddy  train ; 

When  forth,  on  that  enchanted  stage, 

Let  him  entreat,  or  crave,  or  call, 

With  ghttering  train  of  maid  and  page. 

'Twas  one  reply, — loud  laugh'd  they  aU. 

Advanced  the  castle's  Queen ! 

Then  o'er  him  mimic  chains  they  tiing. 

Wliile  up  the  haU  she  slowly  pass'd. 

Framed  of  the  fairest  flowers  of  spring, 

Her  dark  eye  on  the  King  she  cast. 

While  some  their  gentle  force  unite, 

That  flash'd  expression  strong  f 

Onward  to  drag  the  wondering  kuight. 

The  longer  dwelt  that  lingering  look. 

Some,  bolder,  urge  his  pace  with  blows. 

Her  cheek  the  livelier  color  took. 

Dealt  with  the  lily  or  the  rose. 

And  scarce  the  shame-faced  Kuig  could  brook 

Behuid  him  were  in  trimnph  borne 

The  gaze  that  lasted  long. 

The  warlike  arms  he  late  had  worn. 

A  sage,  who  had  that  look  espied, 

Four  of  the  train  combined  to  rear 

Where  kindhng  passion  strove  with  pride. 

The  terrors  of  Thitadgel's  spear  ;' 

Had  wliisper'd,  '  Prmce,  beware  ! 

Two,  laughing  at  then-  lack  of  strength, 

From  the  chafed  tiger  rend  the  prey, 

Dragg'd  Calibm-n  in  cumbrous  length. 

Rush  on  the  Hon  when  at  bay. 

One,  while  she  aped  a  martial  stride. 

Bar  the  fell  chagon's  blighted  way. 

Placed  on  her  brows  the  helmet's  pride  ; 

But  shun  that  lovely  snare  1' — ' 

Then  scream'd,  'twixt  laughter  and  sin-prise. 

To  feel  its  depth  o'erwhelm  her  eyes. 

XX. 

With  revel-shout,  and  trimnph-song, 

"  At  once,  that  inward  strife  suppress'd, 

Thus  gayly  march'd  the  giddy  throng. 

The  dame  approach'd  her  warhke  guest. 

With  greetmg  in  that  fair  degree, 

XVIIL 

Where  female  pride  and  com-tesy 

"  Tlirough  many  a  gallery  and  hall 

Are  bended  with  such  passing  art 

They  led,  I  ween,  their  royal  tlnaU; 

As  awes  at  once  and  charms  the  heart.* 

At  length,  beneath  a  fair  arcade 

A  com-tly  welcome  first  she  gave. 

Their  march  and  song  at  once  they  staid. 

Then  of  his  goodness  'gan  to  crave 

The  eldest  maiden  of  the  band 

Construction  fair  and  true 

(The  lovely  maid  was  scarce  eighteen). 

Of  her  light  maidens'  idle  mu-th. 

1  Tmtadgel  Castle,  in  Cornwall,  is  reported  to  have  been  the 

3  "  Arouse  the  tiger  of  Hyrcanian  deserts, 

oirth-place  of  King  Arthur. 

Strive  with  the  half-starved  lion  for  his  prey  ; 

Lesser  the  risk,  than  rouse  the  slumbering  fire 

2  "  In  the  description  of  the  Queen  s  entrance,  as  well  as  in 
the  contrasted  enumeration  of  the  levities  of  her  attendants,  the 

Waverley  J^ovels,  vol.  xvii.  p.  207. 

author,  we  think,  has  had  in  his  recollection  Gray's  celebrated 

<  "  Still  sways  their  souls  with  that  commanding  art 

description  of  the  power  of  harmony  to  produce  all  the  graces 

That  dazzles,  leads,  yet  chills  the  vulgar  heart." 

of  motion  in  the  body." — (Quarterly  Review 

Byron's  Conair,  1814 

1 

388                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  il 

TSTio  di-ew  from  lonely  glens  their  bii-th, 

The  Saxon  stern,  the  pagan  Dane, 

Nor  knew  to  pay  to  stranger  worth 

Maj-aud  on  Britain's  shores  again. 

And  dignity  their  due  ; 

Arthur,  of  Christendom  the  flower. 

And  then  she  pray'd  that  he  would  rest 

Lies  loitermg  in  a  lady's  bower ; 

Tliat  night  her  castle's  honor'd  guest. 

The  horn,  that  foemen  wont  to  fear. 

The  Monarch  meetly  thanks  express'd ; 

Sounds  but  to  wake  the  Cumbrian  deer, 

The  banquet  rose  at  her  behest, 

And  Caliburn,  the  British  pride, 

"With  lay  and  tale,  and  laugh  and  jest, 

Hangs  useless  by  a  lover's  side. 

Apace  the  evening  flew.* 

IL 

XXI. 

"  Another  day,  another  day, 

"  The  Lady  sate  the  Monarch  by, 

And  yet  another,  ghdes  away  ! 

Now  in  her  turn  abash'd  and  shy, 

Heroic  plans  in  pleasure  drown'd. 

And  with  indifference  seem'd  to  hear 

He  thinks  not  of  the  Table  Round  ; 

The  toys  he  whisper'd  in  her  ear. 

In  lawless  love  dissolved  liis  life. 

Her  bearing  modest  was  and  fair, 

He  tliinks  not  of  his  beauteous*  wife : 

Yet  shadows  of  constraint  were  there. 

Better  he  loves  to  snatch  a  flower 

That  shoVd-en  over-cautious  care 

From  bosom  of  his  paramour. 

Some  inward  thought  to  hide  ; 

Than  from  a  Saxon  knight*  to  wrest 

Oft  did  she  pause  in  full  reply. 

Tlie  honors  of  his  heathen  crest ! 

And  oft  cast  down  her  large  dark  eye, 

Better  to  wreathe,  'mid  tresses  brown, 

Oft  check'd  the  soft  volujjtuous  sigh, 

The  heron's  plume  her  hawk  struck  down, 

That  heaved  her  bosom's  pride. 

Than  o'er  the  altar  give  to  flow 

Slight  symptoms  these,  but  shepherds  know 

Tlie  banners  of  a  Paynim  foe.^ 

How  hot  the  mid-day  sun  shall  glow. 

Thus,  week  by  week,  and  day  by  day. 

From  the  mist  of  morning  sky ; 

His  hfe  inglorious  glides  away ; 

And  so  the  wily  monarch  guess'd, 

But  she,  that  soothes  his  dream,  with  fear 

That  this  assumed  restramt  express'd 

Beholds  his  hour  of  waking  near  !* 

More  ardent  passions  in  the  breast. 

Than  ventured  to  the  eye. 

in. 

Closer  he  press'd,  while  beakers  rang, 

"  Much  force  have  mortal  charms  to  stay 

While  maidens  laugh'd  and  minstrels  sang. 

Our  peace  in  Vhtue's  toilsome  way ; 

Still  closer  to  her  ear — 

But  Guendolen's  might  far  outshine 

But  why  pursue  the  common  tale  ? 

Each  maid  of  merely  mortal  line. 

Or  wherefore  show  how  knights  prevail 

Her  mother  was  of  human  birth. 

When  ladies  dare  to  hear  ? 

Her  sire  a  Genie  of  the  earth, 

Or  wherefore  trace,  fi-om  what  slight  cause 

In  days  of  old  deem'd  to  preside 

Its  source  one  tyrant  passion  di'aws, 

O'er  lovers'  wiles  and  beauty's  pride. 

Till,  mastering  all  within,^ 

By  youths  and  virgins  worship'd  long, 

W  here  lives  the  man  that  has  not  tried, 

With  festive  dance  and  choral  song, 

How  nihtli  can  into  folly  glide. 

Tin,  when  the  cross  to  Britain  came. 

And  folly  into  sin?" 

On  heathen  altars  died  the  flame. 

Now,  deep  in  Wastdale  solitude, 
Tlie  downfall  of  his  rights  he  rued, 

^l]e  Bribai  of  (Lricrmain. 

And,  born  of  liis  resentment  heir, 
He  train'd  to  guile  that  lady  fair. 
To  smk  in  slothful  sin  and  shame 
The  champions  of  the  Christian  name. 
Well  skill'd  to  keep  vain  thoughts  alive. 

CANTO    SECOND. 

I. 

And  all  to  promise,  naught  to  give, — 

%v\ilp\y8  Stale,  toiitiuueti. 

The  timid  youth  had  hope  in  store. 

"  Another  day,  another  day. 

The  bold  and  pressing  gain'd  no  more. 

And  yet  another  glides  away ! 

As  wilder'd  children  leave  their  home, 

»  "  On  the  opinion  tliat  may  be  formed  even  of  tliese  two 

Like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest." — PoPK. 

gtanzas  (xix.  and  xx.)  we  are  willing  to  hazard  the  justness  of 

s  MS.— "  Lovely."                   *  MS.—"  Paynim  knight." 

the  eulogiura  we  have  bestowed  on  the  general  poetical  merit 

6  MS.— "  Vanquish'd  foe." 

of  tills  little  work." — Quarterly  Review. 

s  The  MS.  has  this  and  the  si.\th  couplet  of  stanza  iii.  lir 

' "  One  Master  Passion  in  the  breast, 

terpoUted. 

<?AJfTO  JJ. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


389 


jlfter  the  rainbow's  arch  to  roam, 
Her  lovers  barter'd  fair  esteem, 
JFaith,  fame,  and  honor,  for  a  dream.' 

IV. 
"  Her  sire's  soft  arts  the  soul  to  tame'' 
She  practised  thus — till  Arthur  came ; 
Then,  frail  humanity  had  part. 
And^jJUlig^  mother  clain^'d  l^^  Tifiart- 
Forgot  each  rule  her  father  gave. 
Sunk  from  a  princess  to  a  slave, 
Too  late  must  Guendolen  deplore, 
He,  that  has  all,^  can  hope  no  more ! 
Now  must  she  see*  her  lover  strain. 
At  every  turn,  her  feeble  chain  f 
Watch,  to  new-bind  each  knot,  and  shrink 
To  view  each  fast-decaying  link. 
Art  she  invokes  to  N^ature's  aid, 
Her  vest  to  zone,  her  locks  to  braid ; 
Each  varied  pleasure  heard  her  call, 
The  feast,  the  tourney,  and  the  ball : 
Her  storied  lore  she  next  applies, 
Taxing  her  mind  to  aid  her  eyes ; 
Now  more  than  mortal  wise,  and  then 
In  female  softness  simk  again ; 
Now,  raptured,  with  each  wish  complying, 
"With  feign'd  reluctance  now  denying ; 
Each  charm  she  varied,  to  retain 
A  varying  heai't® — and  all  in  vain  t 

V. 

"  Thus  in  the  garden's  naiTOW  bound, 
Flank'd  by  some  castle's  Gothic  roimd. 
Fain  would  the  artist's  skill  provide, 
The  limits  of  his  realms  to  hide. 
The  walks  in  labyrinths  he  twines. 
Shade  after  shade  with  sldll  combines. 
With  many  a  varied  flowery  knot. 
And  copse,  and  arbor,  decks  the  spot, 
Tempting  the  hasty  foot  to  stay, 

And  hnger  on  the  lovely  way 

Vain  art !  vain  hope !  'tis  fruitless  all ! 
At  length  we  reach  the  bounding  wall. 
And,  sick  of  flower   and   trim-dress'd 

tree. 
Long  for  rough  glades  and  forest  free. 

1  WS. — "  So  the  poof  dopes  exchanged  esteem, 

Fame,  faith,  and  honor,  for  a  dream." 

2  MS. — "  Such  arti  a-s  best  her  sire  became." 
3MS.—"  That  who  gives  all,"  &c. 

*  MS. — "  Now  must  she  watch,"  &c. 
»  MS. "  her  wasting  chain." 

6  "  As  some  tair  female,  unadorn'd  and  plain. 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign. 
Slights  every  borrow'd  charm  that  dress  supplies. 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes  ; 
But  when  those  charms  are  past,  for  charms  o:e  frail, 
When  timie  advances,  and  .vhen  lovers  fail. 


VI. 

"  Three  summer  months  had  scantly  flown, 
When  Arthur,  in  embarrass'd  tone. 
Spoke  of  Ills  hegemen  and  liis  throne ; 
Said,  all  too  long  had  been  liis  stay. 
And  duties,  which  a  monarch  sway, 
Duties,  unknown  to  humbler  men. 
Must  tear  her  knight  from  Guendolen. — 
She  listen'd  silently  the  while. 
Her  mood  express'd  in  bitter  smile  •,' 
Beneath  her  eye  must  Arthur  quail. 
And  oft  resimae  the  unfinish'd  tale,* 
Confessing,  by  his  downcast  eye, 
■  The  wrong  he  sought  to  justify. 
He  ceased.     A  moment  mute  she  gazed, 
And  then  her  looks  to  heaven  she  raised ; 
One  palm  her  temples  veil'd,  to  hide' 
The  tear  that  sprung  in  spite  of  pride ; 
The  other  for  an  instant  press'd 
The  foldings  of  her  silken  vest  1 

VII. 

"  At  her  reproachful  sign  and  look. 

The  hint  the  Monarch's  conscience  took." 

Eager  he  spoke — '  No,  lady,  no  ! 

Deem  not  of  British  Arthiu-  so, 

Nor  think  he  can  deserter  prove 

To  the  dear  pledge  of  mutual  love. 

I  swear  by  sceptre  and  by  sword, 
As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 
That  if  a  boy  shall  claim  my  care, 
That  boy  is  born  a  kingdom's  heir : 
But,  if  a  maiden  Fate  allows. 

To  choose  that  maid  a  fittmg  spouse, 

A  siunmer-day  in  lists  shall  strive 

My  knights, — the  bravest  knights  alive, — 

And  he,  the  best  and  bravest  tried, 

Shall  Arthur's  daughter  claim  for  bride.' — 

He  spoke,  with  voice  resolved  and  high — 

The  lady  deign'd  him  not  reply. 

VIII. 
"  At  dawn  of  morn,  ere  on  the  brake 
His  matins  djd  a  warbler  make," 
Or  stirr'd  his  wing  to  brush  away 
A  single  dew-drop  from  the  spray, 

She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress." 

Goldsmith. 

'  MS. — "  Wreathed  were  her  lips  in  bitter  smile." 

6  MS. "  his  broken  tale. 

With  downcast  eye  and  flushing  cheeks, 
As  one  who  'gainst  his  conscience  speaks." 

9  MS.— "  One  hand  her  temples  press'd  to  hide." 

10  "  The  scene  in  which  Arthur,  sated  with  his  lawless  love 
and  awake  at  last  to  a  sense  of  his  duties,  announces  his  imme- 
diate departure,  is  managed,  we  think,  with  uncommon  skill 
and  delicacy." — Quarterly  Review. 

II  MS. — "  A  single  warbler  was  awake." 


390 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO   fl. 


Ere  yet  a  sunbeam,  throngli  the  mist, 
The  castle-battlements  had  kiss'd, 
llie  gates  revolve,  the  drawbridge  falls, 
And  Arthm-  sallies  from  the  walls. 
Doff 'd  liis  soft  garb  of  Persia's  loom, 
And  steel  from  spur  to  helmet-plume. 
His  Lybian  steed  full  proudly  trode, 
Aiid  joyful  neigh'd  beneath  his  load. 
The  Monarch  gave  a  passing  sigh 
To  penitence'  and  pleasures  by, 
Wien,  lo  !  to  his  astonish'd  ken 
Appear 'd  the  form  of  Guendolen. 

IX. 

"  Beyond  the  outmost  -wall  she  stood, 

Attu'ed  like  huntress  of  the  wood : 

Saudall'd  her  feet,  her  ankles  bare,'^ 

And  eagle-plumage  deck'd  her  hair ; 

Firm  was  her  look,  her  bearing  bold, 

And  in  her  hand  a  cup  of  gold. 

'  Thou  goest !'  she  said, '  and  ne'er  again 

Must  we  two  meet,  in  joy  or  pain. 

FuU  fain  would  I  this  hour  delay, 

Though  weak  the  wish — ^yet,  wilt  thou  stay  ? 

— No !  thou  look'st  forwai-d.     Still  attend, — 

Part  we  like  lover  and  like  friend.' 

She  raised  the  cup — '  Not  this  the  juice 

The  sluggish  vines  of  earth  produce ; 

Pledge  we,  at  parting,  in  the  draught 

Which  Genii  love  !' — she  said,  and  quaff'd ; 

And  strange  unwonted  lustres  fly 

From  her  tlush'd  cheek  and  sparkling  eye. 

X. 

"  The  courteous  Monarch  bent  him  low, 
And,  stooping  down  from  saddlebow. 
Lifted  the  cup,  in  act  to  drink. 
A  drop  escaped  the  goblet's  brink — 
Intense  as  hquid  fire  from  hell, 
Upon  the  charger's  neck  it  fell. 
Screaming  with  agony  and  fright. 
He  bolted  twenty  feet  upright — 
— The  peasant  still  can  show  the  dint. 
Where  his  hoofs  lighted  on  the  flint. — 
From  Arthur's  hand  the  goblet  flew. 
Scattering  a  shower  of  fiery  dew,' 

1  MS.—"  To  deep  remorse." 

2  MS. — "  Her  arms  and  bnskin'd  feet  were  bare." 

»jra  .(    r(  bnrnincr  )  ,        ,, 

3  MS. of  J,,         "J  dew." 

'  blazing  > 

*  The  author  has  an  indistinct  recollection  of  an  adventure, 
somewhat  similar  to  that  which  is  here  ascribed  to  Kin"  Ar- 
thur, having  befallen  one  of  the  ancient  Kings  of  Denmark. 
The  hora  in  which  the  burning  liquor  was  presented  to  that 
Monarch,  is  said  still  to  be  preserved  in  the  Roj'al  .Museum  at 
Copenhagen. 

^  MS    ■  '  Curb,  bit,  and  bridle  he  disdain'd, 
Until  a  mountain  crest  he  gain'd. 


That  burn'd  and  blighted  where  it  fell  !* 
The  frantic  steed  rusii'd  up  the  deU,^ 
As  whistles  from  the  bow  the  reed ; 
Nor  bit  nor  rein  could  check  his  sjjeed, 

Until  he  gain'd  the  lull ; 
Then  breath  and  sinew  fail'd  apace, 
And,  reeling  from  the  desperate  race, 

He  stood,  exhausted,  stiU. 
The  Monarch,  breathless  and  amazed. 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy, 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky  f 
But,  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frown' d, 
Tlie  lonely  streamlet  brawl'd  aromad 
A  tufted  knoll,  where  dimly  shone 
Fragments  of  rock  and  rifted  stone.'' 
Musing  on  this  strange  hap  the  while. 
The  King  wends  back  to  fair  Carlisle ; 
And  cares,  that  ctmiber  royal  sway. 
Wore  memory  of  the  past  away. 

XL 

"  FuU  fifteen  years,  and  more,  were  sped, 

Each  brought  new  wreaths  to  Aiihm-'s  head. 

Twelve  bloody  fields,  with  glory  fought, 

Tlie  Saxons  to  subjection  brought:* 

Python,  the  mighty  giant,  slain 

By  his  good  brand,  reheved  Bretague : 

The  Pictish  Gillamore  in  fight 

And  Roman  Lucius,  own'd  his  might ; 

And  wide  were  through  the  world  renown' d' 

Tlie  glories  of  his  Table  Rotmd. 

Each  knight,  who  sought  adventurous  fame. 

To  the  bold  court  of  Britain  came, 

And  aU  who  suffer'd  causeless  wrong. 

From  tyrant  proud,  or  faitour  strong. 

Sought  Arthm-'s  presence  to  complain, 

Nor  there  for  aid  implored  in  vain." 

xn. 

"  For  this  the  Iving,  with  pomp  and  pride, 
Held  soleitin  court  at  Whitsuntide, 

And  summon'd  Prince  and  Peer, 
All  who  owed  homage  for  their  land. 
Or  who  craved  Icnightliood  from  his  hand. 
Or  who  had  succor  to  demand, 


Then  stopp'd  exhausted  ; — all  amazed. 

The  rider  down  the  valley  gazed. 

But  tower  nor  donjon,"  &c. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 
'  MS. — "  But,  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frown'd. 

The  stream  begirt  a  silvan  mound. 

With  rocks  in  shatter'd  fragments  crown'd." 
*  Arthur  is  said  to  have  defeated  tlie  Sa.xons  in   twelve 
pitched  battles,  and  to  have  achieved  the  other  feats  alluded 
to  in  the  text, 
s  MS. — "  And  wide  was  blazed  the  world  around." 
w  MS. — "  Sought  before  Arthur  to  complain. 

Nor  there  for  succor  sued  in  vain." 


CANTO  II. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


391 


To  come  from  far  and  near. 
At  such  high  tide,  were  glee  and  game 
Mingled  with  feats  of  martial  fame, 
For  many  a  stranger  champion  came. 

In  Hsts  to  break  a  spear ; 
And  mt  a  knight  of  Arthur's  host. 
Save  that  he  trode  some  foreign  coast, 
But  at  tliis  feast  of  Pentecost 

Before  him  must  appear. 
Ah,  ilinstrels !  when  the  Table  Round 
Arose,  with  all  its  warriors  crown'd. 
There  was  a  theme  for  bards  to  sound 

In  triumph  to  their  string ! 
Five  hundred  years  arc  past  and  gone, 
But  Time  shall  draw  his  dying  groan, 
Ere  he  behold  the  British  thi-one 

Begkt  with  such  a  ring ! 

XIII. 
"  The  heralds  named  the  appointed  spot, 
As  Caerleon  or  Camelot, 

Or  Carlisle  fair  and  free. 
At  Penrith,  now,  the  feast  was  set. 
And  in  fair  Eamont's  rale  were  met 

The  flower  of  Cliivahy.^ 
There  Galaad  sate  with  manly  grace. 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face ; 
There  Morolt  of  the  hon  mace," 

And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there : 
And  Dinadam  with  lively  glance. 
And  Lanval  with  tlie  fairy  lance, 
And  Mordi'ed  with  his  look  askance, 

Brunor  and  Bevidere. 
Whv  should  I  teU  of  numbers  more  ? 
Sir  Cay,  Sk  Bauiei",  and  Sh  Bore, 

Sir  Carodac  the  keen, 
The  gentle  Gawain's  courteous  lore. 
Hector  de  Mares  and  Pellinore, 
And  Lancelot,^  that  ever  more 

Look'd  stol'n-wise  on  the  Queen.* 

XIV. 
"  When  wine  and  mirth  did  most  abound, 
And  harpers  play'd  then-  blithest  round, 
A  shi'illy  trumjDet  shook  the  ground. 
And  mai'shals  clear'd  the  ring ; 

1  "  The  whole  description  of  Artlim's  Court  is  picturesque 
and  appropriate." — Quarterly  Review. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

'"'  MS. — "  And  Lancelot  for  evermore 

That  scowl'd  upon  the  scene." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

6  MS  — "  The  King  witli  strong  emotion  saw, 

„     1  digiu'ty  and  mingled 
Her  5     "     ■'        .         ° 

(  strange  attire,  her  reverend 

Attired      ) ,.,     ,  -  , 

Her  dress  i  ^^^  huntress  of  the  wold, 

Her  silken  buskins  braced  with  gold, 

Ssandall'd  feet,  her     i 
arms  and  buskin'd  h"""" ''"^' 


A  maiden,  on  a  palfrey  white. 
Heading  a  band  of  damsels  bright, 
Paced  through  the  circle,  to  ahglit 

And  kneel  before  the  Kuig. 
Arthiu-,  with  strong  emotion,  saw 
Her  graceful  boldness  check'd  by  awe. 
Her  dress,  like  lumtress  of  the  wold. 
Her  bow  and  baldric  trapp'd  with  gold, 
Her  sandall'd  feet,  her  ankles  bare,* 
And  the  eagle-pliune  that  deck'd  her  hair. 
Graceful  her  veil  she  backward  flimg — 
The  King,  as  from  his  scat  he  sprung. 

Almost  cried  '  Guendolen !' 
But  'twas  a  face  more  frank  and  wild. 
Betwixt  the  woman  and  the  cliild. 
Where  less  of  magic  beauty  smiled 

Than  of  the  race  of  men ; 
And  in  the  forehead's  haughty  grace, 
The  lines  oi  Britain's  roy:il  race," 

Pendragon's,  you  might  ken 

XV. 

"  Faltering,  yet  gracefully,  she  said — 
'  Great  Prince !  behold  an  or2:)han  maid. 
In  her  departed  mother's  name, 
A  father's  vow'd  protection  claim ! 
The  vow  was  sworn  in  desert  lone. 
In  the  deep  valley  of  St.  John.' 
At  once  the  King  the  supphant  raised, 
And  kiss'd  her  brow,  her  beauty  praised ; 
His  vow,  he  said,  should  well  be  kept, 
Ere  in  the  sea  the  sim  was  dijip'd, — ' 
Then,  conscious,  glanced  upon  his  queen : 
But  she,  imruffled  at  the  scene 
Of  human  frailty,  construed  mild, 
Look'd  upon  L:mcelot  and  smiled. 

XVI. 

" '  Up !  up  !  each  knight  of  gallant  crest 

Take  buckler,  spear,  and  brand  ! 
He  that  to-day  shall  bear  him  best. 

Shall  win  my  Gyneth's  hand. 
And  Arthur's  daughter,  when  a  bride. 

Shall  bring  a  noble  dower  ; 
Both  fair  Strath-Clyde  and  Reged  wide. 

And  Carlisle  town  and  tower.' 

And  eagle-plumes  that  deck'd  her  hair." 

^  MS. — "  The  lineaments  of  royal  race." 

'  Mr.  Adolphus,  in  commenting  on  the  similarity  of  man- 
ners in  the  ladies  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poetry,  and  those  of  hi» 
then  anonymous  Novels,  says,  "  In  Rokeby,  the  filial  attach- 
ment and  duteous  anxieties  of  Matilda  form  the  leading  fea- 
ture  of  her  character,  and  the  chief  source  of  lier  distresses. 
The  intercourse  between  King  Arthur  and  iiis  daughter  Gyneth, 
in  The  Bridal  of  Triermain,  is  neither  long  nor  altogether  ami- 
cable ;  but  the  monarch's  feelings  on  first  beholding  that  beau- 
tiful 'slip  of  wilderness,'  and  his  manner  of  receiving  her 
before  the  Qneen  and  Court,  are  too  forcibly  and  naturally 
described  to  be  omitted  in  this  enumeration." — Letters  on  th« 
Author  of  Waverley,  1822,  p.  212. 


392                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  ii. 

Tlien  might  you  hear  each  valiant  knight, 

The  second  Tristrem  bold, 

To  page  and  squu-e  that  cried, 

The  third  was  vahant  Carodac, 

'  Bring  ray  armor  bright,  and  my  courser  wight  I 

Who  won  the  cup  of  gold,^ 

'Tis  not  each  day  that  a  warrior's  might 

What  time,  of  aU  King  Ai-thur's  crew 

May  win  a  royal  bride.' 

(Thereof  came  jeer  and  laugh). 

Then  cloaks  and  caps  of  maintenance 

He,  as  the  mate  of  lady  true. 

In  haste  aside  they  fling ; 

Alone  the  cup  could  quaff. 

The  helmets  glance,  and  gleams  the  lance, 

Though  envy's  tongue  would  fain  surmi«, 

And  the  steel-weaved  hauberks  ring. 

That,  but  for  very  shame. 

Small  care  had  they  of  their  peaceful  array, 

Su-  Carodac,  to  fight  that  prize, 

They  might  gather  it  that  wolde ; 

Had  given  both  cup  and  dame  ; 

For  brake  and  bramble  glitter'd  gay. 

Yet,  since  but  one  of  that  fair  court 

With  pearls  and  cloth  of  gold. 

Was  true  to  wedlock's  shrine, 

Brand  him  who  will  with  base  report, — 

XVII. 

He  shall  be  free  from  mine. 

"  Within  trumpet  sound  of  the  Table  Round 

Were  fifty  champions  free, 

XIX. 

And  they  all  arise  to  fight  that  prize, — 

"Xow  caracoled  the  steeds  in  air, 

They  all  arise  but  three. 

Now  pkmies  and  pennons  wanton'd  faip 

N"or  love's  fond  troth,  nor  wedlock's  oath. 

As  aU  around  the  lists  so  wide 

One  gallant  could  witlJiold, 

In  panoply  the  champions  ride. 

For  priests  will  allow  of  a  broken  vow. 

King  Arthur  saw,  with  startled  eye, 

For  penance  or  for  gold. 

The  flower  of  chivalry  march  by. 

But  sigh  and  glance  from  ladies  bright 

Tlie  bulwark  of  the  Christian  creed, 

Among  the  troop  were  thi-own. 

Tlie  kingdom's  shield  in  horn-  of  need. 

To  plead  their  right,  and  true-love  plight. 

Too  late  he  thought  him  of  the  woe 

And  'plain  of  honor  flown. 

Might  from  their  civil  conflict  flow ;' 

The  knights  tliey  busied  them  so  fast. 

For  well  he  knew  they  would  not  part 

With  buckling  spur  and  belt, 

Till  cold  was  many  a  gallant  heart. 

That  sigh  and  look,  by  ladies  cast, 

His  hasty  vow  he  'gan  to  rue. 

Were  neither  seen  nor  felt. 

And  Gyneth  then  apart  he  drew ; 

From  pleading,  or  upbraiding  glance, 

To  her  his  leading-staff  resign'd, 

Each  gallant  turns  aside. 

But  added  caution  gi-ave  and  kind. 

And  only  thought, '  If  speeds  my  lance. 

A  queen  becomes  my  bride  ! 

XX. 

She  has  fair  Strath-Clyde,  and  Reged  wide, 

"  '  Thou  see'st,  my  child,  as  promise-bound, 

And  Carlisle  tower  and  town  ; 

I  bid  the  trump  for  tom-ney  soimd. 

She  is  the  loveliest  maid,  beside, 

Take  thou  my  warder,  as  the  queen 

That  ever  hetr'd  a  crown.' 

And  urapke  of  the  martial  scene ; 

So  in  haste  their  coursers  they  bestride. 

But  mark  thou  this : — as  Beauty  bright 

And  strike  then-  visors  down. 

Is  polai"  stai-  to  vahant  knight. 

As  at  her  word  liis  sword  he  draws. 

XVIII. 

His  fairest  guerdon  her  applause, 

"  The  champions,  arra'd  in  martial  sort, 

So  gentle  maid  should  never  ask 

Have  thi'ong'd  into  the  hst, 

Of  knighthood  vain  and  dangerous  task ; 

And  but  three  knights  of  Arthm-'s  court 

And  Beauty's  eyes  should  ever  be 

Are  from  the  toiuiiey  missed. 

Like  the  twin  stars  that  soothe  the  sea. 

And  still  these  lovers'  fame  survives 

And  Beatity's  breath  shall  whisper  peace, 

For  faith  so  constant  shown, — 

And  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 

There  were  two  who  loved  then-  neighbor's  wives, 

I  tell  thee  this,  lest  aU  too  far. 

And  one  who  loved  his  own.^ 

These  knights  urge  tourney  into  war. 

The  first  was  Lancelot  de  Lac, 

BUthe  at  t-he  trumpet  let  them  go, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

its  pomp  and  circumstance,  are  conceived  in  the  best  manne? 

2  See  the  comic  tale  of  The  Boy  and  the  Mantle,  in  the  third 

of  the  author's  original,  seizing  the  prominent  parts  of  the 

volume  of  Percy's  Relirjues  of  Ancient  Poetry,  from  the  Breton 

picture,  and  detailing  tliem  with  the  united  beauty  of  Mr. 

or  Norman  original  of  which  Ariosto  is  supposed  to  have  taken 

Scott's  vigor  of  language,  and  the  march  and  richness  of  'Jie 

his  Tale  of  the  Enchanted  Cup. 

late  Thomas  Warton's   versification." — Qxiartcrlv   Review, 

s  "  The  preparations  for  the  combat,  and  the  descriptions  of 

1813. 

CANTO  II. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIX. 


39b 


And  fairly  countei"  blow  for  blow ; — 
No  stri^jlings  these,  who  succor  need 
For  a  razed  helm  or  falling  steed. 
But,  Gyneth,  when  the  strife  grows  warm, 
And  threatens  death  or  deadly  harm, 
Thy  sire  entreats,  thy  kmg  commands, 
Thou  di-op  the  warder  from  thy  hands. 
Trust  thou  thy  father  with  thy  fate, 
Doubt  not  he  choose  thee  fitting  mate  ; 
Xor  be  it  saitl,  through  Gyneth's  pride 
A  rose  of  Arthur's  chaplet  died.' 

XXI. 
"  A  proud  and  discontented  glow 
O'ershadow'd  Gyneth's  brow  of  snow ; 

She  put  the  warder  by  : — 
'  Reserve  thy  boon,  my  Hege,'  she  said, 
'  Thus  chafFer'd  down  and  limited, 
Debased  and  narrow'd,  for  a  maid 

Of  less  degree  than  I. 
No  petty  chief,  but  holds  his  heir 
At  a  more  honor'd  price  and  rare 

Than  Britain's  King  holds  me  1 
Although  the  sun-bm-n'd  maid,  for  dower. 
Has  but  her  father's  rugged  tower, 

His  barren  hill  and  lee. — 
King  Arthur  swore,  "  By  crown  and  sword, 
As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord. 
That  a  whole  summer's  day  should  strive 
His  knights,  the  bravest  knights  alive  !" 
Recall  thine  oath  !  and  to  her  glen 
Poor  Gyneth  can  retm-n  agen ; 
Wot  on  thy  daughter  wiU  the  stain 
That  soils  thy  sword  and  crown,  remain. 
But  think  not  she  will  e'er  be  bride 
Save  to  the  bravest,  proved  and  tried ; 
Pendragon's  daughter  will  not  fear 
For  claslung  sword  or  spliuter'd  spear. 

Nor  shi'ink  though  blood  shoidd  flow ; 
And  all  too  well  sad  Guendolen 
Hath  taught  the  faithlessness  of  men. 
That  child  of  hers  should  pity,  when 

Their  meed  they  imdergo.' — 

XXII. 
"  He  fi'own'd  and  sigh'd,  the  Monarch  bold  :- 
*  I  give — ^what  I  may  not  withhold  ; 
For,  not  for  danger,  dread,  or  death. 
Must  British  Ai'thur  break  liis  faith. 
Too  late  I  mark,  thy  mother's  art 
Hath  taught  thee  this  relentless  part. 
I  blame  her  not,  for  she  had  wi-ong. 
But  not  to  these  my  faults  belong. 
Use,  then,  the  warder  as  thou  wilt ; 
But  trust  me,  that  if  hfe  be  spilt,' 
In  Ai'thm-'s  love,  in  Arthm-'s  grace, 
GjTieth  shall  lose  a  daughter's  place.' 


1  MS.— 
50 


-"if  blood  be  spilt." 


"With  that  he  tm'n'd  his  head  aside, 
Nor  brook'd  to  gaze  upon  her  pride. 
As,  with  the  truncheon  raised,  she  sate 
Tlie  arbitress  of  mortal  fate  ; 
Nor  brook'd  to  mark,  in  ranks  disposed. 
How  the  bold  champitjus  stood  opposed, 
For  shi'ill  the  trimipet-fiourisli  fed 
Upon  his  ear  like  passing  bell  I'' 
Then  first  from  sight  of  martial  fray 
Did  Britain's  hero  tm"n  away. 

XXIII. 
"  But  Gyneth  heard  the  clangor  high, 
As  hears  the  hawk  the  partridge  cry. 
Oh,  blame  her  not !  the  blood  was  hers. 
That  at  the  trumpet's  summons  stirs ! — 
And  e'en  the  gentlest  female  eye 
Might  the  brave  strife  of  chivalry 

A  wliile  untroubled  view ; 
So  well  accompUsh'd  was  each  knight. 
To  strike  and  to  defend  in  fight, 
Their  meeting  was  a  goodly  sight, 

Wlule  plate  and  mail  held  true. 
The  Usts  with  planted  plumes  were  strown, 
Upon  the  wind  at  random  tbrown, 
But  helm  and  breastplate  bloodless  shone. 
It  seem'd  then*  feather'd  crests  alone 

Should  this  encomiter  rue. 
And  ever,  as  the  combat  gi-ows. 
The  trmnpet's  cheery  voice  arose. 
Like  lark's  shrill  song  the  flourish  flows, 
Hcai'd  while  the  gale  of  April  blows 

The  merry  greenwood  through. 

XXIV. 

"  But  soon  too  earnest  grew  then'  game. 

The  spears  drew  blood,  the  swords  struck  flame^ 

And,  horse  and  man,  to  ground  there  came 

Knischts,  who  shall  rise  no  more  1 
Gone  was  the  pride  the  war  tliat  graced, 
Gay  shields  were  cleft,  and  crests  defaced. 
And  steel  coats  riven,  and  helms  unbraced, 

And  pennons  stream'd  with  gore. 
Gone,  too,  were  fence  and  fan-  array. 
And  desperate  strength  made  deadly  way 
At  random  through  the  bloody  fi'ay. 
And  blows  were  dealt  with  headlong  sway, 

Unheeding  where  they  fell ; 
And  now  the  trumjjet's  clamors  seem 
Like  the  shrill  sea-bird's  wailing  scream, 
Heard  o'er  the  .whirlpool's  gulfing  stream. 

The  sinking  seaman's  knell ! 

XXV. 
"  Seem'd  in  this  dismal  hour,  that  Fate 
"Would  Camlan's  ruin  antedate, 

And  spare  dark  Mordi-ed's  crime ; 


«MS.- 


■  dying  knell." 


394 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  11. 


Already  gasping  on  the  ground 
Lie  twenty  of  the  Table  Round, 

Of  cliivahy  the  prime.' 
Aj'tlmr,  in  anguish,  tore  awaj 
From  head  and  beard  lais  ti-esses  gray, 
And  she,  proud  Gyneth,  felt  dismay, 

And  quaked  with  ruth  and  fear ; 
But  still  she  deem'd  her  mother's  shade 
Hung  o'er  the  tumult,  and  forbade 
llie  sign  that  had  the  slaughter  staid. 

And  chid  the  rising  tear. 
Then  Brunor,  Taulas,  Mador,  fell, 
Helias  the  White,  and  Lionel, 

And  many  a  champion  more ; 
Rochemont  and  Dinadam  are  down, 
And  Ferrand  of  the  Forest  Brown 

Lies  gaspuig  in  his  gore. 
Vauoc,  by  mighty  Morolt  press'd 
Even  to  the  confines  of  the  list, 
Young  Yanoc  of  the  beardless  face 
(Fame  spoke  the  youth  of  Merlm's  race), 
O'erpower'd  at  Gyneth's  footstool  bled, 
His  heart's  blood  dyed  her  sandals  red. 
But  then  the  sky  was  overcast. 
Then  howl'd  at  once  a  whirlwind's  blast, 

And,  rent  by  sudden  throes, 
Yawn'd  in  mid  lists  the  quaking  earth. 
And  from  the  gulf, — tremendous  birth  ! — 
The  form  of  Merlin  rose. 

XXVL 

"  Sternly  the  "Wizard  Prophet  eyed 
The  dreary  lists  with  slaughter  dyed. 

And  sternly  raised  his  hand  : — 
'Madmen,'  he  said,  'yom-  strife  forbear! 
And  thou,  fair  cause  of  mischief,  hear 
The  doom  thy  fates  demand ! 

Long  shall  close  in  stony  sleep 

Eyes  for  ruth  that  would  not  weep ; 

Iron  lethargy  shall  seal 

Heart  that  pity  scorn'd  to  feel. 

Yet,  because  thy  mother's  art 

"Warp'd  thine  unsuspicious  heart, 

And  for  love  of  Arthur's  race. 

Punishment  is  blent  with  grace. 

Thou  shalt  bear  thy  penance  lone 

Li  the  Valley  of  Saint  John, 

And  this  wcird^  shall  overtake  thee  ; 

Sleep,  until  a  knight  shall  wake  thee, 

1  "  The  difficult  subject  of  a  tournament,  in  which  several 
knights  engage  at  once,  is  admirably  treated  by  the  novelist  in 
Ivanhoe,  and  by  his  rival  in  The  Bridal  of  Triermain,  and  the 
leading  thought  in  both  descriptions  is  the  sudden  and  tragic 
change  from  a  scene  of  pomp,  gayety,  and  youtliful  pride,  to 
one  of  misery,  confusion,  and  death." — Adolphus,  p.  24^. 

"  The  tide  of  battle  seemed  to  flow  now  toward  the  south- 
ern, now  toward  the  northern  extremity  of  the  lists,  as  the  one 
or  the  other  party  prevailed.  Meantime,  tlie  clang  of  the  blows, 
and  the  shouts  of  the  combatants,  mixed  fearfully  with  the 


For  feats  of  arms  as  far  renown'd 
As  warrior  of  the  Table  Roimd. 
Long  endurance  of  thy  slumber 
"Well  may  teach  the  world  to  number 
AU  their  woes  from  Gyneth's  pride, 
"When  the  Red  Cross  champions  died.' 

XXVII. 

"  As  Merlin  speaks,  on  Gyneth's  eye 
Slumber's  load  begins  to  lie ; 
Fear  and  anger  vainly  strive 
Still  to  keep  its  light  alive. 
Twice,  with  effort  and  with  pause. 
O'er  her  brow  her  hand  she  draws ; 
Twice  her  strength  in  vam  she  tries, 
From  the  fatal  chair  to  rise ; 
Merlin's  magic  doom  is  spoken, 
Vanoc's  death  must  now  be  wroken. 
Slow  the  dark-fringed  eyelids  fall. 
Curtaining  each  azure  ball, 
Slowly  as  on  summer  eves 
Violets  fold  their  dusky  leaves. 
Tlie  weighty  baton  of  command 
Now  bears  down  her  sinking  band, 
On  her  shoulder  droops  her  head ; 
Net  of  pearl  and  golden  thi-ead. 
Bursting,  gave  her  locks  to  flow 
O'er  her  arm  and  breast  of  snow. 
A...J  so  lovely  seem'd  she  there. 
Spell-bound  in  her  ivory  chair, 
That  her  angiy  su-e,  repenting. 
Craved  stern  Merlin  for  relenting, 
And  the  champions,  for  her  sake, 
Would  again  the  contest  wake ; 
Till,  in  necromantic  night, 
Gyneth  vanish'd  fi-om  their  sight. 

XXVIIL 
"  Still  she  bears  her  weird  alone, 
In  the  Valley  of  Saint  John ; 
And  her  semblance  oft  will  seem, 
Minghng  in  a  champion's  dream. 
Of  her  weary  lot  to  'plain. 
And  crave  his  aid  to  burst  her  chaia 
"Wliile  her  wondrous  tale  was  new, 
Warriors  to  her  rescue  drew, 
East  and  west,  and  south  and  north. 
From  the  Liffy,  Thames,  and  Forth. 
Most  have  lought  in  vain  the  glen, 

sound  of  the  trumpets,  and  drowned  the  groans  of  those  who 
fell,  and  lay  rolling  defenceless  beneath  the  feet  of  the  horses. 
The  splendid  armor  of  the  combatants  was  now  defaced  with 
dust  and  blood,  and  gave  way  at  every  stroke  of  the  sword 
and  battle-axe.  The  gay  plumage,  shorn  from  the  crests, 
drifted  upon  the  breeze  like  snow-flakes.  All  that  was  beau- 
tiful and  graceful  in  the  martial  array  had  disappeared,  and 
what  was  now  visible  was  only  calculated  to  awake  terror  or 
compassion." — Ivanhoe — TVaverUy  jVovels,  vol.  xvi.  p.  187 
'•*  Doom. 


CANTO  II. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIX. 


395 


Towci'  nor  castle  could  they  ken ; 
Not  at  every  time  or  tide, 
Nor  by  every  eye,  descried. 
Fast  and  vigil  must  be  borne. 
Many  a  night  in  watching  worn. 
Ere  an  eye  of  mortal  powers 
Can  discern  those  magic  towers. 
Of  the  persevering  few, 
Some  fi'om  hopeless  task  withdrew. 
When  they  read  the  dismal  thi-eat 
Graved  upon  the  gloomy  gate. 
Few  have  braved  the  yawning  door, 
And  those  few  retiu-n'd  no  more. 
In  the  lapse  of  tune  forgot, 
"Welhiigli  lost  is  Gyneth's  lot ; 
Sound  her  sleep  as  in  the  tomb, 
TiU  waken'd  by  the  trump  of  doom." 

END  OF  LTUIPH's  TALE. 


Here  pause,  my  tale ;  for  all  too  sooUj 
My  Lucy,  comes  the  hour  of  noon. 
Already  from  thy  lofty  dome 
Its  com'tly  inmates  'gin  to  roam, 
And  each,  to  kill  the  goodly  day 
That  God  has  granted  them,  his  way 
Of  lazy  sauntermg  has  sought ; 

Lordlings  and  witlings  not  a  few, 
Incapable  of  doing  aught. 

Yet  ill  at  ease  with  naught  to  do. 
Here  is  no  longer  place  for  me : 
For,  Lucy,  thou  wouldst  blush  to  see 
Some  phantom,  fashionably  thin, 
"With  Hmb  of  lath  and  kerchief'd  chin, 
And  lounging  gape,  or  sneering  grin, 
Steal  sudden  on  om-  privacy. 
And  how  should  I,  so  humbly  born, 
Eudm-e  the  graceful  spectre's  scorn  ? 
Fiiith !  ill,  I  fear,  while  conjuring  wand 
Of  English  oak  is  hard  at  hand. 

n. 

Or  gi'ant  the  bom-  be  all  too  soon 
For  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon, 
Aid  gi-ant  the  lounger  seldom  strays 
Beyond  the  smooth  and  gi-aveU'd  maze, 
Laud  we  the  gods,  that  Fashion's  train 
Holds  hearts  of  more  adventurous  strain. 
Ai'tists  are  hers,  who  scorn  to  trace 
Theh'  rules  from  Nature's  boundless  grace. 
But  theu-  right  paramount  assert 
To  limit  her  by  pedant  art. 


I  "  The  trammels  of  the  palfraye  pleased  his  sight, 

And  the  horse-miltanere  his  head  witli  roses  dight." 
Rowley's  Ballads  of  Charitie. 


Damning  whate'er  of  vast  and  fair 

Exceeds  a  canvas  tliree  feet  square, 

Tliis  tliicket,  for  their  gumption  fit, 

May  fm-nish  such  a  happy  bit. 

Bards,  too,  ai'e  hers,  wont  to  recite 

Their  own  sweet  lays  by  waxen  light. 

Half  in  the  salver's  tingle  Irown'd, 

While  the  chasse-cafe  glides  around  ; 

And  such  may  hither  secret  stray, 

To  labor  an  extempore : 

Or  sportsman,  with  his  boisterous  hollo, 

May  here  his  wiser  spaniel  foUow, 

Or  stage-struck  Juliet  may  presume 

To  choose  this  bower  for  tiring-room ; 

And  we  alike  must  shun  regard, 

From  painter,  player,  sportsman,  bard. 

Insects  that  skim  in  Fashion's  sky, 

Wasp,  blue-bottle,  or  butterfly,  / 

Lucy,  have  all  alarms  for  us, 

For  all  can  hiun  and  all  can  buzz. 

in. 

But  oh,  my  Lucy,  say  how  long 

We  still  must  dread  this  triflmg  throng, 

And  stoop  to  hide,  with  coward  art, 

The  genuine  feelings  of  the  heart ! 

No  parents  thine,  whose  just  command 

Should  rule  their  child's  obedient  hand ; 

Thy  guardians,  with  contending  voice, 

Press  each  his  individual  choice. 

And  which  is  Lucy's  ? — Can  it  be 

That  puny  fop,  trimm'd  cap-a-pee, 

'Who  loves  in  the  saloon  to  show 

Tlie  arms  that  never  knew  a  foe ; 

Whose  sabre  trails'  along  the  gi-ound, 

"Whose  legs  in  shapeless  boots  are  drown'd; 

A  new  Achilles,  sure, — the  steel 

Fled  from  his  breast  to  fence  his  heel ; 

One,  for  the  simple  manly  grace 

That  wont  to  deck  our  martial  race, 

Wlio  comes  in  foreign  trasheiy 
Of  tinkling  chain  and  spur, 

A  walking  haberdashery. 
Of  feathers,  lace,  and  fm* : 
In  Rowley's  antiquated  phrase, 
Horse-miUiner'  of  modern  days  ? 

IV 

Or  is  it  he,  the  wordy  youth, 

So  early  train'd  for  statesman's  part, 
Who  talks  of  honor,  faith,  and  truth, 
As  themes  that  he  has  got  by  heart ; 
Whose  ethics  Chesterfield  can  teacli. 
Whose  logic  is  from  Single-speecJi  f 

2  See  "Parliamentary  Logic,  &o.,  by  the  Right  Honorable 
William  Gerard  Hamilton"  (1808),  commonly  called  "  Sin- 
gle-Speech  Hamilton." 


S96 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IIU 


Who  scorns  the  meanest  thought  to  vent, 
Save  in  the  plirase  of  Parhament ; 
Who,  m  a  tale  of  cat  and  mouse. 
Calls  "  order,"  and  "  divides  the  house," 
Who  "  craves  permission  to  reply," 
Whose  "  noble  friend  is  in  Jiis  eye  ;" 
Whose  lovmg  tender  some  have  reckon'd 
A.  viotion  you  should  gladly  second  ? 


What,  neither  ?    Can  there  be  a  third, 
To  such  resistless  swains  preferr'd  ? — 
0  "why,  my  Lucy,  tm-n  aside. 
With  that  quick  glance  of  injured  pride  ? 
Forgive  me,  love,  I  cannot  bear 
Tliat  alter'd  and  resentful  air. 
Were  all  the  wealth  of  Russel  mine, 
And  all  the  rank  of  Howard's  line. 
All  would  I  give  for  leave  to  dry 
That  dew-drop  trembUng  in  tliine  eye. 
Think  not  I  fear  such  fops  can  wile 
From  Lucy  more  than  careless  smile ; 
But  yet  if  wealth  and  high  degree 
Give  gilded  counters  cmrency, 
Must  I  not  fear,  when  rank  and  birth 
Stamp  the  pure  ore  of  geimine  worth  ? 
Nobles  there  are,  whose  martial  fires 
Rival  the  fame  that  raised  their  sires. 
And  patriots,  skill'd  tlu-ough  storms  of  fate 
To  guide  and  guard  the  reeUng  state. 
Such,  such  tliere  are — If  such  should  come, 
Arthur  must  tremble  and  be  dumb, 
Self-exiled  seek  some  distant  shore, 
And  mourn  till  life  and  grief  are  o'er. 

VL 

What  sight,  what  signal  of  alarm, 
That  Lucy  clings  to  Arthur's  arm  f 
Or  is  it,  that  the  rugged  way 
Makes  Beauty  lean  on  lover's  stay  ? 
Oh,  no  !  for  on  the  vale  and  brake, 
Kor  sight  nor  sounds  of  danger  wake, 
And  this  trim  sward  of  velvet  green. 
Were  carpet  for  the  Fairy  Queen. 
Tliat  j^ressure  slight  was  but  to  tell, 
That  Lucy  loves  her  Arthm-  well. 
And  fain  would  banish  from  his  mind 
Suspicious  fear  and  doubt  unkind. 

VIL 
But  wouldst  thou  bid  the  demons  fly 
Like  mist  before  the  dawning  sky 
There  is  but  one  resistless  sj^ell — 
Say,  wilt  thou  guess,  or  must  I  tell  ? 
'Twere  hard  to  name,  in  minstrel  plirase, 
A  landaulet  and  four  blood-bays, 
But  bards  agree  tliis  wizard  band 
Can  but  be  bound  in  Northern  land. 


'Tis  there — nay,  draw  not  back  thy  himd  !- 

'Tis  there  this  slender  finger  round 

Must  golden  amulet  be  bound, 

Wliich,  bless'd  with  many  a  holy  prayer, 

Can  change  to  rapture  lovers'  care, 

And  doubt  and  jealousy  shall  die, 

And  fears  give  place  to  ecstasy. 

VIIL 

Now,  trust  me,  Lucy,  all  too  long 
Has  been  thy  lover's  tale  and  song. 
O,  why  so  silent,  love,  I  pray  ? 
Have  I  not  spoke  the  livelong  day? 
And  will  not  Lucy  deign  to  say 

One  word  her  friend  to  bless  3 
I  ask  but  one — a  simple  sound, 
Within  thi'ee  Uttle  letters  boimd, 

0,  let  the  word  be  YES  ! 


Vc\t  Bribal  of  SrUrmain. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


INTRODUCTION. 

L 

Long  loved,  long  woo'd,  and  lately  won, 

My  hfe's  best  hope,  and  now  mine  own ! 

Doth  not  tliis  rude  and  Alpine  glen 

Recall  our  favorite  haunts  agen  ? 

A  wild  resemblance  we  can  trace, 

Though  reft  of  every  softer  grace. 

As  the  rough  warrior's  brow  may  bear 

A  likeness  to  a  sister  fair. 

Full  well  advised  our  Highland  host, 

That  this  wild  pass  on  bot  be  cross'd, 

Wliile  round  Ben-Cp      a's  mighty  base 

Wlieel  the  slow  steeds  and  lingermg  chaise. 

The  keen  old  carl,  with  Scottish  pride, 

He  praised  his  glen  and  mountains  wide : 

An  eye  he  bears  for  nature's  face. 

Ay,  and  for  woman's  lovely  grace. 

Even  in  such  mean  degree  we  find 

The  subtle  Scot's  observing  mind ; 

For,  nor  the  chariot  nor  the  train 

Could  gape  of  vulgar  wonder  gain. 

But  when  old  Allan  would  expound 

Of  Beal-na-paish'  the  Celtic  sound, 

His  bonnet  doff'd,  and  bow,  applied 

His  legend  to  my  bonny  bride ; 

While  Lucy  blush'd  beneath  his  eye. 

Courteous  and  cautious,  shrewd  and  sly. 

1  Beal-na-paisb,  the  Vale  of  the  BridaL 


CANTO  III. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


397 


n. 

Enough  of  him. — Kq-w,  ere  we  lose, 
Plunged  ill  the  vale,  the  distant  views, 
Turn  tliee,  my  love  !  look  back  once  more 
To  the  bhic  lake's  retiring  shore. 
On  its  smooth  breast  tlie  shadows  seem 
Like  objects  in  a  morning  dream. 
What  time  the  slumberer  is  aware 
He  sleeps,  and  all  the  vision's  air : 
Even  so,  on  yonder  liquid  lawn, 
In  hues  of  bright  reflection  drawn, 
Distinct  the  shaggy  mountains  lie, 
Distinct  the  rocks,  distmct  the  sky ; 
The  summer-clouds  so  plain  we  note, 
That  Ave  might  count  each  dappled  spot : 
We  gaze  and  we  admire,  yet  know 
The  scene  is  all  delusive  show. 
Sucii  dreams  of  bliss'  would  Arthur  draw. 
When  first  his  Lucy's  form  he  saw ; 
Yet  sigh'd  and  sicken'd  as  he  di-ew. 
Despairing  they  could  e'er  prove  true ! 

IlL 
But,  Lucy,  tm-n  thee  now,  to  view 

Up  the  fan-  glen,  our  destined  way : 
The  fairy  path  that  we  pm-sue, 
Distinguish'd  but  by  greener  hue, 

Winds  round  the  purple  brae, 
While  Alpine  flowers  of  varied  dye 
For  carpets  serve,  or  tapestry. 
See  how  the  little  runnels  leap, 
Li  tlu-eads  of  silver,  down  the  steep, 

To  swell  the  brooklet's  moan ! 
Seems  that  the  Higldand  Naiad  grieves, 
Fantastic  while  her  crown  she  weaves. 
Of  rowan,  birch,  and  alder  leaves, 

So  lovely,  and  so  lone. 
There's  no  illusion  there ;  these  flowers, 
That  wailing  brook,  these  lovely  bowers, 

Ai-e,  Lucy,  all  our  own ; 
And,  smce  thine  Artliur  call'd  thee  wife, 
Such  seems  the  prospect  of  his  life, 
A  lovely  path,  on-winchng  still. 
By  gurgUng  brook  and  sloping  hill. 
'Tis  true,  that  mortals  cannot  tell 
What  waits  them  in  the  distant  deU ; 
But  be  it  hap,  or  be  it  harm, 
We  tread  the  pathway  arm  in  arm. 

IV. 
And  now,  my  Lucy,  wot'st  thou  why 
I  could  thy  bidding  twice  deny, 

1  MS.—"  Scenes  of  bliss." 

"  MS. — "  Until  yon  peevish  oath  you  swore. 

That  you  would  sue  for  it  no  more." 


When  twice  you  pray'd  I  would  again 
Resume  the  legendary  strain 
Of  the  bold  Knight  of  Triermain  ? 
At  length  yon  peevish   vow  you 

swore, 
That  you  would  sue  to  me  no  more," 
Until  the  minstrel  fit  drew  near, 
And  made  me  prize  a  hstening  ear. 
But,   loveliest,  when  thou  first   didst 

pray 
Continuance  of  the  knightly  lay, 
Was  it  not  on  the  happy  day 

Tliat  made  thy  liand  mine  own  ? 
When,  dizzied  with  mine  ecstasy. 
Naught  past,  or  present,  or  to  be. 
Could  I  or  tliink  on,  hear,  or  see. 

Save,  Lucy,  thee  alone ! 
A  giddy  ch-aught  my  rapture  was, 
As  ever  chemist's  magic  gas. 

V. 

Again  the  summons  I  denied 
In  yon  fair  capital  of  Clyde : 
My  Harp — or  let  me  rather  choose 
Tlie  good  old  classic  form — my  Muse, 
(For  Harp's  an  over-scutched  plu-ase 
Worn  out  by  bards  of  modern  days). 
My  Muse,  then — seldom  wUl  she  wak?, 
Save  by  dim  wood  and  silent  lake ; 
She  is  the  wild  and  rustic  Maid, 
VHwse  foot  unsandall'd  loves  to  tread 
Where  tlie  soft  greensward  is  inlaid 

With  varied  moss  and  thyme ; 
And,  lest  the  simple  lily -braid. 
That  coronets  her  temples,  fode. 
She  hides  her  still  m  greenwood  shade, 

To  meditate  her  rhyme. 

VI. 

And  now   she   comes!   The   murmur 

dear 
Of  the  wild  brook  hath  caught  her  ear, 

The  glade  hatli  won  her  eye ; 
She  longs  to  join  with  each  bhthe  riU 
That  dances  down  the  Highland  hiU, 

Her  bhther  melody.^ 
And  now  my  Lucy's  way  to  cheer, 
She  bids  Ben-Cruach's  echoes  hear 
How  closed  the  tale,  my  love  whUere 

Loved  for  its  chivalry, 
List  how  she  tells,  in  notes  of  flame, 
"  Child  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  came  I"* 

3  MS.—"  Her  wild-wood  melody." 
i  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 


398 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  in, 


Qli)e  Bribal  of  (Jricrmain. 


CANTO   THIRD. 


Bewcastle  noTV  must  keep  the  Hold, 

Speir-Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall, 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bovvmen  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  -wall ; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Taras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir, 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland. 
Of  wasted  fields  and  plunder'd  flocks 

The  Borderers  bootless  may  complain ; 
They  lack  the  sword  of  brave  de  Vaux, 

There  comes  no  aid  from  Triermain. 
That  lord,  on  high  adventure  bound, 

Hath  wander'd  forth  alone, 
And  day  and  night  keeps  watchful  roimd 

In  the  valley  of  Saint  John. 

II. 

"WTien  first  began  his  vigil  bold. 

The  moon  twelve  summer  nights  was  old, 

And  shone  both  fair  and  full ; 
High  in  the  vault  of  cloudless  blue. 
O'er  streamlet,  dale,  and  rock,  she  thi-ew 

Her  light  composed  and  cool. 
Stretch'd  on  the  brown  hill's  heathy  breast, 

Sir  Roland  eyed  the  vale  ; 
Chief  where,  distinguish'd  from  the  rest. 
Those  clustering  rocks  uprear'd  their  crest. 
The  dwelling  of  the  fair  distress'd, 

As  told  gray  Lyulph's  tale. 
Tims  as  he  lay,  the  lamp  of  night 
"Was  quivering  on  his  armor  bright, 

In  beams  that  rose  and  fell, 
And  danced  upon  his  buckler's  boss, 
That  lay  beside  him  on  the  moss. 

As  on  a  crystal  well. 

III. 
Ever  he  watch'd,  and  oft  he  deem'd. 
While  on  the  mound  the  moonhght  stream' d, 

It  alter'd  to  his  eyes ; 
Fain  would  he  hope  the  rocks  'gan  change 
To  buttress'd  walls  their  shapeless  range. 
Fain  think,  by  transmiitation  strange, 

He  saw  gray  tmrets  rise. 
But  scarce  lus  heart  with  hope  throb'd  high. 
Before  the  wild  illusions  fly. 

Which  fancy  had  conceived. 
Abetted  by  an  anxious  eye 

That  long'd  to  be  deceived. 
It  was  a  fond  deception  aU, 


Such  as,  in  solitary  hall, 

Beguiles  the  musing  eye, 
"\i\Tien,  gazing  on  the  sinking  fire. 
Bulwark,  and  battlement,  and  spire, 

In  the  red  gulf  we  spy. 
For,  seen  by  moon  of  middle  night. 
Or  by  the  blaze  of  noontide  bright. 
Or  by  the  dawn  of  morning  light. 

Or  evening's  western  flame. 
In  eveiy  tide,  at  every  hour, 
In  mist,  in  sunshine,  and  in  shower. 

The  rocks  remain'd  the  same. 

IV. 

Oft  has  he  traced  the  charmed  mound, 
Oft  climb'd  its  crest,  or  paced  it  roimd. 

Yet  nothing  might  explore. 
Save  that  the  crags  so  rudely  piled. 
At  distance  seen,  resemblance  wild 

To  a  rough  fortress  bore. 
Tet  still  his  watch  the  Warrior  keeps, 
Feeds  hard  and  spare,  and  seldom  sleeps, 

And  drinks  but  of  the  well ; 
Ever  by  day  he  walks  the  hill. 
And  when  the  evening  gale  is  chill. 

He  seeks  a  rocky  cell. 
Like  hermit  poor  to  bid  his  bead. 
And  tell  his  Ave  and  his  Creed, 
Invoking  every  saint  at  need, 

For  aid  to  burst  his  speUL 

V. 
And  now  the  moon  her  orb  has  hid. 
And  dwindled  to  a  silver  thi-ead. 

Dim  seen  in  middle  heaven, 
Wliile  o'er  its  curve  careering  fast. 
Before  the  fury  of  the  blast 

The  midnight  clouds  are  driven. 
Tlie  brooklet  raved,  for  on  the  liills 
The  upland  showers  had  swoln  the  riUs, 

And  down  the  torrents  came  ; 
Mutter'd  the  distant  thunder  ckead. 
And  frequent  o'er  the  vale  was  spread 

A  sheet  of  hghtning  flame. 
De  Vaux,  within  his  mountain  cave 
(No  human  step  the  storm  dmrst  brave). 
To  moody  meditation  gave 

Each  faculty  of  soul,' 
TiU,  luU'd  by  distant  torrent  sound, 
And  the  sad  wmds  that  whistled  roimd, 
Upon  his  thoughts,  in  musing  drown'd, 

A  broken  slimiber  stole. 

VI. 

'Twas  then  was  heard  a  heavy  sound 

(Sound,  strange  and  fearful  there  to  hear, 

1  MS  — "  His  faculties  of  sonl." 


CANTO  HI. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


399 


'Mongst  desert  hills,  ■where,  leagues  around, 

Dwelt  hut  the  gorcock  and  the  deer) : 
As  starting  fi-om  his  couch  of  fern,' 
Again  he  heard,  in  clangor  stern, 

That  deep  and  solemn  swell, — • 
Twelve  times,  in  measured  tone,  it  spoke, 
Like  some  proud  minster's  pealing  clock, 

Or  city's  larum-beU. 
What  thought  was  Roland's  first  when  feU, 
In  that  deep  wilderness,  the  knell 

Upon  his  startled  ear  ? 
To  slander  warrior  were  I  loth, 
Yet  must  I  hold  my  minstrel  troth, — 

It  was  a  thought  of  fear. 

VII. 
But  lively  was  the  mingled  thriU 
That  chased  that  momentary  chill. 

For  Love's  keen  wish  was  there, 
And  eager  Hope,  and  Valor  high, 
And  the  proud  glow  of  Chivalry, 

Tliat  burn'd  to  do  and  dare. 
Forth  from  the  cave  the  "Warrior  rush'd, 
Long  ere  the  mountain-voice^  was  hush'd. 

That  answer  d  to  the  knell ; 
For  long  and  far  the  unwonted  sound. 
Eddying  in  echoes  round  and  round, 

"Was  toss'd  from  fell  to  feU ; 
And  Glaramara  answer  flung, 
And  Grisdale-pLke  responsive  rung. 
And  Legbert  heights  their  echoes  swung, 

As  far  as  Derwent's  deU.' 

VIIL 
Forth  upon  trackless  dai'kness  gazed 
The  Knight,  bedeafen'd  and  amazed. 

Tin  aU  was  hush'd  and  still, 
Save  the  swoln  torrent's  sullen  roar, 
And  the  night-blast  that  wildly  bore 

Its  course  along  the  liill. 
Then  on  the  nortliern  sky  there  came 
A  light  as  of  reflected  flame. 

And  over  Legbert-head, 
As  if  by  magic  art  controll'd, 
A  mighty  meteor  slowly  roll'd 

Its  orb  of  fiery  red ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  demon  dii-e 


MS.- 


"  his  conch  of  rock. 

Again  npon  his  ear  it  broke." 
"  mingled  sonniis  were  hush'd." 


MS.— 

•  "  The  rock,  hke  something  starting  from  a  sleep, 
Took  np  the  lady's  voice,  and  laugli'd  again  ; 
That  ancient  Woman  seated  on  Helm-Crag 
Was  ready  with  her  cavern  ;  Hammar-?car, 
And  the  tall  steep  of  Silver-How,  sent  forth 
A  noise  of  langhtcr;  southern  Loughrigg  heard. 
And  Fairfield  answer'd  witli  a  mountain  tone ; 
Helvellyn  far  into  the  clear  hlue  sky 
Carried  the  lady's  voice, — old  Skiddaw  blew 


Came  mounted  on  that  car  of  fire. 

To  do  his  errand  dread. 
Far  on  the  sloping  valley's  com-se, 
On  thicket,  rock,  mid  torrent  hoarse, 
Shingle  and  Scrae,^  and  Fell  and  Force,' 

A  dusky  light  arose  : 
Display'd,  yet  alter'd  was  the  scene  ; 
Dark  rock,  and  brook  of  silver  sheen, 
Even  the  gay  thicket's  summer  green. 

In  bloody  tincture  glows. 

IX. 
De  Vaux  had  mark'd  the  sunbeams  set, 
At  eve,  upon  the  coronet 

Of  that  enchanted  mound. 
And  seen  but  crags  at  random  flung. 
That,  o'er  the  brawUng  torrent  hung,* 

In  desolation  frown'd. 
"Wliat  sees  he  by  that  meteor's  lorn*  ?— 
A  banner'd  Castle,  keep,  and  tower, 

Retm-n  the  lurid  gleam, 
"With  battled  walls  and  buttress  fast, 
And  barbican''  and  ballium®  vast, 
And  airy  flanking  towers,  that  cast 

Their  shadows  on  the  stream. 
'Tis  no  deceit ! — distinctly  clear 
CreneU"  and  parapet  appear, 
"While  o'er  the  pile  that  meteor  drear 

Makea  momentary  pause ; 
Tlien  forth  its  solemn  path  it  drew, 
And  fainter  yet  and  fainter  grew 
Those  gloomy  towers  upon  the  view. 

As  its  wild  light  withdi'aws. 


Forth  from  the  cave  did  Roland  rush. 

O'er  crag  and  stream,  through  brier  and  bush ; 

Yet  far  he  had  not  sped,'" 
Ere  sunk  was  that  portentous  light 
Behind  the  lulls,  and  utter  niglit 

"Was  on  the  valley  spread." 
He  paused  perforce,  and  blew  liis  horn, 
And,  on  the  mountain  eclioes  borne," 

"Was  heard  an  answermg  sound, 
A  wild  and  lonely  triunpet-note, — 
In  middle  air  it  seem'd  to  float 

Hig-h  o'er  the  battled  momid  ; 


His  speaking-trumpet ; — back  out  of  the  clouds 
Of  Glaramara  southward  came  the  voice  ; 
And  Kirkstone  tossed  it  from  his  misty  head." 

Wordsworth. 

i  Bank  of  loose  stones.  ^  Waterfall. 

6  MS. "rocks  at  random  piled,  " 

That  on  the  torrent  brawling  wild." 

'  The  outer  defence  of  the  castle  gate. 

8  Fortified  court.  »  Apertures  for  shooting  am>;va. 

10  MS. "  had  not  gone." 

1'  IMS. "  the  valley  lone." 

12  MS. — "  And  far  upon  the  echoes  borne." 


400 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  in. 


And  sounds  vrere  beard,  as  wlien  a  guard 
Of  some  proud  castle,  holding  ward, 

Pace  forth  tlieh-  nightly  roiind. 
Tlie  valiant  JCuight  of  TriGrmain 
Rung  forth  his  challenge-blast  again, 

But  answer  came  there  none  ; 
And  'mid  the  mingled  wind  and  rain. 
Darkling  he  sought  the  vale  in  vain,* 

Until  the  dawning  shone  ; 
And  when  it  dawn'd,  that  wondrous  sight. 
Distinctly  seen  by  meteor-light. 

It  all  had  passed  away  ! 
And  that  enchanted  mound  once  more 
A  pile  of  granite  fragments  bore, 

As  at  the  close  of  day. 

XI. 

Steel'd  for  the  deed,  De  Vaux's  heart 
Scorn'd  from  his  ventiu-ous  quest  to  part, 

He  walks  the  vale  once  more  ; 
But  only  sees,  by  night  or  day. 
That  shatter'd  pile  of  rocks  so  gray, 

Hears  but  the  torrent's  roar. 
Till  when,  through  hills  of  azm-e  borne," 
The  moon  rencw'd  her  silver  horn, 
Just  at  the  tune  her  waning  ray 
Had  faded  in  the  dawning  day, 

A  smnmer  mist  arose ; 
Adown  the  vale  the  vapors  float,  . 
And  cloudy  undulations  moat' 
That  tufted  moimd  of  mystic  note, 

As  round  its  base  they  close. 
And  higher  now  the  fleecy  tide 
Ascends  its  stern  and  shaggy  side. 
Until  the  airy  billows  hide^ 

The  rock's  majestic  isle; 
It  seem'd  a  veil  of  filmy  lawn. 
By  some  fantastic  fairy  drawn* 

Around  enchanted  pile. 

XII. 

The  breeze  came  softly  down  the  brook,* 
And,  sighing  as  it  blew, 

1  MS. — "  he  sought  the  towers  in  vain." 

2  3ISj — "  But  when,  througli  fields  of  azure  borne." 
'  MS. — "  And  with  their  eddying  billows  moat." 

*  MS. — "  Until  tlie  mist's  gray  bosom  hide." 

s  IIS. "a  veil  of  airy  lawn." 

6  "  A  sharp  frost  wind,  which  made  itself  heard  and  felt 
from  time  to  time,  removed  the  clouds  of  mist  which  might 
otherwise  have  slumbered  till  morning  on  the  valley  ;  and, 
though  it  could  not  totally  disperse  the  clouds  of  vapor,  yet 
threw  them  in  confused  and  changeful  masses,  now  hovering 
round  the  heads  of  the  mountains,  now  filling,  as  with  adense 
and  voluminous  stream  of  smoke,  the  various  deep  gullies 
where  masses  of  the  composite  rock,  or  brescia,  tumbling  in 
fragments  from  the  cliffs,  have  rushed  to  the  valley,  leaving 
each  behind  its  course  a  rent  and  torn  ravine,  resembling  a  de- 
Ferted  water-course.  Tiio  moon,  which  was  now  high,  and 
twinkled  with  all  the  vivacity  of  a  frosty  atmospliere,  silvered 


The  veil  of  silver  mist  it  shook. 
And  to  De  Vaux's  eager  look 

Renew'd  that  wondrous  view. 
For,  though  the  loitering  vapor  braved 
The  gentle  breeze,  yet  oft  it  waved 

Its  mantle's  dewy  fold ; 
And  stiU,  when  shook  that  filmy  screen, 
"Were  towers  and  bastions  dimly  seen, 
And  Gotliic  battlements  between 

Their  gloomy  length  imroll'd.' 
Speed,  speed,  De  Vaux,  ere  on  thine  eye 
Once  more  the  fleeting  vision  die  ! 

— The  gallant  knight  'gan  speed 
As  prompt  and  ligkt  as,  when  the  hound 
Is  opening,  and  the  horn  is  woimd, 

Careers  the  hunter's  steed. 
Down  the  steep  dell  his  course  amain 

Hath  rivall'd  archer's  shaft ; 
But  ere  the  moimd  he  could  attain. 
The  rocks  their  shapeless  form  regain, 
And,  mocking  loud  his  labor  vain, 

The  mountain  sjjuits  laugh'd. 
Far  up  the  echoing  dell  was  borne 
Their  wild  unearthly  shout  of  scorn. 

XIII. 
"Wroth  wax'd  the  "Warrior. — "  Am  I  then 
Fooled  by  the  enemies  of  men. 
Like  a  poor  hind,  whose  homeward  way 
Is  liaunted^  by  malicious  fay  ? 
Is  Triermain  become  your  taunt, 
De  Vaux  yoiu-  scorn  ?     False  fiends,  avaunt !" 
A  weighty  curtal-axe  he  bare  ; 
The  baleful  blade  so  bright  and  square. 
And  the  tough  shaft  of  heben  wood, 
"W^ere  oft  in  Scottish  gore  imbrued. 
Backward  his  stately  form  he  drew. 
And  at  the  rocks  the  weapon  threw. 
Just  where  one  crag's  projected  crest 
Himg  proudly  balanced  o'er  the  rest. 
Hmd'd  with  main  force,  the  weapon's  shock 
Rent  a  huge  fragment  of  the  rock. 
If  by  mere  strength,  'twere  hard  to  tell, 

the  windings  of  the  river,  and  the  peaks  and  precipices  which 
the  mist  left  visible,  while  lier  beams  seemed,  as  it  were,  ab- 
sorbed by  the  fleecy  whiteness  of  the  mist,  where  it  lay  tliick 
and  condensed,  and  gave  to  the  more  light  and  vapory  specks, 
which  were  elsewhere  visible,  a  sort  of  filmy  tracsjiarency  re- 
sembling the  lightest  veil  of  silver  gauze." — TVava ley  JVo- 
vcls — Rob  Roy — vol.  viii.  p.  267. 

"  The  praise  of  truth,  precision,  and  distinctness,  is  not  very 
frequently  combined  with  that  of  extensive  magnificence  and 
splendid  complication  of  imagery  ;  yet,  how  masterly,  and 
often  sublime,  is  the  panoramic  display,  in  all  these  works,  of 
vast  and  diversified  scenery,  and  of  crowded  and  tumultuous 
action,"  &c. — Jldolphus,  p.  163. 

'  "  The  scenery  of  the  valley,  seen  by  the  light  of  the  sum- 
mer and  autumnal  moon,  is  described  with  an  aerial  tonch  to 
which  we  cannot  do  justice." — Quarterly  Review. 

B  MS.— "  Is  wilder'd." 


CANTO    III. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIK 


401 


Or  if  the  blow  dissolved  some  spell, 

This  endm-ing  fabric  plann'd ; 

But  down  the  headlong  ruin  came, 

Sign  and  sigil,  word  of  power. 

With  cloud  of  dust,  and  flash  of  flame. 

From  the  earth  raised  keep  and  tower. 

Down  bank,  o'er  bush,  its  course  was  borne. 

View  it  o'er,  and  pace  it  round, 

Crush'd  lay  the  copse,  the  earth  was  torn. 

Rampart,  tm-ret,  battled  moimd. 

Till  staid  at  lentcth;  the  ruin  dread 

Dare  no  more !     To  cross  the  gate 

Cumber'd  the  torrent's  rocky  bed. 

Were  to  tamper  with  thy  fate  ; 

And  bade  the  waters'  high-swoln  tide 

Strength  and  fortitude  were  vain, 

Seek  other  passage  for  its  pride. 

View  it  o'er — and  turn  again." — 

XIV. 

XVII. 

When  ceased  that  thunder,  Ti-iermain 

"  That  would  I,"  said  the  Warrior  bold. 

Survey'd  the  mound's  rude  front  again  ; 

"  K  that  my  frame  were  bent  and  old, 

And,  lo !  the  ruin  had  laid  bare. 

And  my  thin  blood  dropp'd  slow  and  cold 

Hewn  in  the  stone,  a  wuiding  stair. 

As  icicle  in  thaw ; 

Wliose  moss'd  and  fractured  steps  might  lend 

But  while  my  heart  can  feel  it  dance. 

The  means  the  summit  to  ascend ; 

Blithe  as  the  sparkling  wine  of  France, 

And  by  whose  aid  the  brave  De  Vaux 

And  this  good  arm  wields  sword  or  lance. 

Began  to  scale  these  magic  rocks. 

I  mock  these  words  of  awe  !" 

And  soon  a  platform  won, 

He  said  ;  the  wicket  felt  the  sway 

Where,  the  wild  witchery  to  close, 

Of  his  strong  hand,  and  straight  gave  way. 

Witliin  thi-ee  lances'  length  arose 

And,  with  rude  crash  and  jarring  bray. 

The  Castle  of  Saint  John ! 

The  rusty  bolts  withdraw  ; 

No  misty  phantom  of  the  air, 

But  o'er  the  threshold  as  he  strode. 

No  meteor-blazon'd  show  was  there ; 

And  forward  took  the  vavdted  roaU, 

In  morning  splendor,  full  and  fair. 

An  tmseen  arm,  with  force  amain, 

The  massive  fortress  shone. 

The  ponderous  gate  flung  close  again, 

And  rusted  bolt  and  bar 

XV. 

Spontaneous  took  their  place  once  more, 

Embattled  high  and  proudly  tower'd, 

While  the  deep  arch  with  sullen  roar 

Shaded  by  pond'rous  flankers,  lower'd 

Return'd  their  surly  jar. 

Tlie  portal's  gloomy  way. 

"  Now  closed  is  the  gin  imd  the  prey  withTn 

Though  for  six  hundred  years  and  more, 

By  the  Rood  of  Lanercost ! 

Its  strength  had  brook'd  the  tempest's  roai-, 

But  he  that  would  win  the  war-wolf's  skin, 

The  scutcheon'd  emblems  which  it  bore 

May  rue  him  of  his  boast." 

Had  sufFer'd  no  decay : 

Thus  muttering,  on  the  Warrior  went, 

But  from  the  eastern  battlement 

By  dubious  light  down  steep  descent. 

A  turret  had  made  sheer  descent. 

And,  down  in  recent  ruin  rent. 

XVIII. 

In  the  mid  torrent  lay. 

Unbarr'd,  unlock'd,  unwatch'd,  a  port 

Else,  o'er  the  Castle's  brow  sublime, 

Led  to  the  Castle's  outer  coiurt : 

Insults  of  violence  or  of  time 

There  the  main  fortress,  broad  and  tall. 

Unfelt  had  pass'd  away. 

Spread  its  long  range  of  bower  and  hall. 

In  shapeless  characters  of  yore. 

And  towers  of  varied  size. 

The  gate  this  stern  inscription  bore : — 

Wrought  with  each  ornament  extreme, 

That  Gothic  art,  in  wildest  dream 

XVI. 

Of  fancy,  could  devise  ; 

Knscrijjtfon. 

But  full  between  the  Warrior's  way 

"  Patience  waits  the  destined  day, 

And  the  main  portal  arch,  there  lay 

Strength  can  clear  the  cumber'd  way. 

An  inner  moat ; 

Warrior,  who  hast  waited  long. 

Nor  bridge  nor  boat 

Firm  of  soul,  of  smew  strong. 

Affords  De  Vaux  thejueang^  cfoss 
The  clear,  profound,  and  silent  fosse. 

It  is  given  to  thee  to  gaze 

On  the  pile  of  ancient  days. 

His  arms  aside  m  haste  he  flings, 

Never  mortal  builder's  hand 

Cuirass  of  steel  and  hauberk  rings. 

And  down  falls  helm,  and  down  the  shield. 

J  MS. — "  And  bade  its  waters,  in  their  pride, 

Rough  with  the  dmts  of  many  a  field. 

Seek  other  current  for  their  tide," 

31 

Fail-  was  his  manly  forin,  and  fair 

402 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III. 


Hb  keen  dark  eye,  and  close  curl'd  hair, 
Wten,  all  unarm'd,  save  that  the  brand 
Of  well-proved  metal  graced  his  hand, 
"With  naught  to  fence  liis  dauntless  breast 
But  the  close  gipon's'  under-vest, 
Whose  sullied  buff  the  sable  stains 
Of  hauberk  and  of  mail  retains, — 
Roland  De  Vanx  upon  the  brim 
Of  the  broad  moat  stood  prompt  to  swim. 

XIX. 

Accoutred  thus  he  dared  the  tide, 
And  soon  he  reach'd  the  farther  side, 

And  enter'd  soon  the  Hold, 
And  paced  a  hall,  whose  walls  so  wide 
Were  blazon'd  aU  with  feats  of  pride, 

By  warriors  done  of  old. 
In  middle  lists  they  counter'd  here, 

Wliile  trumpets  seem'd  to  blow ; 
And  there,  in  den  or  desert  drear, 

They  queU'd  gigantic  foe.^ 
Braved  the  fierce  griffon  in  his  ire, 
Or  faced  the  di-agon's  breath  of  fire. 
Strange  in  their  arms,  and  strange  in  face. 
Heroes  they  seem'd  of  ancient  race. 
Whose  deeds  of  arms,  and  race,  and  name, 
Forgotten  long  by  later  fame. 

Were  here  depicted,  to  appaP 
Those  of  an  age  degenerate, 
Whose  bold  intrusion  braved  their  fate 

In  tliis  enchanted  hall. 
For  some  short  space  the  venturous  Knight 
With  these  high  marvels  fed  his  sight. 
Then  sought  the  chamber's  upper  end, 
Where  three  broad  easy  steps  ascend 

To  an  arch'd  portal  door. 
In  whose  broad  folding  leaves  of  state 
Was  framed  a  wicket  window-grate, 

And,  ere  he  ventured  more. 
The  gallant  Knight  took  earnest  view 
The  grated  wicket-window  through. 

XX. 

0,  for  his  arms !  Of  martial  weed 

Had  never  mortal  Knight  such  need ! 

He  spied  a  stately  gallery ;  all 

Of  snow-wliite  marble  was  the  wall, 

The  vaulting,  and  the  floor  ; 
And,  contrast  strange  !  on  either  hand 
There  stood  array'd  in  sable  band 

Four  Maids  whom  Afric  bore  ■* 
And  each  a^Lvbian  tiijer  led, 
Held  by  as  bright  and" frail  a  thread 

As  Lucy's  golden  hair, — 

'  A  sort  of  doublet,  worn  beneath  the  armor. 

'  MS.—"  They  counter'd  giant  foe." 
3  MS. — "  Portray'd  by  limner  to  appal." 
*  MS. — "  Four  Maidens  stood  in  sable  band 


For  the   leash  that  bound  these  monsters 
dread 

Was  but  of  gossamer. 
Each  Maiden's  short  barbaric  vest* 
Left  all  unclosed  the  knee  and  breast. 

And  limbs  of  shapely  jet ; 
White  was  their  vest  and  turban's  fold. 
On  arms  and  ankles  rings  of  gold 

In  savage  pomp  were  set ; 
A  quiver  on  then-  shoulders  lay, 
And  in  their  hand  an  assagay." 
Such  and  so  sQent  stood  they  there, 

That  Roland  welluigh  hoped 
He  saw  a  band  of  statues  rare, 
Station'd  the  gazer's  soul  to  scare  ; 

But,  when  the  wicket  oped. 
Each  grisly  beast  'gan  upward  draw, 
*  RoU'd  liis  grim  eye,  and  spread  his  claw. 
Scented  the  air,  and  Uck'd  his  jaw ; 
While  these  weird  Maids,  in  Moorish  tongue, 
A  wild  and  dismal  warning  sung. 

XXL        ^  '^^^^ 
"  Rash  Adventurer,  bear  thee  back ! 

Dread  the  spell  of  Daliomay  1 
Fear  the  race  of  Zaharak,' 

Daughters  of  the  burning  day  I 

"  When  the  whirlwind's  gusts  are  wheeling, 

Ours  it  is  the  dance  to  braid  ; 
Zarali's  sands  in  pillars  reeling. 

Join  the  measure  that  we  tread, 
When  the  Moon  has  donn'd  her  cloak. 

And  the  stars  are  red  to  see. 
Shrill  when  pipes  the  sad  Siroc, 

Music  meet  for  such  as  we. 

"  Where  the  shatter'd  coltmms  he. 

Showing  Carthage  once  had  been. 
If  the  wandering  Santon's  eye 

Our  mysterious  rites  hath  seen, — 
Oft  he  cons  the  prayer  of  death, 

To  the  nations  preaches  doom, 
'  Azrael's  brand  hath  left  the  sheath ! 

Moslems,  think  upon  the  tomb !' 

"  Ours  the  scorpion,  oiu"s  the  snake, 

Om"s  the  hydra  of  the  fen, 
Ours  the  tiger  of  the  brake, 

All  that  plagues  the  sous  of  men. 
Ours  the  tempest's  midnight  wrack, 

Pestilence  that  wastes  by  day — 
Dread  the  race  of  Zaharak  1 

Fear  the  spell  of  Dahomay  I' 

The  blackest  Afriqne  bore." 
s  MS. — "Each  Maiden's  short  and  savage  vest." 
6  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 
'  Zaharak  orZaharah  is  the  Arab  name  of  the  Great  Desei* 


CANTO  III. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


403 


A  t- 


XXII. 

Uncouth  and  strange  the  accents  shrill 

Rung  those  vaulted  roofs  among, 
Long  it  was  ere,  faint  and  still, 

Died  the  far-resounding  song. 
While  yet  the  distant  echoes  roll. 
The  "Warrior  communed  with  his  soul. 

"  WEeiTfirst  I  took  this  ventui'ous  quest, 
I  swore  upon  the„ro.od, 

Neither  to  stop,  nor  turn,  nor  rest, 
For  evil  or  for  good. 
My  forward  path  too  well  I  ween, 
Lies  yonder  fearful  ranks  between ! 
For  man  unarm'd,  'tis  bootless  hope 
With  tigers  and  with  fiends  to  cope — 
Yet,  if  I  turn,  Avhat  waits  me  there. 
Save  famme  dire  and  fell  despair  ? — 
Other  conclusion  let  me  try, 
Since,  choose  howe'er  I  list,  I  die. 
Forward,  Ues  faith  and  knightls^me 
behind,  aig^pcijury  and^  shame.       - 
In  hfe  or  death  I  hold  my  word !" 
Withlihat'he~dfew  liis  trusty  sword. 
Caught  down  a  banner  fi-om  the  wall, 
And  enter'd  thus  the  fearful  hall. 


XXIIL 

On  high  each  wayward  Maiden  threw 

Her  swarthy  arm,  with  wild  halloo ! 

On  either  side  a  tiger  sprung — 

Against  the  leftward  foe  he  flung 

The  ready  banner,  to  engage 

With  tangling  folds  the  brutal  rage  ; ' 

The  right-hand  monster  in  mid-air     # 

He  struck  so  fiercely  and  so  fair, 

Through  gullet  and  through  spinal  bone 

The  trenchant  blade  hath  sheerly  gone. 

His  grisly  brethren  ramp'd  and  yell'd, 

But  the  slight  leash  their  rage  witlilield, 

Wliilst,  'twixt  their  ranks,  the  dangerous  road 

Firmly,  though  swift,  the  champion  strode. 

Safe  to  the  gallery's  bound  he  drew, 

Safe  pass'd  an  open  portal  through  ; 

And  when  against  pursuit  he  flung 

The  gate,  judge  if  the  echoes  rung ! 

Onward  liis  daring  course  he  bore, 

Wliile,  mix'd  with  dying  growl  and  roar, 

Wild  jubilee  and  loud  hurra 

Pm'sued  him  on  his  ventm'ous  way. 

XXIV. 
"  Hurra,  hui-ra !   Our  watch  is  done ! 
We  hail  once  more  the  tropic  sun. 
Pallid  beams  of  northern  day, 
Farewell,  farewell !   Hurra,  hurra ! 

MS.—"  That  flash'd  with  such  ^golden  flame." 


L 


"  Five  hundred  years  o'er  this  cold  glen 
Hath  the  pale  sun  come  round  agen ; 
Foot  of  man,  till  now,  hath  ne'er 
Dared  to  cross  the  Hall  of  Fear. 

"  Wan-ior !  thou,  whos^_dauntlesaJieart 
Gives  us  Jrpm  our  wai-d  to  pai-t, 
Be  as  strong  hi  future  trial, 
Where  resistance  is  denial 

"  Now  for  Afric's  glowing  sky, 
Zwenga  wide  and  Atlas  high, 
Zaharak  and  Didiomay ! 


Mount  the  winds !  Hiu-ra,  huiTa  1" 

XXV. 
Tlie  wizard  song  at  distance  died, 

As  if  in  ether  borne  astray. 
While  tlu-ough  waste  halls  and  chambers 
wide 

The  Knight  piu-sued  his  steady  way, 
Till  to  a  lofty  dome  he  came, 
That  flash'd  with  such  a  brUhant  flame,* 
As  if  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 
Were  there  in  rich  confusion  hurl'd. 
For  here  the  gold,  m  sandy  heaps, 
With  duller  earth,  incorporate,  sleeps ; 
Was  there  in  ingots  pUed,  and  there 
Coin'd  badge  of  empery  it  bare ; 
Yonder,  huge  bars  of  silver  lay, 
Dimm'd  by  the  diamond's  neighboring  ray, 
Like  the  pale  moon  in  morning  day ; 
And  in  the  midst  four  Maidens  stand, 
The  daughters  of  some  distant  land. 
Their  hue  was  of  the  dark-red  dye. 
That  fi-mges  oft  a  thunder  sky ; 
Then'  hands  palmetto  baskets  bare, 
And  cotton  fillets  bound  their  hair ; 
Slim  was  their  form,  their  mien  was  shy. 
To  earth  they  bent  the  humbled  eye, 
Folded  their  arms,  and  suppliant  kneel'd. 
And  thus  their  proffer'd  gifts  reveal'd.^ 

XXVL 

CHORUS. 

"  See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled, 
Portion  meet  for  Arthur's  child. 
Bathe  in  Wealth's  unbounded  stream. 
Wealth  that  Avarice  ne'er  could  dream  1" 

FIRST  MAIDEN. 

"  See  these  clots  of  virgin  gold  ! 
Sever'd  from  the  sparry  mould, 
Nature's  mystic  alchemy 
In  the  mine  thus  bade  them  lie ; 

2  MS.—"  And,  suppliant  as  on  earth  they  kneel'd, 
The  gifts  tliey  profier'd  thus  reveal'd." 


404 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III, 


And  their  orient  smile  can  win 

And  soon  he  reach'd  a  court-yard  square. 

Kings  to  stoop,  and  saints  to  sin." — 

WHiere,  dancing  in  the  sultry  air. 

Toss'd  high  aloft,  a  fountain  fair 

SECOND  MAIDEN. 

Was  sparkling  in  the  sun. 

"  See,  these  pearls,  that  long  have  slept ; 

On  right  and  left,  a  fair  arcade. 

These  were  tears  by  Naiads  wept 

In  long  jDerspective  view  displayed 

For  the  loss  of  Marinel. 

Alleys  and  bowers,  for  sun  or  shade : 

Tritons  in  the  silver  shell 

But,  full  in  front,  a  door, 

Treasured  them,  till  hard  and  white 

Low-brow'd  and  dark,  seem'd  as  it  led 

As  the  teeth  of  Amphitrite." — 

To  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead. 

W  hose  memory  was  no  more. 

THIRD  MAIDEN. 

"  Does  a  livelier  hue  delight  ? 

XXIX. 

Here  are  rubies  blazing  bright, 

Here  stopp'd  De  Vaixx  an  instant's  space, 

Here  the  emerald's  fairy  green, 

To  bathe  his  parched  lips  and  face. 

And  the  topaz  glows  between ; 

And  mai-k'd  with  weU-pleased  eye, 

Here  their  varied  hues  unite, 

Refracted  on  the  fountain  stream. 

In  the  changeful  chrysolite." — 

In  rainbow  hues  the  dazzling  beam 

Of  that  gay  summer  sky. 

FOUKTH  MAIDEN. 

His  senses  felt  a  mild  control, 

"  Leave  these  gems  of  poorer  shine, 

Like  that  which  lulls  the  weary  soul. 

Leave  them  all,  and  look  on  mine  ! 

Fi'om  contemplation  high 

While  their  glories  I  expand. 

Relaxing,  when  the  ear  receives 

Shade  thine  eyebrows  with  thy  hand. 

The  music  that  the  greenwood  leaves 

Mid-day  sun  and  diamond's  blaze 

Slake  to  the  breezes'  sigh. 

Blind  the  rash  beholder's  gaze." — 

XXX. 

CHOEUS. 

And  oft  in  such  a  dreamy  mood. 

"  Warrior,  seize  the  splendid  store  ; 

The  half-shut  eye  can  frame 

Would  'twere  all  our  mountains  bore  1 

Fair  apparitions  in  the  wood, 

We  should  ne'er  in  future  story. 

As  if  the  nymphs  of  field  and  flood 

Read,  Peru,  thy  perish'd  glory !"           "^ 

In  gay  procession  came. 

,     V 

Are  these  of  such  fantastic  mould, 

XXVIL   ,K>^-    , 

Segpi  distant  down  the  fair  arcade, 

Calmly  and  imconcern'd,  the  Knight 

These  Maids  enUnk'd  in  sister-fold. 

Waved  aside  the  treasures  bright : — 

WTio,  late  at  bashful  distance  staid, 

"  Gentle  Maidens,  rise,  I  pray ! 

Now  tripping  from  the  greenwood  shads. 

Bar  not  thus  my  destmed  way. 

Nearer  the  musing  champion  draw, 

Let  these  boasted  brilhant  toys 

And,  in  a  pause  of  seeming  awe, 

Braid  the  hair  of  girls  and  boys !' 

Again  stand  doubtful  now  ? — 

Bid  your  streams  of  gold  expand 

Ah,  that  sly  pause  of  witching  powers ! 

O'er  proud  London's  thirsty  land. 

That  seems  to  say,  "  To  please  be  ours, 

De  Vaux  of  wealth  saw  never  need. 

Be  yours  to  tell  us  how." 

Save  to  pm-vey  him  arms  and  steed. 

Tlieir  hue  was  of  the  golden  glow 

And  all  the  ore  he  deigu'd  to  hoard 

Tliat  suns  of  Candahar  bestow. 

Inlays  his  helm,  and  hilts  his  sword." 

O'er  wliich  m  slight  suffusion  flows 

Tims  gently  parting  from  their  hold. 

A  frequent  tinge  of  paly  rose ; 

He  left,  unmoved,  the  dome  of  gold. 

Their  limbs  were  fashion'd  fair  and  free. 

In  natm-e's  justest  symmetry ; 

XXVIIL 

And,  wreathed  with  flowers,  with  odors  graced 

And  now  the  morning  sun  was  high, 

Tlieir  raven  ringlets  reach'd  the  waist : 

De  Vaux  was  weary,  faint,  and  dry ; 

In  eastern  pomp,  its  gilding  pale 

When,  lo !  a  plashing  sound  he  hears. 

Tlie  hennah  lent  each  shapely  nail, 

A  gladsome  signal  that  he  nears 

And  the  dark  sumah  gave  the  eye 

Some  frolic  water-run ; 

More  liquid  and  more  lustrous  dye. 

The  spotless  veil  of  misty  lawn. 

1  MS  — "  Let  tliose  boasted  gems  and  pearls 

In  studied  disarrangement,  drawu 

Braid  the  hair  of  toy-caught  girls." 

The  form  and  bosom  o'er. 

CANTO  III. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


405 


To  win  the  eye,  or  tempt  the  touch, 

For  modesty  show'd  all  too  much — 

Too  much — yet  promised  more. 

XXXI. 
"  Gentle  Knight,  a  while  delay," 
Thus  they  sung,  "  thy  toilsome  way, 
While  we  pay  the  duty  due 
To  our  Master  and  to  you. 
Over  Avarice,  over  Fear, 
Love  triumphant  led  thee  here ; 
Warrior,  list  to  us,  for  we 
Are  slaves  to  Love,  are  friends  to  thee. 
Though  no  treasured  gems  have  we, 
To  proffer  on  the  bended  knee, 
Tliough  we  boast  nor  arm  nor  heart, 
For  the  assagay  or  dart, 
Swains  allow  each  simple  girl 
Ruby  lip  and  teeth  of  pearl ; 
Or,  if  dangers  more  you  prize, 
Flatterers  find  them  in  our  eyes. 

"  Stay,  then,  gentle  Warrior,  stay,  r^ 

Rest  till  evening  steal  on  day ;       J^ 
Stay,  0  stay ! — in  yonder  bowers 
We  will  braid  thy  locks  with  ilowers, 
Spread  the  feast  and  till  the  wine. 
Charm  thy  ear  with  sounds  divine, 
Weave  our  dances  tUl  delight 
Yield  to  languor,  day  to  night. 
Then  shall  she  you  most  approve, 
Sing  the  lays  that  best  you  love, 
Soft  thy  mossy  couch  shall  spread, 
W^atch  thy  pillow,  prop  thy  head, 
Till  the  weary  night  be  o'er — 
Gentle  Warrior,  wouldst  thou  more  ? 
Wouldst  thou  more,  fair  Warrior, — she 
Is  slave  to  Love  and  slave  to  thee." 

XXXIL 
0  do  not  hold  it  for  a  crime 
In  the  bold  hero  of  my  rhyme, 

For  Stoic  look. 

And  meet  rebuke. 
He  lack'd  the  heart  or  time ; 
As  round  the  band  of  sirens  trip, 
He  kiss'd  one  damsel's  laughing  hp,' 
And  press'd  another's  proffered  hand. 
Spoke  to  them  all  in  accents  bland. 
But  broke  their  magic  circle  through ; 
"  Kind  Maids,"  he  said,  "  adieu,  adieu  ! 
My  fate,  my  fortune,  forward  Ues." 
He  saicl,  ami  vaiii-liM  frfim  their  eyes; 
But,  as  he  dared  that  darksome  way, 
Still  heard  behind  their  lovely  lay : — 

*  MS. — "  As  round  the  band  of  sirens  press'd. 
One  damsel's  laughing  lip  he  kiss'd." 


"  Fair  Flower  of  Courtesy,  depart ! 
Go,  where  the  feelings  of  the  heart 
With  the  warm  pulse  in  concord  move ; 
Go,  where  Virtue  sanctions  Love  1" 

XXXIII. 
Downward  De  Vaux  through  darksome  waya 

And  ruined  vaults  has  gone, 
Till  issue  from  their  wilder'd  maze, 

Or  safe  retreat,  seem'd  none, — 
And  e'en  the  dismal  path  he  strays 

Grew  worse  as  he  went  on. 
For  cheerful  sun,  for  living  air. 
Foul  vapors  rise  and  mine-fires  glare. 
Whose  fearful  light  the  dangers  show'd 
That  dogg'd  him  on  that  dreadful  road- 
Deep  pits,  and  lakes  of  waters  dun, 
Tliey  show'd,  but  show'd  not  how  to  shun. 
These  scenes'  of  desolate  despair. 
These  smothering  clouds  of  poison'd  air. 
How  gladly  had  De  Vaux  exchanged, 
Y  Though  'twere  to  face  yon  tigers  ranged  1 

Nay,  soothful  bards  have  said, 
So  perilous  his  state  seem'd  now. 
He  wish'd  him  under  arbor  bough 

With  Asia's  wUhng  maid. 
When,  joyful  sound  !  at  distance  near 
A  trumpet  flourish'd  loud  and  clear, 
And  as  it  ceased,  a  lofty  lay 
Seem'd  thus  to  chide  his  lagging  way. 

XXXIV. 

"  Son  of  Honor,  theme  of  story, 
Think  on  the  reward  before  ye  I 
Danger,  darkness,  toil  despise ; 
'Tis  Ambition  bids  thee  rise. 

"  He  that  would  her  heights  ascend. 
Many  a  weary  step  must  wend ; 
Hand  and  foot  and  knee  he  tries ; 
Thus  Arnbition's  minions  rise. 

"  Lag  not  now,  though  rough  the  way, 
Fortune's  mood  brooks  no  delay ; 
Grasp  the  boon  tliat's  spread  before  ye, 
Monarch's  power,  and  Conqueror's  glory  !" 

It  ceased.    Advancing  on  the  sound, 
A  steep  ascent  the  Wanderer  found, 

And  then  a  turret  stair : 
Nor  chmb'd  he  far  its  steepy  round 

TUl  fresher  blew  the  air. 
And  next  a  welcome-  glimpse  was  given, 
That  cheer'd  him  with  the  hght  of  heaven. 

At  length  his  toil  had  won 

a  MS.—"  This  state,"  &c. 


406 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III. 


A  lofty  ludl  witli  trophies  dress' d, 
Where,  as  to  gi-eet  imperial  guest, 
Four  Maidens  stood,  whose  crimson  vest 
Was  boimd  with  golden  zone. 

XXXV. 

Of  Europe  seem'd  the  damsels  all ; 
The  first  a  nymph  of  lively  Gaul, 
Whose  easy  step  and  laughing  eye 
Her  borrow'd  air  of  awe  belie  ; 

The  next  a  maid  of  Spam, 
Dark-eyed,  dark-hau  'd,  sedate,  yet  bold ; 
White  ivory  skin  and  tress  of  gold. 
Her  shy  and  bashful  comrade  told 

For  daughter  of  Almaine. 
These  maidens  bore  a  royal  robe. 
With  crown,  with  sceptre,  and  with  globe, 

Emblems  of  empery ; 
The  fourth  a  space  beliind  them  stood, 
And  leant  upon  a  harp,  in  mood 

Of  minstrel  ecstasy. 
Of  merry  England  she,  in  dress 
Like  ancient  British  Druidess. 
Her  hair  an  azure  fillet  bound, 
Her  graceful  vesture  swept  the  ground, 

And,  in  her  hand  dis])lay'd, 
A  crown  did  that  fourth  ilaiden  hold, 
But  unadorn'd  with  gems  and  gold, 

Of  glossy  laurel  made.' 

XXXVI. 

At  once  to  brave  De  Vaux  knelt  down 

These  foremost  Maidens  three. 
And  profifer'd  sceptre,  robe,  and  crown, 

Liegedom  and  seignorie, 
O'er  many  a  region  wide  and  fair. 
Destined,  they  said,  for  Arthur's  heir ; 

But  homage  would  he  none : — ^ 
"  Rather,"  he  said,  "  De  Vaux  would  ride, 
A  Warden  of  the  Border-side, 
In  plate  and  mail,  than,  robed  in  pride, 

A  monarch's  empire  own ; 
Rather,  far  rather,  would  he  be 
A  fi-ee-born  knight  of  England  free. 

Than  sit  on  Despot's  tlirone." 
So  pass'd  he  on,  when  that  fourth  Maid, 

As  starting  fi-om  a  trance, 
Upon  the  harp  her  finger  laid ; 
Her  magic  touch  the  chords  obey'd, 

Their  soul  awaked  at  once ! 

SONG  OF  THE  FOURTH  MAIDEN. 

"  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep. 
Stately  Towers,  and  Banner'd  Keep, 

1  MS  — "  Of  laurel  leaves  was  made." 

2  MS.—"  But  the  firm  knight  pass'd  on." 

3  MS.—"  Spread  your  pennons  all  abroad." 


Bid  yoiu-  vaulted  echoes  moan. 
As  the  dreaded  step  they  own. 

"  Fiends,  that  wait  on  Merlin's  spell. 
Hear  the  foot-fall !  mark  it  well ! 
Spread  your  dusky  wings  abroad,' 
Boune  ye  for  your  homeward  road  I 

"  It  is  His,  the  first  who  e'er 
Dared  the  dismal  Hall  of  Fear; 
His,  who  hath  the  snares  defied 
Spread  by  Pleastire,  Wealth,  and  Pridfe 

"  Quake  to  your  foimdations  deep, 
Bastion  huge,  and  Turret  steep  !* 
Tremble,  Keep !  and  totter.  Tower ! 
This  is  Gyueth's  waking  hour." 

XXXVII. 

Thus  while  she  sung,  the  venturous  Knighl 
Has  reach'd  a  bower,  where  milder  light* 

Through  crimson  curtains  fell ; 
Such  soften'd  shade  the  hill  receives, 
Her  purple  veil  when  tAvilight  leaves 

Upon  its  western  swell. 
That  bower,  the  gazer  to  bewitch, 
Hath  wondi'ous  store  of  rare  and  rich 

As  e'er  was  seen  with  eye ; 
For  there  by  magic  skill,  I  wis, 
Form  of  each  thing  that  living  is 

Was  limn'd  in  proper  dye. 
AU  seem'd  to  sleep — the  timid  hare 
On  form,  the  stag  uj^on  his  lair, 
The  eagle  in  her  eyrie  fair 

Between  the  earth  and  sky. 
But  what  of  pictured  rich  and  rare" 
Could  win  De  Vaux's  eye-glance,  where 
Deep  slumbering  in  the  fatal  chair, 

He  saw  Kuig  Arthur's  child  1 
Doubt,  and  anger,  and  dismay. 
From  her  brow  had  pass'd  away. 
Forgot  was  that  fell  tom-ney-day,' 

For,  as  she  slept,  she  smiled : 
It  seem'd,  that  the  repentant  Seer 
Her  sleep  of  many  a  hundred  year 

With  gentle  di-eams  beguiled. 

XXXVIII. 

That  form  of  maiden  lovehness, 

'Twixt  childhood  and  'twixt  youth, 

Tliat  ivory  chair,  that  silvan  dress, 

The  arms  and  ankles  bare,  express 
Of  Lyulph's  tale  the  truth. 

Still  upon  her  garment's  hem 


<  MS. "  and  battled  keep." 

6  MS. "soften'd  light." 

s  MS.—"  But  what  of  rich  or  what  of  rare." 


CANTO  III. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


407 


Vanoc's  blood  made  purple  gem, 
And  the  warder  of  command 
Cumber'd  still  her  sleeping  hand  ; 
Still  her  dark  locks  dishevell'd  flow 
From  net  of  pearl  o'er  breast  of  snow ; 
And  so  fair  the  slumberer  seems, 
That  De  Vaux  impeacli'd  his  dreams, 
Vapid  all  and  void  of  might, 
Hiding  half  her  charms  from  sight. 
Motionless  a  wliile  he  stands. 
Folds  his  arms  and  clasps  liis  hands, 
Trembling  in  his  fitful  joy. 
Doubtful  how  he  should  destroy 

Loug-endmiug  spell ; 
Doubtful,  too,  when  slowly  rise 
Dai-k-fringed  Hds  of  Gyneth's  eyes. 

What  these  eyes  shall  tell. — 
"  St.  George  !  St.  Mary !  can  it  be 
That  they  will  kindly  look  on  me  I" 

XXXIX. 

Gently,  lo !  the  Warrior  kneels, 
Soft  that  lovely  hand  he  steals, 
Soft  to  kiss,  and  soft  to  clasp — 
But  the  warder  leaves  her  grasp ; 

Lightning  flashes,  rolls  the  thunder ! 
Gyneth  startles  from  her  sleep, 
Totters  Tower,  and  trembles  Keep, 

Burst  the  Castle-walls  asimder ! 
Fierce  and  frequent  were  the  shocks, — 

Melt  the  magic  halls  away ; 

But  beneath  their  mystic  rocks. 

In  the  arms  of  bold  De  Vaux, 

Safe  the  princess  lay ; 
Safe  and  free  from  magic  power, 
Blushing  like  the  rose's  flower 

Opening  to  the  day ; 
And  roimd  the  Champion's  brows  were  bound 
The  crown  that  Druidess  had  wound, 

Of  the  green  lam-el-bay. 
And  this  was  what  remain'd  of  all 
The  wealth  of  each  enchanted  hall. 

The  Garland  and  the  Dame : 
But  where  should  Warrior  seek  the  meed, 
Due  to  high  worth  for  daring  deed. 

Except  from  Love  and  Fame  I 


CONCLUSION. 


L 

My  Lucy,  when  the  Maid  is  won, 

The  Minstrel's  task,  thou  know'st,  is  done ; 

1  MS.  — "  Yet  know,  this  maid  and  warrior  too. 
Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  do." 

*  MS. — "  That  melts  whene'er  the  breezes  blow, 
Or  beams  a  cloudless  sun." 


And  to  require  of  bard 
That  to  his  dregs  the  tale  should  run, 

Were  ordinance  too  hard. 
Our  lovers,  briefly  be  it  said. 
Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  wed,' 

When  tale  or  play  is  o'er ; 
Lived  long   and  blest,    loved   fond   and 

true. 
And  saw  a  numerous  race  renew 

The  honors  that  they  bore. 
Know,  too,  that  when  a  pilgrim  strays, 
In  morning  mist  or  evening  maze. 

Along  the  mountain  lone. 
That  fairy  fortress  often  mocks 
His  gaze  upon  the  castled  rocks 

Of  the  Valley  of  St  John  ; 
But  never  man  since  brave  De  Vaux 

The  charmed  portal  won. 
'Tis  now  a  vain  illusive  show. 
That  melts  whene'er  the  sunbeams  glow 

Or  the  fresh  breeze  hath  blown.* 

n. 

But  see,  my  love,  where  far  below 
Oiu-  lingering  wheels  are  moving  slow. 

The  whiles,  up-gazing  still, 
Otu-  menials  eye  om-  steepy  way. 
Marvelling,  perchance,  what  wlmn  can  stay 
Our  steps  when  eve  is  sinking  gray. 

On  this  gigantic  liill. 
So  think  the  vulgar — Life  and  time 
Ring  all  their  joj's  in  one  dull  chune 

Of  luxury  and  ease ; 
And,  0 !  beside  these  simple  knaves. 
How  many  better  born  are  slaves 

To  such  coarse  joys  as  these, — 
Dead  to  the  nobler  sense  that  glows 
"VMien  nature's  grander  scenes  imclose  ! 
But,  Lucy,  we  wdl  love  them  yet, 
The  mountain's  misty'  coronet. 

The  greenwood,  and  the  wold ; 
And  love  the  more,  that  of  their  maze 
Adventure  high  of  other  days 

By  ancient  bards  is  told. 
Bringing,  perchance,  like  my  poor  tale, 
Some  moral  truth  in  fiction's  veil  :* 
'Nor  love  them  less,  that  o'er  the  hill 
The  evening  breeze,  as  now,  comes  chill  ;— 

My  love  shall  wrap  her  warm. 
And,  fearless  of  the  slippery  way. 
While  safe  she  trips  the  heathy  brae. 

Shall  hang  on  Arthm-'s  ai-m. 

THE  END  OF  TEIERMAIN." 

3  MS.—"  Silvan." 
*  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

6  "The  Bridal  of  Triermain  is  written  in  the  style  of  Mr 
Walter  Scott ;  and  if  in  magnis  voluisse  sat  est,  the  autliu 


40h 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


whatever  may  be  tlie  merits  of  liis  work,  has  earned  the  meed 
at  which  he  aspires.  To  attempt  a  serious  imitation  of  the 
most  popular  living  poet — and  this  imitation,  not  a  short  frag- 
ment, in  which  all  his  peculiarities  might,  with  comparatively 
little  difficulty,  he  concentrated — but  a  long  and  complete 
■work,  with  plot,  character,  and  machinery  entirely  new — and 
witli  no  manner  of  resemblance,  therefore,  to  a  parody  on  any 
production  of  the  original  author ; — this  must  be  acknowledged 
an  attempt  of  no  timid  daring." — Edinburgh  Magazine,  1817. 


"  The  fate  of  this  work  must  depend  on  its  own  merits,  for 
t  is  not  borne  np  by  any  of  the  adventitious  circumstances  that 
"requently  contribute  to  literary  success.  It  is  ushered  into  the 
ivorld  in  the  most  modest  gnise  ;  and  the  author,  we  believe, 
is  entirely  unknown.  Should  it  fail  altogether  of  a  favorable 
reception,  we  shall  be  disposed  to  abate  something  of  the  in- 
iignation  which  we  have  occasionally  expressed  against  the  ex- 
travagant gaudiness  of  modern  publications,  and  imagine  that 
there  are  readers  whose  suffrages  are  not  to  be  obtained  by  a 
work  without  a  name. 

"  The  merit  of  the  Bridal  of  Triermain,  in  our  estimation, 
consists  in  its  perfect  simplicity,  and  an  interweaving  the  re- 
finement of  modern  times  with  the  peculiarities  of  the  ancient 
metrical  romance,  which  are  in  no  respect  violated.  In  point 
of  interest,  the  first  and  second  cantos  are  superior  to  the  third. 
One  event  naturally  arises  out  of  that  which  precedes  it,  and 
the  eye  is  delighted  and  dazzled  with  a  series  of  moving  pic- 
tures, each  of  them  remarkable  for  its  individual  splendor,  and 
all  contributing  more  or  less  directly  to  produce  the  dltimate 
result.  The  third  canto  is  less  profuse  of  incident,  and  some- 
what more  monotonous  in  its  efl^ect.  This,  we  conceive,  wiU 
be  the  impression  on  the  first  perusal  of  the  poem.  When  we 
have  leisure  to  mark  the  merits  of  the  composition,  and  to  sep- 
arate them  from  the  progress  of  the  events,  we  are  disposed  to 
think  that  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  the  description  will  near- 
ly compensate  for  the  defect  we  have  already  noticed. 

"  But  it  is  not  from  the  fable  that  an  adequate  notion  of  the 
merits  of  this  singular  work  can  be  formed.  We  have  already 
spoken  of  it  as  an  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott's  style  of  composi- 
tion ;  and  if  we  are  compelled  to  make  the  general  approbation 
more  precise  and  specific,  we  should  say,  that  if  it  be  inferior 
in  vigor  to  some  of  his  productions,  it  equals,  or  surpjisses  them, 
in  elegance  and  beauty  ;  that  it  is  more  uniformly  tender,  and 
*"ar  less  infected  with  the  unnatural  prodigies  and  coarsenesses  of 
the  earlier  romancers.  In  estimating  its  merits,  however,  we 
should  forget  that  it  is  oflered  as  an  imitation.  The  diction 
undoubtedly  reminds  us  of  a  rhythm  and  cadence  we  have 
heard  before  ;  but  the  sentiments,  descriptions,  and  cliaracters, 
have  '[ualities  that  are  native  and  unborrowed. 

"In  his  sentiments,  the  author  has  avoided  the  slight  de- 
ficiency we  ventured  to  ascribe  to  his  prototype.  The  pictures 
of  pure  description  are  perpetually  illuminated  with  rellectiont. 
that  bring  out  their  coloring,  and  increase  their  moral  effect : 
these  reflections  are  suggested  by  the  scene,  produced  without 
effort,  and  expressed  with  unaffected  simplicity.  The  descrip- 
tions a-e  spirited  and  striking,  possessing  an  airiness  suited  to 
the  mythology  and  manners  of  the  times,  though  restrained  by 
correct  taste.  Among  the  characters,  many  of  which  are  such 
as  we  expect  to  find  in  this  department  of  poetry,  it  is  impossi- 
ble not  to  distinguish  that  of  Arthur,  in  which,  identifying 
himself  with  his  original,  the  author  has  contrived  to  unite  the 
valor  of  the  hero,  the  courtesy  and  dignity  of  the  monarch,  and 
the  amiable  weaknesses  of  any  ordinary  mortal,  and  thus  to 
oresent  to  us  the  express  lineaments  of  the  flower  of  chivalry." 
— Quarterly  Review.    1813. 


we  shall  give  merely  as  such,  without  vouching  for  the  truth 
of  it.  When  the  article  entitled,  '  The  Inferno  of  Altisidora,' 
appeared  in  tlie  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  1809,  it  will 
be  remembered  that  the  last  fragment  contained  in  that  singu- 
lar production,  is  the  begmning  of  the  romance  of  Triermain. 
Report  says,  that  the  fragment  was  not  meant  to  be  an  imita- 
tion of  Scott,  but  of  Coleridge ;  and  that,  for  this  purpose, 
the  author  borrowed  both  the  name  of  the  hero  and  the  scene 
from  the  then  unpublished  poem  of  Christabelle  ;  and  further, 
that  so  few  had  ever  seen  the  manuscript  of  that  poem,  that 
amongst  these  few  the  author  of  Triermain  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  well  known,  that  on  the  ap- 
pearance of  this  fragment  in  the  Annual  Register,  it  was  uni- 
versally taken  for  an  imitation  of  Walter  Scott,  and  never  once 
of  Coleridge.  The  author  perceiving  this,  and  that  the  poem 
was  well  received,  instantly  set  about  drawing  it  out  into  a  reg- 
ular and  finislied  work  ;  for  shortly  after  it  was  announced  in 
the  papers,  and  continued  to  be  so  for  three  long  years  ;  the 
author,  as  may  be  supposed,  having,  during  that  period,  his 
hands  occasionally  occupied  with  heavier  metal.  In  1813,  the 
poem  was  at  last  produced,  avowedly  and  manifestly  as  an  im- 
itation of  Mr.  Scott ;  and  it  may  easily  be  observed,  that  from 
the  27th  page  onward,  it  becomes  much  more  decidedly  hke 
the  manner  of  that  poet,  than  it  is  in  the  preceding  part  which 
was  published  in  the  Register,  and  which,  undoubtedly,  does 
bear  some  similarity  to  Coleridge  in  the  poetry,  and  more  es- 
pecially in  the  rhythm,  as,  e.  g. — 

'  Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest. 
With  the  slow  tunes  he  loves  the  best, 
Til!  sleep  sink  down  upon  his  breast, 
Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hill.' 

'  It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day  ; 
The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  gray, 
That,  like  a  silvery  crape,  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head  ' 

'  What  time,  or  where 


'  With  regard  to  this  poem,  we  have  often  heard,  from  what 
may  be  deemed  good  authority,  a  very  curious  anecdote,  which 


Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  the  heavenly  brow, 
With  her  look  so  sweet,  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step,  and  her  angel  air. 
And  the  eagle-plume  on  her  dark-brown  hair, 
That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now  V 

'  Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 
As  bashful  maiden's  half-form'd  sigh. 
When  she  thinks  her  lover  near.' 

'  And  light  they  fell,  as  when  earth  receives, 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  wither'd  leaves. 
That  drop  when  no  winds  blow.' 

'  Or  if  'twas  but  an  airy  thing. 
Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring. 
Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  dyes, 
Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies.' 

"  These,  it  will  be  seen,  are  not  exactly  Colerid^,  bit  the"" 
are  precisely  such  an  imitation  of  Coleridge  as,  we  conceive 
another  poet  of  our  acquaintance  would  write  :  on  '-hat  ground, 
we  are  inclined  to  give  some  credit  to  the  anecdote  here  re- 
lated, and  from  it  we  leave  our  readers  to  guess,  as  we  have 
done,  who  is  the  author  of  the  poem." — Blackwood's  Mag' 
azine.    April,  1817. 


The  quarto  of  Rokeby  was  followed,  within  two  months,  by 
the  small  volume  which  had  been  designed  for  a  twin-birth  ; 
— the  MS.  had  been  transcribed  by  one  of  the  Ballantynes 
themselves,  in  order  to  guard  against  any  iadiscretioQ  of  th« 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


iO'J 


press-people  ;  and  the  mystification,  aided  and  abetted  by  Ers- 
kine,  in  no  small  degree  heightened  the  interest  of  its  reception. 
Scott  says,  in  the  Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  "  As 
Mr.  Erskine  was  more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and 
as  I  took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mi.x  sometliing  that  might 
resemble  (as  fa/  as  wa.s  in  my  power)  my  friend's  feeling  and 
manner,  the  train  easily  canght,  and  two  large  editions  were 
lold."  Among  the  passages  to  which  he  here  alludes,  are  no 
doubt  those  in  which  the  character  of  the  minstrel  Arthur  is 
shaded  with  the  colorings  of  an  almost  effeminate  gentleness. 
Vet,  in  the  midst  of  them,  the  "mighty  minstrel"  himself, 
from  time  to  time,  escapes  ;  as,  for  instance,  where  the  lover 
bids  Lncy,  in  that  e.\quisite  picture  of  crossing  a  mountain 
stream,  trust  to  his  "  stalwart  arm," — 

"  Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  nprear." 

Nor  can  I  pass  the  compliment  to  Scott's  own  fair  patroness, 
where  Lucy's  admirer  is  made  to  confess,  with  some  momen- 
tary lapse  of  gallantry,  that  he 

"  Ne'er  won — best  meed  to  minstrel  true — 
One  favoring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch  ;" 

Boi  the  burst  of  genuine  Borderism, — 

'  Bewcastle  now  must  keep  the  hold, 

Speir- Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall ; 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bow-men  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall ; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur. 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Tarras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir. 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland." — 


But,  above  all,  the  choice  of  the  scenery,  both  of  the  li.tioduc- 
tions  and  of  the  story  itself,  reveals  the  early  and  treasured  pre- 
dilections of  the  poet. 

As  a  whole,  the  Bridal  of  Triermain  appears  to  me  as  char- 
acteristic of  Scott  as  any  of  his  larger  poems.  Ilis  genius  (kt- 
vades  and  animates  it  beneath  a  thin  and  playful  veil,  whiuli 
perhaps  adds  as  much  of  grace  as  it  takes  away  of  splendor 
As  Wordsworth  says  of  the  eclipse  on  the  lake  of  Lugano 

"  'Tis  sunlight  sheathed  and  gently  charm'd  ;" 

and  I  think  there  is  at  once  a  lightness  and  a  polish  o%    -»'i- 
fication  beyond  what  he  has  elsewhere  attained.     If  it  be  a 
miniature,  it  is  such  a  one  as  a  Cooper  might  have  hung  f».'. 
lessly  beside  the  masterpieces  of  Vandyke. 

The  Introductions  contain  some  of  the  most  e.xqnisite  i«»s- 
sages  he  ever  produced  ;  but  their  general  effect  has  always 
struck  me  as  unfortunate.  No  art  can  reconcile  us  to  con- 
temptuous satire  of  the  merest  frivolities  of  modern  Ufe — sonij 
of  them  already,  in  twenty  years,  grown  obsolete — interbJJ 
between  such  bright  visions  of  the  old  world  of  romance,  wieu 

"  Strength  was  gigantic,  valor  high, 
And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky. 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 
As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  dream." 

The  fall  is  grievous,  from  the  hoary  minstrel  of  Newark,  ami 
liis  feverish  tears  on  Killeerankie,  to  a  pathetic  swain,  wha 
can  stoop  to  denounce  as  objects  of  his  jealousy — 

"  The  landanlet  and  four  blood-bays-  - 
The  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon." 

lociBART-' Life  of  S — '   Nol  ■■  I»  <4 


410 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

Like  Collins,  thread  the  maze  of  Fairy-land. — P.  383. 

CoLLi.vs,  according  to  Joluison,  "  by  indulging  some  pecu- 
liar habits  of  thought,  was  eminently  delighted  with  those 
flights  of  imagination  which  pass  the  bounds  of  nature,  and  to 
wiiich  the  mind  is  reconciled  only  by  a  passive  acquiescence 
in  popular  traditions.  He  loved  fairies,  genii,  giants,  and  mon- 
sters ;  he  delighted  to  rove  through  the  meanders  of  enchant- 
ment, to  gaze  on  the  magnificence  of  golden  palaces,  to  repose 
by  the  watertalls  of  Elysian  gardens." 


Note  B. 


The  Baron  of  Triermam.—V.  383. 

Trierraain  was  a  fief  of  tlie  Barony  of  Gilsland,  in  Cumber- 
land :  it  was  possessed  by  a  Saxon  family  at  the  time  of  the 
Conquest,  but,  "  after  the  death  of  Gilmore,  Lord  of  Tryer- 
maine  and  Torcrossock,  Hubert  Vanx  gave  Tryermaine  and 
Torerossock  to  his  second  son,  Ranulph  Vau.\  ;  which  Ra- 
nulph  ai'terwards  became  heir  to  his  elder  brother  Robert,  the 
founder  of  Lanercost,  who  died  without  issue.  Ranulph,  be- 
ing Lord  of  all  Glisland,  gave  Gilmore's  lands  to  his  younger 
SOD,  named  Roland,  and  let  the  Barony  descend  to  his  eldest 
son  Robert,  son  of  Ranulph.  Roland  had  issue  Alexander, 
and  he  Ranulph,  after  whom  succeeded  Robert,  and  they  were 
named  Rolands  successively,  that  were  lords  thereof,  until  the 
reign  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  That  house  gave  for  arms,  Vert, 
a  bend  dexter,  chequy,  or  and  gules." — Burn's  .Antiquities 
»/  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  vol.  ii.  p.  482. 

This  branch  of  Vaux,  with  its  collateral  alliances,  is  now 
represented  by  the  family  of  Braddyl  of  Conishead  Priory,  in 
the  county  palatine  of  Lancaster ;  for  it  appears  that  about 
the  time  above  mentioned,  the  house  of  Triermain  was  united 
to  its  kindred  family  Vaux  of  Caterlen,  and,  by  marriage  with 
the  l»eiressof  Delamore  and  Leybourne,  became  the  represen- 
tative of  those  ancient  and  noble  families.  Tiie  male  line 
failing  in  John  De  Vaux,  about  the  year  10G5,  his  daughter  and 
heiress,  Mabel,  married  Christopher  Richmond,  Esq.,  of  High- 
head  Castle,  in  the  county  of  Cumberland,  descended  from 
va  ancient  family  of  that  name.  Lords  of  Corby  Castle,  in  the 
same  county,  soon  after  the  Conquest,  and  which  they  alien- 
ated about  the  15th  of  Edward  the  Second,  to  Andrea  de 
Harcla,  Earl  of  Carlisle.  Of  this  family  was  Sir  Thomas  Je 
Raigemont  (miles  auratus),  in  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the 
First,  who  appeai-s  to  have  greatly  distinguished  himself  at  the 
siege  of  Kaerlaveroc,  with  William,  Baron  of  Leybourne.  In 
an  ancient  heraldic  poem,  now  extant,  and  preserved  in  the 
British  Museum,  describing  that  siege,i  his  arms  are  stated  to 
be.  Or,  2  Bars  Gemelles  Gules,  and  a  chief  Or,  the  same  borne 
by  his  descendants  at  the  present  day.  The  Richmonds  re- 
moved to  their  castle  of  Highhead  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the 
Eighth,  when  the  then  rej)resentative  of  the  family  married 
Margaret,  daughter  of  Sir  Hugh  Lowther,  by  the  Lady  Doro- 
thy de  Ciiftbrd,  only  child  by  a  second  marriage  of  Henry  Lord 
Clifl!brd,  great-grandson  of  John  Lord  Clifford,  by  Elizabeth 
Percy,  daughter  of  Henry  Csurnamed  Hotspur),  by  Elizabeth 

1  This  Poem  has  been  recently  edited  by  Sir  Nicolas  Harris  Nicholas, 
lb33. 


Mortimer,  which  said  Elizabeth  was  daughter  of  Edn  (d  Mor- 
timer, third  Earl  of  Marche,  by  Philippa,  sole  daughter  and 
heiress  of  Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence. 

The  third  in  descent  from  the  above-mentioned  John  Rich- 
mond, became  the  representative  of  the  families  of  Vaux,  of 
Triermain,  Caterlen,  and  Torcrossock,  by  his  marriage  with 
Mabel  de  Vaux,  tlie  heiress  of  them.  His  grandson,  Henry 
Richmond,  died  without  issue,  leaving  five  sisters  co-heiresses, 
four  of  whom  man-ied ;  but  Margaret,  who  married  William 
Gale,  Esq.,  of  Whitehaven,  was  the  only  one  who  had  male 
issue  surviving.  She  had  a  son,  and  a  daughter  married  to  Hen 
ry  Curwen  of  Workington,  Esq.,  who  represented  the  county 
of  Cumberland  for  many  years  in  Parliament,  and  by  her  had 
a  daughter  married  to  John  Christian,  Esq.  (now  Curwen). 
John,  son  and  heir  of  William  Gale,  married  i^arah,  daughter 
and  heiress  of  Christopher  W^ilson  of  Bardsea  Hall,  in  the 
county  of  Lancaster,  by  Margaret,  aunt  and  co-heiress  of  Thom- 
as Braddyl,  Esq.,  of  Braddyl,  and  Conishead  Priory  in  the 
same  county,  and  had  issue  four  sons  and  two  daughters.  1st, 
William  Wilson,  died  an  infant ;  2d,  Wilson,  who,  upon  the 
death  of  his  cousin,  Thomas  Braddyl,  without  issue,  succeeded 
to  liis  estates,  and  took  the  name  of  Braddyl,  in  pursuance  of 
his  will,  by  the  King's  sign-manual  ;  3d,  William,  died  young  ; 
and,  4tli,  Henry  Richmond,  a  lieutenant-general  of  the  army, 
married  Sarah,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  R.  Baldwin  ;  Margaret 
married  Richard  Greaves  Townley,  Esq.,  of  Fnlbourne,  in  the 
county  of  Cambridge,  and  of  Bellfield,  in  the  county  of  Lan- 
caster ;  Sarah  married  to  George  Bigland  of  Bigland  Hall,  in 
the  same  county.  Wilson  Braddyl,  eldest  son  of  John  Gale, 
and  grandson  of  Margaret  Richmond,  married  Jane,  daughter 
and  heiress  of  Matthias  Gale,  Esq.,  of  Catgill  Hall,  in  the 
county  of  Cumberland,  by  Jane,  daughter  and  heiress  of  the 
Rev.  S.  Bennet,  D.  D. ;  and,  as  the  eldest  surviving  male 
branch  of  t;;e  families  above  mentioned,  he  quarters,  in  addi- 
tion to  his  own,  their  paternal  coats  in  the  following  order,  as 
appears  by  the  records  in  the  College  of  Arms.  Ist,  Argent, 
a  fess  azure,  between  3  saltiers  of  the  same,  charged  with  an 
anchor  between  2  lions'  heads  erased,  or, — Gale,  "i^,  Or,  2 
bars  gemelles  gules,  and  a  chief  or, — Richmond.  3d,  Or,  a 
fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between  9  gerbes  gules, — Vaux  of 
Caterlen.  4lli,  Gules,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between 
6  gerbes  or, — Vaux  of  Torcrossock.  5th,  Argent  (not  vert,  as 
stated  by  Burn),  a  bend  chequey,  or  and  gules,  for  Vaux  of 
Triermain.  6th,  Gules,  a  cross  patonce,  or, — Delamore.  7th, 
Gules,  6  lions  rampant  argent,  3,  2,  and  1, — Leybourne. — This 
more  detailed  genealogy  of  the  family  of  Triermain  was  obli- 
gingly sent  to  the  author  by  Major  Braddyll  of  Conishead 
Priory. 


ISTOTE  C. 


He  pass'd  red  PenritJi's  Table  Round. — P.  385. 

A  circular  intrenchment,  about  half  a  mile  from  Penrith,  is 
thus  popularly  termed.  The  circle  within  the  ditch  is  about 
one  hundred  and  sixty  pacet  in  circumference,  with  openings 
or  approaches,  directly  opposite  to  each  other.  As  the  ditch 
is  on  the  inner  side,  it  could  not  b"  i'xtendeJ  for  the  purpose  of 
defence,  and  it  has  reasonably  been  o^njectur^d,  that  the  en- 
closure was  designed  for  the  solemn  exercise  of  feats  of  chiv- 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


411 


alrj,  and  the  embankment  around  for  the  convenience  of  the 
•pectators. 


Note  D. 


Mayhurgh' s  vwuiid. — P.  385. 

Higher  u))  the  river  Eamont  than  Arthur's  Round  Table,  is 
a  prodigious  enclosure  of  great  antiquity,  formed  by  a  collec- 
tion of  stones  upon  the  top  of  a  gently  sloping  hill,  called  May- 
burgh.  In  the  plain  which  it  encloses  there  stands  erect  an 
nnhewn  stone  of  twelve  feet  in  height.  Two  similar  masses 
are  said  to  have  been  destroyed  during  the  memory  of  man. 
The  whole  appears  to  be  a  monument  of  Druidical  times. 


Note  E. 


The  monarch,  breathless  and  amazed, 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

JVor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy. 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky. — P.  390. 

— — "  We  now  gained  a  view  of  the  Vale  of  St.  John's,  a 
very  narrow  dell,  hemmed  in  by  mountains,  through  which  a 
small  brook  makes  many  meanderings,  washing  little  enclo- 
sures of  grass-ground,  which  stretch  up  the  rising  of  the  hills. 
In  the  widest  part  of  the  dale  you  are  struck  with  the  appear- 
ance of  an  ancient  ruined  castle,  which  seems  to  stand  upon 
the  summit  of  a  little  mount,  the  mountains  around  forming 
an  amphitheatre.  This  massive  bulwark  shows  a  front  of  va- 
rious towers,  and  makes  an  awful,  rude,  and  Gothic  appear 
ance,  with  its  lofty  turrets  and  ragged  battlements  ;  we  traced 
the  galleries,  the  bending  arches,  the  buttresses.  The  greatest 
antiquity  stands  characterized  in  its  architecture  ;  the  inhabit- 
ants near  it  assert  it  as  an  antediluvian  structure. 

"The  traveller's  curiosity  is  roused,  and  he  prepares  to 
make  a  nearer  approach,  when  that  curiosity  is  put  upon  the 
rack,  by  his  being  assured,  that,  if  he  advances,  certain  genii 
who  govern  the  place,  by  virtue  of  their  supernatural  art  and 
necromancy,  will  strip  it  of  all  its  beauties,  and,  by  enchant- 
ment, transform  the  magic  walls.  The  vale  seems  adapted 
for  the  habitation  of  such  beings  ;  its  gloomy  recesses  and  re- 
tirements look  like  haunts  of  evil  spirits.  There  was  no  de- 
lusion in  the  report  ;  we  were  soon  convinced  of  its  truth  ;  for 
this  piece  of  antiquity,  so  venerable  and  noble  in  its  aspect,  as 
we  drew  near,  changed  its  figure,  and  proved  no  other  than  a 
shaken  massive  pile  of  rocks,  which  stand  in  the  midst  of  this 
little  vale,  disunited  from  the  adjoining  mountains,  and  have 
BO  much  the  real  form  and  resemblance  of  a  castle,  that  they 
bear  the  name  of  the  Castle  Rocks  of  St.  John." — Hutchin- 
son's Excursion  to  the  Lakes,  p.  121. 


Note  F. 


The  flower  of  Chivalry. 
There  Oalaad  sate  with  manly  grace, 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face; 


There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace. 
And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there.- 


-P.  391. 


The  characters  named  in  the  stanza  are  all  of  them  more  o 
less  distinguished  in  the  romances  which  treat  of  King  Arthur 
and  his  Round  Table,  an<l  their  names  are  strung  together 
according  to  the  establislied  custom  of  minstrels  upon  such 
occasions  ;  for  example,  in  the  ballad  of  the  Marriage  of  Sir 
Gawaine : — 

"  Sir  Lancelot,  Sir  Stephen  bolde, 
They  rode  with  them  that  daye, 
And,  foremost  of  the  companye, 
There  rode  the  slewarde  Kaye. 

"  See  did  ?ir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 
And,  eke  Sir  Garratte  keen. 
Sir  Tristrem  too,  that  gentle  knight. 
To  the  forest  fresh  and  greene." 


Note  6. 


Lancelot,  that  ever  more 

Looked  stolen-wise  on  the  Queen. — P.  391. 

Upon  this  delicate  subject  hear  Richard  Robinson,  citizen 
of  London,  in  his  Assertion  of  King  Arthur  : — "  But  as  it  is  a 
thing  sufficiently  apparent  that  she  (Guenever,  wife  of  King 
Arthur)  was  beautiful,  so  it  is  a  thing  doubted  whether  she 
was  chaste,  yea  or  no.  Truly,  so  far  as  I  can  witli  honestie,  I 
would  spare  the  impayred  honour  and  fame  of  noble  women. 
But  yet  the  trutli  of  the  historic  pluckes  me  by  the  eare,  and 
willeth  not  onely,  but  commandeth  me  to  declare  what  the 
ancients  have  deemed  of  her.  To  wrestle  or  contend  with  so 
great  authoritie  were  indeede  nnto  mei  a  xontroversis,  and 
that  greate." — Assertio7i  of  King  Arthur c.  Imprinted  hy 
John  Wolfe,  London^  15S2. 


Note  H. 

There  were  two  who  loved  their  na'ghbor's  wives, 
And  one  who  loved  his  own. — P.  392. 

"In  our  forefathers'  tyme,  when  Papistrie,  as  a  standyng 
poole,  covered  and  overflowed  all  England,  fewe  books  were 
read  in  our  tongue,  savying  certaine  bookes  of  chevalrie,  aa 
they  said,  for  pastime  and  pleasure  ;  which,  as  some  saj',  were 
made  in  the  monasteries,  by  idle  monks  or  wanton  chanons. 
As  one,  fore.\ample.  La  Morte  d'Arthiirc  ;  the  whole  pleas- 
ure of  which  book  standeth  in  two  speciall  poynts,  in  open 
manslaughter  and  bold  bawdrye  ;  in  which  booke  they  be 
counted  the  noblest  knightes  that  do  kill  most  men  without 
any  quarrell,  and  commit  fowlest  adoulteries  by  sullest  shiftes ; 
as  Sir  Launcelot,  with  the  wife  of  King  Arthur,  his  master; 
Sir  Tristram,  with  the  w'fe  of  King  Marke,  his  uncle ;  Sir 
Lamerocke,  with  the  wife  of  King  Lote,  tliat  was  his  own 
aunt.  This  is  good  stufte  for  wise  men  to  laugh  at ;  or  honest 
men  to  take  pleasure  at :  yet  I  know  when  God's  Bible  was 
banished  the  Court,  and  La  Morte  d'Arthure  received  into  Uie 
Prince's  chamber." — Ascham's  Schoolmaster, 


^l)c  €oxh  of  ll)c  30U0: 


A  POEM,  IN"  SIX  CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

The  composition  of  "  The  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  as 
we  now  have  it  in  the  Author's  MS.,  seems  to  have 
been  begun  at  Abbotsford,  in  the  autumn  of  1814, 
and  it  ended  at  Edinbm-gh  the  16th  of  December. 
Some  part  of  Canto  I.  had  probably  been  com- 
mitted to  writmg  in  a  rougher  form  earlier  in  the 
year.  The  original  quarto  ajspeared  on  the  2d  of 
January,  1815.' 

It  may  be  mentioned,  that  tliose  parts  of  this 
Poem  which  were  written  at  Abbotsford,  were 
composed  ahnost  all  in  the  presence  of  Sir  "Walter 
Scott's  family,  and  many  in  that  of  casual  visitors 
also :  the  original  cottage  which  he  then  occupied 
not  affording  liim  any  means  of  retkement.  Nei- 
ther conversation  nor  music  seemed  to  disturb  him. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1833. 

I  COULD  hardly  have  chosen  a  subject  more  pop- 
ular in  Scotland,  than  any  tiling  connected  with 
the  Bruce's  history,  unless  I  had  attempted  that 
of  Wallace.  But  I  am  decidedly  of  opinion,  that  a 
popular,  or  what  is  called  a  taking  title,  though 
well  qualified  to  ensure  the  publishers  against  loss> 
and  clear  their  shelves  of  the  original  impression, 
is  rather  apt  to  be  hazardous  than  otherwise  to  the 
reputation  of  the  author.  He  who  attempts  a  sub- 
ject of  distinguished  popularity,  has  not  the  privi- 
lege of  awakening  the  enthusiasm  of  his  audience ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  akeady  awakened,  and  glows, 
it  may  be,  more  ardently  than  that  of  the  author 
himself  Li  tliis  case,  the  warmth  of  the  author  is 
inferior  to  that  of  the  party  whom  he  addresses, 
who  has,  therefore,  little  chance  of  being,  in  Bayes's 
phrase,  "  elevated  and  surprised"  by  what  he  has 
thought  of  with  more  enthusiasm  than  the  writer. 
The  sense  of  this  risk,  joined  to  the  consciousness 

1  Pablislied  by  Arcliibald  Constable  and  Co.,  £2  2s. 

2  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Journal  of  this  voyage,  some  fragments 
of  which  were  printed  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for 
J814,  is  now  given  entire  in  his  Life  by  Lockhart,  vol.  iv. 
oliap.  28-32. 

s  Harriet,  Duchess  of  Bnccleneh,  died  24tli  August,  1814. 
Sir  Walter  Pcott  received   the  mournful   intelligence  while 


of  striving  against  wind  and  tide,  made  the  task  of 
composing  the  proposed  Poem  somewhat  heavy 
and  hopeless;  but,  hke  the  prize-fighter  in  "As 
You  Like  it,"  I  was  to  wrestle  for  my  reputation, 
and  not  neglect  any  advantage.  In  a  most  agree- 
able pleasure-voyage,  which  I  have  tried  to  com- 
memorate in  the  Introduction  to  the  new  edition 
of  the  "  Pirate,"  I  visited,  in  social  and  friendly 
company,''  the  coasts  and  islands  of  Scotland,  and 
made  myself  acquainted  with  the  localities  of  which 
I  meant  to  treat.  But  this  voyage,  which  was  in 
every  other  effect  so  dehghtful,  was  in  its  conclu- 
sion saddened  by  one  of  those  strokes  of  fate  wliich 
so  often  mingle  themselves  with  our  pleastires. 
The  accomplished  and  excellent  person  who  had 
recommended  to  me  the  subject  for  "  The  Lay  of 
the  Last  Mnstrel,"  and  to  whom  I  proposed  to  in- 
scribe what  I  already  suspected  might  be  the  close 
of  my  poetical  labors,  was  miexpectedly  removed 
from  the  world,  which  she  seemed  only  to  have 
visited  for  purposes  of  kindness  and  benevolence. 
It  is  needless  to  say  how  the  author's  feelings,  or 
the  composition  of  his  trifhng  work,  were  affected 
by  a  circumstance  which  occasioned  so  many  tears 
and  so  much  sorrow.'  True  it  is,  that  "  The  Lord 
of  the  Isles"  was  concluded,  unwillingly  and  in 
haste,  under  the  painfid  feeling  of  one  who  has  a 
task  wliich  must  be  finished,  rather  than  with  the 
ardor  of  one  who  endeavors  to  perform  that  task 
well.  Although  the  Poem  cannot  be  said  to  have 
made  a  favorable  impression  on  the  public,  the  sale 
of  fifteen  thousand  copies  enabled  the  author  to 
retreat  from  the  field  with  the  honors  of  war.* 

In  the  mean  time,  what  was  necessarily  to  be 
considered  as  a  failure,  was  much  reconciled  to  my 
feelings  by  the  success  attendmg  my  attempt  in 
another  species  of  composition.  "  "Waverley"  liad, 
under  strict  incognito,  taken  its  flight  fi-om  the 
press,  just  before  I  set  out  upon  the  voyage  already 
mentioned ;  it  had  now  made  its  way  to  popularity, 
and  the  success  of  that  work  and  the  volimies 

visiting    the    Giant's  Causeway,   and    immediately   returned 
home. 

*  "  As  Scott  passed  through  Edinburgh  on  his  return  from  his 
voyage,  the  negotiation  as  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  which  had 
been  protracted  through  several  months,  was  completed — 
Constable  agreeing  to  give  fifteen  hundred  guineas  for  one-half 
of  the  copyright,  while  tlie  other  moiety  was  retained  by  tha 
author."-  -Zife,  vol.  iv.  p.  394. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


413 


wbicli  followed,  was  sufficient  to  have  satisfied  a 
greater  appetite  for  applause  than  I  have  at  any 
time  possessed.' 

I  may  as  well  add  in  this  place,  that,  being 
much  urged  by  my  intimate  friend,  now  unhaj^pily 
no  more,  William  Erskine  (a  Scottish  judge,  by 
the  title  of  Lord  Kinedder),  I  agi-eed  to  write  the 
little  romantic  tale  called  the  "Bridal  of  Trier- 
main;"  but  it  was  on  the  condition,  that  he  shoidd 
make  no  serious  effort  to  disown  the  composition, 
if  report  should  lay  it  at  his  door.  As  he  was 
more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  as 
T  took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something 
which  might  resemble  (as  far  as  was  in  my  power) 
my  friend's  feeling  and  manner,  the  train  easily 
caught,  and  two  large  editions  were  sold.  A  tliird 
being  called  for.  Lord  Kinedder  became  unwilling 
to  aid  any  longer  a  deception  which  was  going  far- 
ther than  he  expected  or  desired,  and  the  real  au- 
thor's name  was  given.  Upon  another  occasion,  I 
sent  up  another  of  these  trifles,  which,  like  school- 
boys' kites,  served  to  show  how  the  wind  of  popu- 
lar taste  was  setting.     The  manner  was  supposed 

1  The  first  edition  of  Waverley  appeared  in  July,  1814. 

2  "  Harold  the  Dauntless"  was  first  published  iu  a  small 
iSmo  volume,  January,  1817. 


to  be  that  of  a  rude  minstrel  or  Scald,  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  "  Bridal  of  Triermain,"  wliich  was  de- 
signed to  belong  rather  to  the  ItaUan  school  Thi.^ 
new  fugitive  piece  was  called  "  Harold  the  Daunt- 
less;"' and  I  am  still  astonished  at  my  having 
committed  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very 
n.ame  wliich  Lord  Byron  had  made  so  famous.  It 
encountered  rather  an  odd  fate,  ily  ingenious 
friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg,  had  published  about  the 
same  time,  a  work  called  the  "  Poetic  Mirror,"  con- 
tainmg  imitations  of  the  principal  living  poets.' 
There  was  m  it  a  very  good  imitation  of  my  own 
style,  which  bore  such  a  resemblance  to  "  Harold 
the  Dauntless,"  that  there  was  no  discovering  the 
original  from  the  imitation;  and  I  believe  that 
many  who  took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the 
subject,  were  rather  of  opinion  that  my  ingenious 
friend  was  the  true,  and  not  the  fictitious  Simon 
Pure.  Smce  tliis  period,  which  was  in  the  year 
1817,  the  Author  has  not  been  an  intruder  on  the 
public  by  any  poetical  work  of  importance. 

W.  S. 
Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830. 

s  Mr.  Hogg's  "  Poetic  Mirror"  appeared  in  October,  1810. 


I'l'iffi  T^m*maai 


414 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


®l)c  Corir  of  tl)e  Mks. 


ADVERTISEMENT    TO    THE    FIRST    EDITION. 


Tfw  scene  of  this  Poem  lies,  at  first,  in  the  Castle  of  Artornish,  on  the  coast  of  Argyleshire  ;  and, 
afterwards,  in  the  Islands  of  Skye  and  Arran,  and  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire.  Finally,  it  is  laid 
near  Stirling.  The  story  opens  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1307,  ichen  Bruce,  who  had  heen  driven  out  of 
Scotland  by  the  English,  and  the  Barons  ivho  adhered  to  that  foreign,  interest,  returned  from  the  Island 
of  Rachrin,  on  the  coast  of  Ireland,  again  to  assert  his  claims  to  th^e  Scottish  crown.  Many  of  the  per^ 
sonages  and  incidents  introduced  are  of  historical  celebrity.  The  authorities  used  are  chiefly  those  of 
the  venerable  Lord  Hailes,  as  well  entitled  to  be  called  the  restorer  of  Scottish  history,  as  Bruce  the  re- 
storer of  Scottish  monarchy  ;  and  of  Archdeacon  Barbour,  a  correct  edition  of  whose  Metrical  History 
of  Robert  Bruce^  icill  soon,  I  trust,  appear,  wider  the  care  of  my  learned  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jamieson. 

Abbotsfoed,  10th  December,  1814.* 


1  The  work  alluded  to  appeared  in  1820,  under  the  title  of 
"  The  Bruce  and  Wallace."     2  vols.  4to. 

2  "  Here  is  another  genuine  lay  of  the  great  Minstrel,  with 
all  his  characteristic  faults,  beauties,  and  irregularities.  The 
same  glow  of  coloring — the  same  energy  of  narration — the 
same  amplitude  of  description,  are  conspicuous  here,  which 
distinguish  all  his  other  productions :  with  the  same  still  more 
characteristic  disdain  of  puny  graces  and  small  originalities — 
the  true  poetical  hardihood,  in  the  strength  of  which  he  urges 
on  his  Pegasus  fearlessly  through  dense  and  rare,  and  aiming 
gallantly  at  the  great  ends  of  truth  and  effect,  stoops  but  rarely 
to  study  the  means  by  which  they  are  to  be  attained — avails 
himself,  without  scruple,  of  common  sentiments  and  common 
images  wherever  they  seem  fitted  for  his  purposes — and  is  origi- 
nal by  the  very  boldness  of  his  borrowing,  and  impressive  by 
his  disregard  of  epigram  and  ernpliasis. 

"  Though  bearing  all  these  marks  of  the  master's  hand,  the 
work  before  us  does  not  come  up,  in  interest,  to  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake,  or  even  to  Marmion.  There  is  less  connected  story  ; 
and,  what  there  is,  is  less  skilfully  complicated  and  disen- 
tangled, and  less  diversified  with  change  of  scene,  or  variety  of 
character.  In  the  scantiness  of  the  naiTative,  and  the  broken 
and  discontinuous  order  of  the  events,  as  well  as  the  inartificial 
insertion  of  detached  descriptions  and  morsels  of  ethical  reflec- 
tion, it  bears  more  resemblance  to  the  earliest  of  the  author's 
greater  productions  ;  and  suggests  a  comparison,  perhaps  not 
altogether  to  his  advantage,  with  the  structure  and  execution 
of  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel : — for  though  there  is  probably 
more  force  and  substance  in  the  latter  parts  of  the  present  work, 
it  is  certainly  inferior  to  that  enchanting  performance  in  deli- 
cacy and  sweetness,  and  even — is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  after 
four  such  publications  ? — in  originality. 

"The  title  of 'The  Lord  of  *,he  Isles'  has  been  adopted,  we 


presume,  to  match  that  of  '  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  ;'  but  there 
is  no  analogy  in  the  stories — nor  does  the  title,  on  this  occasion, 
correspond  very  exactly  with  the  contents.  It  is  no  unusual 
misfortune,  indeed,  for  the  author  of  a  modern  Epic  to  have 
his  hero  turn  out  but  a  secondary  personage,  in  the  gradual 
unfolding  of  the  story,  while  some  unruly  underling  runs  off" 
with  the  whole  glory  and  interest  of  the  poem.  But  here  the 
author,  we  conceive,  must  have  been  aware  of  the  misnomer 
from  the  beginning ;  the  true,  and  indeed  the  ostensible  hero 
being,  from  the  very  first,  no  less  a  person  than  King  Robert 
Bruce." — Edinhnrnh  Review,  No.  .\lviii.  1815. 

"  If  it  be  possible  for  a  poet  to  bestow  upon  his  writings  a 
superfluous  degree  of  care  and  correction,  it  may  also  be  i)os- 
sible,  we  should  suppose,  to  bestow  too  little.  Whether  this 
be  the  case  in  the  poem  before  us,  is  a  point  upon  which  Mr. 
Scott  can  possibly  form  a  much  more  competent  judgment  than 
ourselves ;  we  can  only  say,  that  without  possessing  greatejr 
beauties  than  its  predecessors,  it  has  certain  violations  of  pro- 
priety, both  in  the  language  and  in  the  composition  of  the  story, 
of  which  the  former  efforts  of  his  muse  afforded  neither  so 
many  nor  such  sti'iking  examples. 

"  We  have  not  now  any  quarrel  with  Mr.  Scott  on  account 
of  the  measure  which  he  has  chosen;  still  less  on  account  of 
his  subjects ;  we  believe  that  they  are  both  of  them  not  only 
pleasing  in  themselves,  but  well  adapted  to  each  other,  and 
to  the  bent  of  his  peculiar  genius.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  be- 
cause we  admire  his  genius,  and  are  partial  to  the  subjects 
which  he  delights  in,  that  we  so  much  regret  he  should  leave 
room  for  any  difference  of  opinion  respecting  them,  merely 
from  not  bestowing  upon  his  publications  that  common  degree 
of  labor  and  meditation  which  we  cannot  help  saying  it  ia 
scarcely  decorous  to  withhold." — Qxtarterly  Review,  N*.. 
.\xvi.     July,  1815. 


CANTO  I, 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


415 


^Ijc  Cori)  of  tljc  Jsles. 


CANTO   FIRST. 


Autumn  departs — but  still  his  mantle's  fold 
Rests  on  the  groves  of  noble  Somerville,' 
Beneath  a  shroud  of  russet  dropp'd  with  gold 
Tweed  and  his  tributaries  mingle  still ; 
Hoarser  the  wind,  and  deeper  sounds  the  rill, 
Yet  Ungeriug  notes  of  silvan  music  swell, 
The  deep-toned  cushat,  and  the  redbreast  shrill ; 
And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendor  tell 
When  the  broad  sun  sinks  down  on  Ettrick's  wes- 
tern fell. 

Autumn  departs — from  Gala's''  fields  no  more 
Come  rural  sounds  our  kindred  banks  to  cheer ; 
Blent  with  the  stream,  and  gale  that  wafts  it 

o'er, 
No  more  the  distant  reaper's  mirth  we  hear. 
The  last  bUthe  shout  hath  died  upon  our  ear. 
And    harvest-home  hath  hush'd  the   clanging 

wain, 
On  the  waste  hill  no  forms  of  hfe  appear. 
Save  where,  sad  laggard  of  the  autumnal  train, 
Some  age-struck  wanderer  gleans  few  ears  of  scat- 

ter'd  grain. 

Deem'st  thou  these  sadden'd  scenes  have  pleas- 
ure still, 
Lovest  thou  tlu'ough  Autumn's  fading  realms  to 

stray. 
To  see  the  heath-flower  wither'd  on  the  hill. 
To  Usten  to  the  wood's  expu-iug  lay, 
To  note  the  red  leaf  sliivering  on  the  spray, 
To  mark  the  last  bright  tints  the  mountain  stain, 
On  the  waste  iields  to  trace  the  gleaner's  way. 
And  moralize  on  mortal  joy  and  pain  ? — 
Oh !  if  such  scenes  thou  lovest,  scorn  not  the  min- 
strel strain. 

No !  do  not  scorn,  although  its  hoarser  note 
Scarce  with  the  cushat's  homely  song  can  vie, 
Though  faint  its  beauties  as  the  tints  remote 
That  gleam  through  mist  in  Autumn's  evening 

sky, 
And  fe-R-  as  leaves  that  tremble,  sear  and  dry, 

1  John,  fifteenth  Lord  Somerville,  illustrious  for  his  patriotic 
devotion  to  the  science  of  agriculture,  resided  frequently  in  his 
beautiful  villa  called  the  Pavilion,  situated  on  the  Tweed  over 
against  Melrose,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  and  almost  daily 
companion  of  the  poet,  from  whose  windows  at  Abbotsford 
j  his  lordship's  plantations  formed  a  prominent  object.  Lord  S. 
'      die.;  In  1819. 

-  The  river  Gala,  famous  in  song,  flows  into  the  Tweed  a 
few  Hundred  yards  below  Abbotsford  :  but  probably  the  word 


When  wild  November  hath  his  bugle  wound ; 
Nor  mock  my  toil — a  lonely  gleaner  I,' 
TTu-ough   fields  time-wasted,   on   sad   inquest 

bound. 
Where  happier  bards  of  yore  have  richer  harvest 

foimd. 

So  shalt  thou  list,  and  haply  not  unmoved, 
To  a  wild  tale  of  Albyns  warrior  day  ; 
In  distant  lands,  by  the  rough  West  reproved, 
Still  five  some  relics  of  the  ancient  lay. 
For,  when  on  Coolin's  lulls  the  lights  decay, 
With  such  the  Seer  of  Skye"  the  eve  beguiles ; 
'Tis  known  amid  the  pathless  wastes  of  Reay, 
In  Har-ries  known,  and  in  lona's  piles. 
Where  rest  from  mortal  coil  the  Mighty  of  the 
Isles. 


"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !"  the  Minstrels  sung. 

Thy  rugged  halls,  Ai-tornish !  rung,^ 

And  the  dark  seas,  thy  towers  that  lave, 

Heaved  on  the  beach  a  softer  wave. 

As  'mid  the  ttmeful  choir  to  keep 

The  diapason  of  the  Deep. 

Lull'd  were  the  winds  on  Iiminmore, 

And  green  Loch-Alline's  woodland  shore, 

As  if  wild  woods  and  waves  had  pleasure 

In  listing  to  the  lovely  measure. 

And  ne'er  to  symphony  more  sweet 

Gave  mountain  eclioes*  answer  meet. 

Since,  met  from  mainland  and  fi-om  isle, 

Ross,  Arran,  Hay,  and  Argyle, 

Each  minstrel's  tributary  lay 

Paid  homage  to  the  festal  day. 

Dull  and  dishonor'd  were  the  bard, 

Wortliless  of  guerdon  and  regard. 

Deaf  to  the  hope  of  minstrel  fame, 

Or  lady's  smiles,  his  noblest  aim, 

"WTio  on  that  morn's  resistless  call 

Were  silent  in  Artornish  haU. 

II. 
"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !"'  'twas  thus  they  simir, 
And  yet  more  proud  the  descant  rung, 
"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !  high  right  is  ours, 
To  charm  dull  sleep'  from  Beauty's  bowers  ; 
Earth,  Ocean,  Aii",  have  naught  so  shy 

Gala  liere  stands  for  the  poet's  neighbor  and  kinsman,  and 
much  attached  friend,  John  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Gala. 

-  JIS. "  an  humble  gleaner  I." 

••  MS. "  the  aged  of  Skye." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

e  MS. — "  Made  mountain  echoes,"&c. 

7  MS. "for  right  is  ours 

To  summon  sleej),"  &c. 


41G 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAKTO  I. 


"1 


But  owns  the  power  of  minstrelsy. 

In  Lettermore  the  tunid  deer 

Will  pause,   the   harjj's  wild  chime   to 

hear ; 
Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark 
"Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark ;' 
To  Ust  his  notes,  the  eagle  proud 
Will  poise  him  on  Ben-CaUhach's  cloud; 
Then  let  not  Maiden's  ear  disdain 
The  summous  of  the  minstrel  train. 
But,  while  our  harps  wild  music  make, 
Edith  of  Lorn,  awake,  awake  1 

III. 
"  0  wake,  while  Dawn,  with  dewy  sliine, 
Wakes  Nature's  cliarms  to  vie  with  thine ! 
She  bids  the  mottled  thrush  rejoice 
To  mate  thy  melody  of  voice  ; 
The  dew  that  on  the  violet  lies 
Mocks  the  dark  lustre  of  thine  eyes ; 
But,  Edith,  wake,  and  all  we  see 
Of  sweet  and  fair  shall  yield  to  thee !" — 
"  She  comes  not  yet,"  gray  Ferrand  cried ; 
"  Brethren,  let  softer  spell  be  tried. 
Those  notes  prolong'd,  that  soothing  theme. 
Which  best  may  mix  with  Beauty's  dream, 
And  whisjoer,  with  then  silvery  tone. 
The  hope  she  loves,  yet  fears  to  own." 
He  spoke,  and  on  the  harp-strings  died 
The  strains  of  flattery  and  of  pride ; 
More  soft,  more  low,  more  tender  fell 
The  lay  of  love  he  bade  them  tell. 

IV. 

Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !  the  moments  fly, 
Which  yet  tliat  maiden-name  allow ; 
Wake,  Maiden,  wake  !  the  hour  is  nigh, 
Mlien   Love   shall   claim   a  plighted 
vow. 
By  Fear,  thy  bosom's  fluttering  guest. 

By  hope,  that  soon  shall  fears  remove, 
We  bid  thee  break  the  bonds  of  rest, 
And  wake  thee  at  the  call  of  Love ! 

"  Wake,  Edith,  wake !  m  yonder  bay 

Lies  many  a  galley  gayly  mann'd. 
We  hear  the  merry  pibrochs  play. 

We  see  the  streamers'  silken  band. 
Wliat   Chieftain's  praise   these  pibroclia 
swell, 

Wliat  crest  is  on  these  banners  wove, 
The  harp,  the  minstrel,  dare  not  tell — 

The  riddle  must  be  read  by  Love." 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

*MS. — '  Retired  amid  her  menial  train, 

Edith  of  Loni  received  the  strain." 


V. 

Retired  her  maiden  train  among, 
Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  song,^ 
But  tamed  the  minstrel's  pride  had  been 
That  had  her  cold  demeanor  seen ; 
For  not  upon  her  cheek  awoke 
The  glow  of  pride  when  Flattery  spoke, 
Nor  could  their  tenderest  numbers  bring 
One  sigh  responsive  to  the  string. 
As  vainly  had  her  maidens  vied 
In  skill  to  deck  the  princely  bride. 
Her  locks,  in  dark-brown  length  array'd, 
Cathleen  of  Ulne,  'twas  thine  to  braid ; 
Young  Eva  with  meet  reverence  drew 
On  the  light  foot  the  silken  shoe, 
WliUe  on  the  ankle's  slender  round 
Those  strings  of  pearl  fail-  Bertha  wound, 
That,  bleach'd  Lochryan's  depths  within, 
Seem'd  dusky  still  on  Edith's  skin. 
But  Einion,  of  experience  old. 
Had  weightiest  task — the  mantle's  fold 
In  many  an  artfulplait  she  tied, 
To  show  the  form  it  seem'd  to  hide. 
Till  on  the  floor  descending  roU'd^ 
Its  waves  of  crimson  blent  with  gold. 

VL 

O !  lives  there  now  so  cold  a  maid, 
"VVTio  thus  in  beauty's  pomp  array'd. 
In  beauty's  proudest  pitch  of  power, 
And  conquest  won — the  bridal  hour — 
With  every  charm  that  wins  the  heart. 
By  Nature  given,  enhanced  by  Art, 
Could  yet  the  fair  reflection  view. 
In  the  bright  mirror  pictured  true. 
And  not  one  dimple  on  her  cheek 
A  tell-tale  consciousness  bespeak  ? — 
Lives  stLU  such  maid  ? — Fan-  damsels,  say, 
For  further  vouches  not  my  lay. 
Save  that  such  lived  in  Britain's  isle. 
When  Lorn's  bright  Edith  scorn'd  to  smile. 

VIL 

But  Morag,  to  whose  fostering  care 

Proud  Lorn  had  given  his  daughter  fair, 

Morag,  who  saw  a  mother's  aid* 

By  all  a  daughter's  love  repaid, 

(Strict  was  that  bond — most  kind  of  aU— 

Inviolate  in  Highland  hall) — 

Gray  Morag  sate  a  space  apart. 

In  Edith's  eyes  to  read  her  heart. 

In  vain  the  attendants'  fond  appeal 

To  Morag's  skill,  to  Morag's  zeal ; 

3  MS. — "  The  train  upon  the  pavement  )  fl„™>j  »r 
Then  to  the  floor  descending    1 

*  MS. — "  But  Morag,  who  the  maid  had  press'd. 
An  infant,  to  her  fostering  breast, 
And  seen  a  mother's  early  aid,"  &c. 


_1 


CANTO  I. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


4U 


She  mark'd  her  child  receive  their  care, 

Tct,  empress  of  this  joyful  day. 

Cold  as  the  hnage  sculpt  ui'ed  ftiir 

Edith  is  sad  while  all  are  gay." — 

(Form  of  some  sainted  patroness), 

"Which  cloister'd  maids  combine  to  dress ; 

IX. 

She  mark'd — and  knew  her  nm-sling's  heart 

Proud  Edith's  soul  came  to  her  eye, 

In  the  Yain  pomp  took  httle  part. 

Resentment  check'd  the  struggling  sigh. 

Wistful  a  wliile  she  gazed — then  press'd 

Her  hurrying  hand  indignant  dried 

The  maiden  to  her  anxious  breast 

The  burning  tears  of  injured  pride — 

In  finish'd  loveliness — and  led 
To  where  a  turret's  airy  head, 

"  Morag,  forbear !  or  lend  thy  praise 

To  swell  yon  hireling  liarpers'  lays; 

Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  roimd, 

Make  to  yon  maids  thy  boast  of  power, 

O'erlook'd,  dark  MuU  !  thy  mighty  Sound,' 

That  they  may  waste  a  wondering  hour, 

Where    thwarting    tides,    with    mingled 

Telling  of  banners  ]Dr(judly  borne, 

roar. 

Of  pealing  bell  and  bugle-horn. 

Part  thy  swarth  hUls  from  Morven's  shore. 

Or,  theme  more  dear,  of  robes  of  price. 

Crownlets  and  gauds  of  rare  device. 

VIII. 

But  thou,  experienced  as  thou  art," 

"  Daughter,"  she  said,  "  these  seas  behold. 

Tliink'st  thou  with  these  to  cheat  the  heart, 

Roimd  twice  a  hundred  islands  roll'd. 

Tliat,  bound  in  strong  affection's  chain, 

From  Hirt,  that  hears  tlieh  northern  roar. 

Looks  for  return,  and  looks  in  vain  ? 

To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore  f 

N'o !  sum  thine  Edith's  wretched  lot 

Or  mainland  tm-n,  where  many  a  tower 

In  these  brief  words — He  loves  her  not ! 

Owns  thy  bold  brother's  feudal  power,^ 

Each  on  its  own  dark  cape  recUned, 

X. 

And  hstening  to  its  own  wUd  wind. 

"  Debate  it  not — too  long  I  strove 

From  where  Mingarry,  sternly  placed. 

To  call  Ills  cold  observance  love, 

O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste,* 

AU  blinded  by  the  league  that  styled 

To  where  Dunstaffnage  hears  the  raging 

Edith  of  Lorn, — wliile  yet  a  child. 

Of  Connal  with  his  rocks  engaging. 

She  tripp'd  the  heath  by  Morag's  side, — 

Think'st  thou,  amid  this  ample  round, 

The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  destined  bride. 

A  single  brow  but  thine  has  frown' d, 

Ere  vet  I  saw  him,  wliile  afar 

To  sadden  this  auspicious  morn. 

His  broadsword  blazed  in  Scotland's  war 

That  bids  the  daughter  of  high  Lorn 

Tram'd  to  beUeve  our  fates  the  same, 

Impledge  her  spousal  faith  to  wed 

My  bosom  throbb'd  when  Ronald's  name 

The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled  1^ 

Came  gracing  Fame's  heroic  tale. 

Ronald,  from  many  a  hero  sprimg. 

Like  perfume  on  the  summer  gale. 

The  fair,  the  valiant,  and  the  young. 

What  pilgrim  sought  our  halls,  nor  told 

Lord  of  the  Isles,  whose  lofty  name' 

Of  Ronald's  deeds  in  battle  bold  ; 

A  thousand  bards  have  given  to  fame. 

Who  touch'd  the  harp  to  heroes'  praise, 

The  mate  of  monarchs,  and  aUied 

But  his  achievements  swell'd  the  lays  ? 

On  equal  terms  with  England's  pride. — 

Even  Morag — not  a  tale  of  fame 

From  chieftain's  tower  to  bondsman's  cot. 

Was  hers  but  closed  with  Ronald's  name. 

Who  hears  tlie  tale,'  and  triumphs  not  ? 

He  came  !  and  all  that  had  been  told 

The  damsel  dons  her  best  attire. 

Of  his  high  worth  seem'd  poor  and  cold, 

The  shepherd  Hghts  his  beltane  fii-e. 

Tame,  lifeless,  void  of  energy. 

Joy,  joy !  each  warder's  horn  hath  simg, 

Unjust  to  Ronald  and  to  me ! 

Joy,  joy  !  each  matin  bell  hath  rung 

The  holy  priest  says  grateful  mass. 

XL 

Loud  shouts  each  hardy  gaUa-glass, 

"  Since  then,  what  thought  had  Edith's  heart 

No  mountain  den  holds  outcast  boor, 

And  gave  not  plighted  love  its  part  1 — 

Of  heart  so  dull,  of  soul  so  pooi'. 

And  what  requital  ?'  cold  jlelay — 

But  he  hath  flung  his  task  aside, 

Excuse  that  slumii'd  the  spousal  day. — 

And  claim'd  this  morn  for  holy-tide  ; 

It  dawns,  and  Ronald  is  not  here  ! — 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  C.                    2  Ibid.  Note  D. 

'  MS.— "The  news." 

T    IM*^                                              *'  fntTirr'"  fVnrl-il    nrrn-rr   " 

8  MS.—"  When,  from  that  hour,  had  Edith's  heart 
A  thought,  and  Ronald  iacli'd  his  part : 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  E.                  '  Ibid.  Note  F 

e  Ibid.  Note  G 

53 

And  what  her  guerdon  ?" 

tl8                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               cakto  i. 

Hunts  he  Bentalla's  nimble  deer,' 

And  .shifted  nft  her  stoopmg  side. 

Or  loiters  he  in  secret  deU 

In  weary  tack  fi-om  shore  to  shore. 

To  bid  some  lighter  love  farewell, 

Yet  on  her  destined  course  no  more 

And  swear,  that  though  he  may  not  scorn 

She  gain'd,  of  forward  way. 

A  daughter  of  the  House  of  Lorn,^ 

Than  what  a  minstrel  may  compare 

Yet,  when  these  formal  rites  are  o'er. 

To  the  poor  meed  which  peasants  share. 

Again  they  meet,  to  pai't  no  more  ?" 

Who  toU  the  livelong  day ; 

And  such  the  risk  her  pilot  braves. 

XII. 

That  oft,  before  she  wore. 

— "  Hush,  daughter,  hush !  thy  doubts  remove. 

Her  boltsprit  kiss'd  the  broken  waves. 

More  nobly  tliink  of  Ronald's  love. 

Where  in  wliite  foam  the  ocean  raves 

Look,  where  beneath  the  castle  gray 

Upon  the  shelving  shore. 

His  fleet  unmoor  from  Aros  bay ! 

Yet,  to  their  destined  purpose  true, 

See'st  not  each  galley's  topmast  bend, 

Undatmted  toil'd  her  hardy  crew, 

As  on  the  yards  the  sails  ascend  ? 

Nor  loofd  where  shelter  lay, 

Hiding  the  dark-blue  laud,  they  rise 

Nor  for  Ai-tornish  Castle  drew. 

Like  the  wliite  clouds  on  April  skies ; 

Nor  steer'd  for  Ai-os  bay. 

The  shouting  vassals  man  the  oars. 

Behind  them  siidi  MuU's  mountain  shores. 

XV.  . 

Onward  their  merry  course  they  keep, 

Thus  whUe    they   strove   with  wind    and 

Thi-ough  whistling  breeze   and   foaming 

seas. 

deep. 

Borne  onward  by  the  wiUing  breeze. 

And  mark  the  headmost,  seaward  cast. 

Lord  Ronald's  fleet  swept  by, 

Stoop  to  the  fi-eshening  gale  her  mast. 

Streamer'd  with  silk,  and  trick'd  with  gold. 

As  if  she  veU'd  its  bamier'd  pride, 

Mann'd  with  the  noble  and  the  bold 

To  greet  afar  her  prince's  bride  ! 

Of  Island  cliivah-y. 

Thy  Ronald  comes,  and  while  m  speed 

Arovmd  tlieu-  prows  the  ocean  roars, 

His  galley  mates  the  flying  steed. 

And  chafes  beneath  their  thousand  oars. 

He  chides  her  sloth !"— Fak  Edith  sigh'd, 

Yet  bears  them  on  their  way : 

Blush' d,  sadly  snuled,  and  thus  replied : — 

So  chafes^  the  war-horse  in  his  might. 

That  fieldward  bears  some  vaUant  knight. 

XIIL 

Champs,  till  both  bit  and  boss  are  white. 

"  Sweet  thought,  but  vain ! — No,   Morag ! 

But,  foaming,  must  obey. 

mark, 

On  each  gay  deck  the/  might  behold 

Type  of  his  course,  yon  lonely  bark. 

Lances  of  steel  and  crests  of  gold. 

That  oft  hath  shifted  hehn  and  sail. 

And  hauberks  with  their  burnish'd  fold. 

To  win  its  way  against  the  gale. 

That  shimnici-'d  fair  and  free ; 

Since  peep  of  morn,  my  vacant  eyes 

And  each  proud  galley,  as  she  pass'd, 

Have  view'd  by  fits  the  com-se  she  tries  f 

To  the  wild  cadence  of  the  blast 

Now,  though  the  darkening  scud  comes  on, 

Gave  wilder  minstrelsy. 

And  dawn's  fair  promises  be  gone. 

Full  many  a  shrill  triumphant  note 

And  though  the  weary  crew  may  see 

Si.line  and  Scallastle  bade  float 

Owe  sheltermg  haven  on  their  lee. 

Their  misty  shores  around ; 

StUl  closer  to  the  rising  wind 

And  Moi  ven's  echoes  answer'd  well. 

They  strive  her  sliivering  sail  to  bind, 

And  Duart  heard  the  distant  swell 

StiU  nearer  to  the  shelves'  dread  verge* 

Come  down  the  darksome  Sound. 

At  every  tack  her  course  they  urge, 

As  if  they  fear'd  Ai-tornish  more 

XVL 

Than  adverse  winds  and  breakers'  roar." 

bo  bore  they  on  with  mirth  and  pride, 

And  if  that  laboring  bark  they  spied. 

XIV. 

'Twas  with  such  idle  eye 

Sooth  spoke  the  maid. — Amid  the  tide 

As  nobles  cast  on  lowly  boor. 

The  skiff  she  mark'd  lay  tossing  sore. 

When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure, 

•  MS. — "  And  on  its  dawn  the  bridegroom  lags  ; — 

Yonng  Eva  view'd  the  course  she  tries." 

Hants  he  Bentalla's  nimble  stags  V 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

^  MS. "  tlie  breakers'  verge." 

5  MS.— "So  fumes,"  Uc. 

»  MS. — "  Since  dawn  of  morn,  with  vacant  eyes 

6  MS.— "  That  beare  to  fight  some  gallant  knight.' 

OANTo  I.                                THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                       415* 

Thej  pass  him  careless  by.' 

Tlius  to  the  Leader  spoke : — 

Let  them  sweep  ou  with  heedless  eyes  I 

"Brother,  how  hopest  thou  to  abide 

But,  had  they  known  what  mighty  prize 

The  fury  of  this  wilder'd  tide. 

In  that  frail  vessel  lay, 

Or  how  avoid  the  rock's  rude  side. 

The  famisli'd  wolf,  that  prowls  the  wold, 

Until  the  day  has  broke  ? 

Had  scatheless  pass'd  the  unguarded  fold, 

Didst  thou  not  mark  the  vessel  reel, 

Ere,  drifting  by  these  galleys  bold, 

With  quivering  planks,  and  groaning  keel. 

Unchallenged  were  her  way  '.- 

At  the  last  billow's  shock  ? 

And  thou.  Lord  Ronald,  sweep  thou  on, 

Yet  how  of  better  counsel  tell, 

With  mhtli,  and  pride,  and  minstrel  tone  ! 

Though  here  thou  see'st  poor  Isabel 

But  hadst  thou  known  who  sail'd  so  nigh, 

Half  dead  with  want  and  fear  ; 

Far  other  glance  were  in  thine  eye ! 

For  look  on  sea,  or  look  on  land. 

Far  other  flush  were  on  thy  brow. 

Or  yon  dark  sky — on  every  hand 

That,  shaded  by  the  bonnet,  now 

Despair  and  death  are  near. 

Assumes  but  ill  the  blitliesome  cheer 

For  her  alone  I  grieve, — on  me 

Of  bridegroom  when  the  bride  is  near  1 

Danger  sits  hght,  by  laud  and  sea. 

I  follow  where  thou  wilt ; 

XVIL 

Either  to  bide  the  tempest's  lour. 

Yes,  sweep  they  on ! — We  wiU  not  leave, 

Or  wend  to  yon  unfriendly  tower. 

For  them  that  triumph,  those  who  grieve. 

Or  rush  amid  their  naval  power,^ 

With  that  armada  gay 

With  war-cry  wake  then-  wassail-hour 

Be  laughter  loud  and  jocund  shout, 

And  die  with  hand  on  hilt." — 

And  bards  to  cheer  the  wassail  rout 

With  tale,  romance,  and  lay  f 

XX. 

And  of  wild  mhth  each  clamorous  art. 

That  elder  Leader's  cahn  reply 

W  hich,  if  it  cannot  cheer  the  heart. 

In  steady  voice  was  given, 

May  stupefy  and  stun  its  smart. 

"  In  man's  most  dark  extremity 

For  one  loud  busy  day. 

Oft  succor  dawns  fi-om  Heaven. 

Yes,  sweep  they  on ! — But  with  that  skiff 

Edward,  trim  thou  the  shatter'd  saU, 

Abides  tlie  minstrel  tale. 

The  helm  be  mine,  and  down  the  gale 

Where  there  was  di-ead  of  surge  and  cliff. 

Let  our  free  course  be  driven ; 

Labor  that  strain'd  each  sinew  stiff. 

So  shall  we  'scape  the  western  bay. 

And  one  sad  Maidens  wail. 

The  hostile  fleet,  tlie  unequal  fray. 

So  safely  hold  our  vessel's  way 

XVIII. 

Beneath  the  Castle  wall ; 

AU  day  with  fruitless  strife  they  toil'd. 

For  if  a  hojie  of  safety  rest. 

With  eve  the  ebbing  cun-ents  boil'd 

'Tis  on  the  sacred  name  of  guest, 

More  fierce  from  strait  and  lake ; 

Who  seeks  for  shelter,  storm-distress'd, 

i         And  midway  thi-ough  the  channel  met 

Within  a  chieftain's  hall. 

Conflictmg  tides  that  foam  and  fret. 

If  not — it  best  beseems  our  worth. 

And  high  their  mingled  billows  jet, 

Oiu-  name,  om-  right,  our  lofty  birth. 

As  spears,  that,  in  the  battle  set, 

By  noble  hands  to  faU." 

Spring  upward  as  they  break. 

Then,  too,  the  lights  of  eve  were  past,* 

XXI. 

And  louder  sung  the  western  blast 

The  helm,  to  liis  strong  arm  consign'd, 

On  rocks  of  Inninmore ; 

Gave  tlie  reef 'd  sail  to  meet  the  wind, 

Rent  was  the  sail,  and  strain'd  the  mast, 

And  on  her  alter'd  way. 

And  many  a  leak  was  gaping  fast. 

Fierce  bounding,  forward  sprimg  the  ship 

And  the  pale  steersman  stood  aghast. 

Like  greyhound  starting  from  the  slip 

And  gave  the  conflict  o'er. 

To  seize  liis  flying  prey. 

Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow, 

XIX. 

The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glow. 

'Twas  then  that  One,  whose  lofty  look 

Those  lightnings  of  the  wave  ;' 

Nor  labor  dull'd  nor  terror  shook, 

Wild  sparkles  crest  the  broken  tides, 

»  MS. — "  As  the  gay  nobles  give  the  boor, 

3  MS.—"  With  mirth,  song,  tale,  and  lay." 

When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure. 

4  MS.—"  Then,  too,  the  clouds  were  sinking  fast." 

Their  greatness  passes  by." 

6 "  the  hostile  power." 

»MS.— "  She  held  unchaUenged  way." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

420 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  U 


Afld,  flasliing  round,  the  vessel's  sides 

With  elvish  lustre  lave,' 
While,  far  behind,  their  livid  light 
To  the  dark  billows  of  the  night 

A  gloomy  splendor  gave. 
It  seems  as  if  old  Ocean  shakes 
Prom  his  darli  brow  tlie  lucid'^  flakes 

In  envious  pageantry, 
To  match  the  meteor-light  that  streaks 

Grim  Hecla's  midnight  sky. 

XXII. 

Nor  lack'd  they  steadier  light  to  keep 
Their  course  upon  the  darken'd  deep ; — 
Artornish,  on  her  frowning  steep 

'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung, 
Glanced  with  a  thousand  lights  of  glee, 
Aiid  landward  far,  and  far  to  sea, 

Her  festal  radiance  flung.^ 
By  that  blithe  beacon-light  they  steer'd, 

"WTiose  lustre  mingled  well 
With  the  pale  beam  that  now  appear' d, 
As  the  cold  moon  her  head  uprear'd 

Above  the  eastern  felL 

XXIII. 

Thus  guided,  on  their  course  they  bore, 
Until  they  near'd  the  mainland  shore, 
Whej  frec[uent  on  the  hollow  blast 
WUd  shouts  of  meiTimeiit  were  cast, 
And  wind  and  wave  and  sea-bird's  cry 
With  wassaU  sounds  in  concert  vie,* 
Like  funeral  slirieks  with  revelry. 

Or  like  the  battle-shout 
By  peasants  heard  from  cliffs  on  high. 
When  Triumph,  Rage,  and  Agony, 

Madden  the  fight  and  route. 
fTow  nearer  yet,  through  mist  and  storm 
Dimly  arose  the  Castle's  form, 

And  deepen' d^  shadow  made, 
Far  lengthen'd  on  the  main  below. 
Where,  dancing  in  reflected  glow, 

A  himdred  torches  play'd. 
Spangling  the  wave  with  lights  as  vain 
As  pleasiu-es  in  tliis  vale  of  pain, 

That  dazzle  as  they  fade.' 

MS. — "  And,  bursting  round  the  vessel's  sides, 
A  livid  lustre  gave." 
2  MS.— "  Livid." 

s  "  The  description  of  the  vessel's  approach  to  the  Castle 
liirough  the  tem])estuous  and  sparkling  waters,  and  the  con- 
trast of  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  billows  with  the  glittering 
splendor  of  Artornish, 

'  'Twi.xt  cloud  and  ocean  hung,' 
Bending  her  radiance  abroad  through  the  terrors  of  the  night, 
and  mingling  at  intervals  the  shouts  of  her  revelry  with  the 
wilder  cadence  of  the  blast,  is  one  of  the  happiest  instances  of 
Mr.  Scott's  felicity  in  awful  and  magnificent  scenery." — Criti- 
taU  Review 


XXIV. 

Beneath  the  Castle's  sheltering  lee, 
They  staid  their  course  in  quiet  sea. 
Hewn  in  the  rock,  a  passage  there 
Sought  the  dark  fortress  by  a  stair, 

So  straight,  so  high,  so  steep, 
With  peasant's  staff  one  vaUaut  hand 
Might  well  the  dizzy  pass  have  mann'd, 
'Gainst  hundreds  arm'd  with  spear  and  brand. 

And  plunged  them  in  the  deep.'' 
His  bugle  then  the  helmsman  wound ; 
Loud  auswer'd  every  echo  round. 

From  turret,  rock,  and  bay. 
The  postern's  hinges  crash  and  groan. 
And  soon  the  warder's  cresset  shone 
On  those  rude  steps  of  slippery  stone. 

To  light  the  upward  way. 
"Thrice  welcome, holy  Sii'e !"  he  said; 
"  Full  long  the  spousal  train  have  staid. 

And,  vex'd  at  thy  delay, 
Fear'd  lest,  amidst  these  wildering  seas. 
The  darksome  night  and  freshening  breeze 

Had  driven  thy  bark  astray." — 

XXV. 

"  Warder,"  the  younger  stranger*  said, 
"  Thine  erring  guess  some  mirth  had  made 
In  mirthful  hour ;  but  nights  like  these, 
Wlien  the  rough  winds  wake  western  seas. 
Brook  not  of  glee.     We  crave  some  aid 
And  needful  shelter  for  this  maid 

TlntU.  the  break  of  day ; 
For,  to  ourselves,  the  deck's  rude  plank 
Is  easy  as  the  mossy  bank 

That's  breathed  upon  by  May, 
And  for  om-  storm-toss'd  skiff  we  seek 
Short  shelter  in  this  leewafd  creek. 
Prompt  when  the  dawn  the  east  shall  streak 

Again  to  bear  away." — 
Answered  the  Warder,-;—"  In  what  name 
Assert  ye  hospitable  claim  ? 

'\i\Tience  come,  or  wliither  bound  ? 
Hath  Erin  seen  your  parting  sails  ? 
Or  come  ye  on  Xorweyan  gales  ? 
And  seek  ye  England's  fertile  vales, 

Or  Scotland's  mountain  groimd  ?" — 

*  MS. — "The  wind,  the  wave,  the  sea-bu-ds'  cry. 
In  melancholy  concert  vie." 

6  MS.— "D.irksome." 

6  "  Mr.  Pcott,  we  observed  in  the  newspapers,  was  engaged 
during  last  summer  in  a  maritime  expedition  ;  and,  according- 
ly, the  most  striking  novelty  in  the  present  poem  is  the  extent 
and  variety  of  the  sea  pieces  with  which  it  abounds.  One  of 
the  first  we  meet  with  is  the  picture  of  the  distresses  of  the 
King's  little  bark,  and  her  darkling  run  to  the  shelter  of  Ar» 
tomish  Castle." — Edinburgh  Rev'ew,  1815 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

8  MS.—"  That  young  leader." 


CANTO  I.                                THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                      42i 

XXVI. 

Such  as  few  arms  could  wield ; 

"  "Warriors — for  other  title  none 

But  wlicn  lie  boun'd  him  to  such  task, 

For  some  brief  space  we  list  to  own, 

Well  could  it  cleave  the  strongest  casque, 

Bound  by  a  vow — warriors  are  we ; 

And  rend  the  surest  shield.* 

In  strife  by  land,  and  storm  by  sea, 

We  have  been  known  to  fame  ; 

XXIX. 

And  these  brief  words  liave  import  dear, 

The  raised  portcullis'  arch  they  pass, 

"Wlien  sounded  in  a  noble  ear, 

The  wicket  with  its  bars  of  brass. 

To  harbor  safe,  and  friendly  cheer, 

Tlie  entrance  long  and  lf)w,' 

That  gives  us  rightful  claim. 

Flank'd  at  each  turn  by  looi^-holes  strait, 

Grant  us  the  trivial  boon  we  seek, 

Where  bowmen  might  in  ambush  wait 

And  we  in  other  realms  will  speak 

(If  force  or  fraud  should  burst  the  gate), 

Fan-  of  your  courtesy ; 

To  gall  an  entering  foe. 

Deny — and  be  your  niggard  Hold 

But  every  jealous  post  of  ward 

Scorn'd  by  the  noble  and  the  bold, 

Was  now  defenceless  and  unbarr'd, 

Shunn'd  by  the  pilg-rim  on  the  wold, 

And  all  the  passage  free 

And  wanderer  on  the  lea  !" — 

To  one  low-broVd  and  vaulted  room, 

WTiere  squire  and  yeoman,  page  and  groom. 

XXVII. 

Phed  their  loud  revelry. 

"  Bold  stranger,  no — 'gainst  claim  like  thine, 

K"o  bolt  revolves  by  hand  of  mine,' 

XXX. 

Though  urged  in  tone  that  more  express'd 

And  "  Rest  ye  here,"  the  Wai-der  bade, 

A  monarch  than  a  suppliant  guest. 

"  Till  to  our  Lord  your  suit  is  said. — 

Be  what  ye  will,  Artornish  Hall 

And,  comrades,  gaze  not  on  the  maid. 

On  this  glad  eve  is  free  to  all. 

And  on  these  men  who  ask  our  aid. 

Though  ye  had  drawn  a  hostile  sword 

As  if  ye  ne'er  had  seen 

'Gainst  our  ally,  great  England's  Lord, 

A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark, 

Or  mail  upon  your  shoulders  borne, 

Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark.* 

To  battle  with  the  Lord  of  Lorn, 

And  bearing  martial  mien." 

Or,  outlaw'd,  dwelt  by  greenwood  tree 

But  not  for  Eachin's  reproof 

With  the  tierce  Knight  of  Ellerslie," 

Would  page  or  vassal  stand  aloof, 

Or  aided  even  the  murderous  strife, 

But  crowded  on  to  stare. 

When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 

As  men  of  courtesy  untaught, 

Of  that  fell  homicide  The  Bruce,^ 

Till  fiery  Edward  roughly  caught. 

This  night  had  been  a  term  of  truce. — 

From  one  the  foremost  there,'' 

Ho,  vassals !  give  these  guests  your  care, 

His  checker'd  plaid,  and  in  its  sliroud, 

And  show  the  narrow  postern  stair." 

To  liide  her  from  the  vulgar  crowd. 

Involved  his  sister  fair. 

XXVIIL 

His  brother,  as  the  clansman  bent 

To  land  these  two  bold  brethren  leapt 

His  sullen  brow  in  discontent, 

(The  weary  crew  their  vessel  kept). 

Made  brief  and  stern  excuse  ; — 

And,  lighted  by  the  torches'  flare, 

"  Vassal,  were  thine  the  cloak  of  pall 

Tliat  seaward  flung  their  smoky  glare, 

That  decks  thy  Lord  in  bridal  hall, 

The  younger  knight  that  maiden  bare 

'Twere  bonor'd  by  her  use." 

Half  lifeless  up  the  rock ; 

On  his  strong  shoulder  lean'd  her  head. 

XXXL 

And  down  her  long  dark  tresses  shed, 

Proud  was  his  tone,  but  calm ;  his  eye 

As  the  wild  vine  in  tendrils  spread, 

Had  that  compelling  dignity. 

Droops  from  the  mountain  oak. 

His  mien  that  bearing  haught  and  high. 

Him  foUow'd  close  that  elder  Lord, 

Wliich  common  spirits  fear  I* 

And  in  his  hand  a  sheathed  sword. 

Needed  nor  word  nor  signal  more. 

1  IMS. "  'gainn  claim  like  yonrs, 

0  MS. — "  Or  warlike  men  of  moulding  stark." 

No  bolt  ere  closed  our  castle  doors." 

7  MS.—"  Till  that  hot  Edward  fiercely  caught 

3  Sir  William  Wallace. 

From  one,  the  boldest  there." 

s  See  Appendix.  Note  L. 

8  "  Still  sways  their  souls  with  that  commanding  art 

*  MS. — "  Well  could  it  cleave  the  gilded  casque, 

That  dazzles,  leads,  j'et  chills  the  vulgar  heart. 

And  rend  the  trustiest  shield  " 

What  is  that  spell,  that  thus  his  lawless  train 

»  MS.—"  The  entrance  vaulted  low," 

Confess  and  envy,  yet  oppose  in  vain  ■? 

422 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II. 


Wocl,  wink,  and  laughter,  all  -were  o'er ; 
Upon  each  other  back  they  bore, 

And  gazed  hkc  startled  deer. 
But  now  appear'd  the  Seneschal, 
Commission'd  by  his  lord  to  call 
The  strangers  to  the  Baron's  hall, 

Wliere  feasted  faji-  and  free 
That  Island  Prince  in  nu^jtial  tide. 
With  Edith  there  his  lovely  bride, 
And  her  bold  brother  by  her  side, 
And  many  a  chief,  the  flower  and  pride 

Of  Western  land  and  sea.' 

Here  pause  we,  gentles,  for  a  space  ; 
And,  if  our  tale  hath  won  yovu-  grace. 
Grant  us  brief  patience,  and  again 
We  wiU  renew  the  minstrel  strain.'' 


(Jlje  CoriJ  of  tlje  iJslcs. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


Pill  the  bright  goblet,  spread  the  festive  board ! 
Summon  the  gay,  the  noble,  and  the  fair  1 
Through  the  loud  hall  in  joyous  concert  pour'd. 
Let  mii'th  and  music  souud  the  dhge  of  Care  ! 
But  ask  thou  not  if  Happiness  be  there. 
If  the  loud  laugh  disguise  convulsive  throe, 
Or  if  the  brow  the  heart's  true  livery  wear ; 
Lift  not  the  festal  mask ! — enough  to  know. 
No  scene  of  mortal  life  but  teems  with  mortal  woe.' 

IL 

With  beakers'  clang,  with  harpers'  lay, 
With  all  that  olden  time  deem'd  gay. 
The  Island  Chieftain  feasted  high ; 
But>  there  was  in  his  troubled  eye 
A  gloomy  fire,  and  on  his  brow 
Kow  sudden  flush'd,  and  faded  now, 
Emotions  such  as  di-aw  their  birth 


What  should  it  be,  that  thus  their  faith  can  bind  ? 
The  power  of  Tliought — the  magic  of  the  Mind  ! 
Linlc'd  witli  success,  assumed  and  I<ept  with  skill. 
That  moulds  another's  wealtness  to  its  will ; 
Wields  with  her  hands,  but,  still  to  these  unliuowr, 
Makes  even  their  mightiest  deed?  appear  liis  cwn. 
Such  hath  it  been — shall  be — bnneath  the  sun 
The  many  still  must  labor  for  the  one  ! 
Tis  Nature's  doom." 

Byron's  Corsair. 
1  MS. — "  Of  mountain  chivalry." 

i  "  The  first  Canto  is  full  of  business  and  description,  and 
tne  scenes  are  such  as  Mr.  Scott's  muse  generally  excels  in. 
The  scene  between  Edith  and  her  nurse  is  spirited,  and  con- 


From  deeper  source  than  festal  mirth. 
By  fits  he  paused,  and  harper's  strain 
And  jester's  tale  went  roimd  in  vain, 
Or  fell  but  on  his  idle  ear 
Like  distant  sounds  which  dreamers  hear. 
Then  would  he  rouse  him,  and  employ 
Each  art  to  aid  the  clamorous  joy,* 

And  call  for  pledge  and  lay. 
And,  for  brief  space,  of  all  the  crowd,  . 
As  he  was  loudest  of  the  loud. 

Seem  gayest  of  the  gay.^ 

Ill 

Yet  naught  amiss  the  bridal  throng 
Mark'd  in  brief  mirth,  or  musing  long  ; 
The  vacant  brow,  the  imUstemng  ear. 
They  gave  to  thoughts  of  raptures  near, 
And  his  fierce  starts  of  sudden  glee 
Seem'd  bursts  of  bridegroom's  ecstasy. 
IsTor  thus  alone  misjudged  the  crowd. 
Since  lofty  Lorn,  suspicious,  j^roud," 
And  jealous  of  his  honor'd  hue. 
And  that  keen  knight,  De  Argentine'' 
(From  England  sent  on  errand  high. 
The  western  league  more  firm  to  tie),* 
Both  deem'd  in  Ronald's  mood  to  find 
A  lover's  transport-troubled  mind. 
But  one  sad  heart,  one  tearful  eye. 
Pierced  deeper  through  the  mystery. 
And  watch' d,  with  agony  and  fear. 
Her  wayward  bridegroom's  varied  cheer. 

IV. 

She  watch'd — yet  fear'd  to  meet  his  glance, 
And  he  slmnn'd  hers,  till  when  by  chance 
They  met,  the  point  of  foeman's  lance 

Had  given  a  milder  pang ! 
Beneath  the  intolerable  smart 
He  writhed — then  sternly  mann'd  his  heart 
To  play  his  hard  but  destined  part. 

And  from  the  table  sprang. 
"  FUl  me  the  mighty  cup !"  he  said, 
"  Erst  own'd  by  royal  Somerled  ■? 
Fill  it,  till  on  the  studded  brim 
In  burning  gold  the  bubbles  swim. 


tains  many  very  pleasing  lines.  The  description  of  Lord  Ro- 
nald's fleet,  and  of  the  bark  endeavoring  to  make  her  way 
against  the  wind,  more  particularly  of  the  last,  is  executed 
with  extraordinary  beauty  and  fidelity." — Quarterly  Review. 

3  "  Even  in  laughter  the  heart  is  sorrowful  ;  and  the  end  of 
that  mirth  is  heaviness." — Proverbs,  xiv.  13. 

^  MS. "  and  give  birth 

To  jest,  to  wassail,  and  to  mirth" 

6  MS. — "  Would  seem  the  loudest  of  the  loud, 
And  gayest  of  the  gay." 

"  MS.—"  Since  Lorn,  the  proudest  of  the  proud." 

'  MS. — "  And  since  the  keen  De  Argentine." 

8  See  Appendi.'t,  Note  L. 

9  Ibid.  Note  M. 


CANTO  II, 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


423 


And  every  gem  of  varied  sliine 
Glow  doubly  bright  in  rosy  wine  ! 

To  you,  brave  lord,  and  brother  mine, 

Of  Lorn,  this  pledge  I  drink — 
The  union  of  Our  House  with  thine, 
By  this  fiui-  bridal-link  !" — 

V. 
"  Let  it  pass  round !"  quoth  He  of  Lorn, 
"  And  in  good  tune — that  winded  horn 

Must  of  the  Abbot  tell ; 
The  laggard  monk  is  come  at  last." 
Lord  Ronald  heard  the  bugle-blast, 
And  on  the  floor  at  random  cast, 

The  untasted  goblet  fell. 
But  when  the  warder  in  his  ear 
Tells  other  news,  liis  blither  cheer 

Retm-ns  like  sun  of  May, 
When  through  a  thunder-cloud  it  beams ! — 
Lord  of  two  hundred  isles,  he  seems 

As  glad  of  brief  delay, 
As  some  poor  criminal  might  feel, 
When,  from  the  gibbet  or  the  wheel. 

Respited  for  a  day. 

VL 
"  Brother  of  Lorn,"  with  hurried  voice 
He  said,  "  and  you,  fair  lords,  rejoice ! 

Here,  to  augment  our  glee, 
Come  wandering  knights  from  travel  far 
Well  proved,  they  say,  in  strife  of  wfir. 

And  tempest  on  the  sea. — 
Ho !  give  them  at  your  board  such  place 
As  best  their  presences  may  grace,^ 

And  bid  them  welcome  free  !" 
With  solemn  step,  and  silver  wand. 
The  Seneschal  the  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strange  guests  ;^   and  well  he 

knew 
How  to  assign  then-  rank  its  due  f 

For  though  the  costly  furs 
That  erst  had  deck'd  thefr  caps  were  torn. 
And  their  gay  robes  were  over-worn. 

And  soil'd  their  gilded  spurs. 
Yet  such  a  high  commanding  grace 
Was  in  their  mien  and  in  their  face, 
As  suited  best  the  princely  dais,* 

And  royal  canopy ; 
And  there  he  marshall'd  them  their  place, 

First  of  that  company. 

J  MS. — "  As  may  their  presence  fittest  grace." 

2  MS. — "  With  solemn  pace,  and  silver  rod, 

The  Seneschal  the  entrance  show'd 
To  these  strange  guests." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

*  Dais — the  great  liall  table — elevated  a  step  or  two  above 
the  rest  of  the  room. 

•  MS. — "  Aside  then  lords  and  ladies  spake, 


VIL 
Tlien  lords  and  ladies  spake  aside. 
And  angry  looks  the  error  cliide,* 
That  gave  to  guests  unnamed,  unknown, 
A  place  so  near  their  prince's  throne  ; 

But  Owen  Erraught  said, 
"  For  forty  years  a  seneschal, 
To  marshal  guests  in  bower  a*d  hall 

Has  been  my  honor'd  trade. 
Worship  and  birth  to  me  are  known. 
By  look,  by  bearing,  and  by  tone, 
Not  by  furr'd  robe  or  broider'd  zone ; 

And  'gainst  an  oaken  bough 
I'll  gage  my  silver  wand  of  state. 
That  these  three  strangers  oft  have  sate 

In  higher  place  thim  now." — ° 

VIIL 

"  I,  too,"  the  aged  Ferrand  said, 
"  Am  qualified  by  minstrel  trade'' 

Of  rank  and  place  to  tell ; — 
Mark'd  ye  the  younger  stranger's  eye, 
My  mates,  how  quick,  how  keen,  how  high. 

How  fierce  its  flashes  fell. 
Glancing  among  the  noble  rout' 
As  if  to  seek  the  noblest  out. 
Because  the  owner  might  not  brook 
On  any  save  his  peers  to  look  ? 

And  yet  it  moves  me  more, 
Tliat  steady,  calm,  majestic  brow, 
With  which  the  elder  chief  even  now 

Scann'd  the  gay  presence  o'er. 
Like  being  of  superior  kind, 
In  whose  high-toned  impartial  mind 
Degrees  of  mortal  rank  and  state 
Seem  objects  of  indifferent  weight. 
The  lady  too — though  closely  tied 

The  mantle  veil  both  face  and  eye. 
Her  motions'  grace  it  coidd  not  liide. 

Nor  could^  her  form's  fidr  sj'uimetry.' 

IX. 

Suspicious  doubt  and  lordly  scorn 
Lour'd  on  the  haughty  front  of  Lorn. 
From  underneath  his  brows  of  pride, 
Tlie  stranger  guests  he  sternly  eyed, 
And  wliisper'd  closely  what  the  ear 
Of  Argentine  alone  might  hear ; 

Tlien  question'd,  high  and  brief. 
If,  in  thefr  voyage,  aught  they  knew 


And  ushers  censured  the  mistake.' 
6  "  The  first  entry  of  the  illustrious  strangers  into  the  castle 
df  the  Celtic  chief,  is  in  the  accustomed  and  peculiar  style  of 
the  poet  of  chivalry." — Jeffrey. 
'  MS.—"  '  I,  too,'  old  Ferrand  said,  and  langh'd, 
'  Am  qualified  by  minstrel  craft.'  " 

8  MS. "  the  festal  rout." 

9  MS.— "  Nor  hide,"  Sic. 


424 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  ri. 


Of  the  rebellious  Scottish  cre-w, 
"V\Tio  to  Riith-Eriri's  shelter  di-ew, 

With  Carrick's  outlaw'd  chief?' 
And  if,  their  winter's  exile  o'er, 
They  harbor'd  still  by  Ulster's  shore, 
Or  laimch'd  their  galleys  on  the  main, 
To  vex  then-  native  land  agam  ? 

X. 
That  younger  stranger,  fierce  and  high, 
At  once  confronts  the  Chieftain's  eye^ 
With  look  of  equal  scorn ; — 

*  Of  rebels  have  we  naught  to  show ; 
But  if  of  Royal  Bruce  thou'dst  know, 

I  warn  thee  he  has  sworn,' 
Ere  thrice  three  days  shall  come  and  go, 
His  banner  Scottish  winds  shall  blow. 
Despite  each  mean  or  mighty  foe. 
From  England's  every  bill  and  bow, 

To  Allaster  of  Lorn." 
Kindled  the  mountain  Chieftain's  ire. 
But  Ronald  quench'd  the  rising  fire  ; 
"Brother,  it  better  suits  the  time 
To  chase  the  night  with  Ferrand's  rhyme. 
Than  wake,  'midst  mirth  and  wine,  the  jars 
That  flow  from  these  unhappy  wars." — * 
"  Content,"  said  Lorn  ;  and  spoke  apart 
With  Ferrand,  master  of  his  art, 

Then  whisper'd  Argentine, — 
"  Tlie  lay  I  named  will  cai-iy  smart 
To  these  bold  strangers'  haughty  heart, 

If  right  this  guess  of  mine." 
He  ceased,  and  it  was  silence  all, 
UntQ  the  minstrel  waked  the  hall.* 

XL 

E\)t  33roocf)  of  2.orii.' 
"  Wlience  the  brooch  of  burning  gold, 
Tliat  clasps  the  Chieftain's  mantle-fold, 
Wrought  and  chased  with  rare  device. 
Studded  fan-  with  gems  of  price,'' 
On  the  varied  tartans  beammg, 
As,  tlu-ough  night's  pale  rainbow  gleaming, 
Fainter  now,  now  seen  afar. 
Fitful  shines  the  northern  star  ? 

"  Gem !  ne'er  wrought  on  Highland  mountain, 

1  See  A^ipendix,  Note  O. 

2  MS. — "  That  yonnger  stranger,  nanght  out-dared. 

Was  prompt  the  haughty  Chief  to  beard." 

5  MS. — "  Men  say  that  he  has  sworn." 

*  "  The  description  of  the  bridal  feast,  in  the  second  Canto, 
has  several  animated  lines  ;  but  the  real  power  and  poetry  of 
the  author  do  not  appear  to  us  to  be  called  out  until  the  occa- 
sion of  the  Highland  quarrel  which  follows  the  feast." — 
Monthly  Review,  March,  1815. 

6  "  In  a  very  different  style  of  e.xcellence  (from  that  of  the 
first  three  stanzas)  is  the  triumphant  and  insulting  song  of  the 
bard  of  Lorn,  commemorating  the  pretended  victory  of  his 


Did  the  fauy  of  the  fountain, 
Or  the  mermaid  of  the  wave. 
Frame  thee  in  some  coral  cave  ? 
Did,  in  Iceland's  darksome  mine, 
Dwarf's  swart  hands  thy  metal  twine  ? 
Or,  mortal-moulded,  coraest  thou  here, 
From  England's  love,  or  France's  fear  1 

XIL 
Soitfl  contfnuctr. 

"  No ! — thy  splendors  notliing  tell 
Foreign  a^t  or  faery  speU. 
Moulded  thou  for  monarch's  use, 
By  the  overweening  Bruce, 
When  the  royal  robe  he  tied 
O'er  a  heart  of  wrath  and  pride  ; 
Thence  in  triumph  wert  thou  torn, 
By  the  victor  hand  of  Lorn ! 

"  When  the  gem  was  won  and  lost. 
Widely  was  the  war-cry  toss'd ! 
Rung  aloud  Bendom-ish  fell, 
Answ^r'd  Douchart's  soimding  dell, 
Fled  the  deer  from  wUd  Teyndrum, 
When  the  homicide,  o'ercome. 
Hardly  'scaped,  with  scathe  and  scorn, 
Left  the  pledge  with  conquering  Lorn! 

XIIL 
Sonfl  concIuTie'D. 
"  Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand,* 
Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand, 
Vain  Kfrkpatrick's  bloody  dii'k, 
Making  sure  of  mm-der's  work ;' 
Barendown  fled  fast  away, 
Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Haye," 
"Wlieu  this  brooch,  triiuuphant  borne, 
Beam'd  upon  the  breast  of  Lorn. 

"  Farthest  fled  its  former  Lord, 
Left  liis  men  to  brand  and  cord,'' 
Bloody  brand  of  Highland  steel, 
English  gibbet,  axe,  and  wheeL 
Let  liini  fly  from  coast  to  coast, 
Dogg'd  by  Comyn's  vengeful  ghost. 
While  his  spoils,  in  triimiph  worn. 
Long  shall  grace  victorious  Lorn !" 

chief  over  Robert  Bruce,  in  one  of  their  rencontres.  Brnce, 
in  truth,  had  been  set  on  by  some  of  that  clan,  and  had  extri- 
cated himself  from  a  fearful  overmatch  by  stependons  exertions. 
In  the  struggle,  however,  the  brooch  which  fastened  liis  royal 
mantle  had  been  torn  off  by  the  assailants ;  and  it  is  on  the 
subject  of  this  tro])hy  that  the  Celtic  poet  pours  forth  this  wild 
rapid,  and  spirited  strain." — Jeffrey. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  P.  ''  Ibid.  Note  Q. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  R. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 

ID  See  Appendix,  Note  T. 

11  MS.— "  Left  his  followers  to  the  sword." 


C*NTO   II. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


425 


XIV. 

AS  glares  the  tiger  on  bis  foes, 

Hemni'd  iu  by  hunters,  spears,  and  bows, 

And,  ere  he  bounds  upon  the  ring, 

Selects  the  object  of  his  spring, — 

Now  on  tlie  bard,  now  on  liis  Lord, 

So  Edward  glared  and  gi-asj^'d  his  sword — 

But  stern  his  brother  spoke, — "  Be  stilL 

What !  art  thou  yet  so  wild  of  will, 

After  liigh  deeds  and  suffermgs  long, 

To  chafe  thee  for  a  menial's  song  ? — 

"Well  hast  thou  fiamed.  Old  Man,  thy  strains, 

To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains  !* 

Yet  somctliing  migllt  tliy  song  have  told 

Of  Lorn's  three  vassals,  true  and  bold. 

Who  rent  their  lord  from  Bruce's  hold, 

As  underneath  his  knee  he  lay. 

And  died  to  save  him  in  the  fray. 

Pve  heard  the  Bruce's  cloak  and  clasp 

Was  clench'd  within  their  dying  grasp, 

What  time  a  hundi'ed  foemen  more 

Rush'd  in,  and  back  the  victor  bore,'' 

Long  after  Lorn  had  left  the  strife,' 

Full  glad  to  'scape  with  limb  and  hfe.-  - 

Enough  of  this — And,  Mnstrel,  hold. 

As  minstrel-hire,  this  cham  of  gold. 

For  future  lays  a  fau-  excuse. 

To  speak  more  nobly  of  the  Bruce." — 

XV. 

"Now,  by  Columba's  shrine,  I  s-wear, 
And  every  saint  that's  buried  there, 
*Tis  he  liimself !"  Lorn  sternly  cries, 
"  And  for  my  kinsman's  death  he  dies." 
As  loudly  Ronald  calls, — "  Forbear  1 
Not  in  my  sight  while  brand  I  wear, 
O'ermatched  by  odds,  shall  warrior  fall, 
Or  blood  of  stranger  stain  my  haU ! 
This  ancient  fortress  of  my  race 
Shall  be  misfortune's  resting-place, 
Shelter  and  shield  of  the  distress'd, 
No  slaughter-house  for  sliipwreck'd  guest." — 
"  Talk  not  to  me,"  fierce  Lorn  repUed, 
"  Of  odds,  or  match ! — when  Comyn  died, 
Three  daggers  clash'd  within  his  side  ! 
Talk  not  to  me  of  shelteruig  hall. 
The  Church  of  God  saw  Comyn  fall ! 
On  God's  own  altar  stream'd  his  blood. 
While  o'er  my  prostrate  kinsman  stood 
The  ruthless  murderer — e'en  as  now — 
With  armed  hand  and  scornful  brow ! — 
Up,  all  who  love  me !  blow  on  blow ! 
And  lay  the  outlaw'd  felons  low !" 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 
a  The  MS.  lias  not  this  couplet, 
s  MS.—"  When  breathless  Lorn  had  left  the  strife." 
*  For  these  four  lines  the  MS.  has — 
54 


XVL 

Then  up  sprang  many  a  mainland  Lord, 
Obedient  to  their  Chieftain's  word. 
Barcakline's  arm  is  high  m  air. 
And  Kinloch-Alline's  blade  is  bai-e. 
Black  Murthok's  dirk  has  left  its  sheath. 
And  clench'd  is  Dermid's  hand  of  death. 
Their  mutter'd  threats  of  vengeance  swell 
Into  a  wild  and  warlike  yell ; 
Onwiu-d  they  press  with  weapons  liigh, 
The  affrighted  females  shriek  and  fly, 
And,  Scotland,  then  tliy  brightest  ray 
Had  darkcn'd  ere  its  noon  of  day, — 
But  every  cliief  of  bu-th  and  fame. 
That  from  the  Isles  of  Ocean  came. 
At  Ronald's  side  that  hour  withstoc'  f 
Fierce  Lorn's  relentless  thirst  for  blood* 

XVIL 
Brave  Torquil  from  Dunvegan  high. 
Lord  of  the  misty  hiUs  of  Skye, 
Mac-Niel,  wild  Bara's  ancient  thane, 
Duart,  of  bold  Clan-Gilhan's  strain, 
Fergus,  of  Carina's  castled  bay, 
Mac-Duffith,  Lord  of  Colonsay, 
Soon  as  they  saw  the  broadswords  glance. 
With  ready  weapons  rose  at  once. 
More  prompt,  that  many  an  ancient  feud. 
Full  oft  suppress'd,  full  oft  renew'd, 
Glow'd  'twixt  the  chieftains  of  Argyle, 
And  many  a  lord  of  ocean's  isle. 
Wild  was  the  scene — each  sword  was  bare, 
Back  stream'd  each  chieftain's  shaggy  hair 
In  gloomy  opposition  set. 
Eyes,  hands,  and  brandish'd  weapons  met ; 
Blue  gleaming  o'er  the  social  board, 
Flash'd  to  the  torches  many  a  sword ; 
And  soon  those  bridal  lights  may  shine 
On  purple  blood  for  rosy  wine. 

XVIII. 

WTiile  thus  for  blows  and  death  prepared; 
Each  heart  was  up,^  each  weapon  bared. 
Each  foot  advanced, — a  surly  pause 
StUl  reverenced  hospitable  laws. 
All  menaced  violence,  but  alike 
Reluctant  each  the  first  to  strike 
(For  aye  accursed  in  minstrel  line 
Is  he  who  brawls  'mid  song  and  wine), 
And,  match'd  in  numbers  and  in  might 
Doubtful  and  desperate  seem'd  the  fight. 
Tlius  threat  and  murmur  died  away, 
Till  on  the  crowded  hall  there  lay 

"  But  stern  the  Island  Lord  withstood 
The  vengeful  Chieftain's  thirst  of  blood." 
s  MS.—"  While  thus  for  blood  and  blows  prepared, 
Raised  was  each  hand  "  &c. 


426                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             ca^to  ii. 

Such  silence,  as  the  deadly  still, 

Hath  whisper'd  of  a  lawful  claim. 

Ere  bursts  the  thunder  on  the  hill 

That  calls  the  Bruce  fair  Scotland's  Lord, 

Witli  blade  advanced,  each  Chiefttun  bold 

Though  dispossess'd  by  foreign  sword. 

Show'd  like  the  Sworder's  form  of  old,' 

This  craves  reflection — but  though  right 

As  wanting  still  the  torch  of  life. 

And  just  the  charge  of  England's  Ivnight, 

To  wake  the  marble  into  strife." 

Let  England's  crown  her  rebels  seize 

Where   she   has   power; — m  towers  like 

XIX. 

these. 

That  awful  pause  the  stranger  maid, 

'J-Iidst  Scottish  Chieftains  summon'd  here 

And  Edith,  seized  to  pray  for  aid. 

To  bridal  nu'rth  and  bridal  cheer. 

As  to  De  Argentine  she  clung, 

Be  sure,  with  no  consent  of  mine, 

Away  her  veil  the  stranger  flung. 

Shall  either  Lorn  or  Argentine 

And,  lovely  'mid  her  wild  despair. 

With  chaius  or  violence,  in  our  sight, 

Fast  stream'd  her  eyes,  wide  flow'd  her  hair. 

Oppress  a  brave  and  banish'd  Knight" 

"  0  thou,  of  knighthood  once  the  flower, 

Sure  refuge  in  distressful  hour. 

XXL 

Thou,  who  in  Judah  well  hast  fought 

Then  waked  the  wild  debate  again. 

For  our  dear  faith,  and  oft  hast  sought 

With  brawling  thi-eat  and  clamor  vain 

Eenown  in  knightly  exercise, 

Vassals  and  menials,  thronging  in, 

When  this  poor  hand  has  dealt  the  prize, 

Lent  thek  brute  rage  to  swell  the  din ; 

Say,  can  thy  soul  of  honor  brook 

W  hen,  far  and  wide,  a  bugle-clang 

On  the  unequal  strife  to  look. 

From  the  dark  ocean  upward  rang. 

When,  butcher'd  thus  in  peaceful  hall. 

"  The  Abbot  comes  1"  they  ciy  at  once, 

Those  once  thy  friends,  my  brethi-en,  fall !" 

"  The  holy  man,  whose  favor'd  glance 

To  Argentine  sho  tmn'd  her  word. 

Hath  sainted  visions  knoAvn ; 

But  her  eye  sought  the  Island  Lord.^ 

Angels  have  met  him  on  the  way, 

A  flush  like  evening's  setting  flame 

Beside  the  blessed  martyrs'  bay, 

Glow'd  on  his  cheek ;  his  hardy  frame. 

And  by  Columba's  stone. 

As  with  a  brief  convulsion,  shook : 

His  monks  have  heard  theu-  hymnings  high 

With  hurried  voice  and  eager  look, — 

Sotmd  from  the  summit  of  Dun-T, 

"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  my  Isabel ! 

To  cheer  his  penance  lone. 

What  said  I— Edith !— all  is  weU— 

When  at  each  cross,  on  gu-th  and  wold* 

Nay,  fear  not — I  wUl  well  jwovide 

(Their  number  thrice  a  hunched  fold). 

The  safety  of  my  lovely  bride — 

His  prayer  he  made,  his  beads  he  told, 

My  bride  ?" — but  there  the  accents  clung 

With  Aves  many  a  one — 

In  tremor  to  his  faltering  tongue. 

He  comes  our  feuds  to  reconcile. 

A  sainted  man  from  sainted  isle ; 

XX. 

We  wiU  his  holy  doom  abide. 

Now  rose  De  Argentine,  to  claim 

The  Abbot  shall  our  strife  decide.'" 

The  prisoners  in  his  sovereign's  name, 

To  England's  crown,  who,  vassals  sworn. 

XXIL 

'Gainst  their  Uege  lord  had  weapon  borne— 

Scarcely  this  fair  accord  was  o'er,' 

(Such  speech,  I  ween,  was  but  to  hide 

AVhen  through  the  wide  revolving  door 

His  care  their  safety  to  provide ; 

The  black-stoled  brethren  wind ; 

For  knight  more  true  in  thought  and  deed 

Twelve  sandall'd  monks,  who  rehcs  bore, 

Than  Argentine  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed)— 

With  many  a  torch-beai-er  before. 

And  Ronald,  who  liis  meaning  guess' d. 

And  many  a  cross  behind.' 

Seem'd  half  tc  sanction  the  request. 

Then  sunk  each  fierce  uphfted  hand. 

This  purpose  fiery  Torqml  broke : — 

And  dagger  bright  and  flashing  brand 

"Somewhat  we've  heard  of  England's  yoke," 

Dropp'd  swiftly  at  the  sight ; 

He  said,  "  and,  in  our  islands.  Fame 

They  vanish'd  from  the  Chm-chman's  eye, 

'  MS. "  each  Cliieftain  rude, 

6  MS. — "  We  will  his  holy  rede  obey, 

Like  that  famed  Swordsman's  statue  stood." 

The  Abbot's  voice  shall  end  the  fray." 

a  MS.—"  To  waken  him  to  deadly  strife." 

6  MS. — "  Scarce  was  this  peaceful  paction  o'er." 

3  The  MS.  adds  :— 

'  MS. — "  Did  slow  procession  wind  ; 

"  With  such  a  frantic  fond  appeal, 

Twelve  monks,  who  stole  and  mantle  wore, 

As  only  lovers  make  and  feel." 

And  chalice,  pyx,  and  relics  bore, 

9  MS. — "  What  time  at  every  cross  of  old." 

With  many,"  &,c. 

CANTO   II. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


427 


As  sbooting  stars,  that  glance  and  die, 
Dart  from  the  vault  of  night. 

XXIII. 
The  Abbot  on  the  threshold  stood, 
A  ad  in  his  hand  the  holy  rood ; 
Back  on  his  shoulders  floVd  his  hood, 

The  torch's  glaring  ray 
Show'd,  in  its  red  and  flashing  hght, 
His  "wither'd  cheek  and  amice  white, 
His  blue  eye  ghstening  cold  and  bright, 

His  tresses  scant  and  gray. 
"  Fair  Lords,"  he  said,  "  Our  Lady's  love. 
And  peace  be  with  you  from  above. 

And  Benedicite ! — 
— But  what  means  this  ?  no  peace  is  here  I- 
Do  dirks  unsheathed  suit  bridal  cheer  ? 

Or  are  these  naked  brands 
A  seemly  show  for  Churclunan's  sight, 
When  he  comes  summon'd  to  unite 
Betrothed  hearts  and  hands  ?" 

XXIY. 
Then,  cloaking  hate  with  fiery  zeal, 
Proud  Loru  first  answer'd  the  appeal ; — 

"  Thou  comest,  O  holy  Man, 
True  sons  of  blessed  chm-ch  to  greet,' 
But  little  deeming  here  to  meet 

A  wi-etch,  beneath  the  ban 
Of  Pope  and  Church,  for  murder  done 
Even  on  the  sacred  altar-stone  ! — ^ 
Well  mayst  thou  wonder  we  should  know 
Such  miscreant  here,  nor  lay  him  low,^ 
Or  dream  of  greeting,  peace,  or  truce. 
With  excommimicated  Bruce ! 
Yet  will  I  grant,  to  end  debate, 
Thy  sainted  voice  decide  his  fate."* 


1  The  MS.  here  adds  :— 

"  Men  bound  in  her  communion  sweet, 
And  duteous  to  the  Papal  seat." 

2  MS. "  the  blessed  altar^tone." 

s  In  place  of  the  conplet  which  follows,  the  MS.  has — 
"  Bat  promptly  had  my  dagger's  edge 
Avenged  the  guilt  of  sacrilege, 
Save  for  my  new  and  kind  ally, 
And  Torqnil,  chief  of  stormy  Skye 
(In  whose  wild  land  there  rests  tlie  seed. 
Men  say,  of  ancient  heathen  creed). 
Who  would  enforce  me  to  a  truce 
With  excommunicated  Bruce." 

4  The  MS.  adds  : 

"  Secure  such  foul  offenders  find 
No  favor  in  a  holy  mind." 

5  The  MS.  has  : 

"  Alleged  the  best  of  honor's  laws. 

The  succor  J  j.i"^^*?j  j,y  |  storm-staid  guest, 

The  refuge  due  to  the  distress'd. 

The  oatl"  tliat  binds  each  generous  knight 


XXV. 

Tlien  Ronald  pled  the  stranger's  cause, 
And  knighthood's  oath  and  honor's  laws ;' 
And  Isabel,  on  bended  knee, 
Brought  pray'rs  and  tears  to  back  the  plea : 
And  Edith  lent  her  generous  aid. 
And  wept,  and  Lorn  for  mercy  pray'd.* 
"  Hence,"  he  exclaim'd,  degenerate  maid ! 
Was't  not  enough  to  Roland's  bower 
I  brought  thee,  Uke  a  paramom-,' 
Or  bond-maid  at  her  master's  gate. 
His  careless  cold  approach  to  wait  ? — 
But  the  bold  Lord  of  Cumberland, 
The  gallant  Clifford,  seeks  thy  hand ; 
His  it  shall  be — Nay,  no  reply ! 
Hence  !  till  those  rebel  eyes  be  dry." 
With  grief  the  Abbot  heard  and  saw. 
Yet  naught  relax'd  Ins  brow  of  awe.* 

XXVL 

Then  Argentine,  in  England's  name. 
So  liighly  urged  his  sovereign's  claim,' 
He  waked  a  spark,  that  long  suppress'd, 
Had  smoulder'd  in  Lord  Ronald's  breast ; 
And  now,  as  from  the  flint  the  fire, 
Flash'd  forth  at  once  his  generous  ire. 
"  Enough  of  noble  blood,"  he  said, 
"  By  English  Edward  had  been  shed, 
Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 
In  mock'ry  crown'd  with  wreaths  of  green,' 
And  done  to  death  by  felon  hand. 
For  guarding  well  his  father's  land. 
Wliere's  Nigel  Bruce  ?  And  De  la  Haye, 
And  vaUant  Seton — where  are  they  ? 
Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  free  ? 
And  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  ?" 
Have  they  not  been  on  gibbet  bound, 


Still  to  prevent  unequal  fight ; 
And  Isabel,"  &c. 

6  MS. — "  And  wept  alike  and  knelt  and  pray'd" — The  nine 
lines  which  intervene  betwixt  this  and  the  concluding  couple* 
of  the  stanza  are  not  in  the  MS. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  V.  , 

8  The  MS.  adds— 

"  He  raised  the  suppliants  from  the  floor. 
And  bade  their  sorrowing  be  o'er,  > 

And  bade  them  give  their  weeping  o'er,  S 
But  in  a  tone  that  well  explain'd 
How  little  grace  their  prayers  had  gain'd  ; 
For  though  he  purposed  true  and  well, 
Still  stubborn  and  inflexible 
In  what  he  deem'd  his  duty  high. 
Was  Abbot  Ademar  of  Y." 

9  MS. — "  For  Bruce's  custody  made  claim."— In  place  <rf 
the  two  couplets  which  follow,  the  MS.  has — 

"  And  Torquil,  stout  Dunvegan's  Knight, 
As  well  defended  Scotland's  right. 
Enough  of,"  &c, 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

11  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 


428                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  u 

Their  quarters  flung  to  hawk  and  bound, 

Arms  every  hand  against  thy  Hfe, 

And  hold  we  here  a  cold  debate, 

Bans  all  who  aid  thee  in  the  strife, 

To  yield  more  victims  to  their  fate  ? 

Nay,  each  whose  succor,  cold  and  scant,' 

What !  can  the  Enghsb  Leopard's  mood 

With  meanest  alms  reUeves  thy  want ; 

Never  be  gorged  with  northern  blood  ? 

Haunts  thee  while  livmg, — and,  when  dead, 

Was  not  the  Ufe  of  Athole  shed, 

Dwells  on  thy  yet  devoted  head. 

To  sootlie  the  tyrant's  sicken'd  bed  ?' 

Rends  Honor's  scutcheon  from  tliy  hearse, 

And  must  Jiis  word,  till  dying  day, 

Stills  o'er  thy  bier  the  holy  verse, 

Be  naught  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay ! — ^ 

And  spurns  thy  corpse  from  hallow'd  groimd. 

Thou  frown'st,  De  Argentine, — My  gage 

Flunsr  like  vile  carrion  to  the  hound  ; 

Is  prompt  to  prove  the  strife  I  wage." — 

Sucli  is  the  dire  and  desperate  doom 

For  sacrilege,  decreed  by  Rome ; 

XXVII. 

And  such  the  well-deserved  meed 

"  Nor  deem,"  said  stout  Dunvegan's  knight,' 

Of  thine  unhallow'd,  ruthless  deed." 

"  That  thou  shalt  brave  alone  the  fight ! 

> 

By  saints  of  isle  and  mainland  both. 

XXIX. 

By  Woden  wild  (my  grandsu-e's  oath),* 

"  Abbot !"  the  Bruce  replied,  "  thy  charge 

Let  Rome  and  England  do  their  worst, 

It  boots  not  to  dispute  at  large. 

Howe'er  attainted  or  accursed, 

Tliis  much,  howe'er,  I  bid  thee  know, 

If  Bruce  shall  e'er  find  friends  again, 

No  selfish  vengeance  dealt  the  blow, 

Once  more  to  brave  a  battle-plain, 

For  Comyn  died  liis  country's  foe. 

If  Douglas  couch  again  liis  lance. 

Nor  blame  I  friends  whose  ill-timed  speed 

Or  Randolph  dare  another  chance, 

Fulfill'd  my  soon-repented  deed, 

Old  Torquil  will  not  be  to  lack 

Nor  censure  those  from  whose  stern  tongr« 

With  twice  a  thousand  at  his  back. — • 

The  dire  anathema  has  rung. 

Nay,  chafe  not  at  my  bearing  bold. 

I  only  blame  mine  own  wi'd  ire, 

Good  Abbot !  for  thou  kiiow'st  of  old, 

By  Scotland's  wrongs  incensed  to  fire. 

Torquil's  rude  thought  and  stubborn  will 

Heaven  knows  my  purpose  to  atone, 

Smack  of  the  wild  Norwegian  still ; 

Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done, 

Nor  will  I  barter  Freedom's  cause 

And  hears  a  penitent's  appeal 

For  England's  wealth,  or  Rome's  applause." 

From  papal  curse  and  prelate's  zeal. 

My  first  and  dearest  task  achieved, 

XXVIIL 

Fair  Scotland  from  her  thrall  relieved, 

The  Abbot  seem'd  with  eye  severe 

Shall  many  a  priest  in  cope  and  stole 

The  hardy  Chieftain's  speech  to  hear ; 

Say  requiem  for  Red  Comyn's  soul, 

Then  on  King  Robert  turn'd  the  Monk,* 

Wliile  I  the  blessed  cross  advance. 

But  twice  his  courage  came  and  smik, 

And  expiate  this  unliappy  chance 

Confronted  with  the  hero's  look ; 

In  Palestine,  v/ith  sword  and  lance.'' 

Twice  fell  his  eye,  his  accents  shook  ; 

But,  while  content  the  Church  should  know 

At  length,  resolved  in  tone  and  brow. 

My  conscience  owns  the  debt  I  owe,* 

Sternly  he  question'd  liim — "  And  thou. 

Unto  De  Argentine  and  Lorn 

Unhappy  !  what  hast  thou  to  plead, 

The  name  of  traitor  I  return. 

Why  I  denounce  not  on  thy  deed 

Bid  them  defiance  stern  and  high,' 

That  awful  doom  which  canons  teU 

And  give  them  in  their  throats  the  lie ! 

Shuts  paradise,  and  opens  heU  ; 

These  brief  words  spoke,  I  speak  no  more. 

Anathema  of  power  so  dread. 

Do  what  thou  wilt ;  my  shrift  is  n'er." 

It  blends  tlie  living  with  the  dead. 

Bids  each  good  angel  soar  away, 

XXX. 

And  every  ill  one  claim  liis  prey ; 

Like  man  by  prodigy  amazed. 

Expels  thee  from  the  church's  care, 

Upon  the  King  the  Abbot  gazed ;                              [ 

And  deafens  Heaven  against  thy  prayer ; 

Then  o'er  his  pallid  features  glance, 

■  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

or  imperfect  converts  to  Ciinstianity.     The  family  names  of 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 

Torquil,  Thormod,  Sac.  are  all  Norwegian. 

••  In  the  MS.  this  couplet  is  wanting,  and,  without  breaking 

''  MS. — "  Then  turn'd  him  on  the  Bruce  the  Monk." 

tlie  stanza,  Lord  Roland  continues, 

6  MS. — "  Nay,  curses  each  whose  succor  scant." 

"By  saints  of  isle,"  &c. 

'  Pee  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 

t  The  MacLeods,  and   most  other  distinguished  Hebridean 

8  Tlie  MS.  adds  :— "  For  this  ill-timed  and  luckless  blow  * 

families,  were  of  Scandinavian  extraction,  and  some  were  late 

'■  MS. "bold  and  high." 

CANTO  II. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


429 


Convulsions  of  ecstatic  trance. 
His  breatliing  came  more  thick  and  fast, 
And  from  his  pale  blue  eyes  were  cast 
Strange  rays  of  wild  and  wandering  light ; 
Uprise  his  locks  of  sdver  white, 
Flush'd  is  his  brow,  tlu-ough  every  vein 
In  azure  tide  the  currents  strain. 
And  undistinguish'd  accents  broke 
The  awful  silence  ere  he  spoke.* 

XXXI. 

"  De  Bruce !  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head,'' 

And  give  thee  as  an  outcast  o'er 

To  him  who  burns  to  shed  thy  gore ; — 

But,  like  the  Midianite  of  old, 

Who  stood  on  Zophim,  heaven-controll'd,* 

I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  will  not  be  repress'd.* 

It  prompts  my  voice,  it  swells  my  veins, 

It  burns,  it  maddens,  it  constrains  ! — 

De  Bruce,  tliy  sacrilegious  blow 

Hath  at  God's  altar  slain  thy  foe : 

O'ermaster'd  yet  by  high  behest, 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  !" 

He  spoke,  and  o'er  the  astonish'd  throng 

Was  silence,  awful,  deep,  and  long. 

XXXII. 
Again  that  light  has  fired  his  eye, 
Agam  his  form  swells  bold  and  high. 
The  broken  voice  of  age  is  gone, 
'Tis  vigorous  manhood's  lofty  tone  : — 

1  MS. — "  Swell  on  his  wither'd  brow  the  veins, 

Each  in  its  azure  current  strains, 
And  interrupted  tears  express'd 
The  tumult  of  his  laboring  breast." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 

3  See  the  Book  of  Numbers,  chap,  xxiii.  and  xxiv. 
i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 

6  Ibid.  Note  2  D. 

8  "  On  this  transcendent  passage  we  shall  only  remark,  that 
of  the  gloomy  part  of  the  propliecy  we  hear  nothing  more 
through  the  whole  of  tlie  poem,  and  though  the  Abbot  informs 
the  King  that  he  shall  be  '  On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled,' 
the  poet  never  speaks  of  Iiim  but  as  resident  in  Scotland,  np 
to  the  period  of  the  battle  of  Bannockburn." — Critical  Re- 
view. 

'  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

8  "The  conception  and  execution  of  these  stanzas  constitute 
excellence  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  match  from  any  other 
part  of  the  poem.  The  surprise  is  grand  and  perfect.  The 
monk,  struck  with  the  heroism  of  Robert,  foregoes  tlie  intended 
anatliema,  and  breaks  out  into  a  prophetic  annnnciation  of  his 
final  triumph  over  all  his  enemies,  and  the  veneration  in  which 
his  name  will  be  held  bj'  posterity.  Tliese  stanzas,  which  con- 
clude the  second  Canto,  derive  their  chief  title  to  encomium 
from  tlie  emphatic  felicity  of  tlieir  burden, 

'  I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  ;' 
M  which  few  and  simple  words   following,  as  they  do,  a  series 


"  Tlirice  vanquish'd  on  the  battle-plain, 

Thy  followers  slaughter'd,  fled,  or  ta'en, 

A  limited  wanderer  on  the  wild. 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled,^ 

Disown'd,  deserted,  and  distress'd," 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  I 

Bless'd  in  the  hall  and  in  the  field, 

Under  the  mantle  as  the  shield. 

Avenger  of  thy  coimtry's  shame. 

Restorer  of  her  injured  fame, 

Bless'd  in  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sword, 

De  Bruce,  fair  Scotland's  rightfid  Lord, 

Bless'd  in  thy  deeds  and  in  thy  fame, 

What  lengthen'd  honors  wait  thy  name  1 

In  distant  ages,  sire  to  son 

Shall  tell  thy  tale  of  freedom  won, 

And  teach  his  infonts,  in  the  use 

Of  earliest  speech,  to  falter  Bruce. 

Go,  then,  triumphant !  sweep  along 

Thy  course,  the  theme  of  many  a  song ! 

The  Power,  whose  dictates  swell  my  breast, 

Hath  bless'd  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd ! — 

Enough — my  short-lived  strength  decays. 

And  sinks  the  momentary  blaze. — 

Heaven  hath  our  destined  purpose  broke. 

Not  here  must  nuptial  vow  be  spoke  f 

Brethren,  om*  errand  here  is  o'er, 

Om-  task  discharged. — Unmoor,  unmoor !' — 

His  priests  received  the  exhausted  Monk, 

As  breathless  in  their  arms  he  simk. 

Ptmctual  his  orders  to  obey. 

The  train  refused  all  longer  stay, 

Embark'd,  raised  sail,  and  bore  away.* 

of  predicated  ills,  there  is  an  energy  that  instantaneously  ap- 
peals to  the  heart,  and  surpasses,  all  to  nothing,  the  results  of 
passages  less  happy  in  their  application,  though  more  labored 
and  tortuous  in  their  construction." — Critical  Rcvicic. 

"  The  story  of  the  second  Canto  exhibits  fewer  of  Mr.  Scott's 
characteristical  beauties  than  of  his  characteristical  faults. 
The  scene  itself  is  not  of  a  very  edifying  description ;  nor  is 
the  want  of  agreeableness  in  the  subject  compensated  by  any 
detached  merit  in  the  details.  Of  the  language  and  versifica- 
tion in  many  parts,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  speak  favorably. 
The  same  must  be  said  of  the  speeches  which  the  difierent 
characters  address  to  eacli  other.  The  rude  vehemence  which 
they  display  seems  to  consist  much  more  in  the  loudness  and 
gesticulation  with  which  the  speakers  express  themselves,  than 
in  the  force  and  energy  of  their  sentiments,  which,  for  the  most 
part,  are  such  as  the  barbarous  chiefs,  to  whom  they  are  at 
tributed,  might,  without  any  great  premeditation,  either  as  to 
the  thought  or  language,  have  actually  uttered.  To  flrd  'an- 
guage  and  sentiments  proportioned  to  characters  of  sr.ch  ex- 
traordinary dimensions  as  the  agents  in  the  poems  of  Hjmw 
and  Milton,  is  indeed  an  admirable  effort  of  genius  ;  but  to 
make  such  as  we  meet  with  in  the  epic  poetry  of  the  present 
day,  persons  often  below  the  middle  size,  and  never  very  much 
above  it,  merely  speak  in  character,  is  not  likely  to  occasion 
cither  much  difficulty  to  the  poet,  or  much  pleasure  to  the 
reader.  As  an  example,  we  might  adduce  the  speech  of  stout 
Dunvegan's  knight,  stanza  xxvii.,  which  is  not  the  less  wanting 
in  taste,  because  it  is  natural  and  cliaracteristic." — Quarter 
Review. 


430 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  lU 


(^l)c  €ov^  of  tljc  iJsUs. 


CANTO    THIRD. 


I. 

IIast  thou  not  mark'd,  when  o'er  thy  startled 

head 
Sudden  and  deep  the  tliunder-peal  has  roll'd, 
How,  wlicn  its  echoes  fell,  a  silence  dead 
Sunk  on  tlie  wood,  the  meadow,  and  the  wold  ? 
The  rye-grass  shakes  not  on  the  sod-built  fold, 
The  rustling  aspen's  leaves  are  mute  and  still,' 
The  wall-flower  waves  not  on  the  ruin'd  hold, 
Till,  murmuring  distant  first,   then  near  and 
slu-m,  [groaning  hill. 

The   savage  whirlwind  wakes,    and  sweeps   the 

11. 

Ai-tornish !  such  a  silence  sunk 
Upon  thy  halls,  when  that  gray  Monk 

His  prophet-speech  had  spoke  ; 
And  lais  obedient  brethren's  sail 
Was  stretch'd  to  meet  the  southern  gale 

Before  a  wliisper  woke. 
Then  mm-muring  sounds  of  doubt  and  fear, 
Close  pour'd  in  many  an  anxious  ear, 

The  solemn  stillness  broke  ; 
And  stiU  they  gazed  with  eager  guess, 
Where,  in  an  oriel's  deep  recess. 
The  Island  Prince  seem'd  bent  to  press 
What  Lorn,  by  his  impatient  cheer. 
And  gestm'e  fierce,  scarce  deign'd  to  hear. 
f 

III. 
Starting  at  length,  with  frowning  look, 
His  hand  he  clench'd,  his  head  he  shook, 

And  sternly  flung  apart ; — 
"  And  deem'st  thou  me  so  mean  of  mood, 
As  to  forget  the  mortal  feud, 
And  clasp  the  hand  witli  blood  imbrued'' 

From  my  dear  Kinsman's  heart  ? 
Is  tliis  thy  rede  ? — a  due  return 
For  ancient  league  and  friendship  sworn ! 
!3ut  well  our  mountain  proverb  shows 
The  faith  of  Islesmen  ebbs  and  flows. 
Be  it  even  sii — believe,  ere  long- 
He  that  now  bears  shall  wreak  the  wi'ong. — 
Call  Edith— call  the  Maid  of.Lorn! 
My  sister,  slaves ! — for  further  scorn, 
Be  sure  nor  she  nor  I  wUl  stay. — 
Away,  De  Argentine,  away ! — 

1  MS. — "  The  rustling  aspen  bids  his  leaf  be  still." 

2  MS. — "  And  clasj)  the  bloody  hand  imbrued." 

3  MS. — "  Nor  brother  we,  nor  ally  know." 
i  The  MS.  has,— 

"  Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  cry." — 


We  nor  ally  nor  brother  Imow,' 
In  Bruce's  friend,  or  England's  foe." 

IV. 

But  who  the  Chieftam's  rage  can  teE, 
When,  sought  from  lowest  dungeon  cell 
To  highest  tower  the  castle  round, 
Xo  Lady  Edith  was  there  foimd ! 
He  shouted,  "  Falsehood ! — treachery  ! — 
Revenge  and  blood ! — a  lordly  meed 
To  him  that  will  avenge  the  deed ! 
A  Baron's  lands !" — His  frantic  mood 
Was  scarcely  by  the  news  withstood, 
That  Morag  shared  his  sister's  flight. 
And  that,  m  hurry  of  the  night, 
'Scaped  noteless,  and  without  remark, 
Two  strangers  sought  the  Abbot's  bark. — 
"  Man  every  galley ! — fly — pursue ! 
The  priest  his  treachery  shall  rue ! 
Ay,  and  the  time  shall  quickly  come, 
When  Ave  shall  hear  the  thanks  that  Rome 
Win  pay  his  feigned  prophecy  !" 
Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  indignant  cry  !* 
And  Cormac  Doil  in  haste  obey'd, 
Hoisted  his  sail,  liis  anchor  weigh'd 
(For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  Avas  Cormac  Doil).^ 
But  others,  lingering,  spoke  apart, — 
"  The  Maid  has  given  her  maiden  heart 

To  Ronald  of  the  Isles, 
And,  fearful  lest  her  brother's  word 
Bestow  her  on  that  English  Lord, 

She  seeks  lona's  piles, 
And  wisely  deems  it  best  to  dwell 
A  votaress  in  the  holy  cell, 
Until  these  feuds  so  fierce  and  fell 

The  Abbot  reconciles.'" 

V. 

As,  impotent  of  ire,  the  ball 
Echo'd  to  Lorn's  impatient  call, 
"  M}-  horse,  my  mantle,  and  my  train ! 
Let  none  who  honors  Lorn  remain  !" — 
Courteous,  but  stern,  a  bold  request 
To  Bruce  De  Argentine  express'd. 
"  Lord  Earl,"  he  said, — "  I  cannot  chuse 
But  yield  such  title  to  the  Bruce, 
Though  name  and  earldom  both  are  gone, 
Since  he  braced  rebel's  armor  on — 
But,  Earl  or  Serf — rude  phrase  was  thine 
Of  late,  and  launch'd  at  Argentine ; 
Such  as  compels  me  to  demand 
Redress  of  honor  at  thy  hand. 

See  a  note  on  a  line  in  the  Lay  of  the  Iiast  Minstrel,  ant$ 
p.  21. 

^  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 
6  MS.—"  While  friends  shall  labor  fair  and  well 
These  feuds  tore'.-oncile." 


cANio  III.                                THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                     431 

We  need  not  to  each  other  tell, 

Even  now  there  jarr'd  a  secret  door — 

That  both  can  wield  theh  weapons  well ; 

A  taper-light  gleams  on  the  floor — 

Then  do  me  but  the  soldier  grace, 

Up,  Edward,  up,  I  say  ! 

This  glove  upon  thy  helm  to  place 

Some  one  glides  in  hke  midnight  ghost — 

Where  we  may  meet  in  tight ; 

Nay,  strike  not !  'tis  om-  noble  Host." 

And  I  will  say,  as  still  I've  said, 

Advancing  then  his  taper's  flame. 

Though  by  ambition  far  misled. 

Ronald  stept  forth,  and  with  him  came 

Thou  art  a  noble  knight." — 

Dunvegan's  chief — each  bent  the  knee 

To  Bruce  in  sign  of  fealty. 

VI. 

And  proffer'd  him  his  sword, 

'•  And  I,"  the  princely  Bruce  repUed, 

And  haU'd  liim,  in  a  monarch's  style, 

"  Mght  term  it  stain  ou  knighthood's  pride. 

As  king  of  mainland  and  of  isle. 

That  the  bright  sword  of  Argentine 

And  Scotland's  rightful  lord. 

Should  in  a  tyrant's  quarrel  shine ; 

"  And  0,"  said  Ronald,  "  Own'd  of  Heaven  1 

But,  for  your  brave  request. 

Say,  is  my  erring  youth  forgiven. 

Be  sm"e  the  honor'd  pledge  you  gave 

By  falsehood's  arts  fi-om  duty  driven. 

In  every  battle-field  shall  wave 

Who  rebel  falcliion  drew. 

Upon  my  helmet-crest ; 

Yet  ever  to  thy  deeds  of  fame. 

Beheve,  that  if  my  hasty  tongue 

Even  while  I  strove  against  thy  claim. 

Hath  done  thine  honor  causeless  wrong, 

Piiid  homage  just  and  true  ?" — 

It  shall  be  well  redress' d. 

"  Alas  !  dear  youth,  the  imhappy  time," 

Not  dearer  to  my  soul  was  glove, 

Answer'd  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime, 

Bestow'd  in  youth  by  lady's  love, 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you, 

Than  this  which  thou  hast  given  ! 

Even  I" — he  paused ;  for  FaUdi-k's  woes 

Thus,  then,  my  noble  foe  I  gi-eet ; 

Upon  his  conscious  sold  arose.' 

Health  and  high  fortmie  till  we  meet, 

The  Chieftain  to  his  breast  he  press'd, 

And  then — what  pleases  Heaven." 

And  in  a  sigh  conceal'd  the  rest. 

VI  r. 

IX. 

Thus  parted  they — for  now,  with  sound 

They  proffer'd  aid,  by  arms  and  might. 

Like  waves  roll'd  back  from  rocky  ground. 

To  repossess  liim  in  his  right ; 

The  friends  of  Lorn  retire  ; 

But  well  then-  counsels  must  be  weigh'd. 

Each  mainland  chieftain,  with  liis  train. 

Ere  banners  raised  and  musters  made, 

Draws  to  his  mouut;un  towers  again, 

For  EngUsh  hire  and  Lorn's  mtrigues 

Pondering  how  mortal  schemes  prove  vain 

Bound  many  chiefs  in  southern  leagues. 

And  mortal  hojjes  expire. 

In  answer,  Bruce  liis  purpose  bold 

But  through  the  castle  double  guard. 

To  his  new  vassals"  frankly  told. 

By  Ronald's  charge,  kept  wakeful  ward, 

"  The  winter  worn  m  exile  o'er. 

Wicket  and  gate  were  trebly  barr'd. 

I  long'd  for  Carrick's  kindred  shore. 

By  beam  and  bolt  and  chain ; 

I  thought  upon  my  native  Ayr, 

Then  of  the  guests,  in  courteous  sort, 

And  long'd  to  see  the  burly  fare 

He  pray'd  excuse  for  mirth  broke  short, 

That  Chftbrd  makes,  whose  lordly  call 

And  bade  them  in  Artoruish  fort 

Now  echoes  through  my  father's  hall. 

In  confidence  remain. 

But  first  my  com-se  to  Arran  led. 

Now  torch  and  menial  tendance  led 

Where  valiant  Lennox  gathers  head. 

Chieftain  and  knight  to  bower  and  bed, 

And  on  the  sea,  by  tempest  toss'd. 

And  Deads  were  told,  and  Aves  said. 

Om-  barks  dispersed,  our  purpose  cross' d, 

And  soon  they  smik  away 

Mine  own,  a  hostile  sail  to  shun, 

Tuto  such  sleep,  as  wont  to  shed 

Far  from  her  destined  course  had  run. 

Obhvion  on  the  weary  head, 

When  that  wise  will,  wliich  masters  om'S, 

After  a  toilsome  day. 

Compell'd  us  to  your  friendly  towers." 

VIIL 

X. 

But  soon  uproused,  the  Monarch  cried 

Then  Torquil  spoke : — "  The  time  craves  speed  I 

To  Edward  slumbering  by  his  side, 

We  must  not  linger  in  our  deed. 

"  Awake,  or  sleep  for  aye ! 

But  instant  pray  our  Sovereign  Liege, 

I  See  Appendix,  Note  2F. 

a  MS.—"  Allies.^* 

432 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  iir. 


To  shun  the  perils  of  a  siege. 

The  vengeful  Lorn,  with  all  his  powers, 

Lies  but  too  near  Artornish  towers, 

And  England's  light-arm'd  vessels  ride, 

Not  distant  far,  the  waves  of  Clyde, 

Prc^pt  at  these  tidings  to  unmoor, 

And  sweep  each  strait;  and  guard  each  shore. 

Then,  till  this  fresh  alarm  pass  by, 

Secret  and  safe  my  Liege  must  lie 

In  the  far  bounds  of  friendly  Skye, 

Torquil  thy  pilot  and  thy  guide." — 

"  Not  so,  brave  Chieftain,"  Ronald  cried ; 

"  Myself  will  on  my  Sovereign  wait,^ 

And  raise  in  arms  the  men  of  Sleate, 

"Whilst  thou,  renowu'd  where  cliiefs  debate, 

Shalt  sway  their  souls  by  council  sage. 

And  awe  them  by  thy  locks  of  age." 

— "  And  if  my  words  in  weight  shall  fail,'* 

This  ponderous  sword  shall  tm-n  the  scale." 

XL 

— "  The   scheme,"   said   Bruce,   "  contents   me 

well; 
Meantime,  'twere  best  that  Isabel, 
For  safety,  with  my  bark  and  crew. 
Again  to  friendly  Erin  drew. 
There  Edward,  too,  shall  with  her  wend, 
In  need  to  cheer  her  and  defend, 
Aiid  muster  uj)  each  scatter'd  friend." — ' 
Here  seem'd  it  as  Lord  Ronald's  ear 
Would  other  counsel  gladUer  hear ; 
But,  all  achieved  as  soon  as  plann'd. 
Both  barks,  in  secret  arm'd  and  mann'd, 

From  out  the  haven  bore  ; 
On  different  voyage  forth  they  ply, 
Tlii^  for  the  coast  of  winged  Skj^e, 

And  that  for  Erin's  shore. 

XII. 
"With  Bruce  and  Ronald  bides  the  tale. 
To  favoring  winds  they  gave  the  sail. 
Tin  Mull's  dark  headlands  scarce  they  knew. 
And  Ardnamm-chan's  hills  were  blue.* 
But  then  the  squalls  blew  close  and  hard. 
And,  fain  to  strike  the  galley's  yard. 

And  take  them  to  the  oar. 
With  these  rude  seas,  in  weary  plight. 
They  strove  the  livelong  day  and  night. 
Nor  till  the  dawning  had  a  sight 

Of  Skye's  romantic  shore. 

>  MS.— '"  Myself  tliy  pilot  and  thy  guide.' 

'  Not  so,  kind  Torquil,'  Ronald  cried  ; 
'  'Tis  I  will  on  my  sovereign  wait.'  " 
The  MS.  has, 

"  '  Aye",'  said  the  Cliief,  '  or  if  they  fail, 
This  broadsword's  weight  shall  turn  the  scale.'  " 
In  altering  this  passage,  the  poet  appears  to  have  lost  a  link 
-En. 


"Where  Coolin  stoops  him  to  the  west, 
They  saw  upon  his  shiver'd  crest 

The  sun's  arising  gleam ; 
But  such  the  labor  and  delay. 
Ere  they  were  moor'd  in  Scavigh  bay 
(For  calmer  heaven  compell'd  to  stay),* 

He  shot  a  western  beam. 
Then  Ronald  said,  "  If  true  naine  eye. 
These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 
North  of  Strathnardill  and  Dimskye  f 

No  human  foot  comes  here. 
And,  since  these  adverse  breezes  blow. 
If  my  good  Liege  love  hunter's  bow, 
"WTiat  hinders  that  on  land  we  go, 

And  strike  a  mountain-deer  ? 
Allan,  my  page,  shall  with  us  wend ; 
A  bow  full  deftly  can  he  bend. 
And,  if  we  meet  a  herd,  may  send 

A  shaft  shall  mend  our  cheer." 
Then  each  took  bow  and  bolts  in  hand. 
Their  row-boat  launch'd  and  leapt  to  land, 

And  left  their  skiff  and  train, 
Wliere  a  wild  stream,  with  headlong  shock, 
Came  brawling  down  its  bed  of  rock, 

To  mingle  with  the  main. 

XIIL 
A  while  then-  route  they  sUent  made, 

As  men  who  stalk  for  mountain-deer, 
Till  the  good  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

"  St.  Mary !  what  a  scene  is  here ! 
I've  traversed  many  a  mountain-strand, 
Abroad  and  in  my  native  lanu. 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Where  safety  more  than  pleasure  led  ; 
Thus,  many  a  waste  I've  wander'd  o'er, 
Clombe  many  a  crag,  cross'd  many  a  moor. 

But,  by  my  halidome, 
A  scene  so  rude,  so  wild  as  this. 
Yet  so  sublime  in  barrenness. 
Ne'er  did  my  wandering  footsteps  press, 

Where'er  I  happ'd  to  roam." 

XIV. 

No  marvel  thus  the  Monarch  spake ; 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  that  dread  lake, 

With  its  dark  ledge'  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  strange  and  shatter'd  way 

3  The  MS.  adds : 

"  Our  bark's  departure,  too,  will  blind 
To  our  intent  the  Ibeman's  mind." 
■•  MS. — "  Till  MuU's  dark  isle  no  more  they  knew, 
Nor  Ardnamurchan's  mountains  blue." 
^  MS. — "  For  favoring  gales  compell'd  to  stay." 
s  r^ee  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 
'MS.--"  Dark  banks," 


CANTO    III. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


433   ! 


Tlirough  the  rude  bosom  of  the  lull, 

And  when  return  the  sun's  glad  bi  ams, 

And  thiit  each  naked  precipice, 

Whiten'd  with  foam  a  thousand  streams 

Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss, 

Leap  from  tlie  momitain's  cro'wn.' 

Tells  of  the  outrage  still. 

Tlie  wildest  glen,  but  tliis,  can  show 

XVL 

Some  touch  of  Nature's  genial  glow  ; 

"  This  lake,"  said  Bruce,  "  whose  barriers 

On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  grow, 

drear 

And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencroe,' 

Are  precipices  sharp  and  sheer. 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben  ; 

Yielding  no  track  for  goat  or  deer. 

But  here, — above,  around,  below, 

Save  the  black  shelves  we  tread. 

On  mountaiu  or  in  glen, 

How  term  you  its  dark  waves  ?  and  how 

"Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower, 

Yon  northern  mountain's  patlJess  brow, 

Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power, 

And  yonder  peak  of  dread. 

The  weary  eye  may  ken. 

That  to  the  evening  sun  uplifts 

For  all  is  rocks  at  random  tlii-own. 

The  grisly  gulfs  and  slaty  rifts. 

Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone, 

Which  seam  its  shiver'd  head  ?" — 

As  if  were  here  denied 

"  Coriskin  call  the  dark  lake's  name. 

The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew. 

CooUn  the  ridge,  as  bards  proclaim. 

That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

From  old  CuchuUin,  chief  of  fame. 

The  bleakest^  mountain-side.^ 

But  bards,  famiUar  in  our  isles 

Rather  with  Nature's  frowns  than  smiles 

XV. 

FuU  oft  their  careless  humors  please 

And  wilder,  forward,  as  they  wound. 

By  sportive  names  from  scenes  Hke  these 

Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound. 

I  would  old  Torquil  were  to  show 

Huge  terraces  of  granite  black* 

His  maidens  with  their  breasts  of  snow, 

Afforded  rude  and  cumber'd  track; 

Or  that  my  noble  Liege  were  nigh 

For  from  the  mountain  hoar,^ 

To  hear  his  Nm'se  sing  lullaby  ! 

Hurl'd  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear, 

(The  Maids — tall  cliffs  with  breakers  white, 

When  yell'd  the  wolf  and  fled  the  deer, 

The  Nurse — a  torrent's  roaring  might), 

Loose  crags  had  tojjpled  o'er ;" 

Or  that  your  eye  could  see  the  mood 

And  some,  chance-poised  and  balanced,  lay, 

Of  Corryvrekm's  whirlpool  rude. 

So  that  a  striphng  arm  might  sway 

When  dons  the  Hag  her  wliiten'd  hood — 

A  mass  no  host  could  raise. 

'Tis  thus  our  islesmen's  fancy  frmnes. 

la  Natm-e's  rage  at  random  thi-own. 

For  scenes  so  stern,  fantastic  names." 

Yet  trembling  hke  the  Druid's  stone 

On  its  precarious  base. 

xvn. 

The  evening  mists,  with  ceaseless  change, 

Answer'd  the  Bruce,  "  And  musing  mind 

Now  clothed  the  mountains'  lofty  range, 

Might  here  a  graver  moral  find. 

Now  left  their  foreheads  bare. 

These  mighty  cliffs,  that  heave  on  high 

And  round  the  sldiis  then-  mantle  fmd'd, 

Their  naked  brows  to  midtUe  sky, 

Or  on  the  sable  waters  curl'd. 

Indifferent  to  the  sun  or  snow. 

Or  on  the  eddying  breezes  whuTd, 

Where  naught  can  fade,  and  naught  can  blo7 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 

May  they  not  mark  a  Monarch's  fate, — 

And  oft,  condensed,  at  once  they  lower,'' 

Raised  liigh  mid  storms  of  strife  and  state, 

When,  brief  and  fierce,  the  mountain  shower 

Beyond  hfe's  lowher  pleasin-es  placed, 

Pours  like  a  ton-ent  down,* 

His  soul  a  rock,  his  heart  a  waste  ?'" 

1  MS.-"  And  I  ^"''^  '1='^'=  ^""^^  I  in  deep  Glencoe." 
'  healher-bells        ) 

4  MS. — "  And  wilder,  at  each  step  they  take, 

Turn  the  proud  cliffs  and  yawning  lake  ; 

SMS.-"  PVildest  )„ 
'  Rarest.    S 

Huge  naked  sheets  of  granite  black,"  &c. 

5  MS. — "  For  from  the  mountain's  crown." 

3  The  Quarterly  Reviewer  says,  "  Tliis  picture  of  barren 

6  j\!S. — "  Huge  crags  had  toppled  down." 

desolation  is  admirably  touched;"  and  if  the  opinion  of  Mr. 

'  MS. — "  Oft  closing  too,  at  once  they  lower." 

Turner  be  worth  any  thing,  "  No  words  could  have  given  a 

8  MS.—"  Pour'd  like  a  torrent  dread." 

truer  picture  of  this,  one  of  the  wildest  of  Nature's  land- 

3 MS. — "  Leap  from  the  mountain's  head." 

scapes. "     Mr.  Turner  adds,  however,  that  he  dissents  in  one 

10  "  He  who  ascends  to  mountain-tops,  shall  find 

oartieulaT ;  but  for  one  or  Udo  tufts  of  grass  he  must  have 

The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapt  in  clouds  and  snow  ; 

broken  his  neck,  having  slipped  when  tr.viiig  to  attain  the  best 

He  who  surjiasses  or  subdues  mankind, 

position  for  taking  the  view  wliich  embellishes  volume  tenth. 

Must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  tliose  below. 

edition  1833. 

55 

Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glow, 

434 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III. 


O'er  hope  and  love  and  fear  aloft 
Hifh  rears  his  crowned  head — But  soft ! 
Look,  underneath  yon  jutting  crag 
Are  hunters  and  a  slaughtcr'd  stag. 
Wio  may  they  be  ?     But  late  you  said 
No  steps  these  desert  regions  tread  ?" — 

XVIII. 
"  So  said  I — and  believed  m  sooth," 
Ronald  replied,  "  I  spoke  the  truth. 
Yet  now  I  spy,  by  yonder  stone, 
Five  men — they  mark  us,  and  come  on ; 
And  by  tlieu-  badge  on  bonnet  borne, 
I  guess  tliem  of  the  land  of  Lorn, 
Foes  to  my  Liege." — "  So  let  it  be  ; 
I've  fiiced  worse  odds  than  five  to  three — 
— But  the  poor  page  can  little  aid ; 
Then  be  our  battle  thus  array'd, 
If  our  free  passage  they  contest ; 
Cope  thou  with  two,  I'll  match  the  rest." — 
"  Not  so,  my  Liege — for  by  my  life. 
This  sword  shall  meet  the  treble  strife ; 
Mj^  strength,  my  skill  in  arms,  more  small, 
And  less  the  loss  should  Ronald  faU. 
But  islesmen  soon  to  soldiers  grow, 
AUan  has  sword  as  well  as  bow. 
And  were  my  Monarch's  order  given. 
Two  shafts  should  make  our  number  even." — 
"  No  !  not  to  save  my  life !"  he  said ; 
"  Enough  of  blood  rests  on  my  head, 
Too  rashly  spiU'd — we  soon  shall  know, 
Whether  they  come  as  friend  or  foe." 

XIX. 

Nigh  came  the  strangers,  and  more  nigh ; — 
Still  less  they  pleased  the  Monarch's  eye 
Men  were  they  all  of  evU  mien, 
Dowu-look'd,  unwilling  to  be  seen  ;* 
They  moved  with  half-resolved  pace, 
And  bent  on  earth  each  gloomy  face. 
The  foremost  two  were  fau-  array'd. 
With  brogue  and  bounet,  trews  and  plaid. 
And  bore  the  arms  of  mountaineers. 
Daggers  and  broadswords,  bows  and  spears. 
The  three  that  l?gg'd  small  space  behijid, 
Seem'd  serfs  of  more  degi-aded  kind ; 
Goat-skins  or  deer-hides  o'er  them  cast, 
Made  a  rude  fence  against  the  blast ; 
Tlieir  arms  and  feet  and  heads  were  bare, 
Matted  their  beards,  unshorn  theh-  hair ; 
For  arm.!,  the  caitiffs  bore  in  hand, 
A  cluo,  an  axe,  a  rusty  brand. 

And  far  beneath  the  earth  and  ocean  spread, 
Ronnd  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow 
Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head, 
And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits  led.  ' 

Childe  Harold,  Canto  iii. 
'■  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 


XX. 
Onward,  still  mute,  they  kept  the  track ; — 
"  Tell  who  ye  be,  or  else  stand  back," 
Said  Bruce  :  "  in  deserts  when  they  meet, 
Men  pass  not  as  in  peaceful  street." 
Still, "at  his  stem  command,  they  stood, 
And  proffer'd  greeting  brief  and  rude, 
But  acted  cotortesy  so  iU, 
As  seem'd  of  fear,  and  not  of  wilL 
"  Wanderers  we  are,  as  you  may  be ; 
Men  hither  driven  by  wind  and  sea. 
Who,  if  you  list  to  taste  our  cheer. 
Will  share  with  you  this  fallow  deer." — 
"  If  from  the  sea,  where  lies  your  bark  ?" — 
"  Ten  fathom  deep  in  ocean  dark ! 
Wreck'd  yesternight :  but  we  are  men, 
Who  little  sense  of  peril  ken. 
The  shades  come  down — the  day  is  shut — 
WiU  you  go  with  us  to  our  hut  ?" — 
"  Our  vessel  waits  us  in  tlie  bay  ;* 
Thanks  for  your  proffer — have  good-day.". — 
"  Was  that  your  galley,  then,  which  rode 
Not  far  from  shore  when  evening  glow'd  ?" — * 
"  It  was." — "  Then  spare  your  needless  pain, 
There  will  she  now  be  sought  in  vain. 
We  saw  her  from  the  moimtain  head. 
When,  with  St.  George's  blazon  red, 
A  southern  vessel  bore  in  sight. 
And  yom"3  raised  sail,  and  took  to  flight." — 

XXL 

"Now,  by  the  rood,  unwelcome  news  !" 
Thus  with  Lord  Ronald  communed  Bruce ; 
"  Nor  rests  there  Ught  enough  to  show 
If  this  their  tale  be  true  or  no. 
The  men  seem  bred  of  churlish  kind. 
Yet  mellow  nuts  have  hardest  rind ; 
We  will  go  with  them — food  and  fii'e* 
And  shelteruig  roof  om*  wants  require. 
Siu-e  guard  'gainst  treachery  wiU  we  keep. 
And  watch  by  turns  our  comrades'  sleep. — 
Good  feUows,  thanks ;  yoiu"  guests  we'll  be, 
And  well  will  pay  the  com'tesy. 
Come,  lead  us  where  your  lodging  lies, — 
— Nay,  soft !  we  mix  not  companies. — 
Show  us  the  path  o'er  crag  and  stone,' 
And  we  will  follow  you  ; — ^lead  on." 

XXIL 

They  reach'd  the  dreary  cabin,  made 
Of  sails  against  a  rock  display'd. 
And  there,  on  entering,^  found 


2  MS. — "  Our  boat  and  vessel  cannot  stay." 

3  MS. — "Deep  in  the  bay  when  evening  glow'd." 
*  MS. — "  Yet  rugged  brows  have  bosoms  kind  ; 

Wend  we  with  them — for  food  and  fire." 

5  MS. — "  Wend  you  the  first  o'er  stock  and  stone." 

6  MS.— "  Entrance." 


!    c-  NTO  III.                              THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                      435 

1        A  slender  boy,  whose  form  and  mien 

We  never  doff  the  plaid  or  sword. 

111  suited  with  such  savage  scene, 

Or  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board ;" 

In  cap  and  cloak  of  velvet  green, 

And  never  share  one  common  sleep. 

Low  seated  on  the  ground. 

But  one  must  stUl  his  vigU  keep. 

His  garb  was  such  as  minstrels  wear, 

Thus,  for  om-  separate  use,  good  friend, 

Dark  was  liis  hue,  and  dark  his  hair, 

We'll  hold  this  hut's  remoter  end." — 

His  youthful  cheek  was  marr'd  by  care, 

"  A  chm-hsh  vow,"  the  eldest  said. 

His  eyes  in  sorrow  drown'd. 

"  And  hard,  methinks,  to  be  obey'd. 

"  VV  hence  tliis  poor  boy  ?" — As  Ronald  spoke. 

How  say  you,  if,  to  wreak  the  scorn 

The  voice  his  trance  of  anguish  broke ; 

That  pays  our  kmdness  harsh  return, 

As  if  awaked  from  ghastly  dream, 

We  should  refuse  to  share  our  meal?" — 

He  raised  his  head  with  start  and  scream, 

"  Then  say  we,  that  our  swords  are  steel ! 

And  wildly  gazed  around ; 

And  our  vow  binds  us  not  to  fast, 

Then  to  the  wall  his  face  he  turn'd, 

Where  gold  or  force  may  buy  repast." — 

And  his  dark  neck  with  blushes  burn'd. 

Theu  host's  dark  brow  grew  keen  and  fell. 

His  teeth  are  clench'd,  Ms  featmes  swell ; 

XXIII. 

Yet  sunk  the  felon's  moody  ire 

"  \V  hose  is  this  boy  ?"  again  he  said. 

Before  Lord  Ronald's  glance  of  fire. 

"  By  chance  of  war  our  captive  made ; 

Nor  could  his  craven  courage  brook 

He  may  be  yours,  if  you  should  hold 

The  Monarch's  calm  and  dauntless  look. 

That  music  has  more  charms  than  gold ; 

With  laugh  constraiu'd, — "  Let  every  man 

For,  though  from  earliest  cloildliood  mute, 

Follow  the  fashion  of  his  clan ! 

The  lad  can  deftly  touch  the  lute, 

Each  to  his  separate  quarters  keep. 

And  on  the  rote  and  viol  play, 

And  feed  or  fast,  or  wake  or  sleep." 

And  well  can  di'ive  the  time  away 

For  those  who  love  such  glee ; 

XXV. 

For  me,  the  favormg  breeze,  when  loud 

Tlieir  fii"e  at  separate  distance  burns. 

It  pipes  upon  the  galley's  shroud. 

By  tm-ns  they  eat,  keep  guard  by  tm-ns ; 

Makes  blither  melody." — ' 

For  evil  seem'd  that  old  man's  eye. 

"  Hath  he,  then,  sense  of  spoken  soxmd  ?" — 

Dark  and  designing,  fierce  yet  shy. 

"  Aye ;  so  his  mother  bade  us  know, 

Still  he  avoided  forward  look, 

A  crone  in  our  late  shipwreck  di'owu'd, 

But  slow  and  circumspectly  took 

And  hence  the  silly  striphng's  woe. 

A  circling,  never-ceasing  glance, 

More  of  the  youth  I  cannot  say. 

By  doubt  aud  cunning  mark'd  at  once, 

Our  captive  but  since  yesterday ; 

Which  shot  a  mischief-boding  ray,' 

When  wind  and  weather  wax'd  so  grim, 

From  under  eyebrows  shagg'd  and  gray. 

We  little  listed  tliink  of  him. — 

The  younger,  too,  who  seem'd  his  son, 

But  why  waste  tune  in  idle  words  ? 

Had  that  dark  look  the  timid  shun ; 

Sit  to  your  cheer — unbelt  your  swords." 

The  half-clad  serfs  beliind  them  sate, 

Sudden  the  captive  tm-n'd  his  head. 

And  scowl'd  a  glare  'twixt  fear  and  hate — 

And  one  quick  glance  to  Ronald  sped. 

Till  all,  as  darkness  onward  crept. 

It  was  a  keen  and  warnmg  look. 

Couch'd  do-\vn,  and  seem'd  to  sleep,  or  slept 

And  well  the  Chief  the  signal  took. 

Xor  he,  that  boy,  whose  powerless  tongue 

Must  trust  liis  eyes  to  wail  his  wi'ong, 

XXIV. 

A  longer  watch  of  sorrow  made. 

"  Kind  host,"  he  said,  "  our  needs  requii-e 

But  stretch'd  his  limbs  to  slumber  laid.* 

A  separate  board  and  separate  fire; 

For  know,  that  on  a  pilgrimage 

XXVL 

Wend  I,  my  comrade,  and  this  page. 

Not  in  liis  dangerous  host  confides 

And,  sworn  to  vigU  and  to  fast, 

The  King,  but  wary  watch  provides. 

Long  as  this  haUow'd  task  shall  last, 

Ronald  keeps  ward  tUl  midnight  past. 

•  MS. — "  Bat  on  the  clairslioch  he  can  play, 

2  MS.—"  And  we  have  sworn  to  j  f^'°*®    ;  power 

And  help  a  weary  night  away, 

With  those  who  love  such  glee. 

While  lasts  this  hallow'd  task  of  onre. 

To  me,  the  favoring  breeze,  when  lond 

Never  to  dotf  the  plaid  or  sword, 

It  pipes  tlirongh  on  my  galley's  shroud, 

Nor  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board." 

Makes  better  melody." 

3  MS. "  an  ill  foreboding  ray." 

*  MS.—"  But  seems  in  senseless  slumber  laid." 

43G 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III. 


Tlicn  wakes  the  King,  young  Allan  last ; 

Thus  raiikVl,  to  give  the  youthful  page, 

The  rest  required  by  tender  age. 

TVHiat  is  Lord  Ronald's  Avakeful  thought, 

To  chase  the  languor  toil  had  brought  ^- 

(For  deem  not  that  he  deign'd  to  throw 

Much  care  upon  slich  coward  foe,) — 

He  thinks  of  lovely  Isabel, 

When  at  her  foeman's  feet  she  fell. 

Nor  less  when,  placed  in  princely  selle, 

She  glanced  on  hun  with  favoring  eyes, 

At  Woodstocke  when  he  won  the  prize. 

Nor,  fair  in  joy,  in  sorrow  f;iir, 

In  pride  of  place  as  'mid  despair. 

Must  she  alone  engross  his  care. 

His  thoughts  to  his  beti'othed  bride,* 

To  Edith,  turn — 0  how  decide, 

When  here  his  love  and  heart  are  given. 

And  there  his  faith  stands  phght  to  Heaven ! 

No  drowsy  ward  'tis  his  to  keep. 

For  seldom  lovers  long  for  sleep. 

Till  sung  his  midnight  hymn  the  owl, 

Answer'd  the  dog-fox  with  his  howl, 

Tlien  waked  the  King — at  his  request. 

Lord  Ronald  stretch'd  himself  to  rest. 

XXVIL 
Wliat  spell  was  good  King  Robert's,  say, 
To  drive  the  weary  night  away  ? 
His  was  the  jjatriot's  burning  thought, 
Of  Freedom's  battle  bravely  fought, 
Of  castles  storm'd,  of  cities  freed, 
Of  deep  design  and  daring  deed,  "•■ 

Of  England's  roses  reft  and  torn. 
And  Scotland's  cross  in  triumph  Avorn, 
Of  rout  and  rally,  war  and  truce, — 
As  heroes  think,  so  thought  the  Bruce. 
No  marvel,  'mid  such  musings  high. 
Sleep  shunn'd  the  Monarch's  tlioughtful  eye. 
Now  over  CooUn's  eastern  head 
Tlie  grayish  light^  beguas  to  spread. 
The  otter  to  his  cavern  drew, 
And  clamor'd  shrill  the  wakening  mew ; 
Then  watch'd  the  page — to  needful  rest 
The  liing  resign'd  his  anxious  breast. 

XXVIIL 

To  Allan's  eyes  was  harder  task. 
The  weary  watch  then-  safeties  ask. 
He  trimm'd  the  fire,  and  gave  to  shine 
With  bickering  hght  the  spluiter'd  jjine ; 

1  MS. — "  Must  she  alone  his  musings  share. 

They  turn  to  his  betrothed  bride." 
»  MS.—"  The  cold  blue  light." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I. 

•  M.S. "  with  empty  dream, 

Mingled  the  c.ajitive's  real  scream." 
'  Young  Allan's  turn  (to  watch)  comes  last,  which  gives 


Then  gazed  awhile,  where  silent  laid 
Tlieir  hosts  were  shrouded  by  the  jjlaid. 
But  little  fear  waked  in  his  mind. 
For  he  was  bred  of  martial  kind. 
And,  if  to  manhood  he  arrive, 
May  match  the  boldest  knight  alive. 
Then  thought  he  of  his  mother's  tower, 
His  little  sisters'  greenwood  bower. 
How  there  the  Easter-gambols  pass. 
And  of  Dan  Joseph's  lengthen'd  mass. 
But  still  before  his  weary  eye 
In  rays  prolong'd  the  blazes  die — 
Again  he  roused  him — on  the  lake 
Look'd  forth,  where  now  the  twilight-flake 
Of  pale  cold  dawn  began  to  wake. 
On  Coolin's  cliffs  the  mist  lay  furl'd, 
The  morning  breeze  the  lake  had  curl'd. 
The  short  dark  waves,  heaved  to  the  land, 
With  ceaseless  plash  kiss'd  cliff  or  sand ; — 
It  was  a  slumbrous  sound — he  tum'd 
To  tales  at  which  liis  youth  had  burn'd, 
Of  pilgrim's  path  by  demon  cross'd, 
Of  sprightly  elf  or  yelling  ghost, 
Of  the  wild  Avitch's  baneful  cot, 
And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot. 
Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well, 
DeejJ  m  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell.' 
Thither  in  fancy  rapt  he  flies, 
And  on  liLs  sight  the  vaults  arise ; 
That  hut's  dark  walls  he  sees  no  more, 
His  foot  is  on  the  marble  floor. 
And  o'er  his  head  the  dazzling  spars 
Gleam  Uke  a  firmament  of  stars ! 
— Hark !  hears  he  not  the  sea-nymph  speak 
Her  anger  in  that  thrilling  shriek ! — 
No !  all  too  late,  with  Allan's  dream 
Mingled  the  captive's  warning  scream.* 
As  from  the  gromid  he  strives  to  start, 
A  ruffian's  dagger  finds  his  heart ! 
Upward  he  casts  liis  dizzy  eyes,  .  .  . 
Murmurs  his  master's  name,  .  .  .  and  dies ! 

XXIX. 
Not  so  awoke  the  Kmg !  his  hand 
Snatch'd  from  the  flame  a  knotted  brand, 
The  nearest  weapon  of  his  wrath ; 
With  this  he  cross'd  the  murderer's  path. 

And  venged  young  Allan  well ! 
The  spatter'd  brain  and  bubbhng  blood 
Hiss'd  on  the  half-extinguish'd  wood. 

The  miscreant  gasp'd  and  fell  !* 

the  poet  the  opportunity  of  marking,  in  the  most  natural  and 
happy  manner,  tliat  insensible  transition  from  the  reality  of 
walking  thoughts,  to  the  fanciful  visions  of  slumber,  and  that 
delusive  powerof  the  imagination  wiiieh  so  blends  the  confines  of 
these  separate  states,  as  to  deceive  and  sport  with  tlie  efforts  evea 
of  determined  vigilance." — British  Critic,  February,  1815 
"5  MS. — "  What  time  the  miscreant  fell." 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


437 


Nor  rose  in  peace  the  Island  Lord ! 
One  caitiff  died  upon  his  sword, 
And  one  beneath  liis  grasp  lies  prone, 
In  mortal  grapple  overthrown. 
Bat  while  Lord  Ronald's  dagger  drank 
The  life-blood  from  his  panting  flank, 
The  Fatlier-rufhau  of  tlie  band 
Behind  him  rears  a  coward  hand  ! 

— 0  for  a  moment's  aid, 
Till  Bruce,  who  deals  no  double  blow  * 
Dash  to  the  earth  another  foe. 

Above  liis  comrade  laid ! — 
And  it  is  gain'd — the  captive  sprung 
On  the  raised  arm,  and  closely  clung, 

And,  ere  he  shook  him  loose. 
The  master'd  felon  press'd  the  ground, 
And  gasp'd  beneath  a  mortal  wound, 

While  o'er  him  stands  the  Bruce. 

XXX. 

"  Miscreant !  while  lasts  thy  flitting  spai'k. 

Give  me  to  know  the  purpose  dark, 

That  arm'd  thy  hand  with  murderous  knife, 

Agamst  offenceless  stranger's  hfe  ?" — 

"  No  stranger  thou  !"  with  accent  fell, 

Murmur'd  the  wretch ;  "  I  know  thee  well ; 

And  know  thee  for  the  foeman  sworn 

Of  my  high  chief,  the  mighty  Lorn." — 

"  Speak  yet  again,  and  speak  the  trutli 

For  thy  soid's  sake  ! — from  whence  this  youth  ? 

His  country,  birth,  and  name  declare, 

And  thus  one  evil  deed  repair." — 

— "  Vex  me  no  more  ! . . .  my  blood  runs  cold  . . . 

No  more  I  know  than  I  have  told. 

We  found  him  in  a  bark  we  sought 

Wi,th  different  purpose  . . .  and  I  thought"  .... 

Fate  cut  him  short ;  m  blood  and  broil, 

As  he  had  lived,  died  Cormac  Doi]» 

XXXL 

Then  resting  on  his  bloody  blade. 
The  valiant  Bruce  to- Ronald  said, 
"  Now  shame  upon  us  both ! — that  boy 

Lifts  his  mute  face  to  heaven," 
And  clasps  his  hands,  to  testify 
His  gratitude  to  God  on  high. 

For  strange  deliverance  given. 
His  speechless  gesture  thanks  hath  paid. 
Which  our  free  tongues  have  left  unsaid  1" 
He  raised  the  youth  with  kindly  word, 
But  mark'd  him  shudder  at  the  sword : 

1  "  On  witnessing  the  disinterment  of  Brace's  remains  at 
Dunfermline,  in  1822,"  says  Sir  Walter,  "  many  people  shed 
tears ;  for  there  was  the  wasted  skull,  which  once  was  the 
head  that  thought  so  wisely  and  boldly  for  his  country's  de- 
liverance ;  and  there  was  the  dry  bone,  which  liad  once  been 
the  sturdy  arm  that  killed  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  between  the 
two  armies,  at  a  sivffle  blow,  on  the  evening  before  the  battle 
«f  Bannockburn. " —  Tales  of  a  Orandfather. 


He  cleansed  it  from  its  hue  of  death, 
And  plunged  the  weapo)i  in  its  sheath. 
"  Alas,  poor  cliild  !  unfitting  part 
Fate  doom'd,  when  with  so  soft  a  heart, 

And  form  so  slight  as  thine, 
She  made  thee  first  a  phate's  slave, 
Then,  in  his  stead,  a  patron  gave, 

Of  wayward  lot  hke  mine  ; 
A  landless  prmcc,  whose  wandering  hfe 
Is  but  one  scene  of  blood  and  strife — 
Yet  scant  of  friends  the  Bruce  shaU  be, 
But  he'll  find  resthig-place  for  tliee. — 
Come,  noble  Ronald  !  o'er  the  dead 
Enough  thy  generous  grief  is  paid. 
And  well  has  Allan's  fate  been  wroke ! 
Come,  wend  we  hence — the  day  has  broke. 
Seek  we  our  bark — I  trust  the  tale 
Was  false,  that  she  had  hoisted  sail." 

XXXIL 

Yet,  ere  they  left  that  cliarncl-cell, 
The  Island  Lord  bade  sad  farewell 
To  Allan :— "  Who  shall  teU  this  tale," 
He  said,  "  ui  halls  of  Donagaile  ! 
Oh,  who  his  widow'd  mother  tell. 
That,  ere  his  bloom,  her  fairest  fell ! — 
Rest  thee,  poor  youth !  and  trust  my  care 
For  mass  and  laiell  and  funeral  prayer ; 
Whde  o'er  those  caitiffs,  where  they  lie. 
The  wolf  shall  snarl,  the  raven  cry !" 
And  now  the  eastern  mountain's  head 
On  the  dark  lake  threw  lustre  red ; 
Bright  gleams  of  gold  and  purple  streak 
Ravme  and  precipice  and  peak — 
(So  earthly  power  at  distance  shows ; 
Reveals  his  splendor,  hides  liis  woes). 
O'er  sheets  of  granite,  dark,  and  broad,' 
Rent  and  unequal,  lay  the  road. 
In  sad  discourse  the  warriors  wind. 
And  the  mute  captive  moves  behind.* 


Wi)t  Cori)  of  tlje  lsle0. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


Stranger  !  if  e'er  thine  ardent  step  hath  traced 
The  northern  realms  of  ancient  Caledon, 

s  MS. — "  Holds  up  his  speechless  face  to  heaven." 

3  MS. — "  Along  the  lake's  rude  margin  slow. 

O'er  terraces  of  granite  black  they  go." 

*  MS. — "  And  the  mute  page  moves  slow  behind." 

"  This  canto  is  full  of  beauties  ;  the  first  part  of  it,  contain- 
ing the  conference  of  the  chiefs  in  Bruce's  chamber,  might, 
perhaps  have  been  abridged,  because  the  discussion  of  a  mpre 


438 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  iT, 


■Wlierc  the  proud  Queen  of  Wilderness  hath 

jiliiced, 
By  lake  and  cataract,  her  lonely  throne  ; 
Sublime  but  sad  delight  thy  soul  hath  known, 
Gazing  on  pathless  glen  and  mountains  high, 
Listing  where  from  the  cliffs  the  torrents  thrown 
Mingle  tlieir  echoes  with  the  eagle's  cry,      [sky. 
And  with  the  sounding  lake,  and  with  the  moaning 

Yes !  'twas  sublime,  but  sad. — The  loneliness 
Loaded  thy  heart,  the  desert  tu-ed  tliine  eye ; 
And  strange  and  awful  fears  began  to  press 
Thy  bosom  with  a  stern  solemnity.  [nigli, 

Then  hast  tliou  wish'd  some  woodman's  cottage 
Something  that  show'd  of  life,  though  low  and 

mean; 
Glad  sight,  its  curling  wreath  of  smoke  to  spy, 
Glad  sound,  its  cock's  blithe  carol  would  have 

been,  [green. 

Or  children  whooping  wild  beneath  the  willows 

Such  are  the  scenes,  where  savage  grandeur 

wakes 
An  awful  thrill  that  softens  into  sighs ; 
Such  feelings  rouse   them  by  dim   Rannoch's 

lakes, 
Li  dark  Glencoe  such  gloomy  raptures  rise : 
Or  farther,  where,  beneath  the  northern  skies, 
Cliides  wild  Loch-Eribol  his  caverns  hoar — 
But,  be  the  minstrel  judge,  they  yield  the  prize 
Of  desert  dignity  to  that  dread  shore, 
That  sees  grim  Coolin  rise,  and  hears  Coriskin  roar.' 

IL 

Tlu'ough  such  wild  scenes  the  champion  pass'd. 
When  bold  halloo  and  bugle-blast 
Upon  the  breeze  came  loud  and  fast. 
"  There,"  said  the  Bruce,  "  rung  Edward's  horn ! 
What  can  have  caused  such  brief  return? 
And  see,  brave  Ronald, — see  him  dart 
O'er  stock  and  stone  like  hunted  hart, 
Precipitate,  as  is  the  use. 


matter  of  business  is  unsuited  for  poetry  ;  but  the  remainder 
of  the  canto  is  unobjectionable  ;  the  scenery  in  which  it  is  laid 
excites  the  imagination  ;  and  the  cave  scene  affords  many  op- 
portunities for  the  poet,  of  which  Mr.  Scott  has  very  success- 
fully availed  liimself.  The  description  of  Allan's  watch  is 
particularly  pleasing  ;  indeed,  the  manner  in  which  he  is  made 
to  fall  asleep,  mingling  the  scenes  of  which  he  was  thinkin", 
with  the  scene  around  him,  and  then  mingling  with  his  dreams 
the  captive's  sudden  scream,  is,  we  think,  among  the  most 
happy  passages  of  the  whole  poem."— Quarterly  Review. 

"  We  scarcely  know  whether  we  could  have  selected  a  pas- 
sage from  the  poem  that  will  more  fairly  illustrate  its  general 
merits  and  pervading  blemishes  than  the  one  which  we  have 
just  quoted  (stanzas  xxxi.  and  xxxii.)  The  same  happy  mix- 
'ure  of  moral  remark  and  vivid  painting  of  dramatic  situations, 
frequently  occurs,  and  is  as  frequently  debased  by  prosaic  ex- 
pressions and  couplets,  and  by  every  variety  of  ungrammatical 
Bcense,  or  even  barbarism.     Our  readers,  in  short,  will  imme- 


In  war  or  sport,  of  Edward  Bruce. 
— He  marks  us,  and  his  eager  cry 
Will  tell  his  news  ere  he  be  nigh." 

IIL 

Loud  Edward  shouts,  "  What  make  ye  hcjre 
Warring  upon  the  mountain-deer. 

When  Scotland  wants  her  King  ? 
A  bark  from  Lennox  cross'd  om-  track, 
With  her  in  speed  I  hurried  back, 

These  joyful  news  to  bring — 
The  Stuart  stirs  in  Teviotdale, 
And  Douglas  wakes  his  native  vale ; 
Thy  storm-toss'd  fleet  hath  won  its  way 
With  little  loss  to  Brodick-Bay, 
And  Lennox,  with  a  gallant  band, 
Waits  but  thy  coming  and  command 
To  waft  them  o'er  to  Carrick  strand. 
There  are  blithe  news ! — but  mark  the  close ! 
Edward,  the  deadliest  of  our  foes, 
As  with  his  host  he  northward  pass'd, 
Hath  on  the  Borders  breathed  his  last." 

IV. 

Still  stood  the  Bruce — his  steady  cheek 
Was  little  wont  his  joy  to  speak, 

But  then  his  color  rose : 
"  N'ow,  Scotland !  shortly  shalt  thou  see, 
With  God's  high  will,  thy  children  free. 

And  vengeance  on  thy  foes ! 
Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs. 
Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 

My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier  f 
I  took  my  knighthood  at  his  hand, 
And  lordship  held  of  him,  and  land, 

And  well  may  vouch  it  here, 
That,  blot  the  story  from  his  page, 
Of  Scotland  rtiin'd  in  his  rage, 
You  read  a  monarch  brave  and  sage. 

And  to  his  people  dear." — 
"  Let  London's  burghers  mourn  hei-  lord, 
And  Croydon  monks  his  praise  record," 


diately  here  discover  the  powerful  hand  that  has  so  often  pre- 
sented them  with  descriptions  calculated  at  once  to  exalt  and 
animate  their  thoughts,  and  to  lower  and  deaden  the  language 
which  is  their  vehicle  ;  but,  as  we  have  before  observed  again 
and  again,  we  believe  Mr.  Scott  is  inaccessible  even  to  the 
mildest  and  the  most  just  reproof  on  this  subject.  We  really 
believe  that  he  cannot  write  correct  English  ,  and  we  therefore 
dismiss  him  as  an  incurable,  with  unfeigned  comi)assion  for 
this  one  fault,  and  with  the  highest  admiration  of  his  many 
redeeming  virtues." — Monthly  Review. 

1  "  That  Mr.  Scott  can  occasionally  clothe  the  grandeur  of 
his  thought  in  the  majesty  of  expression,  nnobscured  with  thf 
jargon  of  antiquated  biUads,  and  unencnmbered  by  the  awk- 
wardness of  rugged  expression,  or  harsh  involution,  we  can 
with  pleasure  acknowledge  ;  a  finer  specimen  cannot  perhapf 
be  exhibited  than  in  this  passage." — British  Critic. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


43  U 


Tlie  eager  Edward  said ; 
"  Eternal  as  liis  own,  my  hate 
Surmount-s  the  bounds  of  nwrtal  fate, 

Ami  dies  not  with  the  dead ! 
Such  hate  was  liis  on  Solway's  strand, 
When  vengeance  clencli'd  liis  palsied  hand, 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land,* 

As  Ills  last  accents  pray'd 
Disgrace  and  cui-se  upon  liis  lieir. 
If  he  one  Scottish  head  should  spare, 
Till  stretch'd  ujjon  the  bloody  lair 

Each  rebel  corpse  was  laid  ! 
Such  hate  was  his,  when  his  last  breath 
Renounced  the  peaceful  Iiouse  of  death. 
And  bade  his  bones  to  Scotland's  coast 
Be  borne  by  his  remorseless  host. 
As  if  his  dead  and  stony  eye 
Could  still  enjoy  her  misery ! 
Such  hate  was  his — dark,  deadly,  long; 
Mine, — as  endm-ing,  deep,  and  strong !" — 


"  Let  women,  Edward,  war  with  words. 

With  curses  monks,  but  men  with  swords; 

Nor  doubt  of  living  foes,  to  sate 

Deepest  revenge  and  deadliest  hate.^ 

Now,  to  the  sea  !  behold  the  beach. 

And  see  the  galleys'  pendants  stretch 

Their  fluttering  length  do-wn  favoring  gale  ! 

Aboard,  aboard  !  and  hoist  the  saiL 

Hold  we  our  way  for  Arran  first. 

Where  meet  m  arms  our  friends  dispersed  ; 

Lennox  tlie  loyal,  De  la  Haye, 

And  Boyd  the  bold  in  battle  fray. 

I  long  the  hardy  band  to  head, 

And  see  once  more  my  standard  spread. — 

Does  noble  Ronald  share  om-  course, 

Or  stay  to  raise  his  island  force  ?" — 

"  Come  weal,  come  woe,  by  Bruce's  side," 

Rephed  the  Chief,  "  will  Ronald  bide. 

And  since  two  galleys  yonder  ride, 

Be  mine,  so  please  my  Hege,  dismiss'd 

To  wake  to  arms  the  clans  of  Uist, 

And  all  who  hear  the  Minche's  roar. 

On  the  Long  Island's  lonely  shore. 

The  nearer  Isles,  with  shght  delay. 

Ourselves  may  smnmon  in  our  way  ; 

And  soon  on  Arran's  shore  shall  meet, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

2  "  The  Bruce  was,  unquestionably,  of  a  temper  never  sur- 
passed for  its  humanity,  munificence,  and  nobleness ;  yet  to 
represent  him  sorrowing  over  tlie  deatli  of  the  first  Plantage- 
net,  after  the  repeated  and  tremendous  ills  inflicted  by  that 
man  on  Scotland — the  patriot  Wallace  murdered  by  his  order, 
as  well  as  the  royal  race  of  Wales,  and  the  very  brothere  of 
The  Bruce,  slaughtered  by  liis  command — to  represent  the 
jnst  anj  generous  Robert,  we  repeat,  feeling  an  instant's  com- 
passion for  the  sudden  fate  of  a  miscreant  like  this,  is,  we  are 


With  Torquil's  aid,  a  gallant  fleet. 
If  aught  avails  their  Chieftam's  best 
Among  the  islesmen  of'tbe  west." 

VL 
Thus  "was  their  venturous  council  said 
But,  ere  their  sails  the  galleys  spread, 
Coriskin  dark  and  Coolin  liigh 
Echoed  the  dirge's  doleful  cry. 
Along  that  sable  lake  pass'd  slow, — 
Fit  scene  for  such  a  sight  of  woe, — 
The  sorrowing  islesmen,  as  they  bore 
The  murder'd  Allan  to  the  shore. 
At  every  pause,  with  dismal  shout. 
Then-  coronach  of  grief  rung  out. 
And  ever,  when  they  moved  again, 
Tlie  pipes  resumed  then-  clamorous  straia 
And,  with  the  pibroch's  slu-illing  wail, 
Mourn'd  the  yoimg  heu"  of  Donagaile. 
Roimd  and  around,  from  cliff  and  cave, 
His  answer  stern  old  Coolin  gave, 
TiU  high  upon  his  misty  side 
Languish'd  the  mournfid  notes,  and  died. 
For  never  sounds,  by  mortal  made, 
Attain'd  his  high  and  haggard  head, 
That  echoes  but  the  tempest's  moan. 
Or  the  deep  thmader's  rending  groan. 

VIL 

Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark. 

She  bounds  before  the  gale, 
The  mountain  breeze  from  Ben-na-darch 

Is  joyous  in  her  sail ! 
With  fluttering  soimd  like  laughter  hoarse, 

The  cords  and  canvas  strain. 
The  waves,  divided  by  her  force. 
In  rippling  eddies  chased  her  course. 

As  if  they  laugh'd  again. 
Not  down  the  breeze  more  blithely  flew. 
Skimming  the  wave,  the  hght  sea-mew, 

Than  the  gay  galley  bore 
Her  coiu'se  upon  that  favoring  wind, 
And  Coolin's  crest  has  sunk  behind. 

And  Slapin's  cavern'd  shore.' 
'Twas  then  that  warlike  signals  wake 
Dunscaith's  dark  towers  and  Eisord's  lake, 
And  soon,  fi-om  Cavilgarrigh's  head, 
Tliick  wreaths  of  eddying  smoke  were  spread ; 


compelled  to  say  it,  so  monstrous,  and  in  a  Scottish  i)oet,  so 
unnatural  a  violation  of  truth  and  decency,  not  to  say  patriot- 
ism, that  we  are  really  astonished  that  the  author  conld  iiave 
conceived  the  idea,  much  more  that  he  could  sutler  his  pen  to 
record  it.  This  wretched  abasement  on  tlie  part  of  The 
Bruce,  is  farther  heightened  by  the  King's  half-reprehension  of 
Prince  Edward's  noble  and  stern  expression  of  undying  hatred 
against  his  country's  spoiler,  and  his  family's  assassin  — Criti- 
cal Review 
3  MS. "  mountain-shore." 


t40 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I\. 


A  summons  these  of  war  and  ^vratli 
T'j  the  brave  clans  of  Sleat  and  Strath, 

And,  ready  at  the  sight. 
Each  -warrior  to  his  weapons  sprung, 
And  targe  upon  his  shoulder  flung, 

Impatient  fur  the  fight. 
Mac-Kinnon's  chief,  in  warfare  gray, 
Had  charge  to  muster  their  array, 
And  guide  theh-  barks  to  Brodick-Bay. 

VIIL 
Signal  of  Ronald's  high  command, 
A  beacon  gleam'd  o'er  sea  and  land. 
From  Canna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 
Like  falcon-nest  o'erhangs  the  bay.^ 
Seek  not  the  giddy  crag  to  climb. 
To  view  the  turret  scathed  by  time ; 
It  is  a  task  of  doubt  and  fear 
To  aught  but  goat  or  mouutain-deer. 
But  rest  thee  on  the  silver  beach, 
And  let  the  aged  herdsman  teach 

His  tale  of  former  day ; 
His  cur's  wild  clamor  he  shall  cliide. 
And  for  thy  seat  by  ocean's  side, 

His  varied  plaid  display ; 
Then  tell,  how  with  their  Cliieftain  came. 
In  ancient  times,  a  foreign  dame 
To  yonder"  turret  gray.^ 
Stern  was  her  Lord's  suspicious  mind. 
Who  in  so  rude  a  jail  confined 
So  soft  and  fair  a  thrall ! 
And  oft,  when  moon  on  ocean  slept, 
That  lovely  lady  sate  and  wept 

Upon  the  castle-wall, 
And  tm-n'd  her  eye  to  southern  climes. 
And  thought  perchance  of  happier  times, 
And  touch'd  her  lute  by  fits,  and  sung 
"Wild  ditties  in  her  native  tongue. 
And  still,  when  on  the  cUff  and  bay 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeams  play, 

And  every  breeze  is  mute, 
Upon  the  lone  Hebrideau's  ear 
Steals  a  strange  pleasure  mix'd  with  fear. 
While  from  that  cliff  he  seems  to  hear 

The  mm-mm-  of  a  lute, 
And  sounds,  as  of  a  captive  lone, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

*  MS.—'-  To  Canna  e  turret  gray." 

3  "  The  stanzas  which  follow  are,  we  think,  touchingly 
deautiful,  and  breathe  a  sweet  and  melancholy  tenderness, 
perfectly  suitable  to  the  sad  tale  which  they  record." — Criti- 
tal  Review. 

*  MS. — "  That  crag  with  crest  of  ruins  gray." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N.  6  ibid.  Note  2  O. 

7  MS.—"  Till  in  their  smoke,"  &c. 

8  "  And  so  also  '  merrily,  merrily,  goes  the  bark,'  in  a  suc- 
cession of  merriment,  wliich,  like  Dogberry's  tediousness,  he 
finds  it  in  his  heart  to  bestow  wholly  and  entirely  on  us, 
through  page  after  page,  or  wave  after  wave  of  his  voyage. 


Tliat  mourns  her  woes  in  tongue  unkno-wn.- 
Strange  is  the  tale — but  all  too  long 
Already  hath  it  staid  the  song — 

Yet  who  may  pass  them  by. 
That  crag  and  tower  in  ruins  gray,* 
Nor  to  their  hapless  tenant  pay 

The  tribute  of  a  sigh  ! 

IX. 

Men-ily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark 

O'er  the  broad  ocean  driven, 
Her  path  by  Renin's  mountains  dark 

The  steersman's  hand  hath  given. 
And  Roniu's  mountains  dark  have  sent 

Their  hunters  to  the  shore,^ 
And  each  his  ashen  bow  unbent, 

And  gave  liis  pastime  o'er, 
And  at  the  Island  Lord's  command, 
For  hunting  spear  took  warrior's  brand. 
On  Scooreigg  next  a  warning  hght 
Summon'd  her  warriors  to  the  fight ; 
A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  MacLeod 
O'ei  then  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode,* 
When  all  in  vain  the  ocean-cave 
Its  refuge  to  his  victims  gave. 
The  Chief,  relentless  in  his  -wrath, 
With  blazing  heath  blockades  the  path ; 
In  dense  and  stifling  voliunes  roll'd, 
The  vapor  fill'd  the  cavern'd  hold  ! 
The  warrior-threat,  the  infant's  plain, 
Tlie  mother's  screams,  were  heard  in  vain ; 
The  vengeful  Chief  maintains  liis  fires, 
Till  in  the  vaulf  a  tribe  expires ! 
The  bones  which  strew  that  cavern's  gloom. 
Too  well  attest  their  dismal  doom. 

X. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark^ 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  fi"ee. 

So  shoots  thi'ough  the  morning  sky  the  lark. 
Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 

The  shores  of  Mull  on  the  eastward  lay. 

And  Ulva  dark  and  Colonsay, 

And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  famed  Stafl^a  rotmd.' 

Then  all  unknown  its  colmnns  rose. 

We  could  almost  be  tempted  to  believe  that  he  was  on  his  re- 
turn from  Skye  when  he  wrote  this  portion  of  his  poem  : — from 
Skye,  the  depository  of  the  '  mighty  cup  of  royal  Somerled,' 
as  well  as  of  '  Rorie  More's'  comparatively  modern  '  horn' — 
and  tliat,  as  he  says  liimself  of  a  minstrel  who  celebrated  the 
hospitalities  of  Dunvegan-castle  in  that  island,  '  it  is  pretty 
plain,  that  when  this  tribute  of  poetical  praise  was  bestowed, 
the  horn  of  Rorie  More  had  not  been  inactive.'" — Monthly 
Review.     See  Appendi.x,  Note  M. 

8  "  Of  the  prominent  beauties  which  abound  in  the  poem, 
the  most  magnificent  we  consider  to  be  tlie  description  of  the 
celebrated  Cave  of  Fingal,  which  is  conceived  in  a  mighty 
mind,  and  is  expressed  in  a  strain  of  poetry,  clear,  simple^ 
and  suhVime."— British  Critic. 


r 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


441 


Where  dark  aiid  undisturbed  repose* 

The  cormorant  had  found, 
And  the  shy  seal  had  quiet  home, 
And  "welter'd  in  that  wondrous  dome, 
Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 
By  sldll  of  earthly  architect. 
Nature  liorself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise 
A  Minster  to  her  Maker's  praise  P 
Not  for  a  meaner  use  ascend 
Her  columns,  or  her  arches  bend  ; 
Nor  of  a  theme  less  solemn  tells 
That  mighty  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells, 
And  still,  between  each  awful  pause. 
From  the  high  vault  an  answer  draws, 
In  varied  tone  prolong'd  and  high. 
That  mocks  the  organ's  melody. 
Nor  doth  its  entrance  front  in  vain 
To  old  lona's  holy  fane. 
That  Nature's  voice  might  seem  to  say, 
"  Well  hast  thou  done,  frail  Cliild  of  clay  1 
Thy  humble  powers  that  stately  shrine 
'T'ask'd  high  and  hard — but  witness  mine  !"' 

XL 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark. 

Before  the  gale  she  bounds ; 
So  darts  the  dolphin  from  the  shark. 

Or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 
They  left  Loch-Tua  on  their  lee. 
And  they  wakcn'd  the  men  of  the  wild  Tiree, 

And  the  Cliief  of  the  sandy  Coll ; 
They  paused  not  at  Columba's  isle, 
Though  peal'd  the  bells  from  the  holy  pile 

With  long  and  measur'd  toll  ;* 
No  time  for  matin  or  for  mass. 
And  the  sounds  of  the  holy  summons  pass 

Away  in  the  bdlows'  roll. 
Lochbuie's  fierce  and  warlike  Lord 
Their  signal  saw,  and  grasp'd  liis  sword. 
And  verdant  Hay  call'd  her  host. 
And  the  clans  of  Jura's  rugged  coast 

Lord  Ronald's  call  obey. 
And  Scarba's  isle,  whose  tortured  shore 
Stm  rmgs  to  Corrievreken's  roar. 

And  lonely  Colonsay ; 
— Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more  !' 


1  MS.—"  Where  niched,  his  undisturb'd  repose." 

-  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 

3  The  MS.  adds, 

"  Which,  when  the  ruins  of  thy  pile 
Cumber  the  desolated  isle, 
Firm  and  immutable  sliall  stand, 
'Gainst  winds,  and  waves,  and  spoiler's  hand." 

■•  "  We  were  now  treading  that  illustrious  island,  which  was 
once  the  luminary  of  the  Caledonian  regions,  whence  savage 
clans  and  roving  barbarians  derived  the  benefits  of  knowledge, 
and  the  blessings  of  religion.  To  abstract  the  mind  from  all 
local  emotion  would  be  impossible,  if  it  were  endeavored,  and 
56 


His  bright  and  brief  career  is  o'er, 
And  mute  his  tmieful  strains ; 

Quench'd  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore. 

That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour  ; 

A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 
Has  Leyden's  cold  remains ! 

XIL 
Ever  the  breeze  blows  merrily, 
But  the  galley  ploughs  no  more  the  sea. 
Lest,  rounding  wild  Cantyre,  they  meet 
The  southern  foeman's  watchful  fleet, 

They  held  unwonted  way  : — 
Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  they  bore, 
Then  dragg'd  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er,* 
As  far  as  Kilmaconnol's  shore. 

Upon  the  eastern  bay. 
It  was  a  wondrous  sight  to  see 
Topmast  and  pennon  ghtter  free. 
High  raised  above  the  greenwood  tree, 
As  on  dry  land  the  galley  moves. 
By  cliff  and  copse  and  alder  groves. 
Deep  import  from  that  selcouth  sign, 
Did  many  a  motmtain  Seer  divine. 
For  ancient  legends  told  the  Gael, 
That  when  a  royal  bark  should  sail 

O'er  Kilmaconnel  moss. 
Old  Albyn  should  in  fight  prevail. 
And  every  foe  should  famt  and  quail 

Before  her  silver  Cross. 

XIIL 

Now  launch'd  once  more,  the  inland  sea 
They  fm-row  with  fair  augury. 

And  steer  for  Arran's  isle ; 
The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 
Ben-Ghoil,  "  the  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 
Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 

And  bade  Loch  Ranza  smile.'* 
Thither  then-  destined  course  they  drew ; 
It  seem'd  the  isle  her  monarch  knew, 
So  brilliant  was  the  landward  view. 

The  ocean  so  serene ; 
Each  puny  wave  in  diamonds  roU'd 
O'er  the  calm  deep,  where  hues  of  gold 

With  azure  strove  and  green. 


would  be  foolish,  if  it  were  possible.  Wliatever  withdraws  aa 
from  the  power  of  our  senses  ;  whatever  makes  the  past,  the 
distant,  or  the  future  predominate  over  the  present,  advances 
us  in  the  dignity  of  thinking  beings.  Far  from  me  and  from 
my  friends  be  such  frigid  philosophy,  as  may  conduct  us  indif 
ferent  and  unmoved  over  any  ground  which  has  been  dignified 
by  wisdom,  bravery,  or  virtue.  That  man  is  little  to  be  en- 
vied, whose  patriotism  would  not  gain  force  upon  the  plain  of 
Marathon,  or  whose  piety  would  not  grow  warmer  among  tha 
ruins  of  lona." — Johnson. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q. 

6  MS,—"  His  short  but  bright,"  &c. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R,  e  Ibid.  Note  2  S 


442 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  rv. 


The  liill,  tlie  vale,  the  tree,  the  tower, 
Glow'il  with  tlie  tints  of  evening's  hour, 

The  beach  was  silver  sheen, 
The  wind  breathed  soft  as  lover's  sigli. 
And,  oft  renew'd,  seem'd  oft  to  die, 

"With  breathless  pause  between. 
0  who,  with  speech  of  war  and  woes, 
Woidd  wish  to  break  the  soft  repose 

Of  such  enchanting  scene  ! 

XIV. 
Is  it  of  war  Lord  Ronald  speaks  ? 
Tlie  blush  that  dyes  liis  manly  cheeks, 
The  timid  look  and  downcast  eye. 
And  faltering  voice  the  theme  deny. 

And  good  King  Robert's  brow  express'd, 
He  pouder'd  o'er  some  liigh  request, 

As  doubtful  to  approve ; 
Yet  in  his  eye  and  lip  the  while, 
Dwelt  the  half-pityhig  glance  and  smile, 
Which  manhood's  graver  mood  beguile, 
Wlien  lovers  talk  of  love. 
Anxious  his  suit  Lord  Ronald  joled ; 
— "  And  for  my  bride  betrothed,"  he  said, 
"  My  liege  has  heard  tlie  rumor  spread 
Of  Edith  from  Artoruish  fled. 
Too  hard  her  fate — I  claim  no  right* 
To  blame  her  for  her  hasty  flight ; 
Be  joy  and  happiness  her  lot ! — 
But  she  hath  fled  the  bridal-knot. 
And  Lorn  recall'd  his  promised  plight, 
In  the  assembled  chieftains'  sight. — 
When,  to  fulfil  our  fathers'  band, 
I  proffer'd  all  I  could — my  hand — 

I  was  repulsed  with  scorn  ; 
Mine  konor  I  should  ill  assert. 
And  worse  the  feelmgs  of  my  heart, 
If  I  should  play  a  suitor's  part 
Again,  to  pleasure  Lorn." — 

XV. 
"  Young  Lord,"  the  Royal  Bruce''  replied, 
"  That  question  must  the  Chm-ch  decide : 
Yet  seems  it  hard,  since  rumors  state 
Edith  takes  CUfford  for  her  mate, 
Tlie  very  tie,  which  she  hath  broke, 
To  thee  should  still  be  binding  yoke. 
But,  for  my  sister  Isabel — 
The  mood  of  woman  who  can  teU  1 
I  guess  the  Champion  of  the  Rock, 
Victorious  in  the  tourney  shock. 
That  knight  unknown,  to  whom  the  prize 
She  dealt, — had  fovor  in  her  eyes  ; 
But  since  our  brother  Nigel's  fate, 


'MS. 


'  no  tongue  is  mine 


To  blame  her,"  &c. 
*  MS.—"  The  princely  Bruce.' 


Our  ruin'd  house  and  hapless  state. 
From  worldly  joy  and  hope  estranged, 
Much  is  the  hapless  mourner  changed. 
Perchance,"  here  smiled  the  noble  King, 
"  Tliis  tale  may  other  musings  bring. 
Soon  shall  we  know — yon  mountains  hide 
The  little  convent  of  Saint  Bride ; 
There,  sent  by  Edward,  she  must  stay, 
Till  fate  shall  give  more  prosperous  day  •* 
And  thither  will  I  bear  thy  suit. 
Nor  wiU  thine  advocate  be  mute." 

XVL 

As  thus  they  talk'd  in  earnest  mood, 

That  speechless  boy  beside  them  stood 

He  stoop'd  his  head  against  the  mast. 

And  bitter  sobs  came  tliick  and  fast, 

A  gi'ief  that  would  not  be  repress'd. 

But  seem'd  to  burst  his  youthful  breast. 

His  hands,  against  his  forehead  held. 

As  if  by  force  his  tears  repell'd, 

But  through  liis  fingers,  long  and  slight. 

Fast  trill'd  the  drops  of  crystal  bright. 

Edward,  who  walk'd  the  deck  apart, 

Fu-st  spied  this  conflict  of  the  heart. 

Thoughtless  as  brave,  with  bluntness  kind 

He  sought  to  cheer  the  sorrower's  mind ; 

By  force  the  slender  hand  he  ckew 

From  those  poor  eyes  that  stream'd  with  deTT 

As  in  his  hold  the  stripluig  strove, — 

('Twas  a  rough  grasp,  though  meant  in  love), 

Away  liis  tears  the  warrior  swept. 

And  bade  shame  on  liim  that  he  wept.* 

"  I  would  to  heaven,  thy  helpless  tongue 

Could  tell  me  who  hath  wrought  thee  wrong 

For,  were  he  of  our  crew  the  best, 

The  insult  went  not  unredress'd. 

Come,  cheer  thee  ;  thou  art  now  of  age 

To  be  a  warrior's  gallant  page ; 

Thou  shalt  be  mine  ! — a  palfrey  fair 

O'er  hill  and  holt  my  boy  shall  bear. 

To  hold  my  bow  in  hunting  gi-ove, 

Or  speed  on  errand  to  my  love 

For  well  I  wot  thou  wilt  not  tell 

The  temple  where  my  wishes  dwell." 

xvn. 

Bruce  interposed, — "  Gay  Edward,  no, 
Tills  is  no  youth  to  hold  thy  bow, 
To  fill  thy  goblet,  or  to  bear- 
Thy  message  hght  to  lighter  fair. 
Thou  art  a  patron  all  too  wild 
And  thoughtless,  for  tliis  orphan  child, 
See'st  thou  not  how  apart  he  steals, 

a  MS. — "  Thither,  by  Edward  sent,  she  stays 

Till  fate  shall  lend  more  prosperous  days  " 

*  MS. — "  And  as  away  the  tears  lie  swept, 

He  bade  shame  on  him  that  he  wept 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


443 


Keeps  lonely  couch,  and  lonely  meals  ? 

Fitter  by  far  in  yon  calm  cell 

To  tend  our  sister  Isabel, 

With  father  Augustin  to  share 

The  peaceful  change  of  convent  prayer, 

Than  wander  wild  adventures  through, 

With  such  a  reckless  guide  as  you." — 

"  Thanks,  brother !"  Edward  answer'd  gay, 

"  For  the  liigh  laud  thy  words  convey  ! 

But  we  may  learn  some  future  day, 

If  thou  or  I  can  this  poor  boy 

Protect  the  best,  or  best  employ. 

Meanwliile,  our  vessel  nears  the  strand  ; 

Launch  we  the  boat,  and  seek  the  land." 

XVIII. 
To  land  King  Robert  lightly  sprung. 
And  tlu-ice  aloud  his  bugle  rung 
With  note  prolong'd  and  varied  strain, 
Till  bold  Ben-GhoU  replied  again. 
Good  Douglas  then,  and  De  la  Haye, 
Had  in  a  glen  a  hart  at  bay, 
And  Lennox  cheer'd  the  laggard  hounds. 
When  waked  that  horn  the  greenwood 

bounds. 
"  It  is  the  foe  !"  cried  Boyd,  who  came 
In  breathless  haste  with  eye  of  flame, — 
"  It  is  the  foe  ! — Each  vahant  lord 
Fhng  by  his  bow,  and  grasp  his  sword !" — 
"  Not  so,"  repUed  the  good  Lord  James, 
"  That  blast  no  English  bug-le  claims. 
Oft  have  I  heard  it  fire  the  fight, 
Cheer  the  pursuit,  or  stop  the  flight. 
Dead  were  my  heart,  and  deaf  mme  ear. 
If  Bruce  should  call,  nor  Douglas  hear  ! 
Each  to  Loch  Ranza's  margin  spring ; 
That  blast  was  winded  by  the  King  !"* 

XIX. 

Fast  to  then'  mates  the  tidings  spread, 
And  fast  to  shore  the  warriors  sped. 
Burstmg  from  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 
High  waked  their  loyal  jubilee ! 
Around  the  royal  Bruce  they  crowd. 
And  clasp'd  liis  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 
Veterans  of  early  fields  were  there. 
Whose  helmets  press'd  their  hoary  hair. 
Whose  swords  and  axes  bore  a  stain 
From  hfe-blood  of  the  red-hair'd  Dane  ;' 
And  boys,  whose  hands  scarce  brook'd  to 
wield 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

a  MS. — "  Impress'd  by  life-blood  of  the  Dane." 

'  MS. — "  If  not  on  Britain's  warlike  ground." 

*  "  Ours  are  the  tears,  though  few,  sincerely  shed. 
When  Ocean  shrouds  and  sepulchres  our  dead. 
Forns,  even  banquets  fond  regret  supply 


The  heavy  sword  or  bossy  shield. 
Men  too  were  there,  that  bore  the  scara 
Impress'd  in  Albyn's  woeful  wars. 
At  Falkkk's  fierce  and  fatal  fight, 
Teyndrum's  dread  rout,  and  Methven's 

flight; 
Tlie  might  of  Douglas  there  was  seen. 
There  Lennox  with  his  gi-aceful  mien ; 
Kirkpatrick,  Closeburn's  dreaded  Knight ; 
The  Lindsay,  fiery,  fierce,  and  light ; 
The  Heir  of  murder'd  De  la  Haye, 
And  Boyd  the  grave,  and  Seton  gay. 
Around  their  King  regain'd  they  press'd. 
Wept,  shouted,  clasp'd  him  to  their  breast, 
And  yoimg  and  old,  and  serf  and  lord, 
And  he  who  ne'er  unsheathed  a  sword. 
And  he  in  many  a  peril  tried, 
Alike  resolved  the  brunt  to  bide. 
And  hve  or  die  by  Bruce's  side ! 

XX. 

Oh,  War  !  thou  hast  thy  fierce  delight, 
Thy  gleams  of  joy,  intensely  bright ! 
Such  gleams,  as  from  thy  polish'd  shield 
Fly  dazzling  o'er  the  battle-field  ! 
Such  transj)orts  wake,  severe  and  liigh, 
Amid  the  peahng  conquest  cry ; 
Scarce  less,  when,  after  battle  lost, 
Muster  the  remnants  of  a  host. 
And  as  each  comrade's  name  they  teU 
Who  in  the  well-fought  conflict  fell, 
Knitting  stern  brow  o'er  flashing  eye. 
Vow  to  avenge  them  or  to  die  ! — 
Warriors ! — and  where  are  warriors  found. 
If  not  on  martial  Britain's  ground  ?' 
And  who,  when  waked  with  note  of  fire, 
Love  more  than  they  the  British  lyre  ? 
Know  ye  not, — hearts  to  honor  dear  ! 
That  joy,  deep-thrilling,  stern,  severe. 
At  which  the  heai-t-strings  vibrate  high. 
And  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eve  ?* 
And  blame  ye,  then,  the  Bruce,  if  trace 
Of  tear  is  on  his  manly  face. 
When,  scanty  relics  of  the  train 
That  haU'd  at  Scone  his  early  reign, 
This  patriot  band  around  him  hung, 
And  to  his  knees  and  bosom  clung:  ? — 
Blame  ye  the  Bruce  ?— liis  brother  blameit. 
But  shared  the  weakness,  wliile  ashamed. 
With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turn'd. 
And  dash'd  away  the  tear  he  scorn'd.^ 

In  the  red  cup  that  crowns  our  memory  ; 

And  the  brief  epitaph  in  danger's  day. 

When  those  who  win  at  length  divide  the  prey, 

And  cry,  Remembrance  saddening  o'er  each  brow, 

How  had  the  brave  who  fell  exulted  now  /" 

Byro.n's  Corsaii 
5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 


444 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV 


XXI. 
'Tis  morniug,  and  the  Convent  bell 
Long  time  had  ceased  its  matin  knell, 

Within  thy  walls,  Saint  Bride  ' 
An  aged  Sister  sought  the  cell 
Assign'd  to  Lady  Isabel, 

And  hurriedly  she  cried, 
"  Haste,  gentle  Lady,  haste— there  waits 
A  noble  stranger  at  the  gates ; 
Samt  Bride's  poor  vot'ress  ne'er  has  seen 
A  Knight  of  such  a  princely  mien  ; 
His  errand,  as  he  bade  me  tell. 
Is  with  the  Lady  Isabel." 
Tlie  princess  rose, — for  on  her  knee 
Low  bent  she  told  her  rosary, — ' 
"  Let  him  by  thee  his  purpose  teach : 
I  may  not  give  a  stranger  speech." — 
"  Saint  Bride  forefend,  thou  royal  Maid  1" 
The  portress  cross'd  herself,  and  said, — 
"  Not  to  be  prioress  might  I 
Debate  his  wiU,  his  suit  deny." — 
■'  Has  earthly  show  then,  simple  fool. 
Power  o'er  a,  sister  of  thy  rule. 
And  art  thou,  Uke  the  worldly  train, 
Subdued  by  splendors  light  and  vain  ?" — 

XXII. 

"  No,  Lady !  in  old  eyes  like  mine. 

Gauds  have  no  glitter,  gems  no  shine ; 

Nor  grace  his  rank  attendants  vain, 

One  youthful  page  is  aU  his  train. 

It  is  the  form,  the  eye,  the  word. 

The  bearing  of  that  stranger  Lord  ; 

His  stature  manly,  bold,  and  tall, 

Built  like  a  castle's  battled  wall, 

Yet  moulded  in  such  just  degrees, 

His  giant  strength  seems  lightsome  ease. 
Close  as  the  tendrils  of  the  vine 
His  locks  upon  liis  forehead  twine. 
Jet-black,  save  where  some  touch  of  gray 
Has  ta'en  the  youthful  hue  away. 
Weather  and  war  their  rougher  trace 
Have  left  on  that  majestic  face; — 
But  'tis  liis  dignity  of  eye  ! 
There,  if  a  suppliant,  would  I  fly. 
Secure,  'mid  danger,  wrongs,  and  grie^ 
Of  sympathy,  redi-ess,  relief — 
That  glance,  if  guilty,  would  I  dread 
More  than  the  doom  that  spoke  me  dead." — 
"  Enough,  enough,"  the  princess  cried, 
"'Tis  Scotland's  hope,  her  joy,  her  pride ! 
To  meaner  front  was  ne'er  assign'd 
Such  mastery  o'er  the  common  mind — 

'  "  Mr.  Scott,  we  have  said,  contradicts  himself.  How  will 
ne  explain  the  following  facts  to  his  reader's  satisfaction? 
The  third  canto  informs  us  that  Isabel  accompanies  Edward 
to  Ireland,  there  to  remain  till  the  termination  of  the  war; 
ard  in  the  fourth,  canto,  the  second  day  after  her  departure, 


BestoVd  thy  liigh  designs  to  aid. 

How  long,  0  Heaven !  how  long  delay'd ! — 

Haste,  Mona,  haste,  to  introduce 

My  darling  brother,  royal  Bruce !" 

XXIIL 
Tliey  met  like  friends  who  part  in  pain, 
And  meet  in  doubtful  liope  agam. 
But  when  subdued''  that  fitful  swell. 
The  Bruce  survey'd  the  humble  cell ; — 
"  And  this  is  thine,  poor  Isabel ! — 
That  pallet-couch,  and  naked  wall, 
For  room  of  state,  and  bed  of  pall ; 
For  costly  robes  and  jewels  rare, 
A  string  of  beads  and  zone  of  hair ; 
And  for  the  trumpet's  sprightly  caU 
To  sport  or  banquet,  grove  or  hall, 
Tlie  bell's  grim  voice  divides  thy  care, 
'Twixt  hours  of  penitence  and  prayer ! — 
0  iU  for  thee,  my  royal  claim 
From  the  First  David's  sainted  name  ! 
0  woe  for  thee,  that  while  he  sought 
His  r'.ght,  thy  brother  feebly  fought !" — 

XXIV. 

"  Now  lay  these  vain  regrets  aside, 

And  be  the  unshaken  Bruce !"  she  cried. 

"  For  more  I  glory  to  have  shared 

The  woes  thy  venturous  sphit  dared, 

When  raising  first  thy  valiant  band 

In  rescue  of  thy  native  land. 

Than  had  fair  Fortune  set  me  down 

The  partner  of -an  empire's  crown. 

And  grieve  not  that  on  Pleasiu-e's  stream 

No  more  I  drive  in  giddy  dream, 

For  Heaven  the  errmg  pilot  knew. 

And  from  the  gulf  the  vessel  drew, 

Tried  me  with  judgments  stern  and  great. 

My  house's  ruin,  thy  defeat. 

Poor  Nigel's  death,  tUl,  tamed,  I  own. 

My  hopes  are  fix'd  on  Heaven  alone ; 

Nor  e'er  shall  earthly  prospects  win 

My  heart  to  this  vain  world  of  sin." — 

XXV. 

"  Nay,  Isabel,  for  such  stern  choice. 
First  wilt  thou  wait  thy  brother's  voice ; 
Then  ponder  if  in  convent  scene 
No  softer  thoughts  might  intervene — 
Say  they  were  of  that  unknown  Knight, 
Victor  in  Woodstock's  tourney-fight — 
Nay,  if  his  name  such  blush  you  owe. 
Victorious  o'er  a  fairer  foe !" 

we  discover  the  princess  counting  her  beads  and  reading  homi- 
hes  in  the  cloister  of  St.  Bride,  in  the  Island  of  Arran  !     We 
humbly  beseech  the  '  Mighty  Minstrel'  to  clear  n  >  this  mat- 
ter."— Critical  Review. 
2  MS.—"  But  when  subsides,"  &,c. 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


445 


Truly  Lis  penetrating  eye 

Hath  caught  that  blush's  passing  dye, — 

Like  the  last  beam  of  evening  thrown 

On  a  -white  cloud,— just  seen  and  gone.* 

Soon  -with  calm  cheek  and  steady  eye. 

The  princess  made  composed  reply  : — 

"  I  guess  my  brother's  meaning  well ; 

For  not  so  silent  is  the  cell, 

But  we  have  heard  the  islesmen  all 

Arm  in  thy  cause  at  Ronald's  call, 

And  mine  eye  proves  that  Knight  imknown'' 

And  the  brave  Island  Lord  are  one. — 

Had  then  his  suit  been  earUer  made. 

In  his  own  name,  with  thee  to  aid 

(But  that  his  pUghted  faith  forbade),^ 

I  know  not But  thy  page  so  neai-  ? — 

This  is  no  tale  for  menial's  ear." 

XXVI 
Still  stood  that  page,  as  far  apart 

As  the  small  cell  would  space  afford ; 
"With  dizzy  eye  and  bursting  heart, 

He  leant  liis  weight  on  Bruce's  sword, 
The  monarch's  mantle  too  he  bore,* 
And  drew  the  fold  his  visage  o'er. 
"  Fear  not  for  him — in  murderous  strife," 
Said  Bruce,  "  his  warning  saved  my  life ;' 
Full  seldom  parts  he  from  my  side, 
And  in  his  silence  I  confide. 
Since  he  can  tell  no  tale  again. 
He  is  a  boy  of  gentle  strain. 
And  I  have  purposed  he  shaU  dwell 
In  Augustin  the  chaplain's  cell. 
And  wait  on  thee,  my  Isabel. — 
Mind  not  his  tears ;  I've  seen  them  flow, 
As  in  the  thaw  dissolves  the  snow. 
'Tis  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful. 
Unfit  against  the  tide  to  puU, 
And  those  that  with  the  Bruce  would  sail. 
Must  learn  to  strive  with  stream  and  gale. — 
But  forward,  gentle  Isabel — 
My  answer  for  Lord  Ronald  tell." — 

XXVIL 

"  This  answer  be  to  Ronald  given — 
The  heart  he  asks  is  fix'd  on  heaven.* 

1  "We  would  bow  with  veneration  to  the  powerful  and 
rugged  genius  of  Scott.  We  would  style  him  aliove  all  others, 
Homer  and  Shakspeare  excepted,  the  Poet  of  Nature — of 
Nature  in  all  her  varied  beauties,  in  all  her  wildest  haunts. 
No  appearance,  however  minute,  in  the  scenes  around  him, 
escapes  his  penetrating  eye  ;  they  are  all  marked  with  the 
nicest  discrimination  ;  are  introduced  with  the  happiest  effect. 
Hence,  in  his  similes,  both  the  genius  and  the  judgment  of 
the  poet  are  peculiarly  conspicuous  ;  liis  accurate  observation 
of  the  appearances  of  nature,  which  others  iiave  neglected, 
imparts  an  originality  to  those  allusions,  of  wliich  the  reader 
immediately  recognizes  the  aptness  and  propriety  ;  and  only 
wonders  that  what  must  have  been  so  often  witnessed  should 
have  been  so  uniformly  passed  unregarded  bv.     Such  is  the 


My  love  was  like  a  summer  flower. 

That  wither'd  in  the  wintry  hour, 

Born  but  of  vanity  and  pride. 

And  with  these  suimy  visions  died. 

If  fiurther  press  his  suit — then  say, 

He  should  his  j^Ughted  troth  obey, 

Troth  pUghtod  both  with  ring  and  word, 

And  sworn  on  crucifix  and  sword. — 

Oh,  sliame  thee,  Robert !  I  have  seen 

Thou  hast  a  woman's  guardian  been ! 

Even  in  extremity's  dread  hour. 

When  press'd  on  thee  the  Southern  power, 

And  safety,  to  all  human  sight, 

Was  only  found  m  rapid  flight. 

Thou  heard'st  a  wretched  female  plain 

In  agony  of  travail-pain. 

And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 

Upon  the  instant  tm-n  and  stand. 

And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do, 

Rather  than,  hke  a  knight  imtrue, 

Leave  to  pm-suers  merciless 

A  woman  in  her  last  distress.' 

And  wilt  thou  now  deny  thine  aid 

To  an  oppress'd  and  injured  maid. 

Even  plead  for  Ronald's  perfidy. 

And  press  his  fickle  faith  on  me  ? — 

So  witness  Heaven,  as  true  I  vow. 

Had  I  those  earthly  feelings  now. 

Which  could  my  former  bosom  move 

Ere  taught  to  set  its  hopes  above, 

I'd  spurn  each  jjroffer  he  could  bring, 

TiU  at  my  feet  he  laid  the  ring. 

The  rmg  and  spousal  contract  both, 

And  fair  acquittal  of  his  oath. 

By  her  who  brooks  liis  perjured  scorn, 

The  iU-requited  Maid  of  Lorn !" 

XXVIIL 

With  sudden  impulse  forward  sprimg 
The  page,  and  on  her  neck  he  hung ; 
Then,  recollected  instantly. 
His  head  he  stoop'd,  and  bent  his  knee, 
Kiss'd  twice  the  hand  of  Isabel, 
Arose,  and  sudden  left  the  cell. — 
The  princess,  luosen'd  from  his  hold, 
Blush'd  angi^  at  his  bearing  bold; 

simile  applied  to  the  transient   blush   observed   by  biucti  < 
the  countenance  of  Isabel  upon  his  mention  of  Ronald."-- 
British  Critic. 

2  MS. — "  And  well  I  judge  that  Knight  nnknown." 

3  MS.—"  But  that  his  \  '='"'"'''■  I  plight  forbade." 

(  former  ) 

*  MS. — "  The  Monarch's  brand  and  cloak  he  bore." 

5  MS. — "  Answer'd  the  Bruce,  '  he  saved  my  life.'  " 

6  The  MS.  has,— 

"  Isabel's  thoughts  are  fix'd  on  heaven  ;" 
and  the  two  couplets  which   follow  are  interpolated  on  tha 
blank  page. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 


440 


SCOTT'S  POETICxVL  WOKKS. 


CAA'TO   V. 


But  good  King  Robert  cried, 
"  Cliafe  not — by  signs  be  speaks  liis  mind, 
He  beard  tbe  pbui  my  cai-e  design'd, 

K'or  could  bis  transports  hide. — 
But,  sister,  now  betliink  tliee  well ; 
No  easy  choice  tbe  convent  ceU ; 
Trust,  I  shall  play  no  tyrant  part, 
Eitlier  to  force  thy  band  or  heart. 
Or  suffer  that  Lord  Ronald  scorn, 
Or  wrong  for  thee,  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 
But  think, — not  long  tbe  time  has  been, 
Tliat  thou  wert  wont  to  sigh  unseen. 
And  wouldst  tbe  ditties  best  approve, 
That  told  some  lay  of  hapless  love. 
Now  are  thy  wishes  in  thy  power. 
And  thou  art  bent  on  cloister  bower ! 
O !  if  our  Edward  knew  the  change. 
How  woidd  bis  busy  satu-e  range, 
With  many  a  sarcasm  varied  still 
On  woman's  wi^b,  and  woman's  wiE  !" — 

XXIX. 

"  Brother,  I  well  believe,"  she  said, 

"  Even  so  would  Edward's  part  be  play'd. 

Kindly  in  heart,  in  word  severe, 

A  foe  to  thought,  and  grief,  and  fear, 

He  holds  bis  humor  uncoutroll'd ; 

But  thou  art  of  another  mould. 

Say  then  to  Ronald,  as  I  say, 

L''nless  before  my  feet  be  lay 

Tbe  ring  which  boimd  tbe  fixith  he  swore, 

By  Edith  freely  yielded  o'er, 

He  moves  his  suit  to  me  no  more. 

Xor  do  I  promise,  even  if  now 

He  stood  absolved  of  spousal  vow, 

That  I  would  change  my  purjDose  made, 

To  shelter  me  in  holy  shade. — 

Brother,  for  httle  space,  farewell ! 

To  other  duties  warns  tbe  bell." — 

XXX. 

"  Lost  to  the  world,"  King  Robert  said, 
When  he  had  left  the  royal  maid, 
"  Lost  to  tbe  world  by  lot  severe, 
0  what  a  gem  bes  bm-ied  here, 
Nipp'd  by  misfortune's  cruel  frost, 
The  buds  of  fair  affection  lost ! — '      ~ 


1  Tlie  MS.  here  adds  :— 

"  She  yields  one  shade  of  empty  hope  ; 
But  well  I  guess  her  wily  scope 
la  to  elude  Lord  Ronald's  plea, 
And  still  my  importunity." 

2  This  and  the  t""»-'9i  icceeding  lines  are  interpolated  on  the 
b  ank  page  of  the  MS. 

3  "  The  fourth  canto  cannot  be  very  greatly  praised.  It 
contains,  indeed,  many  pleasing  passages  ;  hut  the  merit  which 
thej  possess  is  too  much  detaclied  from  the  general  interest 
of  the  poem.  The  only  business  is  Bruce's  arrival  at  the  isle 
•f  Arran.    The  voyage  is  certainly  described  with  spu-it ;  but 


But  what  have  I  with  love  to  do? 
Far  sterner  cares  my  lot  pursue. 
— Pent  in  tliis  isle  we  may  not  lie,"'' 
Nor  would  it  long  our  wants  supply. 
Right  opposite,  tbe  mainland  towers 
Of  ray  own  TurnbeiTy  court  our  powers — 
— Might  not  my  father's  beadsman  hoar, 
Cuthbert,  who  dwells  upon  the  shore. 
Kindle  a  signal-flame,  to  show 
The  time  propitious  for  the  blow  ? 
It  shall  be  so — some  friend  shall  bear 
Om'  mandate  with  despatch  and  care ; 
— Edward  shall  find  the  messenger. 
Tliat  fortress  om's,  the  island  fleet 
May  on  the  coast  of  Carrick  meet — 
0  Scotland !  shall  it  e'er  be  mine 
To  wreak  thy  wrongs  in  battle-line, 
To  raise  my  victor-head,  and  see 
Thy  hiUs,  thy  dales,  thy  people  free, — 
That  glance  of  bliss  is  all  I  crave. 
Betwixt  my  labors  and  my  grave  !" 
Then  down  the  hill  he  slowly  went, 
Oft  pausing  on  tbe  steep  descent. 
And  reach'd  the  spot  where  his  bold  train 
Held  rustic  camp  upon  tbe  plain.' 


®l)c  Corlr  of  tljc  JJslcs. 


CA>TO   FIFTH. 


L 
On-  fair  Locb-Ranza  stream'd  tbe  early  day. 
Til  in  wreaths  of  cottage-smoke  are  upward  curl'd 
From  tbe  lone  hamlet,  which  her  mland  bay 
And  circbng  mountains  sever  from  the  world. 
And  there  the  fislierman  his  sail  unfurl' d, 
Tlie  goat-herd  drove  liis  kids  to  steep  Ben-Ghoil, 
Before  the  but  tbe  dame  her  spindle  twu-l'd. 
Courting  the  smibeam  as  she  pUed  her  toil, — 
For,  wake  where'er  he  may,  Man  wakes  to  care 
and  tolL 

But  other  duties  call'd  each  convent  maid. 
Roused  by  the  summons  of  the  moss-gi-own  beU ; 

the  remainder  of  the  canto  is  rather  tedious,  and  might,  with- 
out any  considerible  inconvenience,  have  been  left  a  good 
deal  to  the  reader's  imagination.  Mr.  Scott  ought  to  reserve, 
as  much  as  possible,  the  interlocutory  part  of  his  narrative, 
for  occasions  which  admit  of  high  and  animated  sentiment,  or 
the  display  of  powerful  emotions,  because  this  is  almost  the 
only  poetical  beauty  of  which  speeches  are  susceptible.  But 
to  fill  up  three-fourths  of  a  cauto  with  a  lover's  asking  a 
brother  in  a  quiet  and  friendly  manner  for  permission  to  address 
his  sister  in  marriage,  and  a  brother's  asking  his  sister  whether 
she  has  any  objections,  is,  we  tliink,  somewhat  injudicious  ' 
—  Quarterly  Review. 


CANTO  V. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


447 


Sung  were  the  matins,  and  the  mass  was  said, 
And  every  sister  sought  her  separate  cell, 
Such  was  the  rule,  her  rosary  to  tell. 
And  Isabel  has  kuelt  in  lonely  prayer 
The  sunbeam,  through  the  narrow  lattice,  fell 
Upon  the  snowy  neck  and  long  dark  hah', 
As  stoop'd  her  gentle  head  in  meek  devotion  there. 

II. 

She  raised  her  eyes,  that  duty  done, 
When  glanced  upon  the  pavement-stone, 
Gemm'd  and  enchased,  a  golden  ring, 
Boimd  to  a  scroll  with  silken  string,' 
With  few  brief  words  inscribed  to  teU, 
"  This  for  the  Lady  Isabel." 
Within,  the  Avi'iting  farther  bore, — 
"  'Twas  with  this  ring  his  phght  he  swore. 
With  tliis  his  promise  I  resto)-e  ; 
To  her  who  can  the  heart  couunand. 
Well  may  I  yield  the  plighted  hand. 
And  0  !  for  better  fortune  born, 
Grudge  not  a  passing  sigh  to  mom-n 
Her  who  was  Edith  once  of  Lorn !" 
One  single  flash  of  glad  surprise 
Just  glanced  fi'om  Isabel's  dark  eyes. 
But  vanish'd  in  the  blush  of  shame, 
That,  as  its  penance,  instant  came. 
"  0  thought  unworthy  of  my  race  ! 
Selfish,  ungenerous,  mean,  and  base, 
A  moment's  throb  of  joy  to  own," 
That  rose  upon  her  hopes  o'erthi-own ! — 
Thou  pledge  of  vows  too  well  beheved. 
Of  man  ingrate  and  maid  deceived. 
Think  not  .thy  lustre  here  shall  gain 
Another  heart  to  hope  in  vain  ! 
For  thou  shalt  rest,  thou  tempting  gaud. 
Where  worldly  thoughts  are  overawed, 
And  worldly  splendors  sink  debased." 
Then  by  the  cross  the  ring  she  placed. 

IIL 
Next  rose  the  thought, — ^its  owner  far, 
How  came  it  here  through  bolt  and  bar  ?— 
But  the  dim  lattice  is  ajar. — 
She  looks  abroad,  the  morning  dew 
A  hght  short  step  had  brush'd  anew, 

And  there  were  foot-prints  seen 
On  the  carved  buttress  rising  stUl, 
Till  on  the  mossy  window-sill 

Their  track  effaced  the  green. 
The  ivy  twigs  were  torn  and  fray'd. 
As  if  some  climber's  steps  to  aid. — 
But  who  the  hardy  messenger. 
Whose  venturous  path  these  signs  infer  ? — 


MS.- 


'  a  ring  of  gold, 


A  scroll  around  the  jewel  roll'd, 
Had  few  brief  words,''  &c. 
VS. — "  A  single  throb  of  joy  to  own." 


"  Strange  doubts  are  mine ! — Mona,  draw  nigh ; 

— Naught  'scapes  old  Mona's  curious  eye — 

What  strangers,  gentle  niotlier,  say, 

Have  sought  these  holy  walls  to-day  ?" — 

"  None,  Lady,  none  of  note  or  name  ; 

Only  your  brother's  foot-page  came, 

At  peep  of  dawn — I  jjray'd  him  pass 

To  chapel  where  they  said  the  mass ; 

But  like  an  arrow  he  shot  by. 

And  teai's  seem'd  bm'sting  fi-om  his  eye." 

IV. 

The  truth  at  once  on  Isabel, 

As  darted  by  a  sunbeam,  fell. — 

"'Tis  Edith's  self!^ — her  speecUess  woe, 

Her  form,  her  looks,  the  secret  show ! 

— Instant,  good  Mona,  to  the  bay, 

^\nd  to  my  royal  brother  say, 

I  do  conjure  him  seek  my  cell, 

With  that  mute  page  he  loves  so  well." — 

"  What !  know'st  thou  not  his  warlike  host 

At  break  of  day  has  left  our  coast  ?^ 

My  old  eyes  saw  them  from  the  tower. 

At  eve  they  couch'd  in  greenwood  bower, 

At  dawn  a  bugle  signal,  made 

By  theh  bold  Lord,  their  ranks  array'd ; 

Up   sprung   the   spears   through  bush  and 

tree, 
No  time  for  benedicite ! 
Like  deer,  that,  rousing  from  their  lair. 
Just  shake  the  dew-drops  from  their  hail', 
And  toss  theh  armed  crests  aloft. 
Such  matins  thehs  !" — "  Good  mother,  soft — 
AVhere  does  my  brother  bend  his  way  ?" — ^ 
"  As  I  have  heard,  for  Brodick-Bay, 
Across  the  isle — of  barks  a  score 
Lie  there,  'tis  said,  to  waft  them  o'er. 
On  sudden  news,  to  Carrick-shore." — 
"  If  such  their  purpose,  deep  the  need," 
Said  anxious  Isabel,  "  of  speed ! 
Call  Father  Augustme,  good  dame." 
The  nun  obey'd,  the  Father  came. 

V. 

"  Kind  Father,  hie  without  delay, 

Across  the  hills  to  Brodick-Bay. 

This  message  to  the  Bruce  be  given ; 

I  pray  him,  by  his  hopes  of  Heaven, 

That,  tiU  he  speak  with  me,  he  stay ! 

Or,  if  his  haste  brook  no  delay, 

That  he  dehver,  on  my  suit, 

Into  thy  charge  that  stripling  mute. 

Thus  prays  Iiis  sister  Isabel, 

For  causes  more  than  she  may  tell — 

3  MS.—"  'Tis  she  herself." 

4  MS. — "  What !  know'st  thou  not  in  sndaen  haste 

The  warriors  from  our  woods  liave  pass'd  1" 
6  MS.—"  Canst  tell  where  they  have  bent  their  way  f  ' 


448 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


Away,  good  father !  and  take  heed, 
That  hfe  and  death  are  on  thy  speed." 
Hi3  cowl  the  good  old  priest  did  on, 
Took  liis  piked  staff  and  sandall'd  shoon, 
And,  hke  a  palmer  bent  by  eld, 
O'er  moss  and  moor  his  jom'ney  held.' 

VI. 
Heavy  and  duU  the  foot  of  age. 
And  rugged  was  the  pilgrimage ; 
But  none  was  there  beside,  whose  care 
iliglit  such  important  message  bear. 
Through  birchen  copse  he  wander'd  slow, 
Stimted  and  sapless,  tliin  and  low ; 
By  many  a  mountain  stream  he  pass'd, 
From  the  taU  chffs  in  tumult  cast. 
Dashing  to  foam  their  waters  dun. 
And  sparkling  in  the  sunmier  sun. 
Round  his  gray  head  the  wild  curlew 
In  many  a  fearless  circle  flew. 
O'er  chasms  he  pass'd,  where  fractures  wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride  f 
He  cross'd  his  brow  beside  the  stone 
Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan,' 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild. 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  pUed,* 
He  breathed  a  timid  prayer  for  those 
Who  died  ere  Shiloh's  sun  arose. 
Beside  Macfarlane's  Cross  he  staid. 
There  told  his  hours  within  the  shade, 
And  at  the  stream  his  thirst  allay'd. 
Tlience  onward  journeying  slowly  still. 
As  evening  closed  he  reach'd  tlie  hiU, 
Where,  rising  thi-ough  the  woodland  green, 
Old  Brodick's  gothic  towers  were  seen. 
From  Hastings,  late  their  English  lord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword." 
The  sun  that  sunk  beliind  the  isle. 
Now  tinged  them  with  a  parting  smile. 

VII. 

But  though  the  beams  of  light  decay, 
'Twas  bustle  all  in  Brodick-Bay. 
The  Bruce's  followers  crowd  the  shore, 
And  boats  and  barges  some  unmoor. 
Some  raise  the  sail,  some  seize  the  oar  • 
Then-  eyes  oft  turn'd  where  gUmmer'd  far 
What  might  have  seem'd  an  early  star 
On  heaven's  blue  arch,  save  that  its  hght 
Was  all  too  flickerhig,  fierce,  and  bright. 

Far  distant  in  the  south,  the  ray 

Shone  pale  amid  rething  day, 

!  MS. — "  And  cross  the  island  took  Iiis  wjy. 
O'er  hill  and  holt,  to  Brodick-Bay." 

»  See  Appendi.it,  Note  2  W. 

'  MS. — "  He  cross'd  him  by  the  Druids'  stone. 

That  heard  of  yor»  the  victim's  groan." 

*  See  Apuendix,  Note  2  X. 


But  as,  on  Camck-shore, 
Dim  seen  in  outline  faintly  blue. 
The  shades  of  evening  closer  drew,* 
It  kindled  more  and  more. 
The  monk's  slow  steps  now  press  the  eanda 
And  now  amid  a  scene  he  stands. 

Full  strange  to  churchman's  eye  ; 
Warriors,  who,  arming  for  the  fight. 
Rivet  and  clasp  then-  harness  light. 
And  twinkling  spears,  and  axes  bright, 
And  helmets  flashing  high. 
Oft,  too,  with  unaccustom'd  ears, 
A  language  much  immeet  he  hears,' 

While,  hastening  aU  on  board, 
As  stormy  as  the  swelling  surge 
Tliat  mix'd  its  roar,  the  leaders  ui'ge 
Their  followers  to  the  ocean  verge, 
With  many  a  haughty  word. 

VIII. 
Through  that  wild  throng  the  Father  pass'd, 
And  reach'd  the  Royal  Bruce  at  last. 
He  leant  against  a  stranded  boat. 
That  the  approaching  tide  must  float, 
And  cotmted  every  rippling  wave, 
As  higher  yet  her  sides  they  lave. 
And  oft  the  distant  fire  he  eyed, 
And  closer  yet  his  hauberk  tied. 
And  loosen'd  in  its  sheath  his  brand. 
Edward  and  Leimox  were  at  hand, 
Douglas  and  Ronald  had  the  care 
The  soldiers  to  the  barks  to  share. — 
The  Monk  approach'd  and  homage  paid ; 
"  And  art  thou  come,"  King  Robert  said, 
"  So  far  to  bless  us  ere  we  part  ?" — 
— "  My  Liege,  and  with  a  loyal  heart ! — 
But  other  charge  I  have  to  tell," — 
And  spoke  the  hest  of  Isabel. 
— "  Now  by  Saint  Giles,"  the  monarch  cried, 
"  This  moves  me  much ! — this  morning  tide, 
I  sent  the  stripling  to  Saint  Bride, 
With  my  commandment  there  to  bide."—' 
— "  Thither  he  came  the  portress  show'd. 
But  there,  my  Liege,  made  brief  abode." — 

IX. 

"  'Twas  I,"  said  Edward,  "  foimd  employ 

Of  nobler  import  for  the  boy. 

Deep  pondering  in  my  anxious  mind, 

A  fitting  messenger  to  find. 

To  bear  my  wi'itten  mandate  o'er 

To  Cuthbert  on  the  Carrick-shore, 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

6  MS. — "  The  shades  of  even  more  closely  drew. 

It  brighten'd  more  and  more. 
Now  print  his  sandall'd  feet  the  E>andi, 
And  now  amid,"  &c. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 


CANTO  V. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


449 


I  chanced,  at  early  dawn,  to  pass 

That  when  by  Brace's  side  I  fight, 

The  chapel  gate  to  snatch  a  mass. 

For  Scotland's  crown  and  Freedom's  righl 

I  found  the  stripling  on  a  tomb 

The  prmcess  grace  her  knight  to  bear 

Low-seated,  weeiMng  for  the  doom 

Some  token  of  her  favoring  care  ; 

That  gave  his  youth  to  convent  gloom. 

It  shall  be  shown  where  England's  best 

I  told  my  purpose,  and  liis  eyes 

May  shrmk  to  see  it  on  my  crest. 

riasli"d  joyful  at  the  glad  surprise. 

And  for  the  boy — smce  weightier  care 

He  bounded  to  the  skiff,  the  sail 

For  royal  Bruce  the  times  prepare, 

Was  spread  before  a  prosperous  gale, 

The  helpless  youth  is  Ronald's  charge. 

And  well  my  charge  he  hath  obey'd ; 

His  couch  my  plaid,  his  fence  my  targe." 

For,  see  !  the  ruddy  signal  made, 

He  ceased ;  for  many  an  eager  hand 

That  CHfford,  with  his  merry-men  all, 

Had  urged  the  barges  from  the  strand. 

Guards  carelessly  om-  father's  hall." — ' 

Their  number  was  a  score  and  ten. 

They  bore  thrice  threescore  chosen  men. 

X. 

With  such  small  force  did  Bruce  at  last 

"  0  wild  of  thought,  and  hard  of  heart !" 

The  die  for  death  or  emphe  cast ! 

Answer'd  the  Monarch,  "  on  a  part 

Of  such  deep  danger  to  employ 

XIL 

A  mute,  an  orphan,  and  a  boy  !" 

Now  on  the  darkening  mam  afloat. 

Unfit  for  flight,  unfit  for  strife, 

Ready  and  mann'd  rocks  every  boat ; 

Without  a  tongue  to  plead  for  life ! 

Beneath  then-  oars  the  ocean's  might 

Now,  were  my  right  restored  by  Heaven, 

Was  dash'd  to  sparks  of  gUmmering  hght. 

Edward,  my  crown  I  would  have  given, 

Faint  and  more  faint,  as  oft"  they  bore. 

Ere,  thrust  on  such  adventure  wild, 

Their  armor  glanced  against  the  shore. 

I  peril'd  thus  the  helpless  child." — 

And,  mingled  with  the  dasliing  tide, 

— Ofl'ended  half,  and  half  submiss, 

Then  mm-muring  voices  distant  died. — ■ 

"  Brother  and  Liege,  of  blame  like  this," 

"  God  speed  them !"  said  the  Priest,  as  dai'k 

Edward  replied,  "  I  Uttle  dream'd. 

On  distant  billows  ghdes  each  bai-k ; 

A  stranger  messenger,  I  deem'd, 

"  0  Heaven !  when  swords  for  freedom  shine, 

Might  safest  seek  the  beadsman's  cell, 

And  monarch's  right,  the  cause  is  thine  1 

Where  all  thy  squu'es  are  known  so  welL 

Edge  doubly  every  patriot  blow  ! 

Noteless  his  presence,  sharp  his  sense, 

Beat  down  the  banners  of  the  foe ! 

His  imperfection  his  defence. 

And  be  it  to  the  nations  known, 

If  seen,  none  can  his  errand  guess ; 

Tliat  Victory  is  from  God  alone  !"' 

If  ta'en,  his  words  no  tale  express — 

As  up  the  hUl  his  path  he  di-ew. 

Methuiks,  too,  yonder  beacon's  shine 

He  tmn'd  his  blessings  to  renew. 

Might  expiate  gi-eater  fault  than  mine." — • 

Oft  turn'd,  till  on  the  darken'd  coast 

"  Rash,"  said  King  Robert,  "  was  the  deed — 

All  traces  of  their  course  were  lost ; 

But  it  is  done. — Embark  with  speed ! — 

Then  slowly  bent  to  Brodick  tower, 

Good  Father,  say  to  Isabel 

To  shelter  for  the  evening  hour. 

How  this  unhappy  chance  befell ; 

If  well  we  thrive  on  yonder  shore, 

XIIL 

Soon  shall  my  care  her  page  restore. 

In  night  the  fairy  prospects  sink. 

Our  greeting  to  our  sister  bear. 

Wliere  Cumray's  isles  with  verdant  link 

And  think  of  us  in  mass  and  prayer." — 

Close  the  fair  entrance  of  the  Clyde ; 

The  woods  of  Bute,  no  more  descried. 

XL 

Are  gone* — and  on  the  placid  sea 

"  Aye !"  said  the  Priest,  "  wlfile  this  poor  hand 

The  rowers  ply  their  task  with  glee. 

Can  chalice  raise  or  cross  command. 

While  hands  that  knightly  lances  bore 

While  my  old  voice  has  accents'  use. 

Impatient  aid  the  laboring  oar. 

Can  Augustine  forget  the  Bruce !" 

Tlie  half-faced  moon  shone  dim  and  pale. 

Then  to  his  side  Lord  Ronald  press'd. 

And  glanced  against  the  whiteu'd  sail; 

And  whisper'd,  "  Bear  thou  this  request, 

But  on  that  ruddy  beacon-Hght 

»  The  MS.  reads  :— 

Of  snch  deep  peril,  to  employ 

"  Keeps  careless  guard  in  Tnrnberry  hall." 

A  mute,  a  stranger,  and  a  boy ''  " 

See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 

3  MS.— "  is  thine  aloue  '" 

*  MS.—"  Said  Robert,  '  to  assiga  a  part 

4  MS.— "  Have  sunk-  " 

57 


450 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


Each  steersman  kept  the  helm  aright, 
And  oft,  for  such  the  Kuig's  command, 
That  all  at  once  might  reach  the  strand, 
From  boat  to  boat  loud  shout  and  hail 
Warn'd  them  to  crowd  or  slacken  sail. 
South  and  by  west  the  ai-mada  bore. 
And  near  at  length  the  Carrick-shore. 
And  less  and  less  the  distance  gi-ows. 
High  and  more  high  the  beacon  rose ; 
The  hght,  tliat  seem'd  a  twinkUng  star, 
Now  blazed  portentous,  fierce,  and  far. 
Dai-k-red  the  heaven  above  it  glow'd. 
Dark-red  the  sea  beneath  it  flow'd, 
Red  rose  the  rocks  on  ocean's  brim. 
In  blood-red  light  her  islets  swim ; 
Wild  scream  the  dazzled  sea-fowl  gave, 
Dropp'd  from  then-  crags  on  plashing  wave.' 
The  deer  to  distant  covert  drew, 
Tlie  black-cock  deem'd  it  day,  and  crew. 
Like  some  tall  castle  given  to  flame, 
O'er  half  the  laud  the  lustre  came. 
"  Now,  good  my  Liege,  and  brother  sage, 
What  think  ye  of  mine  elfin  page  ?" — 
"  Row  on !"  the  noble  King  repUed, 
"  We'll  learn  the  truth  whate'er  betide ; 
Yet  sure  the  beadsman  and  the  child 
Could  ne'er  have  waked  that  beacon  wild.'' 

XIV. 
With  that  the  boats  approach'd  the  land,^ 
But  Edward's  grounded  on  the  sand ; 
Tlie  eager  Knight  leap'd  m  the  sea 
Waist-deep,  and  lii-st  on  shore  was  he, 
Though  every  barge's  hardy  band 
Contended  which  should  gain  the  land, 
When  that  strange  light,  which,  seen  afar, 
Seem'd  steady  as  the  polar  star, 
Now,  hke  a  prophet's^  fiery  chair, 
Seem'd  travelling  the  realms  of  air. 
Wide  o'er  the  sky  the  splendor  glows, 
As  that  portentous  meteor  rose  ; 
Helm,  axe,  and  falchion  glitter'd  bright. 
And  in  the  red  and  dusky  light 
His  comrade's  face  each  warrior  saw. 
Nor  marvell'd  it  was  pale  with  awe. 
Then  high  in  air  the  beams  were  lost. 
And  dai'kness  sunk  upon  the  coast. — 
Rcnald  to  Heaven  a  prayer  addi-css'd, 
And  Douglas  cross'd  his  dauntless  breast ; 
"  Saint  .James  protect  us !"  Lennox  cried, 
But  reckless  Edward  spoke  aside, 
"  Deem'st  thou,  Kirkpatrick,  in  that  flame 
Red  Comyn's  angry  spirit  came. 


1  MS. — "  And  from  their  crags  plash'd  in  the  wave." 
'^  M^. — "  With  that  the  bargea  near'd  the  land." 
>  MS.—"  A  wizard's." 
MS — "  '  Oallants  be  hush'd  ;  we  soon  shall  know,' 


Or  would  thy  dauntless  heart  endirre 

Once  more  to  make  assurance  sui-e  ?" — 

"  Hush !"  said  the  Bruce,  "  we  soon  shall  know 

If  tliis  be  sorcerer's  empty  show,* 

Or  stratagem  of  southern  foe. 

The  moon  shines  out — upon  the  sand 

Let  every  leader  rank  his  band." 

XV. 

Faintly  the  moon's  pale  beams  8upj>ly 

That  ruddy  hght's  umiatural  dye  ; 

The  dubious  cold  reflection  lay 

On  the  wet  sands  and  quiet  bay. 

Beneath  the  rocks  King  Robert  drew 

His  scatter'd  files  to  order  due. 

Till  sliield  compact  and  serried  spear 

In  the  cool  hght  shone  blue  and  clear. 

Then  down  a  path  that  sought  the  tide, 

That  speechless  page  was  seen  to  gUde ; 

He  knelt  liim  lowly*  on  the  sand, 

And  gave  a  scroll  to  Robert's  hand. 

"  A  torch,"  the  Monarch  cried,  "  "^Tiat,  ho ! 

NoA"  shall  we  Cuthbert's  tidings  know." 

But  evil  news  the  letters  bare, 

The  CMord's  force  was  strong  and  ware,* 

Augmented,  too,  that  very  morn. 

By  mountaineers  who  came  with  Lorn. 

Long  harrow'd  by  oppressor's  hand, 

Courage  and  faith  had  fled  the  land, 

And  over  Carrick,  dark  and  deep. 

Had  sunk  dejection's  iron  sleep. — 

Cuthbert  had  seen  that  beacon-flame. 

Unwitting  from  what  som'ce  it  came. 

Doubtful  of  perilous  event, 

Edward's  mute  messenger  he  sent. 

If  Bruce  deceived  should  venture  o'er. 

To  warn  him  from  the  fatal  shore. 

XVI. 
As  round  the  torch  the  leaders  crowd, 
Bruce  read  these  cliilling  news  aloud. 
"  What  comicil,  nobles,  have  we  now  ! — 
To  ambush  us  in  greenwood  bough, 
And  take  the  chance  wliich  fate  may  send 
To  bring  oiu*  enterprise  to  end. 
Or  shall  we  turn  us  to  the  main 
As  exiles,  and  embark  agaia  ?"' — 
Auswer'd  fierce  Edward,  "  Hap  what  may, 
In  Carrick,  Carrick's  Lord  must  stay. 
I  would  not  minstrels  told  the  tale. 
Wildfire  or  meteor'  made  ua  quail." — 
Answer'd  the  Douglas,  "  K  my  Liege 
May  win  yon  walls  by  storm  or  siege, 


Said  Bruce,  '  if  this  be  sorcerer's  show.'  " 
s  MS. "  on  the  moisten'd  sand." 

6  MS. — "  That  CUfford's  force  in  watch  were  ware.' 

7  MS.—"  A  wildfire  meteor,"  &c. 


CANTO  V. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


451 


Then  were  each  brave  and  patriot  heart 

Kindled  of  new  for  loyal  part." — ^ 

Answer'd  Lord  Ronald,  "  Not  for  shame 

Would  I  that  aged  Torquil  came, 

And  found,  for  all  our  empty  boast, 

Without  a  blow  we  fled  the  coast. 

I  wiU  not  credit  that  tliis  land, 

So  famed  for  warlike  heart  and  hand, 

The  nurse  of  Wallace  and  of  Bruce, 

Will  long  with  tyrants  hold  a  truce." — 

"  Prove  we  oiu-  fate — the  brunt  we'll  bide  I" 

So  Boyd  and  Haye  and  Lennox  cried ; 

So  said,  so  vow'd,  the  leaders  aU ; 

So  Bruce  resolved :  "  And  in  my  hall 

Since  the  Bold  Southern  make  their  home, 

Tlie  hour  of  payment  soon  shall  come,^ 

When  with  a  rough  and  rugged  host 

CUfibrd  may  reckon^  to  his  cost. 

Meantime,  through  well-known  bosk  and  dell, 

I'll  lead  where  we  may  shelter  well." 

XVIL 
Now  ask  you  whence  that  wondrous  light, 
Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight  ? — 
It  ne'er  was  known* — yet  gray-hak'd  eld 
A  superstitious  credence  held. 
That  never  did  a  mortal  hand 
Wake  its  broad  glare  on  Carrick  strand ; 
Nay,  and  that  on  the  self-same  niglit 
Wlien  Bruce  cross'd  o'er,  stiU  gleams  the  light. 
Yearly  it  gleams  o'er  mount  and  moor, 
And  ghttering  wave  and  crimson'd  shore- 
But  whether  beam  celestial,  lent 
By  Heaven  to  aid  the  King's  descent. 
Or  fire  hell-kindled  from  beneath, 
To  lure  him  to  defeat  and  death, 
Or  were  it  but  some  meteor  strange, 
Of  such  as  oft  through  midnight  range, 
StartUng  the  traveller  late  and  lone,* 
I  know  not — and  it  ne'er  was  known. 

XVIIL 

Now  up  the  roclry  pass  they  drew. 
And,  Ronald,  to  his  promise  true. 
Still  made  his  arm  the  strijjUng's  stay. 
To  aid  him  on  the  rugged  way. 
"  Now  cheer  thee,  simple  Amadine ! 
Why  throbs  that  silly  heart  of  thine  ?"— 
— That  name  the  pirates  to  their  slave 
(In  Gaelic  'tis  the  Changeling)  gave — 


iMS.- 


-"  to  play  their  part." 


s  MS. — '•  Since  Clifford  needs  will  make  his  home, 
The  hour  of  reckoning  soon  shall  come." 

3  MS.—"  The  Knight  shall  reckon,"  &c. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

6  MS. — "  Such  as  through  midnight  ether  range, 
AftViglitening  oft  the  traveller  lone." 
MS.-~"  Sounds  sadly  over  land  and  sea." 


"  Dost  thou  not  rest  thee  on  my  arm  ? 
Do  not  my  plaid-folds  hold  thee  warm  'i 
Hath  not  the  wild-bull's  treble  liide 
Tliis  targe  for  thee  and  me  supplied  ? 
Is  not  Clan-Colla's  sword  of  steel  ? 
And,  trembler,  canst  thou  terror  feel  ? 
Cheer  thee,  and  still  that  throbbing  heart ; 
From  Ronald's  guard  thou  shalt  not  part." 
— 0  !  many  a  shaft  at  random  sent. 
Finds  mark  the  archer  Uttle  meant ! 
And  many  a  word,  at  random  spoken. 
May  soothe  or  wound  a  heart  that's  broken  I 
Half  soothed,  half  giieved,  half  terrified, 
Close  di'ew  the  page  to  Ronald's  side ; 
A  wild  delirious  thrill  of  joy 
Was  in  that  horn-  of  agony. 
As  up  the  steepy  pass  he  strove, 
Fear,  toU,  and  sorrow,  lost  in  love ! 

XIX. 
Tlie  barrier  of  that  iron  shore. 
The  rock's  steep  ledge,  is  now  climb'd  o'er ; 
And  from  the  castle's  distant  wall. 
From  tower  to  tower  the  warders  call : 
The  sound  swmgs  over  land  and  sea,' 
And  marks  a  watcliful  enemy. — 
They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Left  for  the  Castle's  silvan  reign'' 
(Seek  not  the  scene — the  axe,  the  plough. 
The  boor's  dtdl  fence,  have  marr'd  it  now), 
But  then,  soft  swept  in  velvet  gi-een 
The  plain  with  many  a  glade  between, 
Whose  tangled  alleys  far  invade 
The  depth  of  the  brown  forest  shade. 
Here  the  tall  fern  obscured  the  lawn. 
Fair  shelter  for  the  sportive  fawn ; 
There,  tufted  close  with  copse  wood  green, 
Was  many  a  swelling  lullock  seen ; 
And  all  around  was  verdure  meet 
For  pressure  of  the  fairies'  feet. 
The  glossy  holly  loved  the  park. 
The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  dark,* 
And  many  an  old  oak,  worn  and  bare, 
With  all  its  shiver'd  boughs,  was  there. 
Lovely  between,  the  moonbeams  fell 
On  lawn  and  hillock,  glade  and  dell. 
The  gallant  Monarch  sigh'd  to  see 
These  glades  so  loved  in  childhood  fi'ee, 
Bethinking  that,  as  outlaw,  now, 
He  ranged  beneath  the  forest  bough.' 


'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

8  MS. — "  The  darli-green  holly  loved  the  down, 
The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  brown." 

"  "  Their  mooidight  muster  on  the  beach,  after  the  sadden 
extinction  of  this  portentous  flame,  and  their  midnight  march 
tlirough  the  paternal  ticlds  of  their  royal  leader,  also  display 
much  beautiful  painting  (stanzas  15  and  19).  After  the  caa- 
tle  is  won,  the  same  strain  is  pursued." — Jeffrey. 


452 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  T. 


XX. 

Fast  o'er  the  moonliglit  Chase  they  sped. 
Well  knew  the  band  that  measured  tread, 
When,  in  retreat  or  in  advance, 
The  serried  warriors  move  at  once ; 
And  evil  were  the  luck,  if  dawn 
Descried  them  on  tlie  open  lawn. 
Copses  they  traverse,  brooks  they  cross, 
Strain  up  the  bank  and  o'er  the  moss. 
From  the  exhausted  jjage's  brow' 
Cold  drops  of  toil  are  streaming  now ; 
With  effort  faint^  and  lengthen'd  pause. 
His  weary  step  the  stripling  draws. 
"  Ifay,  droop  not  yet  !"^  the  wamor  said  ; 
"  Come,  let  me  give  thee  ease  and  aid ! 
Strong  are  mine  arms,  and  little  care 
A  weight  so  slight  as  thine  to  bear. — 
What !  wilt  thou  not  ? — capricious  boy  ! 
Then  thine  own  limbs  and  strength  employ. 
Pass  but  this  night,  and  pass  thy  care, 
I'll  place  thee  with  a  lady  fair. 
Where  thou  shalt  tune  thy  lute  to  tell 
How  Ronald  loves  fair  Isabel !" 
Worn  out,  dishearten'd,  and  dismay'd. 
Here  Amadine  let  go  the  plaid ; 
His  trembling  limbs  their  aid  refuse,* 
He  sunk  among  the  midnight  dews  !* 

XXI. 
What  may  be  done  ? — the  night  is  gone — 
The  Bruce's  band  moves  swiftly  on — 
Eternal  shame,  if  at  the  brunt 
Lord  Ptonald  grace  not  battle's  front ! — 
"  See  yonder  oak,  within  whose  trunk 
Decay  a  darkcn'd  cell  hath  sunk ; 
Enter,  and  rest  thee  there  a  space. 
Wrap  in  my  plaid  thy  hmbs,  thy  face.' 
I  will  not  be,  believe  me,  far ; 
But  must  not  quit  the  ranks  of  war. 
Well  will  I  mark  the  bosky  bourne, 
And  soon,  to  guard  thee  hence,  return. — 
Xay,  weep  not  so,  thou  simple  boy  ! 
But  sleep  in  peace,  aud  wake  in  joy." 
In  silvan  lodging  close  bestow'd,'' 
He  placed  the  page,  and  onward  strode 
With  strength  put  forth,  o'er  moss  and  brook, 
And  soon  the  marcliing  band  o'ertook. 

1  MS. — "  From  Amadyne's  exhausted  brow." 

a  MS.—"  And  double  toil,"  &;c. 

3  MS.—"  Nay  fear  not  yet,"  &e. 

*  ftiS. "  his  weight  refuse." 

6  "  This  canto  is  not  distinguished  by  many  passages  of  ex- 
traordinary merit ;  as  it  is,  however,  full  of  business,  and  cora- 
oaratively  free  from  those  long  rhyming  dialogues  which  are  so 
frequent  in  the  poem,  it  is,  upon  tlie  whole,  spirited  and  pleas- 
.ng.  Tlie  scene  in  which  Ronald  is  described  sheltering  Edith 
under  his  plaid,  for  the  love  which  he  bears  to  [sabel,  is,  we 
think,  more  poetically  conceived  than  any  other  in  the  whole 


XXII. 

Tlius  strangely  left,  long  sobb'd  and  wept 

The  page,  till,  wearied  out,  he  slept — 

A  rough  voice  waked  his  dream — "  N"ay,  here, 

Here  by  this  thicket,  pass'd  the  deer — 

Beneath  that  oak  old  Ryno  staid — 

What  have  we  here  ? — a  Scottish  plaid, 

And  in  its  folds  a  stripling  laid  ? — 

Come  forth !  thy  name  and  business  tell ! — 

What,  silent  ? — then  I  guess  thee  well 

The  spy  that  sought  bid  Cuthbert's  cell. 

Wafted  from  Arran  yester  morn — 

Come,  comrades,  we  will  straight  return. 

Our  Lord  may  choose  the  rack  should  teach 

To  this  young  lurcher  use  of  speech. 

Thy  bow-string,  till  I  bind  him  fast." — 

"  Nay,  but  he  weeps  and  stands  aghast ; 

Unbound  we'll  lead  him,  fear  it  not ; 

"Tis  a  fair  stripling,  though  a  Scot." 

The  hunters  to  the  castle  sped. 

And  there  the  hapless  captive  led. 

XXIIL 

Stout  Clifford  in  the  castle-court 
Prepared  him  for  the  morning  sport ; 
And  now  with  Lorn  held  deep  discourse, 
Xow  gave  command  for  hound  and  horse.' 
A\^ar-steeds  and  palfreys  paw'd  the  ground, 
And  many  a  deer-dog  hoAvl'd  around. 
To  Amadine,  Lorn's  well-known  word 
Replying  to  that  Southern  Lord, 
MLx'd  with  this  clangmg  din,  might  seem 
The  phantasm  of  a  fevcr'd  dream. 
The  tone  upon  his  ringing  cars 
Came  like  the  sounds  wliich  fancy  hears, 
When  in  rude  waves  or  roaring  winds 
Some  words  of  woe  the  muscr  finds, 
Until  more  loudly  aud  more  near. 
Their  speech  arrests  the  page's  ear." 

XXIV. 

"  And  was  she  thus,"  said  Clififord,  "  lost  ? 
The  priest  should  rue  it  to  liis  cost ! 
"WTiat  says  the  monk !" — "  The  holy  Sire 
Owns,  that  in  masquer's  quaint  attire 
She  sought  liis  skiff,  disguised,  unknown 
To  all  except  to  him  alone. 

poem,  and  contains  some  touches  of  great  pathos  and  beanty. 
—  Quarterly  Review. 

6  MS. — "  And  mantle  in  my  plaid  thy  face." 
'  MS. — "  In  silvan  castle  warm  bestow'd. 

He  left  the  page." 
8  MS. — "  And  I  ow  with  Lorn  he  spoke  aside, 
And  now  to  squire  and  yeoman  cried. 
War-horse  and  palfrey,"  &c. 

'  MS. "  or  roaring  wind, 

Some  words  of  woe  his  musings  find. 
Till  spoke  more  loudly  and  more  near 
These  words  arrest  the  page's  eiW  " 


P\NTO  V. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


453 


But,  says  the  prinst,  a  bark  from  Lorn' 
]jaid  them  aboard  that  very  morn, 
And  pirates  seized  her  for  their  prey. 
He  proffer'd  ransom-gokl  to  pay, 
And  they  agreed — but  ere  told  o'er, 
The  winds  blow  loud,  the  billows  roar ; 
Tliey  sever'd,  and  they  met  no  more. 
He  deems — such  tempest  vex'd  the  coast — 
Ship,  crew,  and  fugitive,  were  lost. 
So  let  it  be,  with  the  disgrace 
And  scandal  of  her  lofty  race  !" 
Thrice  better  she  had  ne'er  been  born, 
Than  brought  her  infamy  on  Lorn !" 

XXV. 
Lord  Clifford  now  the  captive  spied ; — 
"  Whom,  Herbert,  hast  thou  there  ?"  he  cried. 
"  A  spy  we  seized  within  the  Chase, 
A  hollow  oak  his  lurking  place." — ' 
"  What  tidings  can  the  youth  afford  ?" — 
"  He  plays  the  mute." — "  Then  noose  a  cord — 
Unless  brave  Lorn  reverse  the  doom 
For  his  plaid's  sake." — "  Clan-CoUa's  loom," 
Said  Lorn,  whose  careless  glances  trace 
Rather  the  vestm'e  than  the  face, 
"  Clan-Colla's  dames  such  tartans  twine ; 
Wearer  nor  plaid  claims  care  of  mine. 
Give  him,  if  my  advice  you  crave. 
His  own  scathed  oak  ;■*  and  let  him  wave 
Li  ah,  unless,  by  terror  wrung, 
A  frank  confession  find  his  tongue. — ° 
Nor  shaU.  he  die  without  liis  rite  ! 
— Thou,  Angus  Roy,  attend  the  sight, 
And  give  Clan-Colla's  dirge  thy  breath, 
As  they  convey  him.  to  his  death." — 
"  O  brother !  cruel  to  the  last !" 
Through  the  poor  captive's  bosom  pass'd 
The  thought,  but,  to  his  purpose  true. 
He  said  not,  though  he  sigh'd,  "  Adieu !" 

XXVL 
And  will  he  keep  his  pm-pose  still. 
In  sight  of  that  last  closing  HI,' 
When  one  poor  breath,  one  single  word, 
May  fi'eedom,  safety,  life,  afford  ? 
Can  he  resist  the  instinctive  call. 
For  life  that  bids  us  barter  all  ? 
Love,  strong  as  death,  his  heart  hath  steel'd, 

1  MS. —  "  To  all  save  to  himself  alone. 

Then,  sayg  he,  that  a  bark  from  Lorn 
Laid  him  aboard,"  &c. 

2  In  place  of  the  couplet  which  follows,  the  MS.  has  : — 

"  For,  stood  slie  there,  and  should  refuse 
The  choice  my  better  purpose  views, 
I'd  spurn  her  Uke  a  bond-maid  tame, 

Lost  to  \  f«^'^"t>nent  and  to  )  shame." 

(  each  sense  ot  pride  and  ) 
>  MS. —  "  A  spy,  whom,  guided  by  our  hound, 

Lurking  conceal'd  this  morn  we  found." 


His  nerves  hath  strung — ^lie  wUl  not  yield ! 
Since  that  poor  breath,  that  Uttle  word. 
May  yield  Lord  Ronald  to  the  sword. — '' 
Clan-Colla's  dirge  is  pealing  wide. 
The  griesly  headsman's  by  his  side  ; 
Along  the  greenwood  Chase  they  bend, 
And  now  their  march  has  ghastly  end ! 
That  old  and  shatter'd  oak  beneath. 
They  destine  for  the  place  of  death.' 
— What  thoughts  are  his,  while  all  in  vaiu 
His  eye  for  aid  explores  the  plain  ? 
What  thoughts,  while,  with  a  dizzy  ear, 
He  hears  the  death-prayer  rautter'd  near  ? 
And  must  he  die  such  death  accurst, 
Or  will  that  bosom-secret  burst  ? 
Cold  on  his  brow  breaks  terror's  dew, 
His  tremblmg  Ups  are  livid  blue ; 
The  agony  of  parting  life 
Has  naught  to  match  that  moment's  strife  1 

XXVIL 

But  other  witnesses  are  nigh, 

Who  mock  at  fear,  and  death  defy ! 

Soon  as  the  dire  lament  was  play'd, 

It  waked  the  lurking  ambuscade. 

The  Island  Lord  look'd  forth,  and  spied 

The  cause,  and  loud  in  fmy  cried,® 

"  By  Heaven,  they  lead  the  page  to  die, 

And  mock  me  in  his  agony ! 

They  shall  abye  it !" — On  his  arm 

Bruce  laid  strong  grasp,  "  They  shall  not  harm 

A  ringlet  of  the  striphng's  hair ; 

But,  till  I  give  the  word,  forbear. 

— Douglas,  lead  fifty  of  our  force 

Up  yonder  hollow  water-course. 

And  couch  thee  midway  on  the  wold, 

Between  the  flyers  and  then-  hold ; 

A  spear  above  the  copse  display'd, 

Be  signal  of  the  ambush  made. 

— Edward,  with  forty  spearmen,  straight 

Through  yonder  copse  approach  the  gate. 

And,  when  thou  hear'st  the  battle-din. 

Rush  forward,  and  the  passage  win. 

Secure  the  drawbridge — storm  the  port. 

And  man  and  guard  the  castle-com-t. — 

The  rest  move  slowly  forth  with  me, 

In  shelter  of  the  forest-tree. 

Till  Douglas  at  his  post  I  see." 

i  MS.—  "  Yon  scathed  oak." 

5  MS. "  by  terror  wrung 

To  speech,  confession  finds  his  ton^e." 
8 "  last  human  ill." 


7  MS. —  "  Since  that  one  word,  that  little  breath, 

May  speak  Lord  Ronald's  doom  of  death. 

8  MS.—  "  Beneath  that  shatter'd  old  oak-tree, 

Design'd  the  slaughter-place  to  be 

9  MS. —  "  Soon  as  the  due  lament  was  play'd 

The  Island  Lord  in  fury  said, 
'  By  Heaven  tliey  lead,'  "  &C. 


454 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


xxvin. 

Like  -war-horse  eager  to  rush  on, 
Compell'd  to  wait  the  signal  blown,' 
Hid,  and  scarce  hid,  by  greenwood  bough, 
Trembling  with  rage,  stands  Ronald  now, 
And  in  his  grasp  his  sword  gleams  blue. 
Soon  to  be  dyed  with  deadlier  hue. — 
Meanwhile  the  Bruce,  with  steady  eye, 
Sees  the  dark''  death-train  moving  by, 
And,  heedful,  measures  oft  the  space 
The  Douglas  and  his  band  must  trace, 
Ere  they  can  reach  theb-  destined  ground. 
Now  sinks  the  dirge's  wailing  sound, 
Now  cluster  round  the  direful  tree 
That  slow  and  solemn  company, 
WliUe  hymn  mistuned  and  mutter'd  prayer 
The  victim  for  his  fate  prepare. — 
"What  glances  o'er  the  greenwood  shade  ? 
The  spear  that  marks  the  ambuscade ! — 
"Now,  noble  Chief!  I  leave  thee  loose; 
Upon  them,  Ronald  !"  said  the  Bruce. 

XXIX. 

"  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce !"  to  well-known  cry 
His  native  rocks  and  woods  reply. 
''  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce !"  in  that  dread  word 
The  knell  of  hundred  deaths  was  heard. 
The  astonish'd  Southern  gazed  at  first, 
Where  the  wild  tempest  was  to  burst, 
Tliat  waked  in  that  presaging  name. 
Before,  behind,  around  it  came  ! 
Half-arm'd,  surprised,  on  every  side 
Hemm'd  in,  hew'd  down,  they  bled  and  died. 
Deep  in  the  ring  the  Bruce  engaged, 
And  fierce  Clan-CoUa's  broadsword  raged ! 
Full  soon  the  few  who  fought  were  sped. 
No  better  was  their  lot  who  fled, 
And  met,  'mid  terror's  wild  career, 
The  Douglas's  redoubted  spear ! 
Two  hundred  yeomen  on  that  morn 
The  castle  left,  and  none  retm-n. 

XXX. 

Not  on  their  flight  press'd  Ronald's  brand, 
A  gentler  duty  claun'd  his  hand. 
He  raised  the  page,  where  on  the  plain 
His  fear  had  sunk  him  with  the  slain : 


1  MS. —  "  Yet  waiting  for  the  trumpet  tone." 
a  MS. —  "  See  tlie  slow  ileatli-train." 
3  MS. —  "  And  scarce  his  recollection,"  &c. 
<  MS. —  "  A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits, 

Whose  ire  assail'd  the  castle  gates." 
*  MS. —  "  Where  sober  thought  had  fail'd. 

Upon  the  bridge  himself  he  threw." 
MS. —  "  His  axe  was  steel  of  temper'd  edge. 

That  truth  tlie  wanler  well  might  pledge, 

He  sunk  upon  the  threshold  ledge  ! 
The  gate,"  &c. 


And  twice,  that  morn,  surprise  well  near 
Betray'd  the  secret  kept  by  fear ; 
Once,  Avhen,  Avith  life  returning,  came 
To  the  boy's  lip  Lord  Ronald's  \iame, 
And  hardly  recollection'  drown'd 
The  accents  in  a  murmuring  sound ; 
And  once,  when  scarce  he  could  resist 
The  Chieftain's  care  to  loose  the  vest. 
Drawn  tightly  o'er  his  laboring  breast. 
But  then  the  Bruce's  bugle  blew, 
For  martial  work  was  yet  to  do. 

XXXL 

A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits. 
Ere  signal  given,  the  castle  gates 

His  fury  bad  assail'd  ;* 
Such  was  his  wonted  reckless  mood, 
Yet  desperate  valor  oft  made  good, 
Even  by  its  daring,  venture  rude. 

Where  prudence  might  have  fail'd. 
LTpou  the  bridge  bis  strength  he  threw,* 
And  struck  the  iron  chain  in  two, 

By  which  its  planks  arose  ; 
The  warder  next  his  axe's  edge 
Struck  down  upon  the  threshold  ledge, 
'Twixt  door  and  post  a  ghastly  wedge  l" 

The  gate  they  may  not  close. 
Well  fought  the  Southern  in  the  fray, 
Clifford  and  Lorn  fought  well  that  day, 
But  stubborn  Edward  forc'd  his  way' 

Against  a  hundred  foes. 
Loud  came  the  cry,  "  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce  1" 
No  hope  or  in  defence  or  truce. 

Fresh  combatants  pour  in  ; 
Mad  with  success,  and  drunk  with  gore, 
They  drive  the  struggling  foe  before, 

And  ward  on  ward  they  win. 
Unsparing  was  the  vengeful  sword, 
And  limbs  were  lopp'd  and  life-blood  pour'd, 
The  crj-  of  death  and  conflict  roar'd. 

And  fearful  was  the  din ! , 
Tlie  startling  horses  plmiged  and  flung, 
Clamor'd  the  dogs  till  tiu-rets  rung, 

Nor  sunk  the  fearful  cry, 
Till  not  a  foeraan  was  there  found 
Alive,  save  those  who  on  the  ground 

Groan'd  in  their  agony  !* 


7  MS. —  "  Well  fought  the  English  yeomen  then. 
And  Lorn  and  Clilford  play'd  the  men, 
But  Edward  mann'd  the  pass  he  won 
Against,"  &c. 

B  The  concluding  stanza  of  "  The  Siege  of  Corinth"  con- 
tains an  obvious,  though,  no  doubt,  an  unconscious  imitation 
of  the  jireceding  nine  lines,  magnificejjtly  expanded  through  an 
extent  of  about  thirty  couplets  : — 

"  All  the  living  things  that  heard 

That  deadly  earth-shock  disappear'd  ; 
The  wild  birds  flew  ;  the  wild  dogs  fled. 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


too 


XXXII. 

The  valiant  Clifford  is  no  more  ;■ 

On  Ronald's  broadsword  stream'd  his  gore. 

But  better  hap  had  he  of  Lorn, 

Who,  by  the  foemen  backAvard  borne, 

Yet  gaiu'd  with  slender  train  the  port, 

■Wliere  lay  his  bark  beneath  the  fort, 

And  cut  the  cable  loose." 
Short  were  his  shrift  in  that  debate, 
That  hour  of  fury  and  of  fate. 

If  Lorn  encounter'd  Bruce  !' 
Then  long  and  loud  the  victor  shout 
From  turret  and  from  tower  rung  out, 

The  rugged  vaults  replied ; 
And  from  the  donjon  tower  on  high, 
The  men  of  Carrick  may  descry 
Saint  Andrew's  cross,  in  blazonry 

Of  silver,  waving  wide ! 

XXXIIL 
The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  haU  !* 
— "  Welcome,  brave  friends  and  comrades  all, 

Welcome  to  mhth  and  joy ! 
The  first,  the  last,  is  welcome  here. 
From  lord  and  chieftam,  prince  and  peer, 

To  this  poor  speechless  boy. 
Great  God !  once  more  my  she's  abode 
Is  mine — behold  the  floor  I  trode 

In  tottering  infancy  ! 
And  there^  the  vaulted  arch,  whose  soimd 
Echoed  my  joyous  shout  and  bound 
In  boyhood,  and  that  rung  aroimd 

To  youth's  unthinking  glee  ! 
O  first,  to  thee,  all-gracious  Heaven, 
Then  to  my  friends,  my  thanks  be  given !" — 
He  paused  a  space,  his  brow  he  cross' d — 
Then  on  the  board  his  sword  he  toss'd. 
Yet  steaming  hot ;  with  Southern  gore 
From  hilt  to  point  'twas  crimson'd  o'er. 

XXXIV.  . 
"  Bring  here,"  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four, 
My  noble  fathers  loved  of  yore.^ 
Thrice  let  them  chcle  round  the  board, 


And  howling  left  the  unbnried  dead  : 
The  camels  from  their  keepers  broke  ; 
The  distant  steer  forsook  the  yoke — 
The  nearer  steed  plunged  o'er  the  plain, 
And  burst  liis  girth,  and  tore  his  rein,"  &c. 

'  In  point  of  fact,  Clifford  fell  at  Bannockburn. 

2  MS.—"  And  swiftly  hoisted  sail." 

'  MS. — "  Short  were  his  shrift,  if  in  that  honr 
Of  fate,  of  fury,  and  of  power, 

He  'counter'd  Edward  Bruce  !" 

<  See  Appendi.x,  Note  3  D. 

*  MS. — "  And  see  the  vaulted  arch,"  &c. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

'  MS.—"  Be  lasting  infamy  his  lot, 

And  brand  of  i  disloyal  Scot !" 


The  pledge,  fan-  Scotland's  rights  restored  I 
And  he  whose  Up  shall  touch  the  wine. 
Without  a  vow  as  true  as  mine. 
To  hold  both  lands  and  Ufe  at  naught, 
Until  her  freedom  shall  be  bought, — 
Be  brand  of  a  disloyal  Scot, 
And  lasting  iufamy  his  lot !' 
Sit,  gentle  friends  !  our  hour  of  glee 
Is  brief,  we'U  spend  it  joyously  1 
Bhthest  of  all  the  sun's  bright  beams. 
When  betwixt  storm  and  storm  he  gleams. 
Well  is  our  coimtry's  work  begun. 
But  more,  far  more,  must  yet  be  done. 
Speed  messengers  the  country  thi-ough 
Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new  f 
Warn  Lanark's  knights  to  gird  their  maU, 
Rouse  the  brave  sons  of  Teviotdale, 
Let  Ettrich's  archers  sharp  their  darts, 
The  fahest  forms,  the  truest  hearts ! 
Call  all,  call  all !  from  Reedswah-Path, 
To  the  wild  confines  of  Cape-Wrath  ; 
Wide  let  the  news  through  Scotland  ring, 
The  Worthem  Eagle  claps  his  wing !" 


(Jlje  £ori)  of  tijc  SsUs 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


0  WHO,  that  shared  them,  ever  shall  forget* 
The  emotions  of  the  sphit-rousing  time. 
When  breathless  in  the  mart  the  couriers  m«t, 
Early  and  late,  at  evening  and  at  prime  ; 
When  the  loud  cannon  and  the  merry  chime 
Hail'd  news  on  news,  as   field  on  field  was 

won,^" 
When  Hope,  long  doubtful,  soar'd  at  length 

sublime. 
And  om-  glad  eyes,  awake  as  day  begun, 
Watch'd  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  to  meet  the  ris- 
ing sun !" 


8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 

9  MS.—"  Hast  thou  forgot  1— No  !  who  can  e'er  forget." 

10  "  Who  can  avoid  conjuring  up  the  ideaof  men  with  hroao 
sheets  of  foolscap  scored  with  victories  rolled  round  their  hats 
and  horns  blowing  loud  defiance  in  each  other's  mouth,  from 
the  top  to  the  bottom  of  Pail-Mall,  or  the  Hay  market,  when 
he  reads  such  a  passage  ?  We  actuallj-  hear  tlie  Park  and 
Tower  guns,  and  the  clattering  of  ten  thousand  bells,  as  we 
read,  and  stop  our  ears  from  the  close  and  sudden  intrusion  of 
the  clamors  of  some  hot  and  hornfisted  patriot,  blowing  our- 
selves, as  well  as  Bonaparte,  to  the  devil !  And  what  has  all 
this  to  do  with  Bannockburn  1" — Monthly  Review. 

11  MS. — "  Watch'd  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  watch'd 

Triumph's  flashing  gun." 


456 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VL 


0  these  were  hours,  when  thrilling  joy  repaid 
A  long,  long  course  of  darkness,  doubts,  and 

fears ! 
Tlie  heart-sick  ftiintness  of  the  hope  delay'd. 
The  waste,  the  woe,   the   bloodshed,  and  the 

tears 
Tliat  track'd  with  terror  twenty  rolling  years, 
All  was  forgot  in  that  blithe  jubilee  ! 
Her  doAvncast  eye  even  jmle  Affliction  rears, 
To  sigh  a  thankful  prayer,  amid  the  glee. 
That   hail'd    the    Despot's   fall,    and    peace    and 

Uberty ! 

Such  news  o'er  Scotland's  hills  triiunphant  rode. 
When  'gainst  the  invaders  turn'd  the  battle's 

scale. 
When  Bruce's  banner  had  victorious  flow'd 
O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale  ■,^ 
When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale,^ 
And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John,^ 
When  Randolph's  war-cry  swell'd  the  southern 

gale,^ 
And  many  a  fortress,  town,  and   tower,  was 

won, 
And  Fame   stUl   sounded  forth   fresh  deeds  of 

glory  done. 

II. 

Blithe  tidings  flew  from  baron's  tower, 
To  peasant's  cot,  to  forest-bower, 
And  waked  the  solitary  cell, 
Where  lone  Saint  Bride's  recluses  dwell 
Princess  no  more,  fair  Isabel, 

A  Tot'ress  of  the  order  now, 
Say  did  the  rule  that  bid  tliee  wear 
Dim  veil  and  woollen  scapulaire, 
And  reft  thy  locks  of  dark-brown  hair, 

Tliat  stern  and  rigid  vow, 
Did  it  condemn  the  transport  high, 
Which  glisten'd  in  thy  watery  eye, 
Wlien  minstrel  or  when  palmer  told 
Each  fresh  exploit  of  Bruce  the  bold  ? — 
And  whose  the  lovely  form,  that  shares 
Tliy  anxious  hopes,  thy  fears,  thy  prayers  ? 
No  sister  she  of  convent  shade  ; 
So  say  these  locks  in  lengthen'd  braid. 
So  say  the  blushes  and  the  sighs. 
The  tremors  that  unbidden  rise, 
Wlien,  mingled  with  the  Bruce's  fame. 
The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  praises  came. 

IIL 

Believe,  his  father's  castle  won. 
And  his  bold  enterprise  begun. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G. 
s  tbid.  Note  3  I. 
6  Ibid.  Note  3  L. 


a  Ibid.  Note  3  H. 
4  Ibid.  Note  3  K. 
6  Ibid.  Note  3  M. 


That  Bruce's  eai-liest  cares  restore 
The  speechless  page  to  Arran's  shore : 
Nor  think  that  long  the  quaint  disguise 
Conceal'd  her  from  a  sister's  eyes ; 
And  sister-like  in  love  they  dwell 
In  that  lone  convent's  silent  cell. 
There  Bruce's  slow  assent  allows 
Fair  Isabel  the  veil  and  vows ; 
And  there,  her  sex's  dress  regain'd, 
The  lovely  Maid  of  Lorn  remain'd, 
Uimamed,  unknown,  while  Scotland  far 
Resounded  with  the  din  of  war ; 
And  many  a  month,  and  many  a  day, 
In  calm  seclusion  wore  away. 

IV. 

These  days,  these  months,  to  years  had  worn, 
When  tidings  of  liigh  weight  were  borne 

To  tliat  lone  island's  shore ; 
Of  all  the  Scottish  conquests  made 
By  the  First  Edward's  ruthless  blade. 

His  son  retain'd  no  more, 
Northward  of  Tweed,  but  Stirling's  towers, 
Beleaguer'd  by  King  Robert's  powers ; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce,* 
If  England's  King  shoidd  not  relieve 
The  siege  ere  John  the  Baptist's  eve, 

To  yield  them  to  the  Bruce. 
England  was  roused — on  every  side 
Com'ier  and  post  and  herald  hied. 

To  summon  prince  and  peer. 
At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  Liege,' 
Prepared  to  raise  fair  Stirling's  siege. 

With -buckler,  brand,  and  spear. 
Tlie  term  was  nigh — they  muster'd  fast, 
By  beacon  and  by  bugle-blast 

Forth  marshall'd  for  the  field ; 
Tliere  rode  each  knight  of  noble  name, 
There  England's  hai'dy  archers  came, 
The  land  they  trode  seem'd  all  on  flame, 

With  banner,  blade,  and  shield ! 
And  not  famed  England's  powers  alone, 
Renown'd  in  arms,  the  summons  own ; 

For  Ncustria's  knights  obey'd, 
Gascogne  hath  lent  her  horsemen  good,'' 
And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued. 
Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude,* 
And  Connoght  pour'd  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 

Dark  Eth  O'Connor  sway'd.' 


Right  to  devoted  Caledon 

The  storm  of  war  rolls  slow'v  on," 


'  Tbe  MS.  has  not  this  line. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  N.  9  Ibid.  Note  3  O. 

1"  MS  — "  The  gathering  storm  of  war  rolls  on.' 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


457 


With  menace  deep  and  ch'ead ; 
So  the  dark  clouds,  with  gathering  po-wer, 
Suspend  awhile  the  threaten'd  shower, 
Till  every  peak  and  summit  lower 

Round  the  pale  pilgrim's  head. 
Not  with  sucli  pilgrim's  startled  eye 
King  Robert  mark'd  the  tempest  nigh ! 

Resolved  the  brunt  to  bide, 
His  royal  summons  warn'd  the  land, 
That  all  who  own'd  their  King's  command 
Should  instimt  take  the  spear  and  brand,' 

To  combat  at  his  side. 

0  who  may  tell  the  sons  of  fame. 
That  at  King  Robert's  bidding  came. 

To  battle  for  the  right ! 
From  Cheviot  to  the  shores  of  Ross, 
From  Solway-Sands  to  Marshal's-Moss,'^ 

All  boun'd  them  for  the  fight. 
Such  news  the  royal  com-ier  tells, 
Who  came  to  rouse  dark  Ai-ran's  dells ; 
But  farther  tidings  must  the  ear 
Of  Isabel  in  secret  hear. 
Tliese  in  her  cloister  walk,  next  morn. 
Thus  shai-ed  she  with  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 

VI. 

■'  My  Edith,  can  I  tell  how  dear 
@ur  intercourse  of  hearts  sincere 

Hath  been  to  Isabel  ? — 
Judge  then  the  sorrow  of  my  heart. 
When  I  must  say  the  words,  We  part ! 

The  cheerless  convent-cell 
Was  not,  sweet  maiden,  made  for  thee ; 
Go  thou  where  thy  vocation  free 

On  happier  fortunes  fell. 
Nor,  Edith,  judge  thyself  betray'd, 
Though  Robert  knows  that  Lorn's  high  Maid 
And  his  poor  silent  page  were  one. 
Versed  in  the  fickle  heart  of  man,^ 
Earnest  and  anxious  hath  he  look'd 
How  Ronald's  heart  the  message  brook'd 
That  gave  liim,  with  her  last  farewell. 
The  charge  of  Sister  Isabel, 
To  tliink  upon  thy  better  right. 
And  keep  the  faith  his  promise  plight 
Forgive  him  for  thy  sister's  sake. 
At  fu'st  if  vain  repinings  wake — * 

Long  since  that  mood  is  gone  : 
Now  dwells  he  on  thy  juster  claims, 

1  MS.—"  Should  instant  belt  them  with  the  brand." 

2  MS. — "  From  Sol  way's  sands  to  wild  Cape-Wrath, 

From  Hay's  Rinns  to  Colbrand's  Path." 

3  MS. — "  And  his  mute  page  were  one. 

For,  versaut  in  the  heart  of  man." 

4  MS. — "  If  brief  and  vain  repinings  wake." 
6  MS. — "  Her  lover's  alter'd  mood  to  tiy." 

'  MS. — "  Her  aged  sire  had  own'd  his  reign." 
"  The  MS.  here  presents,  erased — 

"  But  all  was  overruled — a  band 
58 


And  oft  his  breach  of  faith  he  blames — 
Forgive  him  for  thine  own !" — 

VU. 

"  No !  never  to  Lord  Ronald's  bower 

Will  I  again  as  paramour" 

"Nay,  hush  thee,  too  iinjmtient  maid. 

Until  my  final  tale  be  said  ! — 

The  good  King  Robert  would  engage 

Edith  once  more  his  elfin  page. 

By  her  own  heart,  and  her  own  eye, 

Her  lover's  penitence  to  try — * 

Safe  in  his  royal  charge  and  free. 

Should  such  thy  final  purpose  be, 

Again  unknown  to  seek  the  cell. 

And  live  and  die  with  I.sabel." 

Thus  spoke  the  maid — King  Robert's  eye 

Might  have  some  glance  of  policy ; 

Dunstatfnage  had  the  monarch  ta'en. 

And  Lorn  had  own'd  King  Robert's  reign ;' 

Her  brother  had  to  England  fled. 

And  there  in  banishment  was  dead  ; 

Ample,  through  exile,  death,  and  flight. 

O'er  tower  and  land  was  Edith's  right ; 

This  ample  right  o'er  tower  and  land 

Were  safe  in  Ronald's  faithful  hand. 

VIIL 
Embarrass'd  eye  and  blushing  cheek 
Pleasure  and  shame,  and  fear  bespeak ! 
Yet  much  the  reasoning  Edith  made : 
"  Her  sister's  faith  she  must  upbraid, 
Who  gave  such  secret,  dark  and  dear. 
In  council  to  another's  ear. 
Why  should  she  leave  the  peaceful  cell  ? — 
How  should  she  part  with  Isabel  ? — 
How  wear  that  strange  attire  agen  ? 
How  risk  herself  'midst  martial  men  ? — 
And  how  be  guarded  on  the  way  ? — 
At  least  she  might  entreat  delay." 
Kind  Isabel,  with  secret  smile. 
Saw  and  forgave  the  maiden's  wile. 
Reluctant  to  be  thought  to  move 
At  the  first  call  of  truant  love.' 

IX. 
Oh,  blame  her  not !— when  zephyrs  wake, 
The  aspen's  trembling  leaves  must  shake ; 
When  beams  the  sun  through  April's  shower, 
It  needs  must  bloom,  the  violet  flower ; 

From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land  ; 
Their  chief,  MaeLouis,  had  the  care 
The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 

To  Bruce,  with  j  h°!>;4,^^  j  as  behooved 

To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved." 
With  one  verbal  alteration  these  lines  occur  hereafter — the 
poet  having  postponed  them,  in  order  to  a|)o!ogize  more  at 
length  for  Edith's  acquiescence  in  an  arrangement  not,  ce» 
tainly,  at  first  sight,  over  delicate. 


458 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


And  Love,  howe'er  the  maiden  strive, 

Must  with  reviving  hope  revive  ! 

A  thousand  soft  excuses  came, 

To  plead  liis  cause  'gainst  virgin  shame.  • 

Pledged  by  then-  sires  in  earhest  youth, 

He  had  her  plighted  fiuth  and  truth — 

Then,  'twas  her  Liege's  strict  command, 

And  she,  beneath  liis  royal  hand, 

A  ward  in  person  and  in  land : — 

And,  last,  she  was  resolved  to  stay 

Only  brief  space — one  httle  day — ■ 

Close  hidden  in  her  safe  disgiuse 

From  all,  but  most  fi-om  Ronald's  eyes — 

But  once  to  see  him  more  ! — nor  blame 

Her  wish — to  hear  him  name  her  name  ! — • 

Then,  to  bear  back  to  soUtude 

The  thought  he  had  liis  falsehood  rued ! 

But  Isabel,  who  long  had  seen 

Her  palhd  cheek  and  pensive  mien, 

And  well  herself  the  cause  might  know, 

Though  innocent,  of  Edith's  woe, 

Joy'd,  generous,  that  revolving  time 

Gave  means  to  expiate  the  crime. 

High  glow'd  her  bosom  as  she  said, 

"  "Well  shall  her  sufferings  be  repaid !" 

Now  came  the  parting  hour — a  band 

From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land ; 

Their  chief,  Fitz-Louis,'  had  the  care 

The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 

To  Bruce,  with  honor,  as  behooved 

To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved. 


The  King  had  deem'd  the  maiden  bright 
Should  reach  him  long  before  the  fight, 
But  storms  and  fate  her  course  delay : 
It  was  on  eve  of  battle-day, 
"When  o'er  the  Gillie's-hill  she  rode. 
The  landscape  like  a  furnace  glow'd, 
And  far  as  e'er  the  eye  was  borne. 
The  lances  waved  like  autumn-corn. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 

2  MS. — "  Nearest  and  plainest  to  the  eye." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Q.. 

*  MS. — "  One  close  beneath  the  hill  was  laid." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

6  "  As  a  reward  for  the  loyalty  and  distinguished  bravery  of 
the  men  of  Ayr  on  the  occasion  referred  to  in  the  text,  King 
Robert  tlie  Bruce  granted  them  upwards  of  1300  Scots  acres 
of  land,  part  of  the  bailliery  of  Kyle  Stewart,  his  patrimonial 
inheritance,  lying  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  town  of 
Ayr,  which  grant  King  James  VI.  confirmed  to  their  succes- 
sors by  two  charters  ;  one  to  the  freemen  of  Newton-upon-Avr, 
the  other  to  the  freemen  of  Prestwick,  both  boroughs  of  barony 
in  the  same  parish,  with  all  the  peculiarities  of  the  original 
constitution. 

"  The  former  charter  contains  forty-eight  freedoms  or  baro- 
nies— as  these  subdivisions  are  called — and  the  latter  thirty- 
six.  The  right  of  succession  to  these  freeholds  is  limited.  A 
son  succeeds  his  father,  nor  can  his  right  of  succession  be  any- 


In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye,* 
The  forces  of  King  Robert  lie.* 
And  one  below  the  lull  was  laid,* 
Reserved  for  rescue  and  for  aid  ; 
And  three,  advanced,  form'd  vaward-line, 
'Twixt  Bannock's  brook  and  Ninian's  shrine. 
Detach'd  was  each,  yet  each  so  nigh 
As  well  might  mutual  aid  supply. 
Beyond,  the  Southern  host  appears,* 
A  boundless  wilderness  of  speai's. 
Whose  verge  or  rear  the  anxious  eye 
Strove  far,  but  strove  in  vain,  to  spy. 
Tliick  flashing  in  the  evening  beam. 
Glaives,  lances,  bills,  and  banners  gleam  ; 
And  where  the  heaven  join'd  with  the  hill, 
"Was  distant  armor  flashing  still, 
So  wide,  so  far  the  boundless  host 
Seem'd  in  the  blue  horizon  lost. 

XL 
Down  from  the  hill  the  maiden  pass'd. 
At  the  wUd  show  of  war  aghast ; 
And  traversed  first  the  rearward  host, 
Reserved  for  aid  where  needed  most. 
The  men  of  Oarrack  "atfd  of  Ayr, 
Lennox  and  Lanark,  too,  were  there," 

And  aU  the  western  land ; 
With  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 
Beneath  their  chieftains  rank'd  their  files,' 

In  many  a  plaided  band. 
There,  in  the  centre,  proudly  raised, 
The  Bruce's  royal  standard  blazed. 
And  there  Lord  Ronald's  banner  bore 
A  galley  driven  by  sail  and  oar. 
A  wUd,  yet  pleasing  contrast,  made 
Warriors  in  mad  and  plate  array'd. 
With  the  plumed  bonnet  and  the  plaid 

By  these  Hebrideans  worn ; 
But  0 !  unseen  for  three  long  years. 
Dear  was  the  garb  of  moimtaineers 

To  the  fan-  Maid  of  Lorn ! 


wise  affected  by  the  amount  of  his  father's  debts.  A  widow 
having  no  son  may  enjoy  her  husband's  freehold  as  long  as  she 
lives,  but  at  her  death  it  reverts  to  the  community,  the  female 
line  being  excluded  from  the  right  of  succession.  Nor  can  any 
freeman  dispose  of  his  freehold  except  to  the  community,  who 
must,  within  a  certain  time,  dispose  of  it  to  a  neutral  person, 
as  no  freeman  or  baron  can  possess  more  than  one  allotment, 
whereby  the  original  number  of  freemen  is  always  kept  up. 

"  Each  freeholder  has  a  vote  in  the  election  of  the  baillies, 
who  have  a  jurisdiction  over  the  freemen  for  the  recovery  of 
small  debts.  But  though  they  have  the  power  of  committing 
a  freeman  to  prison,  they  cannot,  in  right  of  their  office,  lock 
the  prison  r.oors  on  him,  but  if  he  leaves  the  prison  without 
the  proper  liberation  of  the  baillies,  he  thereby  forfeits  his 
baronship  or  freedom." — Inqtiisit.  Special,  pp.  72,  ."jao,  782. — 
Sir  John  Sinclair's  Statistical  Jlccount  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii. 
pp.  263,264,  ^l.— Chalmers'  Caledonia,  vol.  iii.  pp.  504, 
508.— JV»«c/rom  Mr.  Joseph  Train  (1840). 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 


I 


r- 

!    CANTO  VI.                              THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                       459 

For  one  she  look'd — ^but  he  was  far 

Was  seen  the  glove  of  Argentine ; 

Busied  amid  the  ranks  of  war — 

Truncheon  or  leading  staff  he  lacks, 

Yet  witli  affection's  troubled  eye 

Bearing,  instead,  a  battle-axe. 

She  mark'd  bis  banner  boldly  fly, 

He  ranged  his  soldiers  for  the  fight, 

Gave  on  the  countless  foe  a  glance, 

Accoutred  thus,  in  open  sight 

And  thought  on  battle's  desperate  chance. 

Of  either  host. — Three  bow-shots  far. 

Paused  the  deep  front  of  England's  war, 

XII. 

And  rested  on  then:  arms  awhile. 

To  centre  of  the  vaward-Une 

To  close  and  rank  their  warlike  file, 

Fitz-Louis  guided  Araadine.^ 

And  hold  high  comicil,  if  that  night 

Arm'd  all  on  foot,  that  host  appears 

Should  view  the  strife,  or  dawning  light. 

A  serried  mass  of  glimmerbg  spears. 

There  stood  the  Marchers'  warUke  band. 

XIV. 

The  warriors  there  of  Lodon's  land ; 

0  gay,  yet  fearfuP  to  behold. 

Ettrick  and  Liddell  bent  the  yew. 

Flashing  with  steel  and  rough  with  gold, 

A  band  of  archers  fierce,  though  few ; 

And  bristled  o'er  with  biUs  and  spears, 

The  men  of  Nith  aud  adman's  vale. 

With  plumes  and  pennons  waving  fair. 

And  the  bold  Spears  of  Teviotdale ; — 

Was  that  bright  battle-front !  for  there 

The  dauntless  Douglas  these  obey 

Rode  England's  King  and  peers : 

And  the  young  Stuart's  gentle  sway. 

And  who,  that  saw  that  monarch  ride, 

Northeastward  by  Saint  Niuiau's  shrine, 

His  kingdom  battled  by  his  side. 

Beneath  fierce  RandoliDh's  charge,  combine 

Could  then  his  du-eful  doom  foretell ! — 

The  warriors  whom  the  hardy  North 

Fair  was  his  seat  in  knightly  selle. 

From  Tay  to  Sutherland  sent  forth. 

And  in  liis  sprightly  eye  was  set 

The  rest  of  Scotland's  war-array 

Some  spark  of  the  Plantagenet. 

With  Edward  Bruce  to  westward  lay. 

Though  light  and  waudering  was  his  glance, 

Where  Baimock,  with  his  broken  bank 

It  flash'd  at  sight  of  sliield  and  lance. 

And  deep  ravine,  protects  their  flank. 

"  Know'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  De  Argentine, 

Behind  them,  screen'd  by  sheltering  wood. 

You  knight  who  marshals  thus  their  line  ?"' — 

The  gallant  Keith,  Lord  Marshal,  stood : 

"  The  tokens  on  his  helmet  tell 

His  men-at-arms  bear  mace  and  lance. 

The  Bruce,  my  Liege :  I  know  him  well." — 

And  plumes  that  wave,  and  helms  that  glance. 

"  And  shall  the  audacious  traitor  brave 

Thus  fan*  divided  by  the  I^g, 

The  presence  where  our  banners  wave  ?" — 

Centre,  and  right,  and  left -ward  wing. 

"  So  please  my  Liege,"  said  Argentine, 

Composed  his  front ;  nor  distant  far 

"  Were  he  but  horsed  on  steed  like  mine, 

Was  strong  reserve  to  aid  the  war. 

To  give  him  fan-  and  knightly  chance. 

And  'tw^is  to  fi-ont  of  this  arrav, 

I  would  adventure  forth  my  lance." — 

Her  guide  and  Edith  made  theii-  way. 

"  In  battle-day,"  the  Iving  replied. 

"  Nice  tourney  rules  are  set  aside. 

XIII. 

— Still  must  the  rebel  dare  our  wrath  ? 

Here  must  they  pause  ;  for,  in  advance 

Set  on  him — sweep  him  from  our  path  1" 

As  far  as  one  might  pitch  a  lance. 

And,  at  King  Edward's  signal,  soon 

The  Monarch  rode  along  the  van,'' 

Dash'd  from  the  ra,nks  Sir  Henry  Boune. 

The  foe's  approaching  force  to  scan, 

His  hne  to  marshal  and  to  range. 

XV. 

And  ranks  to  square,  and  fronts  to  change. 

Of  Hereford's  high  blood^  he  came, 

Alone  he  rode — fi-om  head  to  heel 

A  race  renown'd  for  knightly  fame. 

Sheathed  in  liis  read}'  arms  of  steel ; 

He  bm'u'd  before  his  Monarch's  eye 

Nor  mounted  yet  on  war-horse  wight. 

To  do  some  deed  of  cliivalry. 

But,  till  more  near  the  shock  of  fight, 

He  spurr'd  his  steed,  he  couch'd  his  lance. 

Reining  a  palfrey  low  and  light. 

And  darted  on  the  Bruce  at  once. 

A  diadem  of  gold  was  set 

— As  motionless  as  rocks,  that  bide 

Above  liis  bright  steel  basinet. 

The  wrath  of  the  advancing  tide. 

And  clasp'd  witliin  its  glittering  twine 

The  Bruce  stood  fast.— Each  breast  beat  high, 

1  MS. — "  Her  guard  conducted  Amadine." 

3  MS.—"  O  1  ^^'^'      I  yet  fearful,"  &c. 
(  bright,  i 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

i  MS.—"  Princely  blood,"  &c 

i60 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


And  dazzled  was  each  gazing  eye— 
Tlie  lieart  bad  hardly  time  to  tliink, 
The  eyelid  scarce  had  time  to  wink,' 
"While  on  the  King,  like  flash  of  flame, 
Spm-r'd  to  full  speed  the  war-horse  came  I 
The  partridge  may  the  falcon  mock. 
If  that  slight  palfrey  stand  the  shock — 
But,  swerving  from  the  Knight's  career, 
Just  as  they  met,  Bruce  shunn'd  the  spear. 
Onward  the  bafiled  wanior  bore 
His  course — but  soon  his  course  was  o'er ! — 
High  in  his  sthrups  stood  the  Iving, 
And  gave  his  battle-axe  the  swing. 
Riglit  on  De  Boune,  the  whiles  he  pass'd, 
Fell  that  stern  dint — the  first — the  last ! — 
Such  strength  upon  the  blow  was  put, 
The  helmet  crash'd  like  hazel-nut ; 
The  axe-shaft,  with  its  brazen  clasp, 
Was  shiver'd  to  the  gauntlet  grasp. 
Sprmgs  from  the  blow  the  startled  horse, 
Drops  to  the  plain  the  Hfeless  corse ; 
— First  of  that  fatal  field,  how  soon, 
How  sudden,  fell  the  fierce  De  Boune  1 

XVI. 

One  pitying  glance  the  Monarch  sped. 

Where  on  the  field  his  foe  lay  dead ; 

Then  gently  turu'd  liis  palfrey's  head, 

And,  pacing  back  his  sober  way. 

Slowly  he  gain'd  liis  own  array. 

There  round  their  King  the  leaders  crowd 

And  blame  his  recklessness  aloud, 

That  risk'd  'gainst  each  adventui'ous  spear 

A  life  so  valued  and  so  dear. 

His  broken  weapon's  shaft  survey'd 

The  Iving,  and  careless  answer  made, — 

"  My  loss  may  pay  my  folly's  tax ; 

['ve  broke  my  trusty  battle-axe." 

Twas  then  Fitz-Louis,  bending  low, 

Did  Isabel's  commission  show  ; 

Edith,  disguised,  at  distance  stands, 

And  hides  her  blushes  with  her  hands. 

The   Monarch's  brow   has   changed  its 

hue. 
Away  the  gory  axe  he  threw, 
While  to  the  seeming  page  he  drew. 

Clearing  war's  terrors  from  his  eye. 
Her  hand  with  gentle  ease  he  took. 
With  such  a  kind  protecting  look. 

As  to  a  weak  and  timid  boy 
Might  speak,  that  elder  brother's  care 
And  elder  brother's  love  were  there. 


1  MS.—"  The  heart  took  hardly  time  to  think, 

The  eyehd  scarce  had  space  to  wink." 
'  MS. — "  Just  as  tliey  closed  in  full  career, 

Bruce  swerved  the  palfrey  from  the  spear." 
MS. "  her  wonted  pranks,  I  see." 


XVII. 

"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  young  Amadine  !" 

Then  whisper'd,  "  Still  that  name  be  thine. 

Fate  plays  her  wonted  fantasy,^ 

Kind  Amadine,  with  thee  and  me. 

And  sends  thee  here  in  doubtful  hour. 

But  soon  we  are  beyond  her  power ; 

For  on  this  chosen  battle-plain, 

Victor  or  vanquish'd,  I  remain. 

Do  thou  to  yonder  hiU  repair ; 

The  followers  of  our  host  are  there. 

And  all  who  may  not  weapons  bear. — 

Fitz-Louis,  have  him  in  thy  care. — 

Joyful  we  meet,  if  all  go  well ; 

If  not,  in  Arran's  holy  cell 

Thou  must  take  part  with  Isabel ; 

For  brave  Lord  Ronald,  too,  hath  sworn, 

Not  to  regain  the  Maid  of  Lorn 

(The  bliss  on  earth  he  covets  most). 

Would  he  forsake  his  battle-post, 

Or  shun  the  fortune  that  may  faU. 

To  Bruce,  to  Scotland,  and  to  all. — 

Bui,  hark !  some  news  these  trimipets  tell ; 

Forgive  my  haste — farewell ! — farewell !" — 

And  in  a  lower  voice  he  said, 

"  Be  of  good  cheer — farewell,  sweet  maid  1"— 

XVIIL 

"  What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet -sound 

And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheehng  round 

Our  leftward  flank  '{"* — ^the  Monarch  cried, 

To  Moray's  Earl  who  rode  beside. 

"  Lo  !  round  thy  station  pass  the  foes !' 

Randolph,  thy  wreath  has  lost  a  rose." 

The  Earl  his  visor  closed,  and  said, 

"  My  wi'eath  shall  bloom,  or  life  shall  fade. — 

Follow,  my  household !" — And  they  go 

Like  lightning  on  the  advancing  foe. 

"  My  Liege,"  said  noble  Douglas  then, 

"  Earl  Randolph  has  but  one  to  ten :° 

Let  me  go  forth  his  band  to  aid !" — 

— "  Stir  not.     The  error  he  hath  made. 

Let  him  amend  it  as  he  may ; 

I  wUl  not  weaken  mine  array." 

Then  loudly  rose  the  conflict -cry. 

And  Douglas's  brave  heart  swell'd  higb,— 

"  My  Liege,"  he  said,  "  with  patient  ear 

I  must  not  Moray's  death-knell  hear  !" — 

"  Then  go — but  speed  thee  back  again." — 

Forth  sprung  the  Douglas  with  liis  train : 

But,  when  they  won  a  rising  hill, 

He  bade  Ms  followers  hold  them  still. — 


4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U. 

'  MS.—"  Lo  !  S  ™""''     I  thy  post  have  pass'd  the  foea. 
(  through  ) 

8  M   . — "  Earl  Randolph's  strength  is  one  to  ten." 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


4Gi 


"  See,  see  !  the  routed  Southern  fly ! 
Tlie  Earl  hath  won  the  victory. 
Lo !  where  yon  steeds  run  mastcrless, 
His  banner  towers  above  the  press. 
Rein  up  1  oiu"  presence  would  impair 
The  fame  we  come  too  late  to  share." 
Back  to  the  host  tlie  Douglas  rode, 
And  soon  glad  tidings  are  abroad,* 
That,  Dayncourt  by  stout  Randolph  slain, 
His  followers  fled  with  loosen'd  rein. — 
That  skirmisli  closed  the  busy  day. 
And  couch'd  in  battle's  prompt  array, 
Each  army  on  their  weapons  lay. 

XIX. 
It  was  a  night  of  lovely  June, 
High  rode  in  cloudless  blue  the  moon, 

Demayet  smiled  beneath  her  ray ; 
Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light. 
And,  twined  in  Unks  of  silver  bright, 

Her  winding  river  lay.'' 
Ah,  gentle  planet  !  other  sight 
Shall  greet  thee  next  returning  night. 
Of  broken  arms  and  banners  tore. 
And  marshes  dark  with  human  gore, 
And  piles  of  slaughter'd  men  and  horse. 
And  Forth  that  floats  the  frequent  corse, 
And  many  a  wounded  wretch  to  plain 
Beneath  thy  silver  light  in  vain ! 
But  now,  from  England's  host,  the  cry 
Thou  hear'st  of  wassail  revelry, 
Wlfele  from  the  Scottish  legions  pass 
The  murmur'd  prayer,  the  early  mass  ! — 
Here,  numbers  had  presumption  given  ; 
There,  bands  o'er-match'd  sought  aid  from 
Heaven. 

XX. 

On  GiUie's-hiU,  whose  height  commands 
The  battle-field,  fair  Edith  stands, 
With  serf  and  page  unfit  for  war. 
To  eye  the  conflict  from  afar. 
0  !  with  what  doubtful  agony 
She  sees  the  dawning  tint  the  sky ! — 
Now  on  the  Ocliils  gleams  the  sun, 
And  gUstens  now  Demayet  dun ; 
Is  it  the  lark  that  carols  shrill, 
Is  it  the  bittern's  early  hum  ? 


1  MS.—"  Back  to  his  post  the  Douglas  rode. 
And  soon  the  tidings  are  abroad." 
8  The  MS.  here  interposes  the  couplet — 
"  Glancing  by  fits  from  hostile  line, 
Armor  and  lance  return'd  the  shine." 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V. 

*  "  Although  Mr.  Scott  retains  that  necessary  and  charac- 
teristic portion  of  his  peculiar  and  well-known  manner,  he  is 
free,  we  think,  from  any  faulty  self-imitation ;  and  the  battle 
af  Bannockburn  will  remain  forever  as  a  monnraent  of  the 


No ! — distant,  but  increasing  still. 
The  trumpet's  sound  swells  up  the  hill, 
With  the  deep  murmur  of  the  drum. 
Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host. 
Pipe-clang  and  bugle  sound  were  toss'd," 
His  breast  and  brow  cacli  soldier  cross'd, 

And  started  from  the  ground  ; 
Arm'd  and  aiTay'd  for  instant  fight. 
Rose  archer,  spearman,  squire  and  knight, 
And  in  the  pomp  of  battle  bright 
The  dread  battaha  frown'd.* 

XXI. 

Now  onward,  and  in  open  view. 

The  countless  raiiks  of  England  drew,* 

Dark  rolling  like  the  ocean-tide. 

When  the  rough  west  hath  chafed  his  pride, 

And  his  deep  roar  sends  challenge  wide 

To  all  that  bars  his  way ! 
In  front  the  gallant  archers  trode. 
The  men-at-arms  behind  them  rode, 
And  midmost  of  the  phalanx  broad 

The  Monarch  held  his  sway. 
Beside  him  many  a  war-horse  fumes. 
Around  him  waves  a  sea  of  plumes, 
Where  many  a  knight  in  battle  known. 
And  some  who  spurs  had  first  braced  on. 
And  deem'd  that  fight  should  see  them  won 

King  Edward's  bests  obey. 
De  Argentine  attends  his  side, 
With  stout  De  Valence,  Pembroke's  pride. 
Selected  champions  from  the  train. 
To  wait  upon  his  bridle-rein. 
Upon  the  Scottish  foe  he  gazed — 
— At  once,  before  his  sight  amazed. 

Sunk  banner,  spear,  and  shield  ; 
Each  weapon-2:(oint  is  downward  sent, 
Each  warrior  to  the  groimd  is  bent. 
"  The  rebels,  Argentine,  repent ! 

For  pardon  they  have  kneel'd." — ^ 
"  Aye  ! — but  they  bend  to  other  powers. 
And  other  pardon  sue  than  ours ! 
See  where  yon  bare-foot  Abbot  stands. 
And  blesses  them  with  hfted  hands  ? 
Upon  the  spot  where  they  have  kneel'd, 
These  men  will  die,  or  win  the  field." — 
— "  Then  prove  we  if  they  die  or  win ! 
Bid  Gloster's  Earl  the  fight  begin." 


fertile  poetical  powers  of  a  writer,  who  had  before  so  greatly 
excelled  in  this  species  of  description." — Monthly  Review. 

"  The  battle,  we  think,  is  not  comparable  to  the  battle  in 
Marmion,  though  nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  scene  of  con- 
trasted repose  and  thoughtful  anxiety  by  which  it  is  introduced 
(stanzas  xix.  xx.  xxi.)" — Jeffrey. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

6  MS. — "  De  Argentine  !  the  cowards  repent ! 
For  mercy  they  have  kneel'd." 

T  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 


462 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


XXII. 
Earl  Gilbert  waved  his  truncheon  high, 
Just  as  the  Northern  ranks  ai'ose, 
Signal  for  England's  archery 

To  halt  and  bend  their  bows. 
Then  stepp'd  each  yeoman  forth  a  pace, 
Glanced  at  the  intervening  space, 

And  raised  his  left  hand  liigh  ; 
To  the  right  ear  the  cords  tliey  bring — ' 
— At  once  ten  thousand  bow-strings  ring, 

Ten  thousand  arrows  fly  ! 
For  paused  on  the  devoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  then:  shot ; 

As  fiercely  and  as  fast. 
Forth  whistling  came  the  gray -goose  wing 
As  the  wild  hailstones  pelt  and  ring 

Adown  December's  blast. 
Nor  mountain  targe  of  tough  bull-hide. 
Nor  lowland  mail,  that  storm  may  bide ; 
Woe,  woe  to  Scotland's  banner'd  pride, 

If  the  fell  shower  may  last ! 
Upon  the  right,  behind  the  wood. 
Each  by  his  steed  dismounted,  stood 

The  Scottish  chivalry  ; — 
With  foot  in  stirrup,  hand  on  mane. 
Fierce  Edward  Bruce  can  scarce  restrain 
His  own  keen  heart,  his  eager  train. 
Until  the  archers  gain'd  the  plain  ; 

Then,  "  Mount,  ye  gallants  free  !" 
He  cried ;  and,  vaulting  from  the  ground, 
His  saddle  every  horseman  found. 
On  high  their  gUtteriug  crests'^  they  toss. 
As  springs  the  wild-fire  from  the  moss ; 
The  shield  hangs  down  on  every  breast, 
Each  ready  lance  is  m  the  rest, 

And  loud  shouts  Edward  Bruce,— 
"  Forth,  Marshal !  on  the  peasant  foe  ! 
We'll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow, 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose !'" 

XXIII. 

Then  spurs  were  dash'd  in  chargers'  flanks, 
They  rush'd  among  the  archer  ranks. 
No  spears  were  there  the  shock  to  let, 
No  stakes  to  turn  the  charge  were  set, 
And  how  shall  yeoman's  armor  slight, 
Stand  the  long  lance  and  mace  of  might  ? 
Or  what  may  their  short  swords  avail, 
'Gainst  barbed  horse  and  shirt  of  mail  ? 
Amid  their  ranks  the  chargers  sprung. 
High  o'er  their  heads  the  weapons  swimg, 
And  shriek  and  groan  and  vengeful  shout 
Give  note  of  triumph  and  of  rout ! 

1  MS. — "  Drew  to  liis  ear  the  silken  string," 

2  MS.—"  Their  braiidish'd  spears." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y. 

4  Ibid.  Note  3  Z. 
'MS.— "An  arm 'd  foe." 


Awliile,  with  stubborn  hardihood. 

Their  English  hearts  the  strife  made  good. 

Borne  down  at  length  on  every  side, 

Compell'd  to  flight,  they  scatter  wide. — 

Let  stags  of  Sherwood  leap  for  glee. 

And  bound  the  deer  of  Dallom-Lee  !  • 

The  broken  bows  of  Bannock's  shore 

Shall  in  the  greenwood  ring  no  more ! 

Round  Wakefield's  merry  Jilay-pole  n  jw. 

The  maids  may  twine  the  smmner  bough. 

May  northward  look  with  longing  glance. 

For  those  that  wont  to  lead  the  dance, 

For  the  bhthe  archers  look  in  vain ! 

Broken,  dispersed,  in  flight  o'erta'en. 

Pierced  through,  trode  down,  by  thousands  slain, 

They  cumber  Bannock's  bloody  plain. 

XXIV. 
The  Kmg  with  scorn  beheld  their  flight. 
"  Are  these,"  he  said,  "  our  yeomen  wight 
Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before. 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldrick  bore  !* 
Fitter  to  plimder  chase  or  park. 
Than  make  a  manly  foe*  their  mark. — 
Forward,  each  gentleman  and  k  night ! 
Let  gentle  blood  show  generous  might, 
And  cliivalry  redeem  the  fight !" 
To  rightward  of  the  wild  affray 
The  field  show'd  fair  and  level  way ; 

But,  in  mid  space,  the  Bruce's  care 
Had  bored  the  ground  with  many  a  pit. 
With  turf  and  brushy  ood  hidden  yet,' 

That  form'd  a  ghastly  snare. 
Rushing,  ten  thousand  horsemen  came. 
With  spears  in  rest,  and  hearts  on  flame, 

Tliat  panted  for  the  shock ! 
With  blazing  crests  and  banners  spread, 
And  trumpet-clang  and  clamor  dread. 
The  wide  plain  thimder'd  to  their  tread. 

As  far  as  Stirling  rock. 
Down !  down  in  headlong  overthrow. 
Horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  go,'' 

Wild  floundering  on  the  field ! 
Tlie  first  are  in  destructiorr's  gorge. 
Their  followers  wildly  o'er  them  urge  ; — 

The  knightly  helm  and  shield. 
The  mail,  the  acton,  and  the  spear, 
Strong  hand,  high  heart,  are  useless  here  I 
Loud  from  the  mass  confused  the  cry 
Of  dying  warriors  swells  on  high. 
And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony  !* 
They  came  like  moimtam-torrent  red, 
That  thimders  o'er  its  rocky  bed ; 

c  MS. — "  With  many  a  pit  the  gronnd  to  bore. 

With  turf  and  brushwood  cover'd  o'er, 
Had  form'd,"  &c. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  4  A. 
8  Ibid.  Note  4  B. 


CANTO  vr. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


463 


They  broke  like  that  same  torrent's  wave' 
Wlien  swallow' d  by  a  darksome  cave. 
Billows  on  billows  burst  and  boil, 
Maintaining  still  the  stern  turmoil, 
And  to  their  wild  and  tortured  groan 
Each  adds  new  terrors  of  his  own  ! 

XXV. 

Too  strong  in  courage  and  in  might 
Was  England  yet,  to  yield  the  fight. 

Her  noblest  all  are  here ; 
Names  that  to  fear  were  never  known. 
Bold  Norfolk's  Earl  De  Brotherton, 

And  Oxford's  famed  De  Vero. 
There  Gloster  plied  the  bloody  sword, 
And  Berkley,  Grey,  and  Hereford, 

Bottetourt  and  Sanzavere, 
Ross,  Montague,  and  Mauley,  came,^ 
And  Com'tenay's  pride,  and  Percy's  fame — 
Names'known  too  well^  in  Scotland's  war, 
At  Falku-k,  Methven,  and  Dunbar, 
Blazed  broader  yet  in  after  yeai's, 
At  Gressy  red  and  fell  Poitiers. 
Pembroke  with  these,  and  Argentine, 
Brought  up  the  rearward  battle-line. 
"With  caution  o'er  the  ground  they  tread, 
Shppery  with  blood  and  piled  with  dead, 
Tin  hand  to  hand  in  battle  set, 
Tlie  bills  with  spears  and  axes  met, 
And,  closing  dark  on  every  side, 
Raged  the  full  contest  far  and  wide. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Douglas  tried, 
Then  proved  was  Randolph's  generous  pride 
And  well  did  Stewart's  actions  grace 
The  sire  of  Scotland's  royal  race  ! 

Firmly  they  kept  their  ground  ; 
As  firmly  England  onward  press'd, 
And  down  went  many  a  noble  crest, 

1  The  MS.  has- 

"  When  plunging  down  some  darksome  cave, 
Billow  on  billow  rushing  on, 
Follows  the  path  the  first  had  gone." 

It  is  impossible  not  to  recollect  our  author's  own  lines, — 

,"  As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep. 
Receives  her  roaring  linn, 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in  ; 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass." 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  Canto  vi .  stanza  18. 

2  MS.— "Ross,  Tybtot,  Neville,  Mauley,  came." 
s  MS. — "  Names  known  of  yore,"  &c. 

<  MS.—"  Unshifting  foot,"  &c. 

6  "  All  these,  life's  rambling  journey  done, 

Have  found  their  home,  the  grave." — CowPER. 

6  "  The  dramatic,  and  even  Shakspearian  spirit  of  much  of 
this  battle,  must,  we  think,  strike  and  delight  the  reader.  We 
pass  over  much  alternate  aud  mucli  stubborn  and  '  unflinch- 
ing' contest — 


And  rent  was  many  a  valiant  breast. 
And  Slaughter  revell'd  roimd. 

XXVI. 

Unflinching  foot^  'gainst  foot  was  set, 
Unceasing  blow  by  blow  was  met ; 

The  groans  of  those  who  fell 
"Were  drown'd  amid  the  shriller  clang 
That  from  the  blades  and  liarness  rang, 

And  in  the  battle-yell. 
Yet  fast  they  fell,  unheard,  forgot, 
Both  Southern  fierce  and  hardy  Scot ; 
And  0 !  amid  that  waste  of  life, 
"Wliat  various  motives  fired  the  strife ! 
Tiie  aspiring  Noble  bled  for  fame. 
The  Patriot  for  liis  country's  claun  ; 
This  knight  liis  youthful  strength  to  prove^ 
And  that  to  win  liis  lady's  love ; 
Some  fought  from  ruffian  thirst  of  blood, 
From  liabit  some,  or  hardUiood. 
But  ruffian  stern,  and  soldier  good, 

The  noble  and  the  slave, 
From  various  cause  the  same  wild  road, 
On  the  same  bloody  morning,  trode, 

To  that  dark  inn,  the  gi-ave  !* 

XXVII. 

The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins. 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins." 
High  rides  the  sun,  tliick  rolls  the  dust,' 
And  feebler  speeds  the  blow  and  thi-ust. 
Douglas  leans  on  his  war-sword  now. 
And  Randolph  wipes  liis  bloody  brow ; 
Nor  less  had  toil'd  each  Southern  knight, 
From  morn  tiU  mid-day  in  the  fight. 
Strong  Egremont  for  an*  must  gasp, 
Beauchamp  undoes  his  visor  clasp, 
And  Montague  must  quit  his  speai', 

'  The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins. 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins  ;' 

bnt  the  description  of  it,  as  we  have  ventured  to  prophesy, 
will  last  forever. 

"  It  will  be  as  unnecessary  for  the  sake  of  onr  readers,  as  it 
would  be  useless  for  the  sake  of  the  author,  to  point  out  many 
of  the  obvious  defects  of  these  splendid  passages,  or  of  others 
in  the  poem.     Such  a  line  as 

'  The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins,' 

must  wound  every  ear  that  has  the  least  pretension  to  judge  of 
poetry  ;  and  no  one,  we  should  think,  can  miss  the  ridiculous 
point  of  such  a  couplet  as  the  subjoined, — 

'  Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk.'  " 

Motithly  Review 

'  "  The  adventures  of  tlie  day  are  versified  rather  too  literal- 
ly from  the  contemporary  chronicles.  The  following  passage, 
however,  is  emphatic  ;  and  exemplifies  what  this  author  has  so 
often  exemplified,  the  power  of  well-chosen  and  well-arranged 
names  to  excite  lofty  emotions,  with  little  aid  either  from  sen- 
timent or  description." — JEFrREY. 


164 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI, 


And  sinks  tliy  falcliion,  bold  De  Vere  ! 
llic  blows  of  Berkley  fall  less  fiist, 
And  gallant  Pembroke's  bugle-blast 

Hath  lost  its  lively  tone  ; 
Sinks,  Argentine,  thy  battle-word, 
And  Percy's  shout  was  fainter  heard, 

"  My  merry -men,  fight  on !" 

XXVIII. 

Bruce,  with  the  i>ilot's  wary  eye. 
The  slackening'  of  the  storm  coiild  spy. 
"  One  effort  more,  and  Scotland's  free ! 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  Eock ; 
Rush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen,  charge  f 

Now,  forward  to  the  shock !'" 
At  once  the  spears  were  forward  thrown. 
Against  the  sun  the  broadswords  shone  ; 
The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone, 
And  loud   King   Robert's  Toice  was 

known — 
"  Carrick,  press  on — they  fail,  they  fail ! 
Press  on,  brave  sons  of  lunisgail. 

The  foe  is  fainting  fast ! 
Each  strike  for  parent,  child,  and  wife. 
For  Scotland,  liberty,  and  hfe, — 
The  battle  cannot  last !" 

XXIX. 
The  fresh  and  desperate  onset  bore 
The  foes  three  furlongs  back  and  more. 
Leaving  thch"  noblest  in  their  gore. 

Alone,  De  Argentine 
Yet  bears  on  higli  his  red-cross  shield. 
Gathers  the  relics  of  the  field, 
Renews  the  ranks  where  they  have  reel'd, 

And  still  makes  good  the  line. 
Brief  strife,  but  fierce, — his  efibrts  raise 
A  bright  but  momentary  blaze. 
Fair  Edith  heard  the  Southron  shout, 
Beheld  them  turning  from  the  rout, 
He-ard  the  wild  call  their  trumpets  sent. 
In  notes  'twixt  triumph  and  lament. 
That  rallying  force,  combined  anew, 
Appear'd  in  her  distracted  view 

To  hem  the  Islesmen  round ; 
"  0  God  !  the  combat  they  renew. 

And  is  no  rescue  found ! 
And  ye  that  look  thus  tamely  on. 
And  see  your  native  land  o'erthi-own, 
O !  are  your  hearts  of  flesh  or  stone  ?"* 


1  MS.—"  The  sinking,"  &c. 

2  See  Appendix.  Note  4  C. 

3  MS.—"  Then  hurry  to  the  shock!" 

4  MS. "  of  lead  or  stone." 

»  MS. — "  To  us,  as  well  as  them,  belongs." 


XXX. 

The  multitude  that  watch'd  afar. 
Rejected  from  the  ranks  of  war, 
Had  not  unmoved  beheld  the  fight. 
When  strove  the  Bruce  for  Scotland's  right ; 
Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk. 
Bondsman  and  serf;  even  female  band 
Stretch'd  to  the  hatchet  or  the  brand ; 
But,  when  mute  Amadine  they  heard 
Give  to  their  zeal  his  signal-word, 
A  phi-ensy  fired  the  throng ; 
"  Portents  and  miracles  impeach 
Our  sloth — the  dumb  om-  duties  teach — 
And  he  that  gives  the  mute  his  speech. 
Can  bid  the  weak  be  strong. 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  are  given 
A  native  earth,  a  promised  heaven ; 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  belongs* 
The  vengeance  for  our  nation's  wrongs ; 
The  choice,  'twixt  death  or  freedom,  warms 
Our  breasts  as  theirs — To  arms,  to  arms !" 
To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear,' 
And,  like  a  banner'd  host  afar. 
Bear  down  on  England's  wearied  wax. 

XXXL 

Already  scatter'd  o'er  the  plain, 
Reproof,  command,  and  counsel  vain. 
The  rearward  squadrons  fled  amain, 

Or  made  but  doubtful  stay ; — '' 
But  when  they  mark'd  the  seeming  show 
Of  fresh  and  fierce  and  marshall'd  foe, 

The  boldest  broke  array. 

0  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due  !* 
In  vain  the  royal  Edward  threw 

His  person  'mid  the  spears, 
Cried,  "  Fight !"  to  terror  and  despair, 
Menaced,  and  wept,  and  tore  his  hair,' 

And  cursed  their  caitiff  fears ; 
TiU  Pembroke  turn'd  his  bridle  rein, 
And  forced  him  from  the  fatal  plain. 
With  them  rode  Argentine,  until 
They  gaiu'd  the  summit  of  the  hill, 

But  quitted  there  the  train : — 
"  In  yonder  field  a  gage  I  left, — 

1  must  not  live  of  fame  bereft ; 

I  needs  must  turn  again. 
Speed  hence,  my  Liege,  for  on  your  trace 
The  fiery  Douglas  takes  the  chase, 

I  know  his  banner  well. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  4  D. 

'  MS. — "  And  rode  in  bands  away." 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 

*  MS. — "  And  bade  them  hope  amid  despair.' 


i 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


40.-, 


God  send  my  Sovereign  joy  and  bliss, 
And  many  a  happier  field  than  tliis ! — 
Once  more,  niy  Liege,  fai'ewell." 

XXXII.- 

Again  he  faced  the  battle-field, — 
Wildly  they  fly,  are  slain,  or  yield.' 
"  Now  then,"  he  said,  and  couch'd  his  spear, 
"  My  course  is  run,  the  goal  is  neai- ; 
One  effort  more,  one  brave  career, 

Must  close  this  race  of  mine." 
Then  in  his  stu-rups  rising  liigh, 
He  shouted  loud  his  battle-cry, 

"  Saint  James  for  Argentine !" 
And,  of  the  bold  pursuers,  four 
The  gallant  knight  from  saddle  bore  ; 
But  not  imharm'd — a  lance's  point 
Has  found  his  breastplate's  loosen'd  joint. 

An  axe  has  razed  his  crest ; 
Yet  still  on  Colonsay's  fierce  lord. 
Who  press'd  the  chase  with  gory  sword, 

He  rode  with  spear  in  rest. 
And  through  his  bloody  tartans  bored. 

And  through  liis  gallant  breast. 
Nail'd  to  the  earth,  the  mountaineer 
Yet  writhed  him  up  against  the  spear. 

And  swung  his  broadsword  round  ! 
— Stirrup,  steel-boot,  and  cuish  gave  way, 
Beneatli  tliat  blow's  tremendous  sway, 

The  blood  gnsh'd  from  the  wound ; 
And  the  grim  Lord  of  Colonsay 

Hath  turn'd  him  on  the  groimd. 
And  laugh'd  in  death-pang,  that  his  blade 
The  mortal  thrust  so  weU  repaid. 

XXXIIL 

Xow  toil'd  the  Bruce,  the  battle  done, 
To  use  liis  conquest  boldly  won  ;* 
And  gave  command  for  horse  and  spear 
To  press  the  Southron's  scatter'd  rear, 
Nor  let  his  broken  force  combine, 
— When  the  war-cry  of  Argentine 

Fell  faintly  on  his  ear ; 
"  Save,  save  his  hfe,"  he  cried,  "  0  save 
The  kind,  the  noble,  and  the  brave !" 
The  squadrons  round  free  passage  gave, 

The  wounded  knight  drew  near  ; 
He  raised  his  red-cross  shield  no  more, 
Helm,  cuish,  and  breastplate  stream'd  with  gore. 


'  The  MS.  lias  not  the  seven  lines  which  follow, 
s  MS. — "  Now  toil'd  the  Bruce  as  leaders  ought, 

To  use  his  conquest  boldly  bought." 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  4  F. 

*  MS. — "  And  tlie  best  names  that  England  owns 

Swell  the  sad  death-prayer's  dismal  tones." 
'  MS. — "  When  lor  her  rights  her  sword  w»s  bare, 
Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  share." 

•  '  The  fictitious  nart  of  the  story  is,  on  the  whole,  the  least 

5y 


Yet,  as  he  saw  the  King  advance, 

He  strove  even  then  to  couch  his  lance— 

The  effort  was  in  vain  ! 
Tlie  spur-stroke  fiiil'd  to  rouse  the  horse ; 
Wounded  and  weary,  in  mid  courae 

He  stumbled  on  the  plain. 
Then  foremost  was  the  generous  Bruce 
To  raise  his  head,  his  helm  to  loose  ; 

"  Lord  Earl,  the  day  is  thine  ! 
My  Sovereign's  charge,  and  adverse  fate, 
Have  made  our  meeting  all  too  late  ; 

Yet  tliis  may  Argentine, 
As  boon  from  ancient  comrade,  crave — 
A  Christian's  mass,  a  soldier's  grave." 

XXXIV. 
Bruce  press'd  his  dying  hand — its  grasp 
Kindly  replied  ;  but,  in  liis  clasp. 

It  stiffen'd  and  grew  cold — 
"  And,  O  farewell !"  the  victor  cried, 
"  Of  chivalry  the  flower  and  pride. 

The  arm  in  battle  bold. 
The  courteous  mien,  the  noble  race, 
Tlie  stainless  faith,  the  manly  face  ! — 
Bid  Ninian's  convent  light  their  shrine. 
For  late-wake  of  De  Argentine. 
O'er  better  knight  on  death-bier  laid. 
Torch  never  gleam'd  nor  mass  was  said  I" 

XXXV. 

Nor  for  De  Argentme  alone. 

Through  Ninian's  church  these  torches  shone, 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone.* 

That  yellow  lustre  glimmer'd  pale. 

On  broken  plate  and  bloodied  mail. 

Rent  crest  and  shatter'd  coronet, 

Of  Baron,  Earl,  and  Banneret ; 

And  the  best  names  that  England  knew, 

Claim'd  in  the  death-prayer  dismal  due.* 

Yet  mourn  not.  Land  of  Fame ! 
Though  ne'er  the  leopards  on  thy  shield 
Retreated  from  so  sad  a  field. 

Since  Norman  WiUiam  came. 
Oft  may  thine  annals  justly  boast 
Of  battles  stern  by  Scotland  lost ; 

Grudge  not  her  victory, 
Wlien  for  her  freeborn  rights  she  strove; 
Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  love,* 

To  none  so  dear  as  thee !® 


interesting — though  we  think  that  the  author  has  hazarded 
rather  too  little  embellishment  in  recording  the  adventures  of 
the  Bruce.  There  are  many  places,  at  least,  in  which  he  has 
evidently  given  an  air  of  heaviness  and  flatness  to  his  narration, 
by  adhering  too  closely  to  the  authentic  history  ;  arid  lias  low- 
ered down  the  tone  of  his  poetry  to  the  tame  level  of  the  rude 
chroniclers  by  whom  the  incidents  were  originally  recorded. 
There  is  a  more  serious  and  general  fault,  however,  in  the  con 
duct  of  all  this  part  of  the  story, — and  that  is,  that  it  is  not 


46G 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


XXXVI 

Tiim  we  to  Bruce,  -whose  curious  ear 
Must  from  Fitz-Louis  tidings  hear  ; 
"With  him,  a  hundred  voices  tell 
Of  prodigy  and  miracle, 

"  For  the  mute  page  had  spoke." — 
"  Page  !"  said  Fitz-Louis,  "  rather  say, 
An  angel  scut  from  realms  of  day. 

To  burst  the  English  yoke. 
I  saw  his  plume  and  bonnet  drop, 
When  hm-rying  from  the  mountain  top ; 
A  lovely  brow,  dark  locks  that  wave, 
To  his  bright  eyes  new  lustre  gave, 
A  step  as  light  upon  the  green. 
As  if  his  pinions  waved  unseen  !" 
"Spoke  he   with   none?"  — "With    none— oie 

word 
Burst  when  he  saw  the  Island  Lord,^ 
Returning  from  the  battle-field." — 
"What     answer    made    the     Chief?"— "He 

kneel'd. 
Durst  not  look  up,  but  mutter'd  low, 
Some  mingled  sounds  that  none  miglit  know,* 
And  greeted  him  'twixt  joy  and  fear, 
As  being  of  superior  sphere." 

XXXVII. 

Even  upon  Bannock's  bloody  plain, 
Heap'd  then  with  thousands  of  the  slain, 
'Mid  victor  monarch's  musings  high, 
Mu'th  laugh'd  in  good  King  Robert's  eye 
"  And  bore  he  such  angelic  air. 
Such  noble  front,  such  waving  bail-  ? 
Hath  Ronald  kneel'd  to  liim  ?"  he  said, 
"  Then  must  we  call  the  church  to  aid — 


jufEciently  national — and  breathes  nothing  either  of  that  ani- 
mosity towards  England,  or  that  exultation  over  her  defeat, 
which  must  have  animated  all  Scotland  at  tlie  period  to  which 
he  refers  ;  and  oaght,  consequently,  to  have  been  the  ruling 
passion  of  his  poem.  Mr.  Scott,  however,  not  only  dwells 
fondly  on  the  valor  and  generosity  of  the  invaders,  but  actually 
makes  an  elaborate  apology  to  the  English  for  having  ventured 
to  select  for  his  theme  a  story  which  records  their  disasters. 
We  hope  this  e.xtreme  courtesy  is  not  intended  merely  to  aj>- 
pease  critics,  and  attract  readers  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
island — and  yet  it  is  difficult  to  see  for  what  other  purposes  it 
could  be  assumed.  Mr.  Scott  certainly  need  not  have  been 
afraid  either  of  exciting  rebellion  among  his  countrymen,  or  of 
bringing  his  own  liberality  and  loyalty  into  question,  although, 
Inspeakin?  of  the  events  of  that  remote  period,  where  an  over- 
bearing conqueror  wa:*  overthrown  in  a  lawless  attempt  to  sub- 
due an  independent  kingdom,  he  had  given  full  expression  to  the 
hatred  and  exultation  which  must  have  prevailed  among  the 
victors,  and  are  indeed  the  only  passions  whicli  can  be  supposed 
to  be  excited  by  the  story  of  their  exploits.  It  is  not  natural, 
and  we  are  sure  it  is  not  poetical,  to  represent  the  agents  in 
Buch  tremendous  scenes  as  calm  and  indulgent  judges  of  the 
motives  or  merits  of  their  opponents  ;  and,  by  lending  such  a 
character  to  the  leaders  of  his  host,  the  author  has  actually 
lessened  the  interest  of  the  mighty  fight  of  Bannoekburn,  to 
tliat  which  might  be  supposed  to  belong  to  a  well-regulated 
♦ouniameat  among  friendly  rivals." — Jeffrey. 


Our  will  be  to  the  Abbot  known, 
Ere  these  strange  news  are  wider  blown, 
To  Cambuskenneth  straight  ye  pass. 
And  deck  the  church  for  solemn  mass,' 
To  pay  for  liigh  deliverance  given, 
A  nation's  thanks  to  gracious  Heaven. 
Let  him  array,  besides,  such  state. 
As  should  on  princes'  nuptials  wait. 
Ourself  the  cause,  through  fortune's  spite. 
That  once  broke  short  that  spousal  rite, 
Ourself  win  grace,  with  early  morn, 
The  bridal  of  the  Maid  of  Lorn."* 


CONCLUSION. 


Go  forth,  my  Song,  upon  thy  venturous  way ; 
Go  boldly  forth ;  nor  yet  thy  master  blame, 
Who  chose  no  patron  for  his  humble  lay, 
And   graced  thy   numbers   with    no    friendly 

name, 
Whc.se  partial  zeal  miglit  smooth  thy  path  to 

fame. 
There  was — and  0  !  how  many  son-ows  crowd 
Into  these  two  brief  words  ! — there  was  a  claim 
By  generous  friendship  given — had  fate  allow'd, 
It  well  had  bid  thee  rank  the  proudest  of  the 

proud ! 

All  angel  now — yet  little  less  than  aU, 
Wliile  still  a  pUgrim  in  our  world  below ! 
What  'vails  it  us  that  patience  to  recall, 
Which  hid  its  own  to  soothe  aU  other  woe ; 
What  'vaUs  to  teU,  how  Vii-tue's  pm-est  glow 


1  MS.—"  Excepted  to  the  Island  Lord, 

When  turning,"  &c. 

2  MS. — "  Some  mingled  sounds  of  joy  and  woe." 
s  The  MS.  adds  :— 

"  That  priests  and  choir,  with  morning  beams, 
Prepare,  with  reverence  as  beseems. 
To  pay,"  &c. 

4  "  Bruce  issues  orders  for  the  celebration  of  the  nuptials ; 
whether  they  were  ever  solemnized,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  As 
crilics,  we  should  certainly  have  forbidden  the  banns  ;  be- 
cause, although  it  is  conceivable  that  the  mere  lapse  of  time 
might  not  have  eradicated  the  passion  of  Edith,  yet  how  such 
a  circumstance  alone,  without  even  the  assistance  of  an  in- 
terview, could  have  created  one  in  the  bosom  of  Ronald,  is 
altogether  inconceivable.  He  must  have  proposed  to  marry 
her  merely  from  compassion,  or  for  the  sake  of  her  lands  ; 
and,  upon  either  supposition,  it  would  have  comported  witb 
the  delicacy  of  Edith  to  refuse  his  proffered  hand." — (luai- 
tcrly  Review. 

"  To  Mr.  James  liallantyne. — Dear  Sir, — You  have  now 
the  whole  affair,  excepting  two  or  three  concluding  stanzas. 
As  your  taste  for  bride's-cake  may  induce  you  to  desire  to 
know  more  of  the  wedding,  I  will  save  yon  some  criticism  by 
saying,  I  have  settled  to  stop  sliort  as  above. — Witness  ray 
hand,  "  W.  S." 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


4G1 


SL>yae  yet  more  lovely  in  a  form  so  fair :' 
And,  least  of  aU,  what  Vails  the  -world  should 
know, 

I  The  reader  is  referred  to  Mr.  Hogg's  "  Pilgrims  of  the 
Sun"  lor  some  beautiful  lines,  and  a  highly  interesting  note, 
on  the  death  of  tiie  Duchess  of  Buucleuch.     See  ante,  p.  412. 

-  Tlie  Edinburgh  lievicwer  (Mr.  Jetfrey)  says,  "  The  story 
of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  in  so  far  as  it  is  fictitious,  is  palpably 
deticient  both  in  intcr^-st  and  probability  ;  and,  in  so  far  as  it  is 
founded  on  historical  truth,  seems  to  us  to  be  objectionable, 
both  for  want  of  incident,  and  want  of  variety  and  connection 
in  the  incidents  that  occur.  There  is  a  romantic  grandeur, 
however,  in  the  scenery,  and  a  sort  of  savage  greatness  and 
rude  antiquity  in  many  of  the  characters  and  events,  which 
relieves  the  iusijiidity  of  the  narrative,  and  atones  for  many 
delects  in  the  e.\ecution." 

After  giving  copious  citations  from  what  he  considers  as 
"the  better  parts  of  the  poem,"  the  critic  says,  "  to  give  a 
complete  and  impartial  idea  of  it,  we  ought  to  subjoin  some 
from  its  more  faulty  passages.  But  this  is  but  an  irksome  task 
at  all  times,  and,  with  such  an  author  as  Mr.  Scott,  is  both  in- 
vidious and  unnecessary.  His  faults  are  nearly  as  notorious  as 
his  beauties  ;  and  we  have  announced  in  the  outset,  that  they 
are  equally  cons))icuous  in  this  as  in  his  other  productions. 
There  are  innumerable  harsh  lines  and  uncouth  e.\i)ressions, — 
passages  of  a  coarse  and  lieavy  diction, — and  details  of  unin- 
teresting minuteness  and  oppressive  explanation.  It  is  need- 
less, after  this,  to  quote  such  couplets  as 

'  A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark, 
Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark,' — 

'  'Tis  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful. 
Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull  ;' — 

or  to  recite  the  many  weary  pages  which  contain  the  collo- 
quies of  Isabel  and  Edith,  and  set  forth  the  unintelligible  rea- 
sons of  their  unreasonable  conduct.  The  concerns  of  these 
two  young  ladies,  indeed,  form  the  heaviest  part  of  the  poem. 
The  mawkish  generosity  of  the  one,  and  the  piteous  fidelity 
of  tile  other,  are  equally  oppressive  to  the  reader,  and  do  not 
tend  at  all  to  pnt  him  in  good  humor  with  Lord  Ronald, — 
who,  though  the  beloved  of  both,  and  the  nominal  hero  of  the 
work,  is  certainly  as  far  as  possible  from  an  interesting  person. 
The  lovers  of  poetry  have  a  particular  aversion  to  the  incon- 
1  stancy  of  other  lovers, — and  especially  to  that  sort  of  incon- 
istancy  which  is  liable  to  the  suspicion  of  being  partly  inspired 
py  worldly  ambition,  and  partly  abjured  from  considerations 
lif  a  still  meaner  selfishness.  We  suspect,  therefore,  that  they 
|vill  have  but  little  indulgence  for  the  fickleness  of  the  Lord  of 
,'  he  Isles,  who  breaks  the  troth  he  had  pledged  to  the  heiress  of 
lOrn,  as  soon  as  h?  sees  a  chance  of  succeeding  with  the 
'King's  sister,  and  comes  back  to  the  slighted  bride,  when  his 
royal  mistress  takes  the  vows  in  a  convent,  and  the  heiress 
gets  into  possession  of  her  lands,  by  the  forfeiture  of  her  bro- 
ther. Tliese  characters,  and  this  story,  form  the  great  blemish 
of  the  poem  ;  but  it  has  rather  less  fire  and  flow  and  facility, 
we  think,  on  the  whd?,  than  some  of  the  autlior's  other  per- 
fcaiances." 


The  Monthly  Reviewer  thus  assails  the  title  of  the  poem  : — 
"  The  liOrd  of  the  Isles  liimself,  selon  les  regies  of  Mr.  Scott's 
compositions,  being  the  hero,  is  not  the  first  person  in  the 
poem.  The  attendant  here  is  always  in  white  mu.slin,  and 
Tilburina  herself  in  white  linen.  Still,  among  the  Dentero- 
protoi  (or  second  best)  of  tlie  autlior,  Lord  Ronald  holds  a  re- 
spectable rank.  He  is  not  so  mere  a  magic-lantern  figure, 
once  seen  in  bovver  and  once  in  field,  as  Lord  Cranstoun  ;  he 
"ar  exceeds  that  tame  rabbit  boiled  to  rags  without  onion  or 


Tliat  one  poor  garland,  twined  to  deck  ihy  haii 
Is  hung  upon  thy  hearse,  to  droop  and  wither 
there !» 

other  sauce,  De  Wilton  ;  and  althongh  he  certainly  falls  in> 
finitely  short  of  that  accomplished  swimmer  Malcolm  Gricme, 
yet  he  rises  proportionably  above  the  rea-iiaired  Redmond. 
Lord  Ronald,  indeed,  bating  liis  intended  marriage  with  one 
woman  while  he  loves  another,  is  a  very  noble  fellow  ;  and, 
were  he  not  so  totally  eclipsed  by  '  Tlie  Bruce,'  he  would  have 
served  very  well  to  give  a  title  to  any  octosyllabic  epic,  were  it 
even  as  vigorous  and  poetical  as  the  present.  Nevertheless,  it 
would  have  been  just  as  proper  to  call  Virgil's  divine  jjoein 
'  The  Jlnchiscid,'  as  it  is  to  call  this  '  The  Lord  of  the  Isles.' 
To  all  intents  and  purposes  the  aforesaid  ([uarto  is,  and  ought 
to  be,  '  The  Bruce.'  " 

The  Monthly  Reviewer  tlius  concludeshis  article: — "In 
some  detached  passages,  the  present  poem  may  challenge  any 
of  Mr.  Scott's  compositions  ;  and  perhaps  in  the  Abbot's  in- 
voluntary blessing  it  excels  any  single  part  of  any  one  of  them. 
The  battle,  too,  and  many  dispei-sed  lines  besides,  have  trans- 
cendent merit.  In  point  of  fable,  however,  it  has  not  the  grace 
and  elegance  of  '  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  nor  the  general  cleat^ 
ness  and  vivacity  of  its  narrative  ;  nor  the  unexpected  happi- 
ness of  its  catastrophe  ;  and  still  less  does  it  aspire  to  the  praise 
of  the  complicated,  but  very  projier  and  well-managed  story 
of  'Rokeby.'  It  has  nothing  so  jiathetic  as  'The  Cypress 
Wreath  :'  nothing  so  sweetly  touching  as  the  last  evening  scene 
at  Rokeby,  before  it  is  broken  by  Bertram  ;  nothing  (with  the 
e.xception  of  the  Abliot)  so  awfully  melancholy  as  much  of 
Mortham's  history,  or  so  powerful  as  Bertram's  farewell  to 
Edmund.  It  vies,  as  we  have  already  said,  with  '  Marmion,' 
in  the  generally  favorite  part  of  that  poem  ;  but  what  has  it 
(with  the  exception  before  stated)  equal  to  the  immurement  of 
Constance  1  On  the  whole,  however,  we  prefer  it  to  '  Mar- 
miou;'  which,  in  sjiite  of  much  merit,  always  had  a  sort  ol 
noisy  royal-circus  air  with  it  ;  a  clap-trappcry,  if  we  may  vec 
ture  on  such  a  word.  '  Marmion,'  in  short,  has  become  quite 
identified  with  Mr.  Braham  in  our  minds  ;  and  we  are  there- 
fore not  perhaps  unbia.sed  judges  of  its  perfections.  Finally, 
we  do  not  hesitate  to  place  '  The  Lord  of  tlie  Isles'  below  both 
of  Mr.  Scott's  remaining  longer  works  ;  and  as  to  '  The  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel,'  for  numerous  commonplaces  and  separate 
beauties,  that  poem,  we  believe,  still  constitutes  one  of  the 
highest  steps,  if  not  the  very  highest,  in  the  ladder  of  the  au- 
thor's reputation.  The  characters  of  the  present  tale  (with 
the  exception  of  'The  Bruce,'  who  is  vividly  painted  from 
history — and  of  some  minor  sketches)  are  certainly,  in  point  of 
invention,  of  the  most  novel,  that  is,  of  the  most  Minerva-pres' 
description  ;  and,  as  to  the  language  and  versification,  th. 
poem  is  in  its  general  course  as  inferior  to  '  Rokeby'  (by  much 
the  most  correct  and  the  least  justly  appreciated  of  the  author'i 
works)  as  it  is  in  the  construction  and  conduct  of  its  fable 
It  supplies  whole  pages  of  the  most  prosaic  n.arrative  ;  but,  aa 
we  conclude  by  recollecting,  it  displays  also  whole  pages  of 
the  noblest  poetry." 


The  British  Critic  says  :  "  No  poem  of  Mr.  Scott  has  ye, 
appeared  with  fairer  claims  to  the  public  attention.  If  it  have 
less  pathos  than  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  or  less  display  of  char- 
acter than  Marmion,  it  surpasses  them  both  in  grandeur  of 
conception,  and  dignity  of  versification.  It  is  in  every  respec* 
decidedly  superior  to  Rokeby  ;  and  though  it  may  not  reach 
the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  in  a  few  sjilendid  passages,  it  is 
far  more  perfect  as  a  whole.  The  fame  of  Jlr.  Scott,  among 
those  who  are  capable  of  distinguishing  the  rich  ore  of  poetry 
from  the  dross  which  surrounds  it,  will  receive  no  small  advance- 
ment by  this  last  eflbrt  of  liis  genius.  We  discover  in  it  a 
brilliancy  in  detached  expressions,  and  a  power  of  language  in 


468 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  combination  of  imngoR,  wliicli  has  never  yet  appeared  in 
any  ol'  liis  j)revious  puljlieations. 

"  We  would  also  believe  that  as  his  strength  has  increased, 
so  his  glaring  errors  have  been  diminished.  But  so  imbedded 
and  ingrained  are  these  in  the  gems  of  his  excellence,  that  no 
blindness  can  overlook,  no  art  can  divide  or  destroy  tlieir  con- 
nection. They  must  bo  tried  together  at  the  ordeal  of  time, 
a-nd  descend  unseparatea  *o  jjosterity.  Could  Mr.  Scott  but 
endow  liis  purposes  with  words' — could  he  but  decorate  the 
justice  and  the  splendor  of  his  conceptions  with  more  unal- 
loyed aptness  of  expression,  and  more  nnilbrm  strength  and 
harmony  of  numbers,  lie  would  claim  a  place  in  the  highest 
rank  among  the  poets  of  natural  feeling  and  natural  imagery. 
Even  as  it  is,  with  all  his  faults,  we  love  him  still ;  and  when 
he  shall  cease  to  write,  we  shall  find  it  difficult  to  supply  his 
place  with  a  better." 


The  Quarterly  Reviewer,  after  giving  his  outline  of  the  story 
of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  thns  proceeds  : — "  In  whatever  point 
of  view  it  be  regarded,  whether  with  reference  to  the  incidents 
it  contains,  or  the  agents  by  whom  it  is  carried  on,  we  think 
that  one  less  calculated  to  keep  alive  the  interest  and  curiosity 
of  the  reader  could  not  easily  have  been  conceived.  Of  the 
characters,  we  cannot  say  much  ;  they  are  not  conceived  with 
any  great  degree  of  originality,  nor  delineated  with  any  par- 
ticular spirit.  Neither  are  we  disposed  to  criticise  with  mi- 
nuteness the  incidents  of  the  story  ;  but  we  conceive  that  the 
whole  poem,  considering  it  as  a  narrative  poem,  is  projected 
Dpon  wrong  principles. 

"  The  story  is  obviously  composed  of  two  independent  plots, 
connected  with  each  other  merely  by  the  accidental  circum- 
stances of  time  and  place.  The  Uberation  of  Scotland  by 
Bruce  has  not  naturally  any  more  connection  with  the  loves  of 
Ronald  and  the  Maid  of  Lorn,  than  with  those  of  Dido  and 
.(Eneas  ;  nor  are  we  able  to  conceive  any  possible  motive  which 
should  have  induced  Mr.  Scott  to  weave  them  as  he  has  done 
into  the  same  narrative,  e-xcept  the  desire  of  combining  the  ad- 
vantages of  an  heroical,  with  what  we  may  call,  for  want  of  an 
appropriate  word,  an  ethical  subject ;  an  attempt  which  we 
feel  assured  he  never  would  have  made,  had  he  duly  weighed 
the  very  different  principles  upon  which  these  dissimilar  sorts 
of  poetry  are  founded.  Thus,  had  Mr.  Scott  introduced  the 
loves  of  Ronald  and  the  Maid  of  Lorn  as  an  episode  of  an 
epic  poem  upon  the  subject  of  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  its 
want  of  connection  with  the  main  action  might  have  been  ex- 
cused, in  favor  of  its  intrinsic  merit ;  hut,  by  a  great  singu- 
larity of  judgment,  he  has  introduced  the  battle  of  Barmookburn 
as  an  episode,  in  the  loves  of  Ronald  and  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 
To  say  nothing  of  the  obvious  preposterousness  of  such  a  de- 
sign, abstractedly  considered,  the  effect  of  it  has,  we  think, 
decidedly  been  to  destroy  that  interest  which  either  of  them 
might  separately  have  created  :  or,  if  any  interest  remain  re- 
specting the  fate  of  the  ill-requited  Edith,  it  is  because  at  no 
moment  of  the  poem  do  we  feel  the  slightest  degree  of  it,  re- 
specting the  enterprise  of  Bruce. 

'  '''he  many  beautiful  passages  which  we  have  extracted 


from  the  poem,  combined  with  the  brief  remarks  subjoined  to 
each  canto,  will  sufficiently  sliow,  that  although  the  Lord  of 
the  Isles  is  not  likely  to  add  very  much  to  the  reputation  of 
Mr.  Scott,  yet  this  must  be  imputed  rather  to  the  greatness  of 
his  previous  reputation,  than  to  the  absolute  inferiority  of  the 
poem  itself.  Unfortunately,  its  merits  are  merely  incidental, 
while  its  defects  are  mixed  up  with  the  very  elements  of  the 
poem.  But  it  is  not  lii  the  power  of  Mr.  Scott  to  write  with 
tameness  ;  be  the  subject  what  it  wiU  (and  he  could  not  easily 
have  chosen  one  more  impracticable),  he  impresses  upon  what- 
ever scenes  he  describes,  so  much  movement  and  activity, — he 
infuses  into  his  narrative  such  a  flow  of  life,  and,  if  we  may 
so  express  ourselves,  of  animal  spirits,  that  without  satisfying 
the  judgment,  or  moving  the  feelings,  or  elevating  the  mind,  or 
even  very  greatly  interesting  the  curiosity,  he  is  able  to  seize 
upon,  and,  as  it  were,  exhilarate  the  imagination  of  his  readers, 
in  a  manner  which  is  often  truly  unaccountable.  This  quality 
Mr.  Scott  possesses  in  an  admirable  degree  ;  and  supposing  that 
he  had  no  other  object  in  view  than  to  convince  tlie  world  of 
the  great  poetical  powers  with  which  he  is  gifted,  the  poem 
before  ns  would  be  quite  sufficient  for  his  purpose.  But  this 
is  of  very  inferior  im])ortance  to  the  public  ;  what  they  want 
is  a  good  poem,  and  as  experience  has  shown,  this  can  only  be 
constructed  upon  a  solid  foundation  of  taste  and  judgment 
and  meditation." 

"  These  jiassages  [referring  to  the  preceding  extract  from  the 
Quarterly,  and  that  from  the  Kdinburgh  Review,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  poem]  appear  to  me  to  condense  the 
result  of  deliberate  and  candid  reflection,  and  I  have  therefore 
quoted  them.  The  most  important  remarks  of  either  Essayist 
on  the  details  of  the  plot  and  execution  are  annexed  to  the  last 
edition  of  the  poem  ;  and  show  such  an  exact  coincidence  of 
judgment  in  two  masters  of  their  calling,  as  had  not  hitherto 
been  exemplified  in  the  professional  criticism  of  his  metrical 
romances.  The  defects  which  both  point  out,  are,  I  presume, 
but  too  completely  explained  by  the  preceding  statement  of 
the  rapidity  with  which  this,  the  last  of  those  great  perfor- 
mances, had  been  thrown  off; — [see  I^ifc,  vol.  v.  pp.  13-15] 
—nor  do  I  see  that  either  Reviewer  has  failed  to  do  sufficient 
justice  to  the  beauties  which  redeem  the  imperfections  of  the 
Lord  of  the  Isles — exoppt  as  regards  the  whole  character  of 
Bruce,  its  real  hero,  and  the  picture  of  the  Battle  of  Bannock- 
burn, which,  now  that  one  can  compare  these  works  from 
something  like  the  same  point  of  view,  does  not  appear  to  me 
in  the  slightest  particular  inferior  to  the  Flodden  of  Marmion., 

"  This  poem  is  now,  I  believe,  about  as  popular  as  Rokeby  ; 
but  it  has  never  reached  the  same  station  in  genera!  favor  with 
the  Lay,  Marmion,  or  tlie  Lady  of  the  Lake.  The  first  edition 
of  1800  copies  in  quarto,  was,  however,  rajiidly  disposed  of, 
and  the  separate  editions  in  8vo,  which  ensued  before  his  po- 
etical works  were  collected,  amounted  together  to  15,250  copies. 
This,  in  the  case  of  almost  any  other  author,  would  have  been 
splendid  success ;  but,  as  compared  with  what  he  had  pre- 
viously experienced,  even  in  his  Rokeby,  jmd  still  more  so  as 
compared  with  the  enormous  circulation  at  once  attained  b; 
Lord  Byron's  early  tales,  which  were  then  following  each  olliei 
in  almost  breathless  succession,  the  falling  off  was  decided."— 

LOCKHART,  vol.  V.  p.  27. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


469 


APPENDIX. 


IfOTE  A. 
Thy  rugged  halls,  Artornish !  rang. — P.  415. 

The  ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Artornish  are  situated  upon  a 
promontory,  on  the  Morven,  or  mainland  side  of  the  Sonnd  of 
Mull,  a  name  given  to  the  deep  arm  of  the  sea,  which  divides 
that  island  from  tlie  continent.  The  situation  i.s  wild  and  ro- 
mantic in  the  highest  degree,  having  on  the  one  hand  a  high 
and  precipitous  chain  of  rocks  overhanging  the  sea,  and  on  the 
other  tlie  narrow  entrance  to  the  beautiful  salt-water  lake, 
called  Loch  Alline,  which  is  in  many  places  finely  fringed  with 
copsewood.  The  ruins  of  Artornish  are  not  now  very  consid- 
erable, and  consist  chiefly  of  the  remains  of  an  old  keep,  or 
tower,  with  fragments  of  outward  defences.  But,  in  Ibrmer 
days,  it  was  a  place  of  great  consequence,  being  one  of  the 
principal  strongholds,  which  the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  during  the 
period  of  their  stormy  independence,  possessed  upon  the  main- 
land of  Argyleshire.  Here  they  assembled  what  pojjular  tra- 
dition calls  their  parliaments,  meaning,  I  suppose,  their  cour 
plenierc,  or  assembly  of  feudal  and  patriarchal  vassals  and  de- 
pendents. From  this  Castle  of  Artornish,  upon  tlie  19th  day 
of  October,  1461,  John  de  Yle,  designing  himself  Earl  of  Ross 
and  Lord  of  the  Isles,  granted,  in  the  style  of  an  independent 
sovereign,  a  commission  to  his  trusty  and  well-beloved  cousins, 
Ronald  of  the  Isles,  and  Duncan,  Arch-Dean  of  the  Isles,  for 
empowering  them  to  enter  into  a  treaty  with  the  most  excellent 
Prince  Edward,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  France  and 
England,  and  Lord  of  Ireland.  Edward  IV.,  on  his  part, 
named  Laurence,  Bishop  of  Durham,  the  Earl  of  Worcester, 
the  Trior  of  St.  John's,  Lord  Wenlock,  and  Mr.  Robert  Stil- 
lington,  keeper  of  the  privy  seal,  his  deputies  and  commission- 
ers, to  confer  with  those  named  by  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.  The 
conference  terminated  in  a  treaty,  by  which  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles  agi-eed  to  become  a  vassal  to  the  crown  of  England,  and 
to  assist  Edward  IV.  and  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  then  in  ban- 
ishment, m  subduing  the  realm  of  Scotland. 

The  first  article  provides,  that  John  de  Isle,  Earl  of  Ross, 
with  his  son  Donald  Balloch,  and  liis  grandson  John  de  Isle, 
with  all  their  subjects,  men,  people,  and  inhabitants,  become 
vassals  and  liegemen  to  Edward  IV.  of  England,  and  assist 
him  in  his  wars  in  Scotland  or  Ireland  ;  and  then  Ibllow  the 
allowances  to  be  made  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  in  recompense 
of  his  military  service,  and  the  provisions  for  dividing  such 
conquests  as  their  united  arms  should  make  upon  the  main- 
land of  Scotland  among  the  confederates.  These  appear  such 
curious  illustrations  of  the  period,  that  they  are  here  sub- 
joined : 

"  Item,  The  seid  John  Erie  of  Rosse  shall,  from  the  seid  fest 
of  Whittesontyde  ne.xt  comyng,  yerely,  duryng  his  lyf,  have 
and  take,  for  fees  and  wages  in  tyme  of  peas,  of  the  seid  most 
high  and  Christien  prince  c.  marc  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money  ; 
and  in  tynre  of  werre,  as  long  as  he  shall  entende  witli  his 
myght  and  power  in  the  said  werres,  in  manner  and  fourme 
abovesaid,  he  shall  have  wages  of  ccc.  lb.  sterlyng  of  English 
money  yearly  ;  and  after  the  rate  of  the  tyrae  that  he  shall  be 
occupied  in  the  seid  werres. 

"  Itc7a,  The  seid  Donald  shall,  from  the  seid  feste  of  Whit- 
tesontyde, have  and  take,  during  his  lyf,  yerly,  in  tyme  of 
peas,  for  his  fees  and  wages,  xx  1.  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money  : 
and,  when  he  shall  be  occupied  and  intend  to  the  werre,  with 
Vs  myght  and  power,  and  in  manner  and  fourme  aboveseid, 


he  sliall  have  and  take,  for  his  wages  yearly,  xl  I.  sterlynge  of 
Englysh  money  ;  or  for  the  rate  of  the  tyme  of  werre 

"  Item,  Tlie  seid  John,  sonn  and  hcire  apparant  of  the  said 
Donald,  shall  have  and  take,  yerely,  from  the  seid  fest,  for  his 
fees  and  wages,  in  the  tyme  of  peas,  x  I.  sterlynge  of  Englysh 
money  ;  and  for  tyme  of  werre,  and  his  intendyng  thereto,  in 
manner  and  fourme  aboveseid,  he  shall  have,  for  his  fees  and 
wages,  yearly  xx  1.  sterlynge  of  Englysh  money  ;  or  after  the 
rate  of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be  occupied  in  the  werre  :  And 
the  seid  John,  th'  Erie  Donald  and  John,  and  eche  of  them, 
shall  have  good  and  suiEciannt  paiment  of  the  seid  fees  and 
wages,  as  wel  for  tyme  of  peas  as  of  werre,  accordyng  to  thees 
articules  and  appoyntenients.  Item,  It  is  appointed,  accorded, 
concluded,  and  finally  determined,  that,  if  it  so  be  that  here- 
after the  said  reaume  of  Scotlande,  or  tlie  more  part  thereof, 
be  conquered,  subdued,  and  brought  to  the  obeissauce  of  the 
seid  most  high  and  Christien  prince,  and  his  heires,  or  succes- 
soures,  of  the  seid  Lionell,  in  fourme  aboveseid  descendyng,  be 
the  assistance,  helpe,  and  aide  of  the  said  John  Erie  of  Rosse, 
and  Donald,  and  of  James  Erie  of  Douglas,  then,  the  said 
fees  and  wages  for  the  tyme  of  peas  cessying,  the  same  erles  and 
Donald  shall  liave,  by  the  graunte  of  the  same  most  Christien 
prince,  all  the  possessions  of  the  said  reaume  beyonde  Scottishe 
see,  they  to  be  departed  equally  betwix  them  :  eche  of  them, 
his  heires  and  succcssours,  to  holde  his  parte  of  the  seid  most 
Christien  prince,  his  heires  and  successours,  for  evermore,  in 
right  of  his  croune  of  England,  by  homage  and  feaute  to  be 
done  therefore. 

"  Item,  If  so  be  that,  by  th'  aide  and  assistence  of  the  seid 
James  Erie  of  Douglas,  the  said  reaume  of  Scotlande  be  con- 
quered and  subdued  as  above,  then  he  shall  have,  enjoie,  and 
inherite  all  his  own  posse-ssions,  landes,  and  inheritaunce,  on 
this  syde  the  Scottishe  see  ;  that  is  to  saye,  betwixt  the  seid 
Scottishe  see  and  Englande,  such  he  hath  rejoiced  and  be  pos- 
sessed of  before  this  ;  there  to  holde  them  of  the  said  most  high 
and  Christien  prince,  his  heires,  and  successoure,  as  is  above- 
said,  for  evermore,  in  right  of  the  coroune  of  Englonde,  as  weel 
the  said  Erie  of  Douglas,  as  his  heires  and  successours,  by 
homage  and  feaute  to  be  done  therefore." — -Rymer's  Fwdcra 
Coiiventioiics  hitcra  et  cujuscunque  generis  Jicta  Publica, 
fol.  vol.  v.,  1741. 

Such  was  the  treaty  of  Artornish  ;  but  it  does  not  appear 
that  the  allies  ever  made  any  very  active  efibrt  to  realize  their 
ambitious  designs.  It  will  serve  to  show  both  the  power  of 
these  reguli,  and  their  independence  upon  the  crowu  of  Scot- 
land. 

It  is  only  farther  necessary  to  say  of  the  Castle  of  Artornish, 
that  it  is  almost  opposite  to  the  Bay  of  Aros,  in  the  Island  ot 
Mull,  where  there  was  another  castle,  the  occasional  residence 
of  the  Lords  of  the  Isles. 


Note  B. 


Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark, 
Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark. — P.  416. 

Tne  sea.  displays  a  taste  for  music,  whicli  could  scarcely  bo 
expected  from  his  habits  and  local  predilections.  They  will 
long  follow  a  boat  in  which  any  musical  instrument  is  played, 
and  even  a  tune  simply  whistled  has   attractions  for  them. 


470 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Dean  of  the  Isles  says  of  Heiskar,  a  small  iiiiinhabited 
rock,  about  twelve  (Scottish)  miles  from  the  isle  of  Uist,  that 
an  infinite  slaughter  of  seals  takes  place  tliere. 


Note  C. 
•  a  turret's  a;ry  head 


Sle.nder  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 

O'erlook'd,  dark  Mull  '.  thy  mighty  Sound.— V.  ill. 

The  Sound  of  Mull,  whicl  divides  that  island  from  the  con- 
tinent of  Soollund,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  scenes  which  the 
Hebrides  afford  to  the  traveller.  Sailing  from  Oban  to  Aros, 
or  Tobermory,  through  a  nan-ow  channel,  yet  deep  enough  to 
bear  vessels  of  the  largest  burden,  he  has  on  his  left  the  bold 
and  mountainous  shores  of  Mull  ;  on  the  right  those  of  that 
district  of  Argyleshire,  called  Morven,  or  Morvern,  succes- 
sively indented  by  deep  salt-water  lochs,  running  up  many 
miles  inland.  To  the  southeastward  arise  a  prodigious  range 
of  mountains,  among  which  Cruachan-Ben  is  pre-eminent. 
And  to  tlie  northeast  is  the  no  less  huge  and  picturesque  range 
of  the  Arduamurchan  hills.  Many  ruinous  castles,  situated 
generally  upon  cliffs  overhanging  the  ocean,  add  interest  to  the 
scene.  Those  of  Donolly  and  Dunstaffnage  are  first  passed, 
then  that  of  Duart,  formerly  belonging  to  the  chief  of  the  wai-- 
like  and  jiowerful  sept  of  Macleans,  and  the  scene  of  Miss 
Baillie's  beautiful  tragedy,  entitled  the  Family  Legend.  Still 
passing  on  to  the  northward,  Artornish  and  Aros  become  vis- 
ible upon  the  opposite  shores  ;  and,  lastly,  Mingarry,  and  other 
ruins  of  less  distinguished  note.  In  fine  weather,  a  grander 
and  more  impressive  scene,  both  from  its  natural  beauties,  and 
associations  with  ancient  history  and  tradition,  can  hardly  be 
imagined.  When  the  weather  is  rough,  the  ])ass;ige  is  both 
difficult  and  dangerous,  from  the  narrowness  of  the  channel, 
and  in  part  from  the  number  of  inland  lakes,  out  of  which  sally 
forth  a  number  of  conflicting  and  thwarting  tides,  making  the 
navigation  perilous  to  open  boats.  The  sudden  flaws  and 
gusts  of  wind  which  issue  without  a  moment's  warning  from 
the  mountain  glens,  are  equally  formidable.  Po  that  in  un- 
settled weather,  a  stranger,  if  not  much  accustomed  to  the 
sea,  may  sometimes  add  to  the  other  sublime  sensations  ex- 
cited by  the  scene,  tliat  feeling  of  dignity  which  arises  from  a 
sense  of  danger. 


Note  D. 


"  these  seas  behold, 

Round  twice  a  hundred  islands  roWd, 
From  Hirl,  that  hears  their  northern  roar. 
To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore."— P.  417. 

The  number  of  the  western  isles  of  Scotland  exceeds  two 
hundred,  of  which  St.  Kilda  is  the  most  northerly,  anciently 
called  Hirth,  or  Hirt,  probably  from  "earth,"  being  in  fact 
tlie  whole  globe  to  its  inhabitants.  Hay,  whicli  now  belongs 
almost  entirely  to  Walter  Campbell,  Esq.,  of  Shawfield,  is  by 
far  the  most  fertile  of  the  Hebrides,  and  has  been  greatly  im- 
proved uniler  the  spirited  and  sagacious  management  of  the 
present  proprietor.  This  was  in  ancient  times  the  principal 
5bode  of  the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  being,  if  not  the  largest,  the 
most  important  island  of  their  archipelago.  In  Martin's  time, 
some  relics  of  their  grandeur  were  yet  extant.  "  Loch-Fin- 
lagin,  about  three  miles  in  circumference,  affords  salmon, 
irouts,  and  eels :  this  lake  lies  in  the  centre  of  the  isle.  The 
Isle  Finlagan,  from  which  this  lake  hath  its  name,  is  in  it.  It's 
famous  for  being  once  the  court  in  which  the  great  Mac-Don- 
ald, King  of  the  Isles,  had  his  residence;  his  houses,  chapel, 
&c.,  are  now  ruinous.  His  guards  de  corps,  called  Luchttach, 
kci.t  guard  on  the  lake  side  nearest  to  the  isle  ;  the  walls  of 
liieir  houses  are  still  to  be  seen  there.     TJie  high  court  of  judi- 


cature, consisting  of  fourteen,  sat  always  her-j  ;  and  there  was 
an  appeal  to  tlieni  from  all  the  courts  in  tlie  isles  :  the  eleventh 
share  of  the  sum  in  debate  was  due  to  the  priucrjial  judge. 
There  was  a  big  stone  of  seven  foot  square,  in  winch  there  was 
a  deep  impression  made  to  receive  the  feet  of  Mac-Donald  ; 
for  he  was  crowned  King  of  the  Isles  standing  in  this  stone 
and  swore  that  he  would  continue  his  vassals  in  the  possession 
of  their  lands,  and  do  exact  justice  to  all  his  subjects:  and 
then  his  father's  sword  was  put  into  his  hand.  The  Bishop 
of  Argyle  and  seven  priests  anointed  him  king,  in  presence  of 
all  the  heads  of  the  tribes  in  the  isles  and  continent,  and  were 
his  vassals  ;  at  which  time  the  orator  rehearsed  a  catalogue  of 
his  ancestors,"  &c. — Martin's  Account  of  the  Weitern  Isles, 
8vo.  London,  1716,  p.  240,  1. 


Note  E. 


Mngarry  sternly  placed, 

O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste. — P.  417. 

The  Castle  of  Mingarry  is  situated  on  the  sea-coast  of  the 
district  of  Ardnamurclian.  The  ruins,  which  are  tolerably 
entire,  are  sun'ounded  by  a  very  high  wall,  forming  a  kind  of 
polygon,  for  the  purpose  of  adapting  itself  to  the  [irojecting 
angles  of  a  i)recii)ice  overhanging  the  sea,  on  which  the  castle 
stands.  It  was  anciently  the  residence  of  tlie  Mac-Ians,  a 
clan  of  Mac-Donalds,  descended  from  Ian,  or  John,  a  grand 
son  of  Angus  Og,  Lord  of  the  Isles.  The  last  time  that  Min- 
garry was  of  military  importance,  occurs  in  the  celebrated 
Leabhar  dearg,  or  Red-book  of  Clanronald,  a  MS.  renowned 
in  the  Ossianic  controversy.  Allaster  Mac-Donald,  commonly 
called  Colquitto,  who  commanded  the  Irish  auxiliaries,  sent 
over  by  the  Earl  of  Antrim,  during  the  great  civil  war,  to  the 
assistance  of  Montrose,  began  liis  enterjirise  in  1644,  by  taking 
the  castles  of  Kinloch-AUine,  and  Mingarry,  the  last  of  which 
made  considerable  resistance,  as  might,  iVom  the  strength  of 
the  situation,  be  expected.  In  the  mean  while,  Allaster  Mac- 
Donald's  ships,  which  had  brought  liim  over,  were  attacked 
in  Loch  Eisord,  in  Skye,  by  an  armament  sent  round  by  the 
covenanting  parliament,  and  his  own  vessel  was  taken.  This 
circumstance  is  said  chiefly  to  have  induced  him  to  continue 
in  Scotland,  where  there  seemed  little  prospect  of  raising  an 
army  in  behalf  of  the  King.  He  had  no  sooner  moved  east- 
ward to  join  Montrose,  a  junction  which  he  effected  in  the 
braes  of  Athole,  than  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  besieged  the 
castle  of  Mingarry.  but  without  success.  Among  other  war- 
riors and  chiefs  whom  Argyle  summoned  to  his  camp  to  assist 
upon  this  occasion,  was  John  of  Moidart,  the  Cajitain  of  Clan- 
ronald. Clanronald  ajipeared  ;  but,  far  from  yielding  eftec- 
tual  assistance  to  Argyle,  he  took  the  opportunity  of  being  in 
arms  to  lay  waste  the  district  of  Sunart,  then  belonging  to  the 
a<lherents  of  Argyle,  an>t  sent  part  of  tlie  sjioil  to  relieve  the 
Castle  of  Mingarry.  Thus  the  castle  was  maintained  until  re- 
lieved by  Allaster  Mac-Donald  (Cohjuitto),  who  had  been  de- 
tached for  the  jmrpose  by  Montrose.  These  particulars  are 
iiardly  worth  mentioning,  were  they  not  connected  with  the 
memorable  successes  of  Montrose,  related  by  an  eyewitness, 
and  hitherto  unknown  to  Scottisli  liistorians. 


Note  F. 


The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled. — P.  417. 

Somerled  was  thane  of  Argyle  and  Lord  of  tlie  Isles,  about 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century.  He  seems  to  have  exer= 
cised  his  authority  in  both  capacities,  independent  of  the 
crown  of  Scothand,  against  which  he  often  stood  in  hostility 
He  made  various  incursions  upon  the  western  lowlands  during 
the  reign  of  Malcolm  IV.,  and  seems  to  have  made  peace  with 
him  upon  the  terms  of  an  indeiiendent  prince,  about  the  year 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


471 


1157.  In  1164,  lie  resumed  the  war  against  Malcolm,  ami  in- 
vaded Scotland  with  a  large,  but  probably  a  tuinnlluary  army, 
collected  in  the  isles,  in  tiie  mainland  of  Argyleshire,  and  in 
the  neighboring  provinces  of  Ireland.  He  was  defeated  and 
slain  in  an  engagement  with  a  verj'  inferior  force,  near  Ren- 
frew. His  son  Gillicolane  fell  in  the  same  battle.  This  mighty 
chieftain  married  a  daughter  of  Olaus,  King  of  Man.  From 
)nm  our  genealogists  deduce  two  dynasties,  distinguished  in 
the  stormy  history  of  the  middle  ages  ;  the  Lords  of  the  Isles 
descended  from  his  elder  son  Ronald, — and  the  Lords  of  Lorn, 
who  took  their  siriiame  of  M'Dougal,  as  descended  of  his  sec- 
ond son  Dougal,  That  Somerled's  territories  upon  the  main- 
laud,  and  upon  the  isianJs,  should  have  been  thus  divided 
between  his  two  sons,  instead  of  passing  to  the  elder  exclu- 
sively, may  illustrate  the  uncertainty  of  descent  among  the 
great  Highland  families,  which  we  shall  presently  notice. 


Note  G-. 


Lord  of  the  Isles.— F.  417. 

The  representative  of  this  independent  principality,  for  such 
it  seems  to  have  been,  though  acknowledging  occasionally  the 
pre-eminence  of  the  t-'cottish  crown,  was,  at  the  period  of  the 
poem,  Angus,  called  Angus  Og ;  but  the  name  has  been,  eu- 
■phoniiB  gratia,  exchanged  for  that  of  Ronald,  which  frequent- 
ly occurs  in  the  genealogy.  Angus  was  a  protector  of  Robert 
Bruce,  whom  he  received  in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty,  during 
the  time  of  his  greatest  distress.  As  I  shall  be  equally  liable 
to  censure  for  attempting  to  decide  a  controversy  which  has 
long  existed  between  three  distinguished  chieftains  of  this  fam- 
ily, who  have  long  disputed  the  representation  of  the  Lord  of 
the  Isles,  or  for  leaving  a  question  of  such  importance  alto- 
gether untouched,  I  choose,  in  the  first  place,  to  give  such  in- 
formation as  I  have  been  able  to  derive  from  Higiiland  geneal- 
ogists, and  which,  for  those  who  have  patience  to  investigate 
such  subjects,  really  contains  some  curious  information  con- 
cerning the  history  of  the  Isles.  In  the  second  place,  I  shall 
offer  a  few  remarks  upon  the  rules  of  succession  at  that  pe- 
riod, without  pretending  to  decide  their  bearing  upon  the  ques- 
tion at  issue,  which  must  depend  upon  evidence  which  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  to  examine. 

"  Angus  Og,"  says  an  ancient  manuscript  translated  from 
the  Gaelic,  "  son  of  Angus  Mor,  son  of  Donald,  son  of  Ronald, 
son  of  Somerled,  high  chief  and  superior  Lord  of  Innisgall  (or 
the  Isles  of  the  Gael,  the  general  name  given  to  the  Hebrides), 
he  married  a  daughter  of  Cunbui,  namely,  Cathan ;  she  was 
mother  to  John,  son  of  Angus,  and  with  her  came  an  unusual 
portion  from  Ireland,  viz.  twenty-four  clans,  of  whom  twenty- 
fonr  families  in  Scotland  are  descended.  Angus  had  another 
son,  namely,  young  John  Fraoch,  whose  descenilants  are  called 
Clan-Ean  of  Glencoe,  and  the  M'Donalds  of  Fraoch.  This 
Angus  Og  died  in  Isla,  where  his  body  was  interred.  His  son 
John  succeeded  to  the  inheritance  of  Innisgall.  He  had  good 
descendants,  namely,  three  sons  procreate  of  Ann,  daughter  of 
Rodric,  high  chief  of  Lorn,  and  one  daughter,  Mary,  married 
to  Jok.n  MacLean,  Laird  of  Duart,  and  Lauchlan,  his  brother, 
Lairi  of  Coll  ;  she  vveis  interred  in  the  church  of  the  Black 
Nuns.     The  eldest  sons  of  John  were  Ronald,  Godfrey,  and 

Angus He  gave  Ronald  a  great  inheritance. 

These  were  the  lands  which  he  gave  him,  viz.  from  Kilcumin 
in  Abcrtarf  to  the  river  Sell,  and  from  thence  to  Beilli,  north 
of  Eig  and  Rum,  and  the  two  Uists,  and  from  thence  to  the 
foot  of  the  river  Glaichan,  and  threescore  long  ships.  John 
married  afterwards  Margaret  Stewart,  daughter  to  Robert 
Stewart,  King  of  Scotland,  called  John  Fernyear  ;  she  bore 
him  three  good  sons,  Donald  of  the  Isles,  the  heir,  John  the 
Tainister  (i.  e.  Thane),  the  second  son,  and  Alexander  Cat^ 


1  Weetem  Isles  and  adjacent  coast. 


2  InuiEgal. 


rach.  John  had  another  son  called  Marcus,  of  whom  the  clan 
Macdonald  of  Cnoc,  in  Tirowen,  are  descended.  This  John 
lived  long,  and  made  donations  to  Icolumkill ;  he  covered  the 
chapel  of  Eorsay-Elan,  the  chapel  of  Finlagam,  and  the 
chapel  of  the  Isle  of  Tsuibhne,  and  gave  the  jiroper  furniture 
for  the  service  of  God,  upholding  the  clergy  and  monks ;  he 
built  or  repaired  the  church  of  the  Holy  Cross  immediately 
before  his  death.  He  died  at  his  own  castle  of  Ardlorinish  ; 
many  priests  and  monks  took  the  sacrament  at  his  funeral, 
and  they  embalmed  the  body  of  this  dear  man,  and  brought 
it  to  Icolumkill ;  the  abbot,  monks,  and  vicar,  came  as  they 
ought  to  meet  the  King  of  Fiongal,i  and  out  of  great  respect 
to  his  memory  mourjied  eight  days  and  niglms  ovei  it,  and 
laid  it  in  the  same  grave  with  his  father,  in  the  church  of  Oran, 
1380. 

"Ronald,  son  of  John,  was  chief  ruler  of  the  Isles  in  his 
father's  lifetime,  and  was  old  in  the  government  at  his  father's 
death. 

"  He  assembled  the  gentry  of  the  Isles,  brought  the  sceptre 
from  Kildonan  in  Eig,  and  delivered  it  to  his  brother  Donald, 
who  was  thereupon  called  M'Donald,  and  Donald  Lord  of  the 
Isles,2  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  the  men  of  the  Isles. 

"  Ronald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  was  a  great  sup 
porter  of  the  church  and  clergy  ;  his  descendants  are  called 
Clanronald.  He  gave  the  lands  of  Tiruma  in  Uist,  to  the 
minister  of  it  forever,  for  the  honor  of  God  and  Columkill  ; 
he  was  proprietor  of  all  the  lands  of  the  north  along  the  coast 
and  the  isles ;  he  died  in  the  year  of  Christ  1386,  in  his  own 
mansion  of  Castle  Tirim,  leaving  five  children.  Donald  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  the  brother  of  Ronald, 
took  possession  of  Inisgall  by  the  consent  of  his  brother  and 
the  gentry  thereof ;  they  were  all  obedient  to  him  :  he  mar- 
ried Mary  Lesley,  daughter  to  the  Earl  of  Ross,  and  by  her 
came  the  earldom  of  Ross  to  the  M'Donalds.  After  his  suc- 
cession to  that  earldom,  he  was  called  ^i'Donald,  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  and  Earl  of  Ross.  There  are  many  things  written  of  him 
in  other  places, 

"  He  fought  the  battle  of  Garioch  (('.  e.  Harlaw)  against 
Duke  Murdoch,  the  governor;  the  Earl  of  Mar  commanded  the 
army,  in  support  of  his  claim  to  the  earldom  of  Ross,  which 
was  ceded  to  him  by  King  James  the  First,  after  his  release 
from  the  King  of  England  ;  and  Duke  Murdoch,  his  two  sons 
and  retainers,  were  beheaded  :  he  gave  lands  in  Mull  and  Isla 
to  the  minister  of  Hi,  and  every  privilege  which  the  minister 
of  lona  had  formerly,  besides  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  to  Co- 
lumkill for  the  monastery,  and  became  himself  one  of  the  fra- 
ternity. He  left  issue,  a  lawful  heir  to  Innisgall  and  Ross, 
namely  Alexander,  the  son  of  Donald :  he  died  in  Isla,  and 
his  body  was  interred  in  the  south  side  of  the  temple  of  Oran. 
Alexander,  called  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  Donald  of  the  Isles.  Angus,  the  third  son  of 
John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  married  the  daughter  of  John,  the  son 
of  Allan,  which  connection  caused  some  disagreement  betwixt 
the  two  families  about  their  marches  and  division  of  lands, 
the  one  party  adhering  to  Angus,  and  the  other  to  John  :  the 
differences  increased  so  much  tliat  John  obtained  from  Allan 
all  the  lands  betwixt  Abhan  Fahda  (i.  e.  the  long  river)  and 
old  na  sionnach  (i.  e.  the  fox-burn  brook),  in  the  upper  part 
of  Cantyre.  Allan  went  to  the  king  to  complain  of  his  son- 
in-law  ;  in  a  short  time  thereafter,  there  happened  to  be  a  great 
meeting  about  this  young  Angus's  lands  to  the  north  of  Inver- 
ness, where  he  was  murdered  by  his  own  harper  Mac-Cairbre, 
by  cutting  his  throat  with  a  long  knife.  He'  lived  a  year 
thereafter,  and  many  of  those  concerned  were  delivered  up  to 
the  king.  Angus's  wife  was  pregnant  at  the  time  of  his  mur- 
der, and  she  bore  him  a  son  wlio  was  named  Donald,  and 
called  Donald  Du.  He  was  kept  in  confinement  until  he  was 
thirty  years  of  age,  when  he  was  released  by  the  men  of  Glen- 
co,  by  the  strcng  hand.  After  this  enlargement,  he  came  to 
the  Isles,  and  convened  the  gentry  thereof.     There  happened 

3  The  morderer,  I  presume,  not  the  man  who  was  inurderod. 


412 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


great  feuds  betwixt  these  families  while  Donald  Du  was  in 
confinement,  insomuch  that  Mac-Cean  of  Anlnamurchan  de- 
stroyed tlie  greatest  part  of  the  posterity  of  Jolin  Mor  of  the 
Isles  and  Cautyre.  For  John  Calhaiiauh,  son  of  John,  son  of 
Donald  Balloch,  son  of  John  Mor,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus 
Og  (the  chief  of  the  descendants  of  John  Mor),  and  John  Mor, 
son  of  Joim  Cathanach,  and  young  John,  son  of  John  Catha- 
nach,  and  young  Donald  Balloch,  son  of  John  Cathanach,  were 
treaclierously  taken  by  Mac-Cean  in  the  island  of  Finlagan,  in 
Isla,  and  carried  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  got  them  hanged  at 
the  Burrow-muir,  and  their  bodies  were  buried  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Anthony,  called  the  New  Church.  There  were  none 
left  alive  at  that  time  of  the  children  of  John  Cathanach.  ex- 
cept Alexander,  the  son  of  John  Cathanach,  and  Agnes  Flach, 
who  concealed  themselves  in  the  glens  of  Ireland.  Mac-Cean, 
hearing  of  their  hiding-places,  went  to  cut  down  the  woods  of 
these  glens,  in  order  to  destroy  Alexander,  and  extirpate  the 
whole  race.  At  length  Mac-Cean  and  Alexander  met,  were 
reconciled,  and  a  marriage-alliance  took  place ;  Alexander 
married  Mac-Cean's  daughter,  and  she  brought  him  good  chil- 
dren. Tlie  Mac-Donalds  of  the  North  had  also  descendants  ; 
for,  after  the  death  of  John,  Lord  of  tlie  Isles,  Earl  of  Ross, 
and  the  murder  of  Angus,  Alexander,  the  son  of  Archibald, 
the  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles,  took  possession,  and  John 
was  in  possession  of  the  earldom  of  Ross,  and  the  north  bor- 
dering country  ;  he  married  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Moray, 
of  whom  some  of  the  men  of  the  north  had  descended.  The 
Mac-Kenzies  rose  against  Alexander,  and  fought  the  battle 
called  Blar  na  Paire.  Alexander  had  only  a  few  of  the  men 
of  Ross  at  the  battle.  He  went  after  that  battle  to  take  pos- 
session of  the  Isles,  and  sailed  in  a  ship  to  the  south  to  see  if  lie 
could  find  any  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor  alive,  to  rise  along 
with  him  ;  but  Mac-Cean  of  Ardnamurchan  watched  him  as 
ne  sailed  past,  followed  him  to  Oransay  and  Colonsay,  went 
to  the  iiouse  where  he  was,  and  he  and  Alexander,  son  of 
John  Cathanach,  murdered  him  there. 

"  A  good  while  after  these  things  fell  out,  Donald  Galda, 
son  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  became  major;  he,  with 
the  advice  and  direction  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  came  to  the 
Isles,  and  Mac-Leod  of  the  Lewis,  and  many  of  the  gentry  of 
the  Isles,  rose  with  him  :  they  went  by  the  promontory  of 
Ardnamurchan,  where  they  met  Alexander,  the  son  of  John 
Cathanach,  were  reconciled  to  him,  he  joined  his  men  with 
theirs  against  Mac-Cean  of  Ardnamurchan,  came  upon  him  at 
a  place  called  the  Silver  Craig,  where  he  and  his  three  sons, 
and  a  great  number  of  his  people,  were  killed,  and  Donald 
Galda  was  immediately  declared  Mac-Donald  :  And,  after  the 
affair  of  Ardnamurchan,  all  the  men  of  the  Isles  yielded  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  live  above  seven  or  eight  weeks  after  it ; 
he  died  at  Carnaborg,  in  Mull,  without  issue.  He  had  three 
sisters'  daughters  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  who  were 
portioned  in  the  north  upon  the  continent,  but  the  earldom  of 
Ross  was  kept  for  them.  Alexander,  the  son  of  Archibald, 
had  a  natural  son,  called  John  Cam,  of  whom  is  descended 
Achnacoichan,  in  Ramoeh,  and  Donald  Gorm,  son  of  Ronald, 
son  of  Alexander  Duson,  of  John  Cam.  Donald  Du,  son  of 
Angus,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles, 
ton  of  Donald  of  the  Isles,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  An- 
gus Og,  namely,  the  true  heir  of  the  Isles  and  Ross,  came 
after  his  release  from  cajitivity  to  the  Isles,  and  convened  the 
men  thereof,  and  he  and  the  Earl  of  Lennox  agreed  to  raise  a 
great  army  for  the  purpose  of  taking  possession,  and  a  sjiip 
came  fnm  England  wiUi  a  supply  of  money  to  carry  on  the 
wai,  which  landed  at  Mull,  and  the  money  was  given  to  Mac- 
Lean  of  Duart  to  be  distributed  among  the  commanders  of  the 
arms ,  which  they  not  receiving  in  proportion  as  it  should  have 
beep  distributed  among  them,  caused  the  army  to  disiierse 
which,  when  the  Earl  of  Lennox  heard,  he  disbanded  his  own 
men,  and  made  it  up  with  the  king.  Mae-Donald  went  to 
Ireland  to  raise  men,  but  he  died  on  his  way  to  Dublin,  at 
Drogheda,  of  a  fever,  without  issue  of  either  sons  or  daugh- 
ters." 


In  this  history  may  be  traced,  though  the  Bard,  or  Sean 
nachie,  touches  such  a  delicate  discussion  with  a  gentle  hand^ 
the  point  of  difference  between  the  three  principal  septs  de- 
scended from  the  Lords  of  the  Isles.  The  first  questicn,  and 
one  of  no  easy  solution,  where  so  little  evidence  is  produced, 
respects  the  nature  of  the  connection  of  John  called  by  the 
Archdean  of  the  Isles  "  the  Good  John  of  Ila,"  and  "  the  last 
Lord  of  the  Isles,"  with  Aune,  daughter  of  Roderick  Mac- 
dougal,  high-chief  of  Lorn.  In  the  absence  3f  positive  evi- 
dence, presumptive  must  be  resorted  to,  and  I  own  it  appears 
to  render  it  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  this  connec- 
tion was  otherwise  than  legitimate.  In  the  wars  between  Da- 
vid II.  and  Edward  Baliol,  John  of  the  Isles  espoused  the 
Baliol  interest,  to  which  he  was  probably  determined  by  his 
alliance  with  Roderick  of  Lorn,  who  was,  from  every  family 
predilection,  friendly  to  Baliol,  and  hostile  to  Bruce.  It  seems 
absurd  to  snppo.se,  that  between  two  chiefs  of  the  same  de- 
scent, and  nearly  equal  power  and  rank  (though  the  Mac- 
Dougals  had  been  much  crushed  by  Robert  Bruce),  snch  a 
connection  should  have  been  that  of  concubinage  ;  and  it  ap- 
pears more  likely  that  the  tempting  offer  of  an  alliance  with 
the  Bruce  family,  when  they  had  obtained  the  decided  supe- 
riority in  Scotland,  induced  "  the  Good  John  of  Ila"  to  dis- 
inherit, to  a  certain  extent,  his  eldest  son  Ronald,  who  came 
of  a  stock  so  unpopular  as  the  Mac-Dougals,  and  to  call  to 
his  succession  his  younger  family,  born  of  Margaret  Stuart 
daughter  of  Robert,  afterwards  King  of  Scotland.  The  set- 
ting asii'e  of  this  elder  branch  of  his  family  was  most  probably 
a  condition  of  his  new  alliance,  and  his  being  received  into 
favor  with  the  dynasty  he  had  always  opposed.  Nor  were  the 
laws  of  succession  at  this  early  period  so  clearly  understood  as 
to  bar  such  transactions.  The  numerous  and  strange  claims 
set  up  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  when  vacant  by  the  death  of 
Alexander  III.,  make  it  manifest  how  very  little  the  indefeasi- 
ble hereditary  right  of  primogeniture  w'as  valued  at  that  period. 
In  fact,  the  title  of  the  Bruces  themselves  to  the  crown,  though 
justly  the  most  popular,  when  assumed  with  the  determination 
of  asserting  the  independence  of  Scotland,  was,  upon  pure 
principle,  greatly  inferior  to  that  of  Baliol.  For  Bruce,  the 
competitor,  claimed  as  son  of  Isabella,  second  daughter  of  Da- 
vid, Earl  of  Huntingdon ;  and  John  Baliol,  as  giandson  of 
Margaret,  the  elder  daughter  of  that  same  earl.  So  that  the 
plea  of  Bruce  was  founded  upon  the  very  loose  idea,  that  as 
the  great-grandson  of  David  I.,  King  of  Scotland,  and  the 
nearest  collateral  relation  of  Alexander  III.,  he  was  entitled  to 
succeed  in  exclusion  of  the  great-great-grandson  of  the  same 
David,  though  by  an  elder  daughter.  This  maxim  savored  of 
the  ancient  practice  of  Scotland,  which  often  called  ^  brother 
to  succeed  to  the  crown  as  nearer  in  blood  than  a  grand-child, 
or  even  a  son  of  a  deceased  monarch.  But,  in  truth,  the  ma.^- 
ims  of  inheritance  in  Scotland  were  sometimes  departed  from 
at  periods  when  they  were  much  more  distinctly  understood. 
Such  a  transposition  took  place  in  the  family  of  Hamilton,  in 
1513,  when  the  descendants  of  James,  third  Lord,  by  Lady 
Janet  Home,  were  set  aside,  with  an  appanage  of  great  value 
indeed,  in  order  to  call  to  the  succe<jsion  those  which  be  had 
by  a  subsequent  marriage  with  Janet  Beatoun.  In  short, 
many  other  examples  might  be  quoted  to  show  that  the  ques- 
tion of  legitimacy  is  not  always  determined  by  the  fact  of  suc- 
cession ;  and  there  seems  reason  to  believe,  that  Ronald,  de- 
scendant of  "  John  of  Ha,  '  by  Anne  of  Lorn,  was  legitimate, 
and  therefore  Lord  of  the  sles  dejtire,  though  de  facto  his 
5'onnger  half-brother  Donald,  son  of  his  father's  second  mar- 
riage with  the  Princess  of  Scotland,  superseded  him  in  his 
right,  and  apparently  by  his  own  consent.  From  this  Donald 
so  preferred  is  descended  the  family  of  Sleat,  now  Lords  Mao 
Donald.  On  the  other  hand,  from  Ronald,  the  excluded  heir, 
upon  whom  a  very  large  appanage  was  settled,  descended  the 
chiefs  of  Glengary  and  Clanronald,  each  of  whom  had  large 
possessions  and  a  numerous  vassalage,  and  boasted  a  long  de- 
scent of  warlike  ancestry.  Their  con.mon  ancestor  Ronald 
was  murdered  by  the  Earl  of  Ross,  at  the  Monastery  of  Elclio, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


4V3 


A.,  h.  1346.  I  believe  it  has  been  subject  of  fierce  dispute, 
whether  Donald,  who  carried  on  the  line  of  Glengary,  or  Al- 
lan of  Moidart,  the  ancestor  of  the  captains  of  Clanronald,  was 
the  eldest  son  of  Ronald,  the  son  of  John  of  Isla.  An  humble 
LowlanJer  may  be  permitted  to  waive  the  discussion,  since  a 
Senuachie  of  no  small  note,  who  wrote  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, expresses  himself  upon  this  delicate  topic  in  the  following 
words  : — 

"  I  have  now  given  yon  an  account  of  every  thing  you  can 
expect  of  the  descendants  of  the  clan  Colla  (;.  e.  the  Mac- 
Donalds),  to  the  death  of  Donald  Du  at  Drogheda,  namely, 
the  true  line  of  those  who  possessed  the  Isles,  Ross,  and  the 
mountainous  countries  of  Scotland.  It  was  Donald,  the  son 
of  Angus,  that  was  killed  at  Inverness  (by  his  own  harper 
Mac-i'Cairbre),  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander, 
ton  of  Donald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og.  And  I  know 
not  which  of  his  kindred  or  relations  is  the  true  heir,  except 
these  five  sons  of  John,  the  son  of  Angus  Og,  whom  I  here  set 
down  for  you,  namely,  Konald  and  Godfrey,  the  two  sons  of 
the  daughter  of  Mac-Donald  of  Lorn,  and  Donald  and  John 
5Ior,  and  Alexander  Carrach,  the  three  sons  of  Margaret 
Stewart,  daughter  of  Robert  Stewart,  King  of  Scotland." — 
Leabkar  Dearg. 


KOTE  H. 

The  House  of  Lorn.— 7.  418. 

The  House  of  Lorn,  as  we  observed  in  a  former  note,  was, 
•ike  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  descended  from  a  son  of  Soraerled, 
slain  at  Renfrew,  in  1164.  This  son  obtained  the  succession 
of  his  mainland  territories,  comprehending  the  greater  part  of 
the  three  districts  of  Lorn,  in  Argyleshire,  and  of  course  might 
rather  be  considered  as  petty  princes  than  feudal  barons. 
They  assumed  the  patronymic  appellation  of  Mac-Dougal,  by 
which  they  are  distinguished  in  the  history  of  the  middle  ages. 
The  Lord  of  Lorn,  who  flourished  during  the  wars  of  Bruce, 
was  AUaster  (or  Alexander)  Mac-Dougal,  called  Allaster  of 
Argyle.  He  had  married  the  third  daughter  of  John,  called 
the  Red  Comyn,'  who  was  slain  by  Bruce  in  the  Dominican 
Church  at  Dumfries,  and  lience  he  was  a  mortal  enemy  of 
that  prince,  and  more  than  once  reduced  hira  to  great  straits 
during  the  early  and  distressed  period  of  his  reign,  as  we  shall 
have  repeated  occasion  to  notice.  Bruce,  when  he  began  to 
obtiin  an  ascendency  in  Scotland,  took  the  first  opportunity 
in  his  ]M)wer  to  requite  these  injuries.  He  marched  into 
Argyleslfire  to  lay  waste  the  country.  John  of  Lorn,  son  of 
the  chieftain,  was  posted  with  his  followers  in  the  formidable 
pass  between  Dalmally  and  Bunawe.  It  is  a  narrow  path 
along  the  verge  of  tlie  huge  and  precipitous  monntain,  called 
Crnachan-Ben,  and  guarded  on  the  other  side  by  a  precipice 
overhanging  Loch  Awe.  The  pass  seems  to  the  eye  of  a  sol- 
dier as  strong,  as  it  is  wild  and  romantic  to  that  of  an  ordinary 
traveller.  But  the  skill  of  Bruce  had  anticipated  this  diffi- 
culty. While  his  main  body,  engaged  in  a  skirmish  with  the 
men  of  Lorn,  detained  their  attention  to  the  front  of  their 
position,  James  of  Douglas,  with  Sir  Alexander  Fraser,  Sir 
William  Wiseman,  and  Sir  Andrew  Gray,  ascended  the  moun- 
tain with  a  select  body  of  archery,  and  obtained  possession  of 
the  heights  which  commanded  the  pass.  A  volley  of  arrows 
descending  upon  them  directly'  warned  the  Argyleshire  men 
of  their  perilous  situation,  and  their  resistance,  which  had 
hitherto  been  bold  and  manly,  was  changed  into  a  precipitate 
flight.  The  deep  and  rapid  river  of  Awe  was  then  (we  learn 
the  fact  from  Barbour  with  some  surprise)  crossed  by  a  bridge. 

1  The  aunt,  according  to  Lord  Hailes.    But  the  genealogy  is  distinctly 
p^veD  by  Wyutoun  : — 

*'  The  thryd  donchtyr  of  Red  Cwuiyn, 
Alvsawndyr  of  Argayle  syne 
60 


This  bridge  the  mountaineers  attempted  to  demolish,  but 
Bruce's  followers  were  too  close  u])on  their  rear ;  they  were, 
therefore,  without  refuge  and  defence,  and  were  dispersed 
with  great  slaughter.  John  of  Lorn,  susjiicious  of  the  event, 
had  early  betaken  himself  to  the  galleys  which  he  had  upon 
the  lake ;  but  the  feelings  which  Barbour  iissigns  to  him, 
while  witnessing  the  rout  and  slaughter  of  his  followers,  ex 
culpate  him  from  the  charge  of  cowardice. 

"  To  Jhone  off  Lome  it  suld  displese 
I  trow,  quhen  he  his  men  mycht  se, 
Owte  off  his  schippis  fra  the  se. 
Be  slayne  and  chassyt  in  the  hill. 
That  he  mycht  set  na  help  thar  till. 
Bot  it  angrys  als  gretumly. 
To  gud  harlis  that  ar  worthi, 
To  se  thar  fayis  fultill  thair  will 
As  to  thaim  selff  to  thole  the  ill." — B.  vii.,  v.  itl>4. 

After  this  decisive  engagement,  Bruce  laid  waste  Argyleshire, 
and  besieged  Dunstati'nage  Castle,  on  the  western  shore  of 
Lorn,  compelled  it  to  surrender,  and  placed  in  that  principal 
stronghold  of  the  J!ac-Dougals  a  garrison  and  governor  of  his 
own.  The  elder  Mac-Dougal,  now  wearied  with  the  contest, 
submitted  to  the  victor  ;  but  his  son,  "  rebellious,"  says  Bar- 
bour, "  as  he  wont  to  be,"  fled  to  England  by  sea.  When  the 
wars  between  the  Bruce  and  Baliol  factions  again  broke  out 
in  the  reign  of  David  II.,  the  Lords  of  Lorn  were  again  found 
upon  the  losing  side,  owing  to  their  hereditary  enmity  to  the 
house  of  Bruce.  Accordingly,  upon  the  issue  of  that  contest, 
they  were  deprived  by  David  II.  and  his  successor  of  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  their  extensive  territories,  which  were  con- 
ferred upon  Stewart,  called  the  Knight  of  Lorn.  The  house 
of  Mac-Dougal  continued,  however,  to  survive  the  loss  of 
power,  and  affords  a  very  rare,  if  not  a  unique,  instance  of  a 
family  of  snch  unlimited  power,  and  so  distinguished  during 
the  middle  ages,  surviving  the  decay  of  their  grandeur,  and 
flourishing  in  a  private  station.  The  Castle  of  DunoUy,  near 
Oban,  with  its  dependencies,  was  the  principal  part  of  what 
remained  to  them,  with  their  right  of  chieftainship  over  the 
families  of  their  name  and  blood.  These  they  continued  to 
enjoy  until  the  year  1715,  when  the  representative  incurred 
the  penalty  of  forfeiture,  for  his  accession  to  the  insurrection 
of  that  period  ;  thus  losing  the  remains  of  his  inheritance,  to 
replace  upon  the  throne  the  descendants  of  those  princes, 
whose  accession  his  ancestors  hud  opposed  at  the  expense  of 
their  feudal  grandeur.  The  estate  was,  however,  restored 
about  1745,  to  the  father  of  the  present  proprietor,  whom 
family  experience  had  taught  the  hazard  of  interfering  with 
the  established  government,  and  who  remained  quiet  upon 
that  occasion.  He  therefore  regained  his  property  when  many 
Highland  chiefs  lost  theirs. 

Nothing  can  be  more  wildly  beautiful  than  the  situation  of 
Dunolly.  The  ruins  are  situated  upon  a  bold  and  precipitous 
promontory,  overhanging  Loch  Etive,  and  distant  about  a 
mile  from  the  village  and  port  of  Oban.  The  principal  part 
which  remains  is  the  donjon  or  keep  ;  but  fragments  of  other 
buildings,  overgrown  with  ivy,  attest  that  it  had  been  once  a 
place  of  importance,  as  large  apparently  as  Artornish  or  Dun- 
staffnage.  These  fragments  enclose  a  courtyard,  of  which  the 
keep  probably  formed  one  side  ;  the  entrance  being  by  a  steep 
ascent  from  the  neck  of  the  isthmus,  formerly  cut  across  by  a 
moat,  and  defended  doubtless  by  outworks  and  a  drawbridge 
Beneath  the  castle  stands  the  present  mansion  of  the  family, 
having  oa  the  one  hand  Loch  Etive,  with  its  islands  and 
mountains,  on  the  other  two  romantic  eminences  tufted  with 


Tuk,  and  weddyt  til  hys  wyf. 
And  oa  byr  he  gat  in-til  hys  \yiQ 
Jhon  of  Lome,  the  quhilk  gat 
Ewyn  of  Lome  eftyr  that." 
WrsToc.N's  Chronicle,  Book  viii.  Chap.  \-i.  line  SW. 


474 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


copsewood.  There  are  other  accompaniments  suited  to  the 
Fcene ;  in  particular,  a  huge  upright  pillar,  or  detached  frag- 
ment of  that  sort  of  rook  called  plum-imdding  stone,  upon  the 
shore,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  castle.  It  is<;alled 
C/ach-na-cau,  or  the  Dog's  Pillar,  because  Fingal  is  said  to 
havp  used  it  as  a  stake  to  which  he  bound  his  celebrated  dog 
Bran  Others  say^  that  when  the  Loril  of  the  Isles  came  upon 
a  visii  'o  the  Lord  of  Lorn,  the  dogs  brought  for  his  sport  were 
kept  be\iile  this  pillar.  Upon  the  whole,  a  more  delightful 
and  romantic  spot  can  scarce  be  conceived  ;  and  it  receives  a 
moral  inte.  "st  from  the  considerations  attached  to  the  residence 
ef  a  family  once  powerful  enough  to  confront  and  defeat  Rob- 
ert Bruce,  and  now  sunk  into  the  shade  of  private  life.  It  is 
at  [)resent  possessed  by  Patrick  Mac-Dougal,  Esq.,  the  lineal 
and  undisputed  representative  of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Lorn. 
The  heir  of  Dunolly  fell  lately  in  Spain,  fighting  under  the 
Duke  of  Wellington, — a  death  well  becoming  his  ancestry. 


Note  I. 


Jlwalicd  before  the  rushinff  projo, 
The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glutc, 

Those  lighiniTigs  of  the  wave. — P.  419. 

The  phenomenon  called  by  sailors  Sea-fire,  is  one  of  tlie 
most  beautiful  and  interesting  which  is  witnessed  in  the  He- 
brides. At  times  the  ocean  appears  entirely  illuminated 
around  the  vessel,  and  a  long  train  of  lambent  coruscations 
are  perpetually  bursting  upon  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  or  pur- 
luing  her  wake  through  the  darkness.  These  phosphoric  ap- 
pearances, concerning  the  origin  of  which  naturalists  are  not 
agreed 'in  opinion,  seem  to  be  called  into  action  by  the  rapid 
motion  of  the  ship  through  the  water,  and  are  probably  owing 
to  the  water  being  saturated  with  fish-spawn,  or  other  animal 
substances.  They  remind  one  strongly  of  the  description  of 
the  sea-snakes  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  wild,  but  highly  poetical 
ballad  of  the  Ancient  Mariner  : — 

"  Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
I  watch'd  the  water-snakes. 
They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 
And  when  they  rear'd,  the  elvish  light 
Fell  ofl"  in  hoary  tlakes. ' ' 


N'OTE  K. 


The  dark  fortress.— V.  420. 

The  fortress  of  a  Hebridean  chief  was  almost  always  on  the 
sea-shore,  for  the  facility  of  comn\unication  which  the  ocean 
afibrded.  Nothing  can  be  more  wild  than  the  situations  which 
they  chose,  and  the  devices  by  which  the  architects  endeavored 
to  defend  them.  Narrow  stairs  and  arched  vaults  were  the 
usual  mode  of  access;  and  the  drawbridge  appears  at  Dun- 
stafl'nage,  and  elsewhere,  to  have  fallen  from  the  gate  of  the 
building  to  the  top  of  such  a  staircase  ;  so  that  any  one  ad- 
vancing with  hostile  purpose,  found  himself  in  a  state  of 
exposed  and  precarious  elevation,  with  a  gulf  between  him 
and  the  object  of  his  attack. 

These  fortresses  were  guarded  with  equal  care.  The  duty 
of  the  watch  devolved  chiefly  upon  an  officer  called  the  Cock- 
man,  who  had  the  charge  of  challenging  all  who  approached 
the  castle.  Tlie  very  ancient  family  of  Mac-Niel  of  Barra 
kept  this  attendant  at  their  castle  about  a  hundred  yeai-s  ago. 
Martin  gives  the  following  account  of  the  ditHculty  which 
at(  ended  his  procuring  entrance  there  : — "  The  little  island  Kis- 


mul  lies  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the^south  of  this  isle 
(Barra)  ;  it  is  the  seat  of  Mackneil  of  Barra  ;  there  is  a  stone 
wall  round  it  two  stories  high,  reaching  the  sea;  and  within 
the  wall  there  is  an  old  tower  and  an  hall,  with  other  houses 
about  it.  There  is  a  little  magazine  in  the  tower,  to  which 
no  stranger  has  access.  I  saw  the  officer  called  the  Cockman, 
and  an  old  cock  he  is  ;  when  I  bid  him  ferry  me  over  the  wa- 
ter to  the  island,  he  told  me  that  he  was  but  an  inferior  offi- 
cer, his  business  being  to  attend  in  the  tower  ;  but  if  (says  he) 
the  constable,  who  then  stood  on  the  wall,  will  give  yon 
access,  I'll  ferry  you  gver.  I  desired  him  to  procure  me  the 
constable's  permission,  and  I  would  reward  him  ;  but  having 
waited  some  hours  for  the  constable's  answer,  and  not  receiving 
any,  I  was  obliged  to  return  without  seeing  this  famous  fort. 
Mackneil  and  his  lady  being  absent,  was  the  cause  of  this 
difficulty,  and  of  my  not  seeing  the  place.  I  was  told  some 
weeks  after,  that  the  .constable  was  very  apprehensive  of  some 
design  I  might  have  in  viewing  the  fort,  and  thereby  to  expose 
it  to  the  conquest  of  a  foreign  power;  of  which  I  supposed 
there  was  no  great  cause  of  fear." 


Note  L. 


That  keen  knight,  De  Argentine. — P.  4i22. 

Sir  Egidius,  or  Giles  de  Argentine,  was  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  knights  of  the  period.  He  had  served  in  the 
wars  of  Henry  of  Luxemburg  with  such  high  reputation,  that 
he  was,  in  pojjular  estimation,  the  third  worthy  of  the  age. 
Those  to  whom  fame  assigned  precedence  over  him  were, 
Henry  of  Luxemburg  himself,  and  Robert  Bruce.  Argentine 
had  wan-ed  in  Palestine,  encountered  thrice  with  the  Saracens, 
and  had  slain  two  antagonists  in  each  engagement : — an  easy 
matter,  he  said,  for  one  Christian  knight  to  slay  two  Pagan 
dogs.  His  death  corresponded  witli  his  high  character.  With 
Anier  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  he  was  appointed  to 
attend  immediately  upon  the  person  of  Edward  II.  at  Ban- 
nockburn.  When  the  day  was  utterly  lost  they  forced  the 
king  from  the  field.  De  Argentine  saw  the  king  safe  from 
immediate  danger,  and  then  took  his  leave  of  him  ;  "  God  be 
with  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  my  wont  to  fly."  So  say- 
ing, he  turned  his  horse,  cried  his  wai^cry,  plunged  into  the 
midst  of  the  combatants,  and  was  slaim  Baston,  a  rhyming 
monk  who  had  been  brought  by  Edward  to  f  .lebrate  his  ex- 
pected triumph,  and  who  was  comj)elled  by  the  victore  to  com- 
pose a  poem  on  his  defeat,  mentions  with  ijxae  feeling  the 
death  of  Sir  Giles  de  Argentine  : 

JVohilis  Argenten,  pngil  inclyte,  dulcis  ICgidi, 
Viz  scieram  mentem  cum  te  snccumbere  vidi. 

"  The  first  line  mentions  the  three  chief  requisites  of  a  true 
knight,  noble  birth,  valor,  and  courteousness.  Few  Leonine 
couplets  can  be  produced  that  have  so  much  sentiment.  I 
wish  that  I  could  have  collected  more  ample  memorials  con- 
cerning a  character  altogether  dift'erent  from  modern  manners. 
Sir  Giles  d' Argentine  was  a  hero  of  romance  in  real  life."  So 
obser'  ds  the  excellent  Lord  Hailes. 


Note  M. 

"  Fill  me  the  mighty  cup .'"  he  said, 

"  Erst  own'd  by  royal  Somcrled." — P.  422. 

A  Hebridean  drinking  cup,  of  the  most  ancient  and  curions 
workmanship,  h,as  been  long  preserved  in  the  castle  of  Dun- 
vegan,  in  Skye,  the  romantic  seat  of  Mac-Leod  of  .Mac-Leoil, 
the  chief  of  that   ancient  and   powerful  clan.     The  liorn  of 


Rof'.e  More,  preserved  in  tlie  same  family,  and  recorded  by 
Dr.  Jolinson,  is  not  to  I)e  compared  with  this  piece  of  anti- 
quity, wliich  is  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  Scotland.  Tlie 
following  is  a  pretty  accurate  description  of  its  shape  and  di- 
mensions, but  cannot,  I  fear,  be  perfectly  understood  without 
a  drawing. 

This  very  curious  piece  of  antiquity  is  nine  inches  and  three- 
quarters  in  inside  depth,  and  ten  and  a  half  in  height  on  the 
outside,  the  extreme  measure  over  the  lips  being  four  inches 
and  a  half  The  cup  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  a  wrought 
ledge,  beautifully  ornamented,  about  three-fourths  of  an  inch 
in  breadth.  Beneath  this  ledge  theshapeof  the  cup  is  rounded 
oft',  and  terminates  in  a  flat  circle,  like  that  of  a  teacup  ;  four 
short  feet  support  the  whole.  Above  the  projecting  ledge  the 
shape  of  the  cup  is  nearly  square,  projecting  outward  at  the 
brim.  Tlie  cup  is  made  of  wood  (oak  to  all  appearance),  but 
most  curiously  wrought  and  embossed  with  silver  work,  which 
projects  from  the  vessel.  There  are  a  number  of  regular  pro- 
jecting sockets,  wliich  appear  to  have  been  set  with  stones  ; 
two  or  three  of  them  still  hold  pieces  of  coral,  the  rest  are 
empty.  At  the  four  corners  of  the  projecting  ledge,  or  cornice, 
are  four  sockets,  much  larger,  probably  for  pebbles  or  precious 
stones.  The  workmanship  of  the  silver  is  extremely  elegant, 
and  appears  to  have  been  highly  gilded.  The  ledge,  brim,  and 
legs  of  the  cup,  are  of  silver.  The  family  tradition  bears  that 
it  was  the  property  of  Neil  Ghlune-dhu,  or  Black-knee.  But 
who  this  Neil  was,  no  one  pretends  to  say.  Around  the  edge 
of  the  cup  is  a  legend,  perfectly  legible,  in  the  Saxon  black- 
letter,  which  seems  to  run  thus  : 

mto  :  Joljfs  :  Jttfdj  :  ||  iHflix  :  3pucf4)f.g  :  33c  :|| 
3^v  :  maitae  :  Vid)  :  ||  SLialjia  :  i:«flvi)ueil:|| 
Ht :  Spat :  3Do :  Sim :  Ba:  ||  ©lea :  SllDva  Spa:  I 
deceit :  ^no  :  Wi  :  Jr  :  93o  ©nflf :  <Dfmi :  || 

The  inscription  may  run  thus  at  length  :  Ufo  Juhanis  Mich 
Magni  Principis  de  Hr  Manae  Vich  Liahia  Jilagryneil  et 
sperat  Domino  Ihesu  dart  clcmentiam  illorum  opera.  Fecit 
Jinno  Domini  993  Onili  Oimi.  Which  may  run  in  English  : 
Ufo,  the  son  of  John,  the  son  of  Magnus,  Prince  of  Man,  the 
grandson  of  Liahia  Macgryneil,  trusts  in  the  Lord  Jesus  that 
their  works  (i.  e.  his  own  and  those  of  his  ancestors)  will  ob- 
tain mercy.  Oneil  Oimi  made  this  in  the  year  of  God  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-three. 

But  this  version  does  not  include  the  puzzling  letters  HR  be- 
fore the  word  Manae.  Within  the  mouth  of  the  cu))  the  letters 
St)S.  (Jesus)  are  repeated  four  times.  From  this  and  other 
circumstances  it  would  seem  to  have  been  a  chalice.  Tbis  cir- 
cumstance may  ])erhaps  account  for  the  use  of  the  two  Arabic 
numerals  93.  These  figures  were  introduced  by  Pope  Sylves- 
ter, A.  D.  991,  and  might  be  used  in  a  vessel  formed  for 
church  service  so  early  as  993.  The  workmanship  of  the  whole 
cup  is  extremely  elegant,  and  resembles,  I  am  told,  antiques  of 
the  same  nature  preserved  in  Ireland. 

The  cups,  thus  elegantly  formed,  and  liighly  valued,  were 
by  no  means  utensils  of  mere  show.  Martin  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  festivals  of  his  time,  and  I  have  heard  simi- 
lar instances  of  brutality  in  the  Lowlands  at  no  very  distant 
period. 

"  The  manner  of  drinking  used  by  the  chief  men  of  the  Isles 
is  called  in  their  language  Streah,  i.  e.  a  Round  ;  for  the  com- 
pany sat  in  a  circle,  the  cup-bearer  filled  the  drink  round  to 
them,  and  all  was  drank  out,  whatever  ih"  liquor  was,  whether 
stron"  or  weak  ;  they  continued  drinking  sometimes  twer.tv- 
four,  sometimes  forty-eight  hours  :  It  was  reckoned  a  piece  of 
manhood  to  drink  until  they  became  drunk,  and  there  were  two 
"len  with  a  barrow  attending  pnnctually  on  such  occasions. 
They  stood  at  the  door  until  some  became  drunk,  and  they 
carry'd  them  upon  the  barrow  to  bed,  and  returned  again  to 
their  post  as  long  as  any  continued  fresh,  and  so  carried  oft"  the 


whole  company,  one  by  one,  as  they  became  drnnk.  Several 
of  my  acquaintance  have  been  witnesses  to  this  custom  of 
drinking,  but  it  is  now  abolished." 

This  savage  custom  was  not  entirely  done  away  within  thtj 
last  generation.  I  have  heard  of  a  gentleman  who  happened 
to  be  a  wateiMlrinker,  and  was  permitted  to  abstain  from  the 
strong  potations  of  the  company.  The  bearers  carried  amy 
one  man  after  another,  till  no  one  was  left  but  this  Scottish 
Mirglip.  They  then  came  to  do  him  the  same  good  oflice, 
which,  however,  he  declined  as  unnecessary,  and  proposed  to 
walk  to  his  bedroom.  It  was  a  permission  he  could  not  obtain. 
Never  such  a  thing  had  happened,  they  said,  in  the  castle  I 
that  it  was  impossible  but  lie  must  require  their  assistance,  at 
any  rate  he  must  submit  to  receive  it  ;  and  carried  him  oft"  in 
the  barrow  accordingly.  A  classical  penalty  was  sometimes 
iiii])0sed  on  those  who  balked  the  rules  of  good  fellowship 
by  evading  their  share  of  tlie  baiKjuet.  The  same  author  con- 
tinues : — 

"  Among  persons  of  distinction  it  was  reckoned  an  affront 
put  upon  any  company  to  broach  a  piece  of  wine,  ale,  or  aqua- 
vitie,  and  not  to  see  it  all  drank  out  at  one  meeting.  If  any 
man  chance  to  go  out  from  the  company,  thoifgh  but  for  a  few 
minutes,  he  is  obliged,  upon  his  return,  and  bet"ore  he  take  his 
seat,  to  make  an  apology  ior  his  absence  in  rhyme  ;  which  if 
he  cannot  perform,  he  is  liable  to  such  a  share  of  the  reck- 
oning as  the  company  thinks  fit  to  impose  :  which  custom  ob- 
tains in  many  places  still,  and  is  called  Bianchiz  Bard,  which, 
in  their  language,  signifies  the  poet's  congratulating  the  com- 
pany." 

Few  cups  were  better,  at  least  more  actively,  employed  in 
the  rude  hospitality  of  the  period,  than  those  of  Dunvegan  ; 
one  of  which  we  have  just  described.  There  is  in  the  Leabhar 
Dearg,  a  song,  intimating  the  overflowing  gratitude  of  a  bard 
of  Clan-Ronald,  after  the  exuberance  of  a  Hebridean  festival 
at  the  patriarchal  fortress  of  Mac-Leod.  The  translation  being 
obviously  very  literal,  has  greatly  flattened,  as  I  am  informed, 
the  enthusiastic  gratitude  of  the  ancient  bard  ;  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  the  works  of  Homer  or  Virgil,  to  say  nothing  of 
Mac-Vuirich,  might  have  suft'ered  by  their  transfusion  through 
such  a  medium.  It  is  pretty  plain,  that  when  the  tribute  of 
poetical  praise  was  bestowed,  the  horn  of  Rorie  More  had  not 
been  inactive. 

Upon  Sir  Roderic  Mor  JMacIcod,  by  Miall  Jtlor 
J\IacVuirich. 

"  The  six  nights  I  remained  in  the  Dunvegan,  it  was  not  a 
show  of  hospitality  I  met  with  there,  but  a  plentiful  feast  in 
tliy  fair  hall  among  thy  numerous  host  of  heroes. 

"  The  family  placed  all  around  under  the  protection  of  their 
great  chief,  raised  by  his  prosperity  and  respect  for  his  warlike 
feats,  now  enjoying  the  company  of  his  friends  at  the  feast, — 
Amidst  the  sound  of  harps,  overflowing  cups,  and  happy  youth 
unaccustomed  to  guile,  or  feud,  partaking  of  the  generous  fare 
by  a  flaming  fire. 

"Blighty  Chief,  liberal  to  all  in  your  princely  mansion,  filled 
with  your  numerous  warlike  host,  wliose  generous  wine  v/ould 
overcome  the  hardiest  heroes,  yet  we  continued  to  enjoy  the 
feast,  so  happy  our  host,  so  generous  our  fare." — Translated 
by  D.  Macintosh. 

It  would  be  unpardonable  in  a  modern  bard,  who  has  expe- 
rienced the  hospitality  of  Dunvegan  Castl'3  in  the  present  day, 
to  omit  paying  his  own  tribute  of  gratitude  for  a  reception 
more  elegant  indeed,  but  not  less  kindly  sincere,  than  Sir  Rod- 
erick More  himself  could  have  afl"orded.  But  Johnson  has 
already  described  a  similar  scene  in  the  same  ancient  patriarchal 
residence  of  the  Lords  of  Mac-Leod  : — "  Whatever  is  imaged 
in  the  wildest  tales,  if  giants,  dragons,  and  enchantment  be  ex- 
cepted, would  be  felt  by  him,  who,  wandering  in  the  moun- 
tains without  a  guide,  or  upon  the  sea  without  a  pilot,  should 
be  carried,  amidst  his  terror  and  uncertainty,  to  the  hospitality 
and  elegance  of  Raasay  or  Dunvegan." 


47G 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  N. 

jnt/i  solemn  step  and  silver  wand, 
Tke  Seneschal  the  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strange  guests. — P.  423. 

The  Sewer,  to  whom,  rather  than  the  Seneschal,  the  office 
of  arranging  the  guests  of  an  island  chief  appertained,  was  an 
officer  of  importance  in  the  family  of  a  Hebridean  chief.— 
"  Every  family  had  commonly  two  stewards,  which,  in  their 
language,  were  called  JIarischal  Tach  :  the  first  of  these  served 
always  at  home,  and  was  obliged  to  be  versed  in  the  pedigree 
of  all  the  tribes  in  the  isles,  and  in  the  highlands  of  Scotland  ; 
■  for  it  was  his  province  to  assign  every  man  at  table  his  seat  ac- 
cording to  his  quality  ;  and  this  w^as  done  without  one  word 
speaking,  only  by  drawing  a  score  with  a  white  rod,  which 
this  Marischal  had  in  his  hand,  before  the  person  who  was 
bid  by  liim  to  sit  down :  and  this  was  necessary  to  prevent 
disorder  and  contention  ;  and  though  the  Marischal  might 
sometimes  be  mistaken,  the  master  of  the  family  incurred  no 
censure  by  such  an  escape ;  but  this  custom  has  been  laid 
aside  of  late.  They  had  also  cup-bearers,  who  always  filled 
and  carried  the  cup  round  the  company,  and  he  liimself  always 
drank  off  the  first  draught.  They  had  likewise  purse-masters, 
who  kept  their  money.  Both  these  officers  had  an  hereditary 
right  to  their  office  in  writing,  and  each  of  them  had  a  town 
and  land  for  liis  service  :  some  of  those  rights  I  have  seen  fairly 
written  on  good  parchment." — Martin's  Western  Isles. 


Note  O. 

the  rebellious  Scottish  crew, 

Who  to  Rath-Erin^ s  skelter  drew 
With  Carriers  outlawed  Chief?—?.  424. 

It  must  be  remembered  by  all  who  have  read  the  Scottish 
history,  that  after  he  had  slam  Comyn  at  Dumfries,  and  assert- 
ed liis  right  to  the  Scottish  crown,  Robert  Bruce  was  reduced 
to  the  greatest  extremity  by  the  English  and  their  adherents. 
He  was  crowned  at  Scone  by  the  general  consent  of  the  Scot- 
tish barons,  but  his  authority  endured  but  a  short  time.  Ac- 
cording to  the  phrase  said  to  have  been  used  by  his  wife,  he 
.was  for  that  year  "a  summer  king,  but  not  a  winter  one." 
On  the  29th  March,  1306,  he  was  crowned  king  at  Scone. 
Upon  the  19th  June,  in  the  same  year,  he  was  totally  defeated 
at  Meiliven,  near  Perth  ;  and  his  most  important  adherents, 
with  few  exceptions,  were  either  executed,  or  compelled  to 
embrace  the  English  interest,  for  safety  of  their  lives  and  for- 
tunes. After  this  disaster,  his  life  was  that  of  an  outlaw, 
rather  than  a  candidate  for  monarchy.  He  separated  himself 
from  the  females  of  his  retinue,  whom  he  sent  for  safety  to  the 
Castle  of  Kildrummie,  in  Aberdeenshire,  where  they  afterwards 
became  captives  to  England.  From  Aberdeenshire,  Bruce 
retreated  to  the  mountainous  parts  of  Breadalbane,  and  ap- 
proached the  borders  of  Argyleshire.  There,  as  mentioned  in 
the  Appendix,  Note  H,  and  more  fully  in  Note  P,  he  was  de- 
feated by  the  Lonl  of  Lorn,  who  had  assumed  arms  against 
him  iu  revenge  of  the  death  of  his  relative,  John  the  Red  Co- 
myn. Escaped  from  this  peril,  Bruce,  with  his  few  attendants, 
subsisted  by  hunting  and  fishing,  until  the  weather  compelled 
them  to  seek  better  sustenance  and  shelter  than  the  Highland 
mountains  affijrded.  With  great  difficulty  they  crossed,  fiom 
Ro\vardennan  jjrobably,  to  the  western  banks  of  Loehlomond, 
partly  in  a  miserable  boat,  and  partly  by  swimming.  The 
vanant  and  loyal  Earl  of  Lennox,  to  whose  territories  they  had 
now  found  their  way,  welcomed  them  with  tears,  but  was  un- 
able to  assist  them  to  make  an  effectual  head.  The  Lord  of 
the  Isles,  then  in  ])Ossession  of  great  part  of  Cantyre,  received 
'he  fugitive  monarch  and  future  restorer  of  his  country's  inde- 


pendence, in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty,  in  that  district.  Bn 
treason,  says  Barbour,  was  so  general,  that  the  King  duRt  not 
abide  there.  Accordingly,  with  the  remnant  of  his  followers, 
Bruce  embarked  for  Rath-Erin,  or  Rachrine,  the  Recina  o/ 
Ptolemy,  a  small  island  lying  almost  opposite  to  the  shores  ot 
Ballvcastle,  on  the  coast  of  Ireland.  The  islanders  at  first  fled 
from  their  new  and  armed  gnests,  but  upon  some  explanation 
submitted  themselves  to  Bruce's  sovereignty.  He  resided 
among  them  until  the  approach  of  spring  [1306],  when  he 
again  returned  to  Scotland,  with  the  desperate  resolution  to  re- 
conquer his  kingdom,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  The  progress 
of  his  success,  from  its  commencement  to  its  completion,  forms 
the  brightest  period  in  Scottish  history. 


Note  P. 


The  Brooch  of  Lorn.— P.  424. 

It  has  been  generally  mentioned  in  the  preceding  notes,  that 
Bobert  Bruce,  after  his  defeat  at  Methven,  being  hard  pressed 
by  the  English,  endeavored,  with  the  disjiirited  remnant  ot 
his  followers,  to  escape  from  Breadalbane  and  the  mountains 
of  Perthshire  into  the  Argyleshire  Highlands.  But  he  was  en- 
connters^d  and  repulsed,  after  a  very  severe  engagement,  by 
the  Lord  of  Lorn.  Bruce's  personal  strength  and  courage 
were  never  displayed  to  greater  advantage  than  in  this  con- 
flict. There  is  a  tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Mac-Dougals  of 
Lorn,  that  their  chieftain  engaged  in  personal  battle  with 
Bruce  himself,  while  the  latter  was  employed  in  protecting 
the  retreat  of  his  men  ;  that  Mac-Dougal  was  struck  down  by 
the  king,  whose  strength  of  body  was  equal  to  his  vigor  of 
mind,  and  would  have  been  slain  on  the  spot,  had  not  two  of 
Lorn's  vassals,  a  father  and  son,  whom  tradition  terms  Mac- 
KeocU,  rescued  him,  by  seizing  the  mantle  of  the  monarch,  and 
dragging  him  from  above  his  adversary.  Bruce  rid  himself  of 
these  foes  by  two  blows  of  his  redoubted  battle-axe,  but  was 
so  closely  pressed  by  the  other  followers  of  Lorn,  that  he  was 
forced  to  abandon  the  mantle,  and  brooch  which  fastened  it, 
clasped  in  the  dying  gi'asp  of  the  Mac-Keochs.  A  studded 
brooch,  said  to  have  been  that  wliich  King  Robert  lost  upon 
this  occasion,  was  long  preserved  in  the  family  of  Mac-Dougal, 
and  was  lost  in  a  fire  which  consumed  their  temporary  resi 
deuce. 

The  metrical  history  of  Barbour  throws  an  air  of  credibility 
upon  the  tradition,  although  it  does  not  entirely  coincide  either 
in  the  names  or  number  of  the  vassals  by  whom  Bruce  was 
assailed,  and  makes  no  mention  of  the  personal  danger  of  Lorn, 
or  of  the  loss  of  Bruce's  mantle.  The  last  circumstance,  in- 
deed, might  be  warrantably  omitted. 

According  to  Barbour,  the  King,  with  his  handful  of  fol- 
lowers, not  amounting  probably  to  three  hundred  men,  en- 
countered Lorn  with  about  a  thousand  Argyleshire  men,  in 
Glen-Douchart,  at  the  head  of  Breadalbane,  near  Teyndrum. 
The  place  of  action  is  still  called  Dairy,  or  the  King's  Field. 
The  field  of  battle  was  unfavoi  I'ale  to  Bruce's  adherents, 
who  were  chiefly  men-at-arms.  Miny  of  the  horses  were  slain 
by  the  long  pole-axes,  of  which  the  Argyleshire  Scottish  had 
learned  the  use  from  the  Norwegians.  At  length  Bruce  com- 
manded a  retreat  up  a  narrow  and  difficult  lass, he  himself  bring- 
ing up  the  rear,  and  repeatedly  turning  ani  driving  back  the 
more  venturous  assai'f.nts.  Lorn,  observi.ig  the  skill  and  val- 
or used  by  his  enemy  in  protecting  the  retreat  of  his  follow- 
ers, "  Methinks,  Murthokson,"  said  he,  addressing  one  of  his 
followers,  "  he  resembles  Gol  Mak-morn,  protecting  hi's  fol- 
lowers from  Fingal." — "  A  most  unworthy  comparison,"  ob 
serves  the  Archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  unsuspicious  of  the  future 
fame  of  these  names  ;  "  he  might  with  more  propriety  have 
compared  the  King  to  Sir  Gaudefer  de  Layrs,  protecting  the 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


4VV 


foragers  of  Gadyrs  against  the  attacks  of  Alexander."!  Two 
brothers,  the  strongest  among  Lorn's  followers,  whose  names 
Barbour  calls  Mackyn-Drosser  (interpreted  Durward,  or  Por- 
terson),  resolved  to  rid  tlieir  chief  of  this  formidable  foe.  A 
third  person  (|)erhaps  the  Mac-Keoeh  of  the  family  tradition) 
associated  liiinself  with  tlioin  For  this  jjurpose.  They  watched 
their  opportunity  until  Bruce's  party  had  entered  a  jiass  be- 
tween a  lake  (Locli  Dochart  probably)  and  a  precipice,  where 
the  King,  who  was  the  last  of  the  party,  had  scarce  room  to 
manage  his  steed.  Here  his  thrae  foes  sprung  upon  him  at 
once.  One  seized  his  bridle,  but  received  a  wound  which 
hewed  oft'  his  arm  ;  a  second  grasped  Bruce  by  the  stirrup  and 
leg,  and  endeavored  to  dismount  him,  but  the  King,  putting 
spurs  to  his  horse,  threw  him  down,  still  holding  by  the  stirrup. 
The  third,  taking  advantage  of  an  acclivity,  sprung  up  be- 
hind him  upon  liis  horse.  Bruce,  liowever,  whose  personal 
strength  is  uniformly  mentioned  as  exceeding  that  of  most 
men,  extricated  himself  from  his  grasp,  threw  him  to  the 
ground,  and  cleft  his  skull  with  his  sword.  By  similar  ex- 
ertion he  drew  the  stirrup  from  his  grasp  whom  he  liad 
overthrown,  and  killed  him  also  with  his  sword  as  he 
lay  among  the  horse's  feet.  The  story  seems  romantic,  but 
this  was  the  age  of  romantic  exploit ;  and  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  Bruce  was  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  the  assailants  were 
half-clad  mountaineers.  Barbour  adds  the  following  circum- 
stance, liighly  characteristic  of  the  sentiments  of  chivalry 
Mac-Naugliton,  a  Baron  of  Cowal,  pointed  out  to  the  Lord  of 
Lorn  the  deeds  of  valor  which  Bruce  performed  in  this  mem- 
orable retreat,  with  the  Iiighest  expressions  of  admiration. 
"It  seems  to  give  thee  pleasure,"  said  Lorn,  "that  he 
makes  such  havoc  among  our  friends." — "  Not  so,  by  my 
faith,"  replied  Mac-Naughton  ;  "  but  he  he  friend  or  foe  who 
achieves  high  deeds  of  chivalry,  men  should  bear  faithful  wit- 
ness to  his  valor ;  and  never  have  I  heard  of  one,  who,  by  his 
kniglitly  feats,  has  extricated  himself  from  such  dangers  as 
have  this  day  surrounded  Bruce." 


Note  Q. 

Wrought  and  chased  with  fair  device. 
Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price. — P.  424. 

Great  art  and  expense  was  bestowed  upon  the  fibula,  or 
brooch,  which  secured  the  plaid,  when  the  wearer  was  a  per- 
son of  importance.  Martin  mentions  having  seen  a  silver 
brooch  of  a  hundred  marks  value.  "  It  was  broad  as  any  or- 
dinary pewter  plate,  the  whole  curiously  engraven  with  various 
animals,  &c.  There  was  a  lesser  buckle,  which  was  wore  in 
the  middle  of  the  larger,  and  above  two  ounces  weight ;  it  had 
in  the  centre  a  large  piece  of  crystal,  or  some  finer  stone,  and 
this  was  set  all  round  with  several  finer  stones  of  a  lesser  size." 
—  Western  Islands.  Pennant  has  given  an  engraving  of  such 
a  brooch  as  Martin  describes,  and  the  workmanship  of  which 
is  very  elegant.  It  is  said  to  have  belonged  to  the  family  of 
Lochbuy. — See  Pe.nnant's  Tour,  vol.  iii.  p.  14. 


Note  R. 

Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand — 

Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand. — P.  424. 

The  gallant  Sir  James,  called  the  Good  Lord  Douglas,  the 
most  faithful  and  valiant  of  Bruce's  adherents,  was  wounded 
at  the  battle  of  Dairy.     Sir  Nigel,  or  Niel  Campbell,  was  also 

1  "  This  is  a  very  curious  pass-ige,  and  baa  been  often  quoted  in 
the  Ossianic  controversy.  That  it  refers  to  ancient  Celtic  tradition,  thero 
can  bo  no  doubt,  and  as  little  that  it  refois  tn  no  incident  in  the  poema 
pililijhed  bj  Mr.  Macpherson  as  from  the  Gaelic.    The  hero  of  romance, 


in  that  unfortunate  skirmish.  He  married  Marjorie,  sister  to 
Robert  Bruce,  and  was  among  his  most  faithful  followers.  In 
a  manuscrijjt  account  of  the  house  of  Argyle,  sujiplied,  it 
would  seem,  as  materials  for  Archbishop  .SjjOttiswoode's  His- 
tory of  the  Cliurch  of  Scotland,  I  finil  the  following  passage 
concerning  Sir  Niel  Campbell : — "  Moreover,  when  all  the  no- 
bles in  Scotland  liad  left  King  Robert  after  his  hard  success, 
yet  this  noble  knight  was  most  faithful,  and  shrinked  not,  aa 
it  is  to  be  seen  in  an  indenture  bearing  these  words : — Memo- 
randum quod  cum  ab  incarnatione  Domini  1308  c::nventuin 
fuit  et  concordatum  inter  nobiles  viros  Dominum  Alezan- 
drum  de  Scatoun  militcm  et  Dominum  Oilbcrlum  de  Haye 
militem  et  Dominum  JVigellum  Campbell  mililem  apud  mo- 
nasterium  de  Cainbusknnicth  9°  Srptembris  qui  tacta  sancta 
euchurista,  magnoque  juramento  facto,  jurarunt  se  debere 
libertatem  regni  et  Robertum  nuper  rcgcm  coronatum  contra 
omnes  mortales  Francos  .Anglos  Scotos  defendcre  usque  ad 
ultimum  tcrminum  vita:  ipsorum.  Their  sealles  are  ajipended 
to  the  indenture  in  greene  wax,  togithir  with  the  seal  of  Gul- 
frid,  Abbot  of  Carabuskenneth." 


Note  S. 


421. 


When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 
Of  that  fell  homicide  The  Bruce. — P. 
Vain  Kirkpatrick's  bloody  dirk, 
Making  sure  of  murder' s  work. — P.  424. 


Every  reader  must  recollect  that  the  proximate  cause  o 
Bruce's  asserting  his  right  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  was  the 
death  of  John,  called  the  Red  Comyn.  The  causes  of  this 
act  of  violence,  equally  extraordinary  from  the  high  rank  both 
of  the  perpetrator  and  sufferer,  and  from  the  place  where  the 
slaughter  was  committed,  are  variously  related  by  the  Scottish 
and  English  historians,  and  cannot  now  be  ascertained.  The 
fact  that  they  met  at  the  high  altar  of  the  Minorites,  or  Grey- 
friar's  Church  in  Dumfries,  that  their  difference  broke  out  into 
high  and  insulting  language,  and  that  Bruce  drew  his  dagger 
and  stabbed  Comyn,  is  certain.  Rushing  to  the  door  of  the 
church,  Bruce  met  two  powerful  barons,  Kirkpatrick  of  Close- 
burn,  and  James  de  Lindsay,  who  eagerly  asked  him  what 
tidings  ?  "  Bad  tidings,"  answered  Bruce  ;  "  I  doubt  I  have 
slain  Comyn." — "  Doubtest  thou  ?"  said  Kirkpatrick;  "I 
make  sicker"  (i.  e.  sure).  Witli  these  words,  he  and  Lindsay 
rushed  into  the  church,  and  despatched  the  wounded  Comyn. 
The  Kirkpatricks  of  Closeburn  assumed,  in  memory  of  this 
deed,  a  hand  holding  a  dagger,  with  the  memorable  words,  "  I 
make  sicker."  Some  doubt  having  been  started  by  the  late 
Lord  Hailes  as  to  the  identity  of  the  Kirkpatrick  who  com- 
pleted this  day's  work  with  Sir  Roger  then  representative  of 
the  ancient  family  of  Closeburn,  my  kind  and  ingenious  friend, 
Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatricke  Sharpe,  has  furnished  me  with  the 
following  memorandum,  which  appears  to  fix  the  deed  with 
his  ancestor  : — 

"  Tlie  circumstances  of  the  Regent  Cummin's  murder,  from 
which  the  family  of  Kirkpatrick,  in  Nithsdale,  is  said  to  have 
derived  its  crest  and  motto,  are  well  known  to  all  conversant 
with  Scottish  history  ;  but  Lord  Hailes  has  started  a  doubt  as 
to  the  authenticity  of  this  tradition,  when  recording  the  mur- 
der of  Roger  Kirkpatrick,  in  his  own  Castle  of  Cacrlaverock, 
by  Sir  James  Lindsay.  '  Fordun,'  says  his  lordship,  '  remarks 
that  Lindsay  and  Kirkpatrick  were  the  heirs  of  the  two  men 
who  accompanied  Robert  Brus  at  the  fatal  conference  with 
Comyn.  If  Fordun  was  rightly  informed  as  to  this  particu- 
lar, an  argument  arises,  in  support  of  a  notinn  which  I  have 

whom  Barbour  thinks  a  mere  proper  prototyjie  for  the  Bruce,  occurs  m  th» 
romance  of  Alexander,  of  which  there  is  a  unique  triinsla'ion  into  Scottiah 
verse,  in  t'ae  library  of  the  IIonour.ible  Mr.  Manle,  now  Earl  of  Pun- 
mure." — See  Webek's  Romances,  vol.  i.  Appendix  to  Introduction,  p.  13. 


4/8 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lo'^  entertained,  tliat  the  person  who  struck  his  dagger  in  Co- 
myn's  heart,  was  not  the  rejiresentative  of  the  honourable 
family  of  Kirkpatriek  in  Nithsdale.  Roger  de  K.  was  made 
prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Durham,  in  1346.  Roger  de  Kirkpat- 
riek was  alive  ou  theGth  of  August,  1357  ;  for,  on  that  day, 
Humphry,  the  son  and  heir  of  Roger  de  K.,  is  proposed  as  one 
of  the  young  gentlemen  wlio  were  to  be  hostages  for  David 
Bruce.  Roger  de  K.  Miles  was  present  at  the  parliament  held 
in  Edinburgh,  25th  Se))teniber,  1357,  and  he  is  mentioned  as 
alive  3d  October,  1357  {Fa:derd)  ;  it  follows,  of  necessary  con- 
lequence,  that  Roger  de  K.,  murdered  in  June,  1357,  must  have 
been  a  dilTerent  person.'— ^nJtrt/*-  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  242. 
"  To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  at  the  period  of  the  re- 
gent's murder,  there  were  only  two  families  of  the  name  of 
Kirkpntrick  (nearly  allied  to  each  other)  in  existence— Stephen 
Kirkpatriek,  styled  in  the  Chartulary  of  Kelso  (1278)  Domi- 
nns  villm  de  Closcburn,  Filius  et  hares  Domini  Mde  de  Kirk- 
patriek, Militis  (whose  father,  Ivone  de  Kirkpatriek,  wit- 
nesses a  charter  of  Robert  Brus,  Lord  of  Annan<lale,  before 
the  year  1141),  had  two  sons,  Sir  Roger,  who  carried  on  the 
line  of  Closeburn,  and  Duncan,  who  married  Isobel,  daughter 
and  heiress  of  Sir  David  Torthorwald  of  that  Ilk  ;  they  had  a 
charter  of  the  lands  of  Tortliorwald  from  King  Robert  Brus, 
dated  10th  August,  the  year  being  omitted— Umphray,  the 
son  of  Duncan  and  Isobel,  got  a  charter  of  Torthorwold  from 
the  king,  16th  July,  1322— his  son,  Roger  of  Torthorwold,  got 
a  charter  from  John  the  Grahame,  son  of  Sir  John  Grahame, 
of  Moskessen,  of  an  annual  rent  of  40  shillings,  out  of  the 
lands  of  Overdryft,  1355— his  son,  William  Kirkpatriek,  grants 
a  charter  to  John  of  Garroch,  of  the  twa  merk  land  of  Glengip 
and  Garvellgill,  within  the  tenement  of  Wamphray,  22d 
April,  1370.  From  this,  it  appears  that  the  Torthorwald 
branch  was  not  concerned  in  the  atfair  of  Comyn's  murder, 
and  the  inflictions  of  Providence  which  ensued  :  Duncan 
Kirkpatriek,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  Blind  Minstrel,  was  the 
firm  friend  of  Wallace,  to  whom  he  was  related  : — 

'  Ane  Kyrk  Patrick,  that  cruel  was  and  keyne, 
In  Esdail  wod  that  half  yer  he  had  heyne  ; 
With  Ingliss  men  he  couth  nocht  weyll  accord, 
Oft"Torthorowald  he  Barron  was  and  Lord, 
Oft'kyn  he  was,  and  Wallace  modyr  ner  ;' — &c. 

B.  v.,  V.  920. 

But  this  baron  seems  to  have  had  no  share  in  the  adventures 
of  King  Robert ;  the  crest  of  his  family,  as  it  .still  remains  on  a 
carved  stone  built  into  a  cottage  wall,  in  the  village  of  Tor- 
thorwald, bears  some  resemblance,  says  Grose,  to  arose. 

"  Universal  tradition,  and  all  our  later  historians,  have  at- 
tributed the  regent's  death-blow  to  Sir  Roger  K.,  of  Closeburn. 
The  author  of  the  MS.  History  of  the  Presbytery  of  Penpont, 
in  the  Advocates'  Library,  affirms,  that  the  erast  and  motto 
were  given  by  the  King  on  that  occasion  ;  and  proceeds  to  re- 
late some  circumstances  respecting  a  grant  to  a  cottager  and 
his  wife  in  the  vicinity  of  Closeburn  Castle,  which  are  cer- 
tainly authentic,  and  strongly  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  other 
report.  '  The  steep  hill,'  says  he,  '  called  the  Dune  of  Tyn- 
ron,  of  a  considerable  height,  upon  the  top  of  which  there 
hath  been  some  habitation  or  fort.  There  have  been  in  an- 
cient times,  on  all  hands  of  it,  very  thick  woods,  and  great 
about  that  place,  which  made  it  the  more  inaccessible,  into 
which  K.  Ro.  Bruce  is  said  to  have  been  conducted  by  Ro'er 
Kirkpatriek,  of  Closeburn,  after  they  had  killed  the  Cumin  at 
Dumfriess,  which  is  nine  miles  from  this  place,  whereabout  it 
is  probable  that  he  did  abide  for  some  time  thereafter;  and  it 
is  reported,  that  during  his  abode  there,  he  did  often  divert  to 
a  poor  man's  cottage,  named  Brownrig,  situate  in  a  small  pai^ 
eel  of  stony  ground,  encompassed  with  thick  woods,  v.'here  he 
was  content  sometimes*vvith  such  mean  accommodation  as  the 
place  could  afford.  The  poor  man's  wife  being  advised  to  pe- 
♦jtioa  the  King  for  somewhit,  was  so  modest  in  her  desires, 


that  she  sought  no  more  but  security  for  the  croft  in  her  hu9> 
band's  possession,  and  a  liberty  of  pasturage  for  a  very  few 
cattle  of  different  kinds  on  the  hill,  and  the  rest  of  the  bounds 
Of  which  privilege  that  ancient  family,  by  the  injury  of  time, 
hath  a  long  time  been,  and  is,  deprived  :  but  the  croft  contin 
ues  in  the  possession  of  the  heirs  and  successours  lineally  de- 
scended of  this  Brownrig  and  his  wife  :  so  that  this  family, 
being  more  ancient  than  rich,  doth  yet  continue  in  the  name, 
and,  as  they  say,  retains  the  old  charter." — MS.  History  of 
the  Presbytery  of  Penpont,  in  the  Advocates^  Library  of 
Edinburgh. 


NoteT. 

Barendown  fled  fast  away, 

Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Uaye.—V.  424. 

These  knights  are  enumerated  by  Barbour  among  the  small 
n  :mber  of  Bruce's  adherents,  who  remained  in  arms  with  him 
after  the  battle  of  Methven. 

"  With  him  was  a  bold  baron, 
Schyr  William  the  Baronndonn, 

Schyr  Gilbert  de  la  Haye  alsna." 

There  were  more  than  one  of  the  noble  family  of  Hay  engaged 
in  Bruc<>'s  cause ;  but  the  principal  was  Gilbert  de  la  Haye, 
Lord  of  Errol,  a  stanch  adherent  to  King  Robert's  interest, 
and  whom  he  rewarded  by  creating  him  hereditary  Lord  High 
Constable  of  Scotland,  a  title  which  he  used  16th  March,  1308, 
where,  in  a  letter  from  the  peers  of  Scotland  to  Philip  the 
Fair  of  France,  he  is  designed  Oilbertus  de  Hay  Constabu- 
larius  Scotia;.  He  was  slain  at  the  battle  of  Halidoun-hill. 
Hugh  de  la  Haye,  his  brother,  was  made  prisoner  at  the  battle 
of  Methven. 


Note  IT. 


Well  hast  tkou  framed.  Old  Man,  thy  strains. 
To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains. — P.  425. 

The  character  of  the  Highland  bards,  however  high  ia  an 
earlier  period  of  society,  seems  soon  to  have  degenerated. 
The  Irish  aiTirm,  that  in  their  kindred  tribes  severe  laws  be- 
came necessary  to  restrain  their  avarice.  In  the  Highlands 
they  seem  gradually  to  have  sunk  into  contempt,  as  well  as 
the  orators,  or  men  of  speech,  with  whose  office  that  of  family 
poet  was  often  united. — "  The  orators,  in  their  language  c.illed 
Isdane,  were  in  high  esteem  both  in  them  islands  and  the  con- 
tinent ;  until  within  these  forty  years,  they  sat  always  among 
the  nobles  and  chiefs  of  families  in  the  streah,  or  circle. 
Their  houses  and  little  villages  were  sanctuaries,  as  well  as 
churches,  and  they  took  place  before  doctors  of  physick. 
The  orators,  after  the  Drnids  were  e.\tinct,  were  brought  in 
to  preserve  the  genealogy  of  families,  and  to  repeat  the  same 
at  every  succession  of  chiefs ;  and  upon  the  occasion  of  mar- 
riages and  births,  they  made  epithalamiums  and  panegyrioks, 
which  the  poet  or  bard  pronounced.  The  orators,  by  the  force 
of  their  eloquence,  had  a  powerful  ascendant  over  the  greatest 
men  in  their  time ;  for  if  any  orator  did  but  ask  the  habit, 
arms,  hoi-se,  or  any  other  thing  belonging  to  the  greatest  man 
in  these  islands,  it  was  readily  granted  them,  sometimes  out 
of  respect,  and  sometimes  for  fear  of  being  exclaimed  against 
by  a  satyre,  which,  in  those  days,  was  reckoned  a  great  di's- 
honour.  But  these  gentlemen  becoming  insolent,  lost  ever 
since  both  the  profit  and  esteem  which  was  formerly  due  to 
their  character ;  for  neither  their  panegyricks  nor  satyres  are 
regarded  to  what  they  have  been,  and  they  are  now  allowed 
but  a  small  salary.     I  must  not  omit  to  relate  their  way  ol 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


il9 


tndy,  which  is  very  singular :  They  shut  their  doors  ami 
i»iiidows  for  a  day's  time,  and  lie  on  tlicir  backs,  witli  a  stone 
upon  their  belly,  and  plads  about  their  heads,  and  their  eyes 
Jeiny  covered,  they  pump  tlieir  brains  lor  rbetorieul  encomium 
or  panegyrick  ;  and  indeed  they  furnish  such  a  style  from  this 
dark  cell  as  is  understood  by  very  few  ;  and  if  they  purchase  a 
couple  of  liorses  as  the  reward  of  their  meditation,  tliey  think 
jhey  have  done  a  great  matter.  The  poet,  or  barn,  had  a  title 
to  the  bridegroom's  upper  garb,  that  is,  the  plad  and  bonnet ; 
but  now  he  is  satisfied  witii  what  the  bridegroom  pleases  to 
give  liim  on  such  occasions." — Martin's  IVcstcrn  Isles. 


Note  V. 


Was't  not  enough  to  Ronald's  bower 
I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour. — P.  427. 

It  was  anciently  customary  in  the  Highlands  to  bring  the 
bride  to  the  house  of  the  husband.  Nay,  in  some  cases  the 
complaisance  was  stretclied  so  far,  that  she  remained  there 
upon  trial  for  a  twelvemonth  ;  and  the  bridegroom,  even  after 
this  period  of  cohabitation,  retained  an  option  of  refusing  to 
fulfil  his  engagement.  It  is  said  that  a  desperate  feud  ensued 
between  the  clans  of  Mac-Donald  of  Sleate  and  Mac-Leod, 
owing  to  the  former  chief  having  availed  himself  of  this  license 
to  send  back  to  Punvegan  a  sister,  or  daughter  of  the  latter. 
Mac-Leod,  resenting  the  indignity,  observed,  that  since  there 
was  no  wedding  bonfire,  there  should  be  one  to  solemnize  the 
divorce.  Accordingly,  he  burned  and  laid  waste  the  territories 
of  Mac-Donald,  wlio  retaliated,  and  a  deadly  feud,  with  all  its 
accompaniments,  took  place  in  form. 


WOTE   W. 


Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 

In  mockery  crown' d  with  wreaths  of  green. — P.  427. 

Stow  gives  the  following  curious  account  of  the  trial  and 
execution  of  this  celebrated  jjatriot : — "  William  Wallace, 
who  had  oft-times  set  Scotland  in  great  trouble,  was  taken  and 
brought  to  London,  with  great  numbers  of  men  and  women 
wondering  upon  him.  He  was  lodged  in  the  house  of  William 
Delect,  a  citizen  of  London,  in  Fenchnrch-street.  On  the 
morrow,  being  the  eve  of  ?t.  Bartholomew,  he  was  brought  on 
horseback  to  Westminster.  John  Legrave  and  Geffrey,  knights, 
the  mayor,  sheriffs,  and  aldermen  of  London,  and  many  others, 
both  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  accompanying  him  ;  and  in 
the  great  hall  at  Westminster,  he  being  placed  on  the  south 
bench,  crowned  with  laurel,  for  that  he  had  said  in  times  past 
that  he  ought  to  bear  a  crown  in  that  hall,  as  it  was  commonly 
reported  ;  and  being  appeached  for  a  traitor  by  Sir  Peter  Malo- 
tie,  the  king's  justice,  he  answered,  that  he  was  never  traitor 
to  the  King  of  England  ;  but  for  other  things  whereof  he  was 
accused,  he  confessed  them  ;  and  was  after  headed  and  quar- 
tered."— Stow,  Chr.  p.  209.  There  is  something  singularly 
doubtful  about  the  mode  in  which  Wallace  was  taken.  That 
je  was  betrayed  to  the  English  is  indubitable;  and  popular 
fame  charges  Sir  John  Menteith  with  the  indelible  infamy. 
"Accursed,"  says  Arnold  Blair,  "  be  the  day  of  nativity  of 
John  de  Menteith,  and  may  his  name  be  struck  out  of  the  book 
of  life."  But  John  de  Menteith  was  all  along  a  zealous  favorer 
of  the  English  interest,  and  was  go%'ernor  of  Dumbarton  Castle 
by  commission  from  Edward  the  First ;  and  therefore,  as  the 
accurate  Lord  Hailes  has  observed,  could  not  be  the  friend  and 
confidant  of  Wallace,  as  tradition  states  him  to  be.  The  truth 
eeems  to  be,  that  Menteitli,  thoroughly  engaged  in  the  Enghsh 
interest,  pui'sued  Wallace  closely,  and  made  him  prisoner 
liirough  the  treachery  of  "«  a't«udant,  whom  Peter  Langtoft 
calls  Jact  Siiort 


"  William  Waleis  is  nomen  that  master  was  of  theves, 
Tiding  to  the  king  is  comen  that  robbery  mischeives, 
Sir  John  of  Menetest  sued  William  so  nigh. 
He  tok  him  when  he  ween'd  least,  ou  night,  his  lemac 

him  by, 
That  was  tlirough  treason  of  Jack  .Short  his  man, 
He  was  the  encheson  that  Sir  John  so  him  ran. 
Jack's  brother  had  he  slain,  the  Walleis  that  is  said, 
The  more  Jack  was  fain  to  do  William  that  braid." 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  the  infamy  of  seizing  Wallace 
must  rest  between  a  degenerate  Scottish  nobleman,  the  vassal  of 
England,  and  a  domestic,  the  obscure  agent  of  his  treachery  ; 
between  Sir  John  Menteith,  son  of  Walter,  Earl  of  Menteith, 
and  the  traitor  Jack  Short. 


Note  X. 

Where's  JVigel  Bruce  ?  and  De  la  Haye, 
And  valiant  Seton — where  arc  they  ? 

Where  Someroille,  the  kind  and  free  ? 
A?id  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  7 — P.  427. 

When  these  lines  were  written,  the  author  was  remote  from 
the  means  of  correcting  his  indistinct  recollection  concerning 
the  individual  fate  of  Bruce's  followers,  after  the  battle  of 
Methven.  Hugh  de  la  Haye,  and  Thomas  Somerville  of  Lin- 
toun  and  Cowdally,  ancestor  of  Lord  Somerville,  were  botl' 
made  prisonei-s  at  that  defeat,  but  neither  was  executed.  ' 

Sir  Nigel  Bruce  was  the  younger  brother  of  Robert,  to  wht  m 
he  committed  the  charge  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  Marjorie, 
and  the  defence  of  his  strong  castle  of  Kildrummie,  near  the 
head  of  the  Don,  in  Aberdeenshire.  Kildrummie  long  resisted 
the  arms  of  the  Earls  of  Lancaster  and  Hereford,  until  the 
magazine  was  treacherously  burnt.  The  garrison  was  then 
compelled  to  surrender  at  discretion,  and  Nigel  Bruce,  a  youth 
remarkable  for  personal  beauty,  as  well  as  for  gallantry,  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  unrelenting  Edward.  He  was  tried  by  a 
special  commission  at  Berwick,  was  condemned,  and  executed. 

Christopher  Seatoun  shared  the  same  unfortunate  fate.  He 
also  was  distinguished  by  ])ersonal  valor,  and  signalized  him- 
self in  the  fatal  battle  of  Methven.  Robert  Bruce  adventured 
his  person  in  that  battle  like  a  knight  of  romance.  He  dis- 
mounted Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  but  was  in  his 
turn  dismounted  by  Sir  Philip  Mowbray.  In  this  emergence 
Seatoun  came  to  his  aid,  and  remounted  him.  Langtoft  men- 
tions, that  iu  this  battle  the  Scottish  wore  white  surplices,  or 
shirts,  over  their  armor,  that  those  of  rank  miglit  not  be  known. 
In  this  manner  both  Bruce  and  Seatoun  escaped.  But  the 
latter  was  afterwards  betrayed  to  the  English,  through  me;'.ns, 
accoriUng  to  Barbour,  of  one  MacNab,  "  a  disciple  of  Judas," 
in  whom  the  unfortunate  knight  reposed  entire  confidence. 
There  was  some  peculiarity  respecting  his  punishment ;  be- 
cause, according  to  Matthew  of  Westminster,  he  was  consid- 
ered not  as  a  Scottish  subject,  but  an  Englishman.  He  was 
therefore  taken  to  Dumfries,  where  he  was  tried,  condemned, 
and  executed,  for  the  murder  of  a  soldier  slain  by  him.  His 
brother,  John  de  Seton,  liad  the  same  fate  at  Newcastle  ;  both 
were  considered  as  acconipHces  in  the  slaughter  of  Comyn,  but 
in  %vhat  manner  they  were  particularly  accessory  to  Uiat  deed 
docs  not  appear. 

The  fate  of  Sir  Simon  Frazer,  or  Frizel,  ancestor  of  the 
family  of  Lovat,  is  dwelt  upon  at  great  length,  and  with  savage 
exultation,  by  the  English  historians.  This  knight,  wlio  was 
renowned  for  personal  gallantry,  and  high  deeds  of  chivalry, 
was  also  made  prisoner,  after  a  gallant  defence,  in  the  battle 
of  Methven.  Some  stanzas  of  a  ballad  of  the  times,  which, 
for  the  sake  of  rendering  it  intelligible,  I  have  translated  out 
of  its  rude  orthography,  give  minute  particulars  of  his  fate. 
It  was  written  immediately  at  the  period,  for  it  mentions  the 
Eiul  of  Athole  as  not  yet  in  custody.     It  was  first  published 


by  the  ir.defa»i<;a'.<le  Mr.  Ritson,  hut  with  so  many  contrac- 
tioni  and  pecaliaWties  of  character,  as  to  render  it  illegible, 
•iceptiug  by  antiquaries. 

"  Tliis  was  before  Saint  Bartholomew's  mass, 
That  Frizel  was  y-taken,  were  it  more  other  less, 
To  .-ir  Thomas  of  Multon,  gentil  baron  and  free. 
And  to  Sir  Jolian  Jose  be-take  tho  was  he 

To  hand 
He  was  y-fettered  wele 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel 

To  brii'gen  of  Scotland. 

'  t'oon  tnereafter  the  tiding  to  the  kiny  come, 
He  sent  him  to  Loudon,  witli  moiiy  armed  groom, 
He  came  in  at  Newgate,  I  tell  you  it  on  a-plight, 
A  garland  of  leaves  on  his  head  y-dight 

Of  green, 
For  he  should  be  y-know. 
Both  of  high  and  low. 

For  traitour  I  ween. 

•'  Y-fettered  were  his  legs  under  his  horse's  wombe, 
Both  witli  iron  and  with  steel  mancled  were  his  bond, 
A  garlaud  of  pervynk'  set  upon  his  heved,^ 
Much  was  the  power  that  him  was  bereved. 

In  land. 
So  God  me  amend. 
Little  he  ween'd 

So  to  be  brought  in  hand. 

'  This  was  upon  our  lady's  even,  forsooth  I  understand,. 
The  justices  sate  for  the  knights  of  Scotland, 
Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  an  kinde  kuvght  and  wise. 
And  Sir  Ralph  of  Sandwich  that  mickle  is  told  in  price. 

And  Sir  Johan  Abel, 
Moe  I  might  tell  by  tale 
Both  of  great  and  of  small 

Ye  know  sooth  well. 

'  Then  said  the  justice,  that  gentil  is  and  free. 
Sir  Simon  Frizel  the  king's  traiter  hast  tliou  be ; 
[n  water  and  in  land  that  mony  mighten  see. 
What  sayst  thou  thereto,  how  will  thou  quite  thee, 
-  Do  say. 
So  foul  he  him  wist, 
Nede  war  on  trust 

For  to  say  nay. 

'  With  fetters  and  with  gives'  y-hot  be  was  to-draw 
From  the  Tower  of  London  that  many  men  might  know, 
In  a  kirtle  of  burel,  a  selcouth  wise, 
And  a  garland  on  his  head  of  the  new  guise. 

Tlirough  Cheape 
Many  men  of  England 
For  to  see  Syraond 

Thitherward  can  leap. 

"  Though  he  cam  to  the  gallows  first  he  was  on  hung. 
All  quick  beheaded  that  him  thought  long  ; 
Then  he  was  y-opened,  his  bowels  y-brend,* 
The  heved  to  London-bridge  was  send 

To  shende. 
So  evermore  mofe  I  the. 
Some  while  weened  he 

Thus  little  to  stand.5 

"  He  rideth  through  the  city,  as  I  tell  may. 
With  gamen  and  with  solace  that  was  their  play, 

1  Periwinclvle.  ~'2  H-^ad. — 3  He  was  condemned  to  be  drawn. — 4  Eumed. 
-8  Meaning,  at  one  time  he  little  thought  to  stand  thus.— 6  viz.  Sailh 


To  London-bridge  he  took  the  way, 
Mony  was  the  wives  child  that  thereon  lacketh  a  day,* 

And  said,  alas  1 
That  he  was  y-born 
And  so  vilely  forelorn. 

So  fair  man  he  was.^ 


Fast  by  Wallace  sooth  for  to  segge  ; 
After  succour  of  Scotland  long  may  he  pry. 
And  after  help  of  France  what  halt  it  to  liqji 

I  ween, 
Better  him  were  in  Scotland, 
With  his  axe  in  his  hand. 

To  play  on  the  green,"  &c 

The  preceding  stanzas  contain  probably  as  minute  an  account 
as  can  be  found  of  the  trial  and  execution  of  state  criminals  ui 
the  period.  Superstition  mingled  its  horrors  with  those  of  a  fe- 
rocious state  policy,  as  appears  from  the  following  singular  na:- 
rative. 

'•  The  Friday  next,  before  the  assumption  of  Onr  Lady, 
King  Edward  met  Robert  the  Bruce  at  Saint  Johnstoune,  in 
Scotland,  and  with  his  company,  of  which  company  King  Ed- 
ward quelde  seven  thousand.  When  Robert  the  Bruce  saw 
this  mischief,  and  gan  to  flee,  and  hov'd  him  that  men  might 
not  him  find  ;  but  S.  Simond  Frisell  pursued  was  so  sore,  so 
that  he  turned  again  and  abode  bataille,  for  he  was  a  worthy 
knight  and  a  bolde  of  bodye,  and  the  Englishmen  pursuede 
him  sore  on  every  side,  and  quelde  the  steed  that  Sir  Simon 
Frisell  rode  upon,  and  then  toke  him  and  led  him  to  the  host. 
And  S.  Symond  began  for  to  flatter  and  sjieke  fair,  and  saide, 
Lordys,  I  shall  give  you  four  thousand  markes  of  silver,  and 
myne  horse  and  harness,  and  all  my  armonre  and  income. 
Tho'  answered  Thobaude  of  Pevenes,  that  was  the  kinges 
arclier,  Now,  God  me  so  helpc,  it  is  for  naught  tliat  thou  speuk- 
est,  for  all  the  gold  of  England  I  would  not  let  thee  go  with- 
out commandment  of  King  Edward.  And  tho'  he  was  led  to 
the  King,  and  the  King  would  not  see  him,  but  commanded  to 
lead  him  away  to  his  doom  in  London,  on  Our  Lady's  even 
nativity.  And  he  was  hung  and  drawn,  and  his  head  smitten 
off,  and  hanged  again  with  chains  of  iron  upon  the  gallows, 
and  his  head  was  set  at  London-bridge  upon  a  spear,  and 
against  Christmas  the  body  was  burnt,  for  encheson  (reason) 
that  the  men  that  keeped  the  body  saw  many  devils  ramping 
with  iron  crooks,  running  upon  tlie  gallows,  and  horribly  tor- 
menting the  body.  And  many  that  them  saw,  anon  thereafter 
died  for  dread,  or  waxen  mad,  or  sore  sickness  they  had."— 
JIIS.  Chronicle  in  the  British  Museum,  quoted  by  Ritson. 


Note  Y. 


Was  not  the  life  of  Athole  shed, 

To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sickened  bed  ? — P.  428. 

John  de  Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole,  had  attempted  to  es- 
cape out  of  the  kingdom,  but  a  storm  cast  him  upon  the  coast, 
when  he  was  taken,  sent  to  London,  and  executed,  with  cir- 
cumstances of  great  barbarity,  being  first  half  strangled,  then 
let  down  from  the  gallows  while  yet  alive,  barbarously  dismem- 
bered, and  his  body  burnt.  It  may  surprise  the  reader  to  learn, 
that  this  was  a  mitigated  punishment ;  for  in  respect  that  his 
mother  was  a  grand-daughter  of  King  John,  by  his  natural  son 
Richard,  he  was  not  drawn  on  a  sledge  to  execution,  "that 
point  was  forgiven,"  and  he  made  the  passage  on  horseback. 
Matthew  of  Westminster  tells  us  that  King  Edward,  then  ex- 
tremely ill,  received  great  ease  from  the  news  that  his  relative 
was  apprehended.     "  Quo  audito,  Rez  Anglia,  etsi  g-ravis- 

Lack-a-day. — 7  The  g.illant  tnight,  like  others  in  the  same  situation,  wai 
pitied  by  the  female  specLatora  aa  "  a  proper  young  man." 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


481 


gim;  morbo  tunc  langueret,  levius  tamen  tulit  dolorcm."  To 
tliis  singular  expression  the  text  alludes. 


Note  Z. 


jjnd  must  kis  word,  till  dying  day, 

Be  naught  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay. — P.  4528. 

This  alludes  to  a  passage  in  Barbour,  singularly  expressive  of 
the  vindictive  spirit  of  Edward  I.  The  prisoners  taken  at  the 
castle  of  Kildrummie  had  surrendered  upon  condition  that  they 
should  be  at  King  Edward's  disposal.  "  But  his  will,"  saj's 
Barbour,.  "  was  alwaysevil  towards  Scottishmen."  The  news 
of  the  surrender  of  Kildrummie  arrived  when  he  was  in  his 
mortal  sickness  at  Burgh-npon-Sands. 

"  And  when  he  to  the  death  was  near. 
The  foliv  that  at  Kyldromy  wer 
Come  with  jirisoners  that  they  had  tane, 
And  syne  to  the  king  are  gane. 
And  for  to  comfort  him  they  tauld 
How  they  the  castell  to  them  yauld  ; 
And  how  they  till  his  will  were  brought, 
To  do  off  that  whatever  he  thought ; 
And  ask'd  what  men  should  off  them  do. 
Then  look'd  he  angryly  them  to. 
He  said,  grinning,  '  hangs  and  draws.' 
That  was  wonder  of  sic  saws. 
That  he,  that  to  the  death  was  near, 
Should  answer  upon  sic  maner, 
Foronten  moaning  and  mercy  ; 
How  might  he  trust  on  him  to  cry, 
That  sooth-fastly  dooms  all  thing 
To  have  mercy  for  his  crying. 
Off  him  that,  throw  his  felony, 
Into  sic  point  had  no  mercy  7" 

There  was  much  truth  in  the  Leonine  couplet,  with  which 
Matthew  of  Westminster  concludes  his  encomium  on  the  first 
Edward : — 

"  Scotos  Edwardns,  dum  vixit,  snppeditavit, 
Tennit,  aiBixit,  depressit,  dilaniavit." 


Note  2  A. 


While  I  the  blessed  cross  advance, 

And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance, 

In  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance. — P.  428. 

Bruce  uniformly  professed,  and  probably  felt,  compunction 
for  having  violated  the  sanctuary  of  the  church  by  the  slaugh- 
ter of  Comyn  ;  and  finally,  in  his  last  hours,  in  testimony  of  his 
faith,  penitence,  and  zeal,  he  requested  James  Lord  Douglas 
to  carry  his  heart  to  Jerusalem,  to  be  there  deposited  in  the 
Holy  Sepulchre. 


Note  2  B. 


De  Bruce  1  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head. — P.  429. 

So  soon  as  the  notice  of  Comyn's  slaughter  reached  Rome, 
Brace  and  his  adherents  were  excommunicated.  It  was  pub- 
lished first  by  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  renewed  at  differ- 
ent times,  particularly  by  Lambyrton,  Bishop  of  St.  Andrews, 
in  1308  ;  but  it  does  i;ot  appear  to  have  answered  the  purpose 
which  the  English  monarch  expected.  Indeed,  for  reasons 
■«hich  it  may  be  diflici  It  to  trace,  the  thunders  of  Rome  de- 
61 


scended  upon  the  Scottish  mountains  with  less  effect  than  in 
more  fertile  countries.  Probably  the  comparative  poverty  of 
the  benefices  occasioned  that  fewer  foreign  clergy  settled  in 
Scotland ;  and  the  interest  of  the  native  cliurchmen  were 
linked  with  that  of  their  country.  Many  of  the  Scottish  pre- 
lates, Lambyrton  the  primate  particularly,  declared  for  Bruce, 
while  he  was  yet  under  the  ban  of  the  ciiurch,  although  ha 
afterwards  again  changed  sides. 


Note  2  C. 


I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  will  not  he  repressed. — P.  429. 

Bruce,  like  other  heroes,  observed  omens,  and  one  is  recorded 
by  tradition.  After  he  had  retreated  to  one  of  the  miserable 
places  of  shelter,  in  which  he  could  venture  to  take  some  re- 
pose after  his  disasters,  he  lay  stretched  upon  a  handful  of 
straw,  and  abandoned  himself  to  his  melancholy  meditations. 
He  had  now  been  defeated  four  times,  and  was  upon  the  point 
of  resolving  to  abandon  all  hopes  of  further  opposition  to  his 
fate,  and  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land.  It  chanced,  his  eye,  while 
he  was  thus  pondering,  was  attracted  by  the  exertions  of  a  spi- 
der, who,  in  order  to  fix  his  web,  endeavored  to  swing  himself 
from  one  beam  to  another  above  his  head.  Involuntarily  he 
became  interested  in  the  pertinacity  with  which  the  insect  re- 
newed his  exertions,  after  failing  six  times  ;  and  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  would  decide  his  own  course  according  to  the  suc- 
cess or  failure  of  the  spider.  At  the  seventh  efibrt  the  insect 
gained  his  object ;  and  Bruce,  in  like  manner,  persevered  and 
carried  his  own.  Hence  it  has  been  held  unVucky  or  ungrate- 
ful, or  both,  in  one  of  the  name  of  Bruce  to  kill  a  spider. 

The  Archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  instead  of  the  abbot  of  this 
tale,  introduces  an  Irish  Pythoness,  who  not  only  predicted  his 
good  fortune  as  he  left  the  island  of  Rachrin,  but  sent  her  two 
sons  along  with  him,  to  insure  her  own  family  a  share  in  it 

"  Then  in  schort  time  men  mycht  thaim  se 
Schute  all  thair  galayis  to  the  se. 
And  ber  to  se  baith  ayr  and  ster. 
And  othyr  thingis  that  mystir'  wer. 
And  as  the  king  apon  the  sand 
Wes  gangand  wp  and  doun,  bidand^ 
Till  that  his  menye  redy  war. 
His  ost  come  rycht  till  him  thar. 
And  qnhen  that  scho  him  halyst  had. 
And  priw6  spek  till  him  scho  made  ; 
And  said,  '  Takis  gnd  kep  till  my  saw  : 
For  or  ye  pass  I  sail  you  schaw, 
Off  your  fortoun  a  gret  party. 
Bot  our  all  speceally 
A  wyttring  her  I  sail  yow  ma, 
Ciuhat  end  tliat  your  purposs  sail  ta. 
For  in  this  land  is  nane  trewly 
Wate  thingis  to  cum  sa  weill  as  I. 
Ye  pass  now  furth  on  your  wiage. 
To  wenge  the  harme,  and  the  owtrag, 
That  Ingliss  men  has  to  yow  done  ; 
Bot  ye  wat  noclit  quhatkyne  forton 
Ye  mon  drey  in  your  werraying. 
Bot  wyt  ye  weill,  with  outyn  lesing, 
That  fra  ye  now  haift'takyn  land, 
Nane  sa  mychty,  na  sa  strenth  thi  of  hand. 
Sail  ger  yow  pass  owt  of  your  country 
Till  all  to  yow  abandownyt  be. 
With  in  schort  tyme  ye  sail  be  king. 
And  haiff  the  land  at  your  liking. 
And  onrcum  )'our  fayis  all. 
Bot  fele  anoyis  thole  ye  sail, 

1  Need.— 2  Abidia 


482 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Or  that  yonr  pnrposs  end  haiff  tane  : 
Bot  ye  sail  thaim  ourdryve  ilkane. 
And,  that  ye  trow  this  sekerly, 
My  twa  soiuiys  with  vow  sail  1 
Send  to  tak  jjart  of  your  trawaill ; 
For  I  wate  wcill  thai  sail  nocht  faill 
To  he  rewardyt  weili  at  rycht, 
Q.uhen  ye  ar  heyit  to  yowr  mycht.'  " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  iii.,  v.  856. 


WOTE  2  D. 

.4  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled. — P.  429. 

This  is  not  metaphorical.  The  echoes  of  Scotland  did  ac- 
tually 

"  ring 

With  the  bloodhounds  that  bayed  for  her  fugitive  king." 

A  very  curious  and  romantic  tale  is  told  by  Barbour  upon  this 
Bubject,  which  may  be  abridged  as  follows : — 

When  Bruce  had  again  got  footing  in  Scotland  in  the  spring 
of  1306,  he  continued  to  be  in  a  very  weak  and  precarious  con- 
dition, gaining,  indeed,  occasional  advantages,  but  obliged  to 
fly  before  his  enemies  whenever  they  assembled  in  force.  Upon 
one  occasion,  while  he  wa.s  lying  with  a  small  party  in  the 
wilds  of  Cumnock,  in  Ayrshire,  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  with  his  inveterate  foe  John  of  Lorn,  came  against 
him  suddenly  with  eight  hundred  Highlanders,  besides  a  large 
body  of  men-at-arms.  They  brought  with  them  a  slough-dog, 
or  bloodhound,  which,  some  say,  had  been  once  a  favorite 
with  the  Bruce  himself,  and  therefore  was  least  likely  to  lose 
the  trace. 

Bruce,  whose  force  was  under  four  hundred  men,  continued 
to  make  head  against  the  cavalry,  till  the  men  of  Lorn  had 
nearly  cut  ofT  his  retreat.  Perceiving  the  danger  of  his  situa- 
tion, he  acted  as  the  celebrated  and  ill-requited  Mina  is  said 
to  have  done  in  similar  circumstances.  He  divided  liis  force 
into  three  parts,  appointed  a  place  of  rendezvous,  and  com- 
manded them  to  retreat  by  different  routes.  But  when  John 
of  Lorn  arrived  at  the  spot  where  they  divided,  he  caused  the 
hound  to  be  put  upon  the  trace,  which  immediately  directed 
him  to  the  pursuit  of  that  party  which  Bruce  headed.  This, 
therefore.  Lorn  pursued  with  his  whole  force,  paying  no  at- 
tention to  the  others.  The  king  again  subdivided  his  small 
body  into  three  parts,  and  with  the  same  result,  for  the  pur- 
suers attached  themselves  exclusively  to  that  which  he  led  in 
person.  He  then  caused  his  followers  to  disperse,  and  retained 
only  hLs  foster-brother  in  his  company.  Tlie  slough-dog  fol- 
lowed the  trace,  and,  neglecting  the  othere,  attached  himself 
and  his  attendar  U  to  the  pursuit  of  the  king.  Lorn  became 
convinced  that  bis  enemy  was  nearly  in  his  power,  and  de- 
tached five  of  his  most  active  attendants  to  follow  him,  and 
interrupt  his  flight.  They  did  so  with  all  the  agility  of  moun- 
taineers. "What  aid  wilt  thou  make?"  said  Bruce  to  his 
single  attendant,  when  he  saw  the  five  men  gain  ground  on 
him.  "  The  best  I  can,"  replied  his  foster-brother.  "Then," 
said  Bruce,  "  here  I  make  my  stand."  The  five  pursuers 
came  up  fast.  The  king  took  tliree  to  himself,  leaving  the 
other  two  to  his  fosteivhrother.  He  slew  the  first  who  en- 
countered him  ;  but  observing  his  foster-brother  hard  pressed, 
he  sprung  to  his  assistance,  and  dispatched  one  of  his  assail- 
ants. Leaving  him  to  deal  with  the  survivor,  he  returned 
npon  the  other  two,  both  of  whom  he  slew  before  his  foster- 
brother  had  dispatched  his  single  antagonist.  When  this  hard 
encounter  was  over,  with  a  courtesy,  which  in  the  whole  work 
marks  Bruce's  character,  he  thanked  his  foster-brother  for  his 
aid.  "  It  likes  you  to  say  so,"  answered  his  follower  ;  "  but 
you  yourself  slew  four  of  the  five." — "  True,"  said  the  king, 
but  onlj  because  I  had  better  opportunity  than  you.     They 


were  not  apprehensive  of  me  when  they  saw  me  encountei 
three,  so  I  had  a  moment's  time  to  spring  to  thy  aid,  and  to 
return  equally  une.^pectedly  upon  my  own  opponents." 

In  the  mean  while  Lorn's  party  approached  rapidly,  and  the 
king  and  his  foster-brother  betook  themselves  to  a  neighboring 
wood.  Here  they  sat  down,  for  Bruce  was  exhausted  by 
fatigue,  until  the  cry  of  the  slough-hound  came  so  near,  that 
his  foster-brother  entreated  Bruce  to  provide  for  his  safety  by 
retreating  further.  "  I  have  heard,"  answered  the  king,  "  that 
whosoever  will  wade  a  bow-shot  length  down  a  running  stream, 
shall  make  the  slough-hound  lose  scent. — Let  us  try  the  exper- 
iment, for  were  yon  devilish  hound  silenced,  I  should  care 
little  for  the  rest." 

Lorn  in  the  mean  while  advanced,  and  found  the  bodies  ot 
liis  slain  vassals,  over  whom  he  made  his  moan,  and  threat- 
ened the  most  deadly  vengeance.  Then  he  followed  the  hound 
to  the  side  of  the  brook,  down  which  the  king  had  waded  a 
great  way.  Here  the  hound  was  at  fault,  and  John  of  Lorn, 
after  long  attempting  in  vain  to  recover  Bruce's  trace,  relin- 
quished the  pursuit. 

"  Others,"  says  Barbour,  "  affirm,  that  upon  this  occasion 
tlie  king's  life  was  saved  by  an  excellent  archer  who  accompa- 
nied him,  and  who  perceiving  they  would  be  finally  taken  by 
means  of  the  blood-hound,  hid  himself  in  a  thicket,  and  shot 
him  with  an  arrow.  In  which  way,"  adds  the  metrical  biog- 
rapher, "  this  escape  happened  I  am  uncertain,  but  at  that 
brook  the  king  escaped  from  his  pursuers." 

"  Guhen  tlie  chasseris  relyt  war, 
And  Jhon  of  Lorn  had  met  thaim  thar, 
He  tauld  Schyr  Aymer  all  the  cass 
How  that  the  king  eschapyt  wass  ; 
And  how  that  he  his  five  men  slew, 
And  syne  to  the  wode  him  drew, 
duhen  Schyr  Aymer  herd  this,  in  hy 
He  sanyt  him  for  the  ferly  : 
And  said  ;  '  He  is  gretly  to  pryss  ; 
For  I  knaw  nane  that  liffand  is. 
That  at  myscheyfl'gan  help  him  swa. 
I  trow  he  suld  be  hard  to  sla. 
And  he  war  bodyn'  ewynly.' 
On  this  wiss  spak  Schyr  Aymery." 

B.\rbour's  Bruce,  Book  v.,  v.  391. 

The  English  historians  agree  with  Barbour  as  to  the  mode 
in  which  the  English  pursued  Bruce  and  his  followers,  and 
the  dexterity  with  whicli  he  evaded  them.  The  following  is 
the  testimony  of  Harding,  a  great  enemy  to  the  Scottish  na 
tion  : — 

"  The  King  Edward  with  boost  hym  sought  full  sore, 
But  ay  he  fled  into  woodes  and  strayte  forest. 
And  slewe  his  men  at  staytes  and  daungcrs  thore. 
And  at  marreys  and  mires  was  ay  full  prest 
Englyshmen  to  kyll  withoutyu  any  rest ; 
In  the  mountaynes  an<l  cragges  he  slew  ay  where, 
And  in  the  nyght  his  foes  he  frayed  full  sere  : 

"  The  King  Edward  with  homes  and  houndes  him  sogbt. 
With  menne  on  fote,  through  marris,  mosse,  and  myre. 
Through  wodes  also,  and  mountens  (wher  thei  fought), 
And  euer  the  Kyng  Edward  bight  men  greate  hyre. 
Hym  for  to  take  and  by  mvgbt  conquere  ; 
But  thei  might  hym  not  gette  by  force  ne  by  train, 
He  satte  by  the  fyre  when  thei  went  in  the  rain." 

Hardyng's  Chronicle,  pp.  303-4. 

Peter  Langtoft  has  also  a  passage  concerning  the  extremilie* 
to  which  King  Robert  was  reduced,  wliicb  he  entitles 

1  Matched. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


48S 


De  Roberto  Brus  et  fuga  eircum  circa  fit. 
And  wele  I  uncierstode  that  the  Kyng  Robyn 
Has  drunken  of  that  blode  the  diink  of  Dan  Waryn. 
Dan  Waryn  he  les  tonnes  that  lie  held, 
With  wrong  he  mad  a  res,  and  misberyng  of  sclield, 
Sithen  into  the  forest  he  yede  naked  and  wode, 
Als  a  wilil  heast,  ete  of  the  gras  tliat  stode, 
Tlius  of  Dan  Waryn  in  his  boke  men  rede, 
God  gyf  tlie  King  Robyn,  that  alle  liis  kynde  so  spede. 
Sir  Robynet  the  Brus  he  durst  noure  abide. 
That  thei  mad  him  restus,  botli  in  more  and  wod-side, 
To  while  he  mad  this  train,  and  did  umwhile  outrage,"  &.C. 
Peter  Langtoft's  Chronicle,  vol.  ii.  p.  335, 
8vo.  London,  1810. 


Note  2  E. 


For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 

A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil. — P.  430. 

A  sort  of  pei-sons  common  in  the  isles,  as  may  be  easily  be- 
lieved, until  tlie  introduction  of  civil  j)olity.  Witness  the 
Dean  of  the  Isles'  account  of  Ronay.  "  At  the  north  end  of 
Raarsay,  be  half  myle  of  sea  frae  it,  layes  ane  ile  callit  Ronay, 
maire  then  a  myle  in  lengthe,  full  of  wood  and  heddir,  with 
ane  havein  for  heiland  galeys  in  the  middis  of  it,  and  the  same 
havein  is  guid  for  fostering  of  theives,  ruggairs,  and  reivaire, 
till  a  nail,  upon  the  peilling  and  spulzeing  of  poor  pepill.  This 
ile  perteins  to  M'Gillychallan  of  Raarsay  by  force,  and  to  the 
bishope  of  the  jles  be  heritage." — Sir  Donald  Monro's 
Description  of  the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland,  Edinburgh, 
1805,  p.  22. 


Note  2  F. 


"  Jllas  !  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time,''' 
Answered  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime. 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you. 
Even  I" — he  paused;  for  Falkirk's  woes 

Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose.— ¥,  431. 

i  have  followed  the  vulgar  and  inaccurate  tradition,  that 
Bruce  fought  against  Wallace,  and  the  array  of  Scotland,  at 
the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk.  The  story,  which  seems  to  have 
no  better  authority  than  that  of  BMnd  Harry,  bears,  that  hav- 
ing made  much  slaughter  during  the  engagement,  he  sat  down 
to  dine  with  the  conciuerors  without  washing  the  filthy  witness 
from  his  hands. 

"  Fasting  he  was,  and  had  been  in  great  need. 
Blooded  were  all  his  weajions  and  his  weed  ; 
Southeron  lords  scorn'd  him  in  terms  rude. 
And  said,  Behold  yon  Scot  eats  his  own  blood. 

"  Then  rued  he  sore,  for  reason  bad  be  known. 
That  blood  and  land  alike  should  be  his  own  ; 
With  them  he  long  was,  ere  he  got  away. 
But  contrair  Scots  he  fought  not  from  that  day." 

Che  account  given  by  most  of  our  historians,  of  the  conversa- 
tion between  Bruce  and  Wallace  over  the  Carron  river,  is 
equa..j  apocryphal.  There  is  full  evidence  that  Bruce  was 
not  a\:  that  time  on  the  English  side,  nor  present  at  the  battle 
of  Falkirk  ;  nay,  that  he  acted  as  a  guardian  of  Scotland, 
along  with  John  Comyn,  in  the  name  of  Baliol,  and  in  o])po- 
sition  to  the  Englisli.  He  was  tlie  grandson  of  the  competitor, 
with  whom  he  has  been  sometimes  confounded.  Lord  Hailes 
lias  well  described,  and  in  some  degree  apologized  for,  the  ear- 
lier part  of  his  life. — "  His  grandfather,  the  competitor,  had 
patiently  acqv'esced  in  the  award  of  Edward.      His  fatlier, 


yielding  to  the  times,  had  served  under  the  English  banners. 
But  young  Bruce  had  more  ambition,  and  a  more  restless  sjiirit. 
In  his  earlier  years  he  acted  upon  no  regular  plan.  By  turns 
the  partisan  of  Edward,  and  the  vicegerent  of  Baliol,  he  seems 
to  have  forgotten  or  stifled  liis  pretensions  to  the  crown.  But 
his  character  developed  itself  by  degrees,  and  in  maturer  age 
became  firm  and  consistent." — Annals  of  Scotland,  p.  290 
4to.  London,  1776. 


Note  2  G. 


These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 

JVorth  of  Strathnardill  and  Dun-skye. — P.  432. 

The  extraordinary  piece  of  scenery  which  I  have  here  at- 
tempted to  describe,  is,  1  think,  unparalleled  in  any  part  of 
Scotland,  at  least  in  any  which  I  have  liappened  to  visit.  It 
lies  just  upon  the  frontier  of  the  Laird  of  Mac-Leod's  country, 
which  is  thereabouts  divided  from  the  estate  of  Mr.  Macalister 
of  Strath-Aird,  called  Strathnardill  by  the  Dean  of  the  Isles. 
The  tbllowing  account  of  it  is  extracted  from  a  joarnal'  kept 
during  a  tour  through  the  Scottish  Islands : — 

"  The  western  coast  of  Sky  is  highly  romantic,  and  at  the 
same  time  displays  a  richness  of  vegetation  in  the  lower  grounds 
to  which  we  have  hitherto  been  strangers.  We  passed  three 
salt-water  lochs,  or  deep  embayme»ts,  called  Loch  Bracadale, 

Loch  Einort,  and  Loch ,  and  about  eleven  o'clock  opened 

Loch  Slavig.  We  were  now  under  the  western  termination 
of  the  high  ridge  of  mountains  called  Guillen,  or  Quillin,  or 
Coolin,  whose  weather-beaten  and  serrated  peaks  we  had  ad- 
mired at  a  distance  from  Dnnvegan.  They  sunk  here  upon 
the  sea,  but  with  the  same  bold  and  peremptory  aspect  which 
their  distant  appearance  indicated.  They  appeared  to  consist 
of  precipitous  sheets  of  naked  rock,  down  which  the  torrents 
were  leaping  in  a  hundred  lines  of  foam.  The  tops  of  the 
ridge,  apparently  inaccessible  to  human  foot,  were  rent  and 
split  into  the  most  tremendous  pinnacles.  Towards  the  base 
of  these  bare  and  precipitous  crags,  the  ground,  enriched  by 
the  soil  washed  down  from  them,  is  comparatively  verdant  and 
productive.  Where  we  passed  within  the  small  isle  of  Soa, 
we  entered  Loch  Slavig,  under  the  shoulder  of  one  of  these 
grisly  mountains,  and  observed  that  the  opposite  side  of  the 
locli  was  of  a  milder  character,  the  mountaiiis  being  softened 
down  into  steep  green  declivities.  From  the  bottom  of  the 
bay  advanced  a  headland  of  high  rocks,  which  divided  its 
depth  into  two  recesses,  from  each  of  which  a  brook  issued. 
Here  it  had  been  intimated  to  us  we  would  find  some  roman- 
tic scenery  ;  but  we  were  uncertain  up  which  inlet  we  should 
proceed  in  search  of  it.  We  chose,  against  our  better  judg- 
ment, the  southerly  dip  of  the  bay,  where  we  saw  a  house 
which  might  afford  us  information.  We  found,  npon  inquiry, 
that  there  is  a  lake  adjoining  to  each  branch  of  the  bay  ;  and 
walked  a  couple  of  miles  to  see  that  near  the  farm-house, 
merely  because  the  honest  Highlander  seemed  jealous  of  the 
honor  of  his  own  loch,  though  we  were  speedily  convinced  it 
was  not  that  which  we  were  recommended  to  examine.  It 
had  no  particular  merit,  excepting  from  its  neighborhood  to  a 
very  high  cliff,  or  precipitous  mountain  ;  otherwise  the  sheet  of 
water  had  nothing  differing  from  any  ordinary  low-country 
lake.  We  returned  and  re-embarked  in  our  boat,  for  our  guide 
shook  his  head  at  our  proposal  to  climb  over  the  peninsula,  oi 
rocky  headland  which  divided  the  two  lakes.  In  rowing  round 
the  headland,  we  were  surprised  at  the  infinite  number  of  sea- 
fowl,  then  busy  apparently  with  a  shoal  of  fish. 

"  Arrived  at  the  depth  of  the  bay,  we  found  that  the  dis- 
charge from  this  second  lake  forms  a  sort  of  waterfall,  or  rather 
a  rapid  stream,  which  rushes  down  to  the  sea  with  great  fury 
and  precipitation.  Round  this  place  were  assembled  hundreds 
of  trouts  and  salmon,  struggling  to  get  up  into  the  fresh  water  i 

1  This  is  from  the  Poet's  own  journal.— Ed. 


with  a  net  we  might  have  had  twenty  ealmon  at  a  haul ;  and 
a  sailor,  with  no  better  hook  than  a  crooked  pin,  caught  a  dish 
of  troiits  during  our  absence.  Advancing  up  this  huddling 
and  riotous  brook,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  most  extraordinary 
scene  ;  we  lost  sight  of  the  sea  almost  immediately  after  we 
had  climbed  over  a  low  ridge  of  crags,  and  were  surrounded  by 
mountains  of  naked  rook,  of  the  boldest  and  most  precijjitous 
character.  The  ground  on  which  we  walked  was  the  margin 
of  a  lake,  which  seemed  to  have  sustained  the  constant  ravage 
of  torrents  from  these  rude  neighbors.  The  snores  consisted  of 
huge  strata  of  naked  granite,  here  and  there  intermixed  with 
bogs,  and  heaps  of  gravel  and  sand  piled  in  the  empty  water- 
courses. Vegetation  there  was  little  or  none  ;  and  the  moun- 
tains rose  so  perpendicularly  from  the  water  edge,  that  Bor^ 
rowdale,  or  even  Glencoe,  is  a  jest  to  them.  We  proceeded  a 
mile  and  a  half  up  this  deep,  dark,  and  solitary  lake,  which 
was  about  two  miles  long,  half  a  mile  broad,  and  is,  as  we 
learned,  of  extreme  depth.  The  murky  vapors  which  envel- 
oped the  mountain  ridges,  obliged  us  by  assuming  a  thousand 
varied  shapes,  changing  their  drapery  into  all  sorts  of  forms, 
and  sometimes  clearing  off  all  together.  It  is  true,  the  mist  made 
us  pay  the  penalty  by  some  heavy  and  downright  showers, 
from  the  frequency  of  which  a  Highland  boy,  whom  we 
brought  from  the  farm,  told  us  the  lake  was  popularly  called 
the  Water-kettle.  The  proper  name  is  Loch  Corriskin,  from 
the  deep  corrie,  or  hollow,  in  the  mountains  of  Cuilin,  which 
affords  the  basin  for  this  wonderful  sheet  of  water.  It  is  as 
exquisite  a  savage  scene  as  Loch  Katrine  is  a  scene  of  romantic 
beauty.  After  having  penetrated  so  far  as  distinctly  to  ob- 
serve the  termination  of  the  lake  under  an  immense  precipice, 
which  rises  abruptly  from  the  water,  we  returned,  and  often 
stopped  to  admire  the  ravages  which  storms  must  have  made 
in  these  recesses,  where  all  human  witnesses  were  driven  to 
places  of  more  shelter  and  security.  Stones,  or  rather  large 
masses  and  fragments  of  rocks  of  a  composite  kind,  perfectly 
different  from  the  strata  of  the  lake,  were  scattered  upon  the 
bare  rocky  beach,  in  the  strangest  and  most  jjrecarious  situa- 
tions, as  if  abandoned  by  the  torrents  which  had  borne  them 
down  from  above.  Some  lay  loose  and  tottering  ujjoh  the 
ledges  of  the  natural  rock,  with  so  little  security,  that  the 
slightest  push  moved  them,  though  their  weight  might  exceed 
many  tons.  These  detached  rocks,  or  stones,  were  chiefly  what 
is  called  plum-pudding  stones.  The  bare  rocks,  which  formed 
the  shore  of  the  lakes,  were  a  species  of  granite.  The  opposite 
Bide  of  the  lake  seemed  quite  pathless  and  inaccessible,  as  a 
huge  mountain,  one  of  the  detached  ridges  of  the  Cuilin  hills, 
sinks  in  a  profound  and  perpendicular  precipice  down  to  the 
water.  On  the  left-hand  side,  which  we  traversed,  rose  a 
higher  and  equally  inaccessible  mountain,  the  top  of  which 
strongly  resembled  the  shivered  crater  of  an  exhausted  volcano. 
I  never  saw  a  spot  in  which  there  was  less  appearance  of  vege- 
tation of  any  kind.  The  eye  rested  on  nothing  but  barren  and 
naked  crags,  and  the  rocks  on  which  we  walked  by  the  side  of 
the  loch,  were  as  bare  as  the  pavements  of  Cheapside.  There 
are  one  or  two  small  islets  in  the  loch,  which  seem  to  bear 
juniper,  or  some  such  low  bushy  shrub.  Upon  the  whole, 
though  I  have  seen  many  scenes  of  more  extensive  desolation, 
I  never  witnessed  any  in  which  it  pressed  more  deeply  upon 
tlie  eye  and  the  heart  than  at  Loch  Corriskin  ;  at  the  same  time 
that  its  grandeur  elevated  and  redeemed  it  from  the  wild  and 
dreary  character  of  utter  barrenness." 


Note  2  H. 


Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Down-look' d,  unwilling  to  be  seen. — P.  434. 

The  story  of  Brnce's  meeting  the  banditti  is  copied,  with 
inch  alterations  as  the  fictitious  narrative  rendered  necessary, 
f«om  a  striking  incident  in  the  monarch's  history,  told  by  Bar- 


bour, and  which  I  shall  give  in  the  words  of  the  hero's  biog 
rapher.  It  is  the  sequel  to  the  adventure  of  the  bloodhound, 
narrated  in  Note  2  D.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  narra 
tive  broke  off",  leaving  the  Bruce  escaped  from  his  puisneis 
but  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  having  no  other  attendant  but 
his  iijster-brother. 

"  And  the  gude  king  held  forth  his  way, 
Betuix  him  and  his  man,  quhill  thai 
Passyt  owt  tlirow  the  forest  war  ; 
Syne  in  the  more  thai  entryt  thar. 
It  vves  bathe  hey,  and  laug,  and  braid ; 
And  or  thai  halffit  passyt  had, 
Thai  saw  on  syd  thre  men  cumraand, 
Lik  to  lycht  men  and  wauerand. 
Swerdis  thai  had,  and  axys  als  ; 
And  ane  oifthaim,  apon  his  hals.l 
A  raekill  boundyn  wethir  bar. 
Thai  met  the  king,  and  hailst^  him  thar  : 
And  the  king  thaim  thar  hailsing  yauld  ;3 
And  askyt  thaim  qnethir  thai  wauld. 
Thai  said,  Robert  the  Bruyss  thai  soncht; 
For  mete  with  him  gitf  that  thai  moucht, 
Thar  duelling  with  him  wauld  thai  raa.* 
The  king  said,  '  Gift"  that  ye  will  swa, 
Haldys  furth  your  way  with  me, 
And  I  shall  ger  yow  sone  him  se.'   ■ 
"  Thai  persawyt,  be  his  speking. 
That  he  wes  the  selwyn  Robert  king. 
And  chaungyt  contenance  and  late  ;5 
And  held  nocht  in  the  fyrst  state. 
For  thai  war  fayis  to  the  king  ; — 
And  thoucht  to  cum  in  to  sculking, 
And  duell  with  him,  quhill  that  thai  saw 
Thar  poynt,  and  hryng  him  than  off  daw.' 
Thai  grantyt  till  his  spek  forthi.' 
Bot  the  king,  that  wes  witty, 
Persawyt  Weill,  by  thar  hawing, 
That  thai  luffyt  him  na  thing : 
And  saiil,  '  Falowis,  ye  mon,  all  thre, 
Forthir  aqwent  till  that  we  be, 
All  be  your  selwyn  furth  ga  ; 
And,  on  the  samyn  wyss,  we  twa 
Sail  folow  behind  Weill  ner.' 
Quoth  thai,  '  Schyr,  it  is  na  mystet* 
To  trow  in  ws  ony  ill.' — 
'  Nane  do  I,'  said  he  ;  '  bot  I  will, 
That  yhe  ga  fourth  thus,  quhill  we 
Better  with  othyr  knawin  he.' — 
'  We  grant,'  thai  said,  '  sen  ye  will  swa  :' 
And  furth  apon  thair  gate  gan  ga. 

"  Thns  yeid  thai  till  the  nycht  wes  nei. 
And  than  the  formast  cummyn  wer 
Till  a  waist  housband  houss  ;'••  and  thar 
Thai  slew  the  wethir  that  thai  bar : 
And  slew  fyr  for  to  rost  thar  mete ; 
And  askyt  the  king  giff  he  wald  ete, 
And  rest  him  till  the  mete  war  dycht. 
The  king,  that  hungry  was,  Ik  hycht, 
Assentyt  till  thair  spek  in  hy. 
Bot  he  said,  he  wald  anerlyi" 
At  a  fyr ;  and  thai  all  thre 
On  na  wyss  with  thaim  till  gyddre  be. 
In  the  end  olf  the  houss  thai  suld  ma 
Ane  othyr  fyr  ;  and  thai  did  swa. 
Thai  drew  thaim  in  the  houss  end. 
And  halff  the  wethir  till  him  send. 
And  thai  rostyt  in  by  thair  mete ; 


Neck.— 2  Sainted. — 3  Returned  their  sft.ute. — 4  Maki  '  V^stur*  ot 
manner. — 6  Kill  him.— 7  Therefore.— S  There  ia  no  need.— 9  FNu>.A.i4aian'i 
house,  cottage. — 10  Alone. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


48<> 


L. 


And  fell  ryclit  freschly  for  till  ete. 
For  the  king  weill  lang  fastyt  had  ; 
And  had  rycht  mekill  trawaill  mad  : 
Tharfor  he  eyt  full  egrely. 
And  quhen  he  had  etyn  hastily, 
He  had  to  slep  sa  raekill  will, 
That  he  mouclit  set  na  let  thar  tilL 
For  quhen  the  wanys'  fiUyt  ar, 
Men  worthys^  hevvy  euirmar  ; 
And  to  slepe  drawys  hewynes. 
The  king,  that  all  fortrawaillyt^  wes, 
Saw  that  him  worthyt  slep  nedwayis. 
Till  his  fostyi^brodyr  he  sayis  ; 
'  May  I  traist  in  the,  me  to  walk, 
Till  Ik  a  little  sleping  tak  V— 
'  Ya,  Schyr,'  he  said,  '  till  I  may  drey.''* 
The  king  then  wynkyt  a  litill  wey  ; 
And  slepyt  noclit  full  encrely ; 
Bot  gliffnyt  wp  oft  sodanly. 
For  he  had  dreid  otf  thai  thre  men, 
That  at  the  tothyr  fyr  war  tlien. 
That  thai  his  fais  war  he  ^vyst ; 
Tharfor  he  slepyt  as  foule  on  twyst.s 
"  The  king  slepyt  bot  a  litill  than  j 
ftuhen  sic  slep  fell  on  his  man, 
That  he  mycht  nocht  hald  wp  his  ey, 
Bot  fell  in  slep,  and  rowtyt  hey. 
Now  is  the  king  in  gret  perile  : 
For  slep  he  swa  a  litill  quhile, 
He  sail  be  ded,  for  owtyn  dreid. 
For  the  tlire  tratours  tuk  gud  held, 
That  he  on  slep  wes,  and  his  man. 
In  full  gret  hy  thai  raiss  wp  than, 
And  drew  the  suerdis  hastily  ; 
And  went  towart  the  king  in  hy, 
Q.uhen  that  thai  saw  him  sleip  swa, 
And  slepand  thoucht  thei  wald  him  sla. 
The  king  wp  blenkit  hastily, 
And  saw  his  man  slepand  him  by ; 
And  saw  cummand  the  tothyr  thre. 
Deliuerly  on  fute  gat  he  ; 
And  drew  his  suerd  owt,  and  thaim  mete. 
And,  as  he  ynde,  his  fute  he  set 
Apon  his  man,  weill  hewyly 
He  waknyt,  and  raiss  disily  : 
For  the  slep  maistryt  hym  sway, 
That  or  he  gat  wp,  ane  off  thai, 
That  come  for  to  sla  the  king, 
Gaiff  hym  a  strak  in  his  rysing, 
Swa  that  he  mycht  help  him  no  mar. 
The  king  sa  straitly  stad^  wes  thar, 
That  he  wes  neuir  yeyt  sa  stad. 
Ne  w-ar  the  armyng"  that  he  had, 
He  had  been  dede,  for  owtyn  wer. 
But  noeht  for  thi*  on  sic  maner 
He  helpyt  him,  in  that  bargayne,^ 
That  thai  thre  tratowris  he  has  slan. 
Throw  Goddis  grace,  and  his  manheid. 
His  fostjT-brothyr  thar  was  dede. 
Then  wes  he  wondre  will  of  wayn,'" 
Quhen  he  saw  him  left  allane. 
His  fostyr-brodjT  menyt  he  ; 
And  waryit'i  all  the  tothyr  thre. 
And  syne  hys  way  tuk  him  allane, 
And  rycht  towart  his  tryst'^  is  gane." 

The  Bruce,  Book  v.  p.  405. 


1  Bellie9.^2  Bocomcs. — 3  Fati2:ued. — i  Endure. — 5  Bird  on  boug:li.- 
6  So  dangerously  situated. — 7  Had  it  not  been  for  the  armor  he  wore.- 
8  Xevertliek-ss. — 9  Frav,  or  dispute. — iO  Much  afflicted. — 11  Cursed.- 
13  The  place  cf  rendezvous  appointed  for  his  soldiers. 


Note  2  L 

^nd  mcrmind's  alabaster  grot. 

Who  bathes  Ucr  limbs  in  sunless  well 

Deep  in  Strathaird's  enehanted  eell. — P. 


436. 


Imagination  can  hardly  conceive  any  thing  more  beantiful 
than  the  extraordinary  grotto  discovered  not  many  years  since 
upon  the  estate  of  Alexander  Mac-Aliister,  Esq.,  of  Strath- 
aird. It  has  since  been  much  and  deservedly  celebrated,  and 
a  full  account  of  its  beauties  has  been  publi.shed  by  Dr.  Mac- 
Leay  of  Oban.  The  general  impression  may  perhaps  be 
gathered  from  the  following  extract  from  a  journal,  which, 
written  under  the  feelings  of  the  moment,  is  likely  to  be  more 
accurate  than  any  attempt  to  recollect  the  impressions  then 
received. — "  The  first  entrance  to  this  celebrated  cave  is  rude 
and  unpromising  ;  but  the  light  of  the  torches,  with  which 
we  were  provided,  was  soon  reflected  from  the  roof,  floor,  and 
walls,  which  seem  as  if  they  were  sheeted  with  marble,  partly 
smooth,  partly  rough  with  frost-work  and  rustic  ornaments, 
and  partly  seeming  to  be  wrought  into  statuary.  The  floor 
forms  a  steep  and  difficult  ascent,  and  might  be  fancifully 
compared  to  a  sheet  of  water,  which,  while  it  rushed  whiten- 
ing and  foaming  down  a  declivity,  had  been  suddenly  arrested 
and  consolidated  by  the  spell  of  an  enchanter.  Upon  attain- 
ing the  summit  of  this  ascent,  the  cave  opens  into  a  splendid 
gallery,  adorned  with  the  most  dazzling  crystalizations,  and 
finally  descends  with  rapidity  to  the  brink  of  a  pool,  of  the 
most  limpid  water,  about  four  or  five  yards  broad.  There 
opens  beyond  this  pool  a  jiortal  arch,  formed  by  two  columns 
of  white  spar,  with  beautiful  cliasing  upon  the  sides,  which 
promises  a  continuation  of  the  cave.  One  of  our  sailors  swam 
across,  for  there  is  no  other  mode  of  passing,  and  informed  us 
(as  indeed  we  partly  saw  by  the  light  he  carried)  that  the  en- 
cliantment  of  Maccalister's  cave  terminates  with  this  portal, 
a  little  beyond  which  there  was  only  a  rude  cavern,  speedily 
choked  with  stones  and  earth.  But  the  pool,  on  the  brink  of 
which  we  stood,  surrounded  hy  the  most  fanciful  mouldings, 
in  a  substance  resembling  white  marble,  and  distinguished 
by  the  depth  and  purity  of  its  waters,  might  have  been  the 
bathing  grotto  of  a  naiad.  The  groujjs  of  combined  figures 
projecting,  or  embossed,  by  which  the  pool  is  surrounded,  are 
exqui.<itely  elegant  and  fanciful.  A  statuary  might  catch 
beautiful  hints  from  the  singular  and  romantic  disposition  of 
those  stalactites.  There  is  scarce  a  form,  or  group,  on  which 
active  fancy  may  not  trace  figures  or  grotesque  ornaments, 
which  have  been  gradually  moulded  in  this  cavern  by  the 
dropping  of  the  calcareous  water  hardening  into  petrifactions. 
Many  of  those  fine  groups  have  been  injured  by  the  senseless 
rage  of  appropriation  of  recent  tourists  ;  and  the  grotto  has 
lost  (I  am  informed),  through  the  smoke  of  torches,  some- 
thing of  that  vivid  silver  tint  which  was  originally  one  of  its 
chief  distinctions.  But  enough  of  beauty  remains  to  compen- 
sate for  all  that  may  be  lost."— Mr.  Mac-Allister  of  Strath- 
aird has,  with  great  propriety,  built  up  the  exterior  entrance 
to  this  cave,  in  order  that  strangers  may  enter  properly  at- 
tended by  a  guide,  to  prevent  any  repetition  of  the  wanton 
and  selfish  injury  which  this  singular  scene  has  already  sus 
tained. 


Note  2  K 


Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs. 
Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 
My  joy  o^er  Edward's  bier. — P.  438. 

Tne  generosity  which  does  justice  to  the  character  of  an 
enemy,  often  marks  Bruce's  sentiments,  as  recorded  by  the 
faithful  Barbour.  He  seldom  mentions  a  fallen  enemy  with 
out  praising  snch  good  qualities  as  he  might  possess.     I  shall 


486 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


only  take  one  instance.  Shortly  iifter  Bruce  landed  in  Cai^ 
rick,  in  1306,  .'•'ir  Ingram  Bell,  t)ie  Knglish  governor  of  Ayr, 
en-'a^ed  a  wealthy  yeoman,  who  had  iiitherto  been  a  follower 
of  Bruce,  to  undertake  the  task  of  assassinating  him.  The 
King  learned  this  treachery,  as  he  is  said  to  have  (tone  other 
secrets  of  the  enemy,  by  means  of  a  female  with  whom  he  had 
an  intrigue.  Shortly  after  he  was  possessed  of  this  informa- 
tion, Bruce,  resorting  to  a  small  thicket  at  a  distance  from  his 
men,  with  only  a  single  page  to  attend  him,  met  the  traitor, 
accompanied  by  two  of  his  sons.  They  approached  him  with 
their  w  ontcd  familiarity,  but  Bruce,  taking  his  page's  bow  and 
arrow,  commanded  them  to  keep  at  a  distance.  As  they  still 
pressed  forward  with  professions  of  zeal  for  his  person  and 
service,  ha,  after  a  second  warning,  shot  the  father  with  the 
arrow  ;  and  being  assaulted  successively  by  the  two  sons,  dis- 
patched first  one,  who  was  armed  with  an  axe,  then  as  the 
other  charged  him  with  a  spear,  avoided  the  thrust,  struck  the 
head  from  the  spear,  and  cleft  the  skull  of  the  assassin  with  a 
blow  of  his  two-handed  sword. 

"  He  rushed  down  of  blood  all  red. 
And  when  the  king  saw  they  were  dead, 
All  three  lying,  he  wiped  his  brand. 
With  that  his  boy  came  fast  running, 
And  said,  '  Our  lord  might  lowyti  be, 
That  granted  you  might  and  poweste^ 
To  fell  the  felony  and  the  pride, 
Of  three  in  so  little  tide.' 
The  king  said,  '  So  our  lord  me  see, 
They  have  been  worthy  men  all  three. 
Had  they  not  been  full  of  treason  : 
But  that  made  their  confusion.'  " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  B.  v.  p.  152. 


XOTE  2  L. 


Such  hate  was  his  on  Solway's  strand, 
TVhen  vengeance  clcvck'd  his  palsied  hand. 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land. — P.  439. 

To  establish  his  dominion  in  Scotland  had  been  a  favorite 
object  of  Edward's  ambition,  and  notliing  could  e.\ceed  the 
pertinacity  with  which  he  pursued  it,  unless  his  inveterate 
resentment  against  the  insurgents,  who  so  frequently  broke 
the  English  yoke  when  he  deemed  it  most  firmly  riveted. 
After  the  battles  of  Falkirk  and  Methven,  and  the  dreadful 
examples  which  he  had  made  of  Wallace  and  other  cham- 
pions of  national  independence,  he  probably  concluded  every 
chance  of  insurrection  was  completely  annihilated.  This  was 
in  1306,  when  Bruce,  as  we  have  seen,  was  utterly  expelled 
from  Scotland  :  yet,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  same  j-ear,  Bruce 
was  again  in  arms  and  formidable;  and  in  1307,  Edward, 
though  exhausted  by  a  long  and  wasting  malady,  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  the  army  destined  to  destroy  him  utterly.  This 
was,  perhaps,  partly  in  consequence  of  a  vow  which  he  had 
taken  upon  him,  with  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry,  upon  the  day 
in  which  he  dubbed  his  .son  a  knight,  for  which  see  a  subse- 
quent note.  But  even  his  spirit  of  vengeance  was  unable  to 
restore  his  exhausted  strength.  He  reached  Burgh-upon-Sands, 
a  petty  village  of  Cumberland,  on  the  shores  of  the  Solway 
Firth,  and  there,  6th  July,  1307,  expired  in  sight  of  the  de- 
tested and  devoted  country  of  Scotland.  His  dying  injunc- 
tions to  his  son  required  him  to  continue  the  Scottish  war,  and 
never  to  recall  Gaveston.  Edward  II.  disobeyed  both  charges. 
Yet,  more  to  mark  his  animosity,  the  dying  monarch  orilered 
his  bones  to  be  carried  with  the  invading  army.  Froii^sart  who 
probably  h-'.A  the  authority  of  eye-witnesses,  has  given  us  the 
following  acoonnt  of  this  remarkable  charge  :— 


Lauded. 


2  Power. 


"  In  the  said  forest,  the  old  King  Robert  of  Scotland  dyd 
kepe  hymselfe,  whan  King  Edward  the  Fyrst  conquered  nygh 
all  Scotland  ;  for  he  was  so  often  chased,  that  none  durst  loge 
him  in  castell,  nor  fortresse,  for  feare  of  the  said  Kyng. 

"  And  ever  whan  the  King  was  returned  into  Ingland,  than 
he  would  gather  together  agayn  his  people,  and  conquere 
townes,  castells,  and  fortresses,  iuste  to  Berwick,  some  by  bat 
tie,  and  some  by  fair  speech  and  love  :  and  when  the  said 
King  Edward  heard  thereof,  than  would  he  assemble  his  pow- 
er, and  wyn  the  realme  of  Scotland  again  ;  thus  the  chance 
went  between  these  two  foresaid  Kings.  It  was  shewed  me, 
how  that  this  King  Robert  wan  and  lost  his  realme  v.  times. 
So  this  continued  till  the  said  King  Edward  died  at  Berwick  : 
and  when  he  saw  that  he  should  die,  he  called  before  l)<m  his 
eldest  son,  who  was  King  after  him,  and  there,  before  all  the 
barones,  he  caused  him  to  swear,  that  as  soon  as  he  were  dead, 
that  he  should  take  his  body,  and  boyle  it  in  a  cauldron,  till 
the  flesh  departed  clean  from  the  bones,  and  than  to  bury  the 
flesh,  and  keep  still  the  bones  ;  and  that  as  often  as  the  Scotts 
should  rebell  against  him,  he  should  assemble  the  people 
against  them,  and  carry  with  him  the  bones  of  his  father  ;  for 
he  believed  verily,  that  if  they  had  his  bones  with  them,  that 
the  ScotLs  should  never  attain  any  victory  against  them.  The 
which  thing  was  not  accomplished,  for  when  the  King  died 
his  son  carried  him  to  London." — Berners'  Froissart's 
Chronicle,  London,  1812,  pp.  39,  40. 

Edward's  commands  were  not  obeyed,  for  he  was  interred 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  with  the  appropriate  inscription, — 

"  Edwardus  Primus  Scotorum  malleus  nic  est. 
Pactum  Serva." 

Yet  some  steps  seem  to  have  been  taken  towards  rendering 
his  body  capable  of  occasional  transportation,  for  it  was  ex(|ui- 
sitely  embalmed,  as  was  ascertained  when  his  tomb  wa.s  opened 
some  years  ago.  Edward  II.  judged  wisely  in  not  carrying 
the  dead  body  of  his  father  into  Scotland,  since  he  would  not 
obey  his  living  counsels. 

It  ought  to  be  observed,  that  though  the  order  of  the  inci- 
dents is  reversed  in  the  poem,  yet,  in  point  of  historical  accu- 
racy, Bruce  had  landed  in  Scotland,  and  obtained  some  suc- 
cesses of  conjeqnence,  before  the  death  of  Edward  I. 


Note  2  M. 


■inna^s  tower,  that,  steep  and  pray, 

Like  falcon-^est  overhangs  the  hay. — P.  440. 

The  little  island  of  Canna,  or  Cannay,  adjoins  to  those  of 
Rum  and  Muick,  with  which  it  forms  one  parish.  In  a  pretty 
bay  opening  towards  the  east,  there  is  a  lofty  and  slender  rock 
detached  from  the  shore.  Upon  the  summit  are  the  ruins  of  a 
very  small  tower,  scarcely  accessible  by  a  steep  and  ijrecijiitous 
path.  Here,  it  is  said,  one  of  the  kings,  or  Lords  of  the  Isles, 
confined  a  beautiful  lady,  of  whom  he  was  jealous.  The 
rains  are  of  course  haunted  by  her  restless  spirit,  and  many  ro- 
mantic stories  are  told  by  the  aged  people  of  the  island  con- 
cerning her  fate  in  life,  and  I'ler  appearances  after  death. 


Note  2  K 

^nd  Ronin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 
Their  hunters  to  the  shore. — P.  440. 

Ronin  (popularly  called  Rum,  a  name  which  a  poet  may 
be  pardoned  for  avoiding  if  possible)  is  a  very  rough  aui"  moun- 
tainous island,  adjacent  to  those  of  Eigg  and  Cannay.  There 
is  almost  no  arable  ground  upon  it,  so  that,  except  in  the 
plenty  of  the  deer,  which  of  course  are  now  nearly  extirpated, 
it  still  deserves  the  description  bestowed  by  the  archdea/c*-?  o'' 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


487 


the  Isles.  "  Ronin,  sixteea  myle  north-wast  from  the  ile  of 
Coll,  lyes  ace  ile  callit  Ronin  I^e,  of  sixteen  niyle  long,  and  six 
in  bredthein  the  narro^-est,  due  furest  of  lieigh  mountains,  and 
abundance  of  little  deir  in  it,  quhilk  deir  will  never  be  slane 
donnevvitli,  but  the  principal  saittis  man  be  in  tlio  heiglit  of  tlie 
hill,  because  the  deir  will  be  callit  upwart  ay  be  the  tainchell, 
or  without  tynchell  they  will  pass  upwart  perforce.  In  this 
ile  will  be  gotten  about  Uritane  a'.s  many  wild  nests  upon  the 
plane  mure  as  men  pleasis  to  gadder,  atid  yet  by  resson  tlie 
fowls  hes  few  to  start  them  except  deir.  This  ile  lyes  from  the 
west  to  the  eist  in  lenth,  and  pertains  to  M'Kenabrey  of  Colla. 
Many  solan  geese  are  in  this  ile." — Monro's  Description  of 
the  fVestern  Isles,  p.  18. 


Note  2  0. 


On  Scoorei^g  next  a  warning  light 

Summoned  her  icarriors  to  the  fight  ; 

A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  Macleod 

O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode.^P.  440. 

These,  and  the  following  lines  of  the  stanza,  refer  to  a 
dreadful  tale  of  feudal  vengeance,  of  which  unfortunately 
there  are  relics  that  still  attest  the  truth.  Scoor-Eigg  is  a  high 
peak  in  the  centre  of  the  small  Isle  of  Eigg,  or  Egg.  It  is  well 
known  to  mineralogists,  as  affording  many  interesting  speci- 
mens, and  to  others  whom  chance  or  curiosity  may  lead  to  the 
island,  for  tlie  astonishing  view  of  the  mainland  and  neighbor- 
ing isles  which  it  commands.  I  shall  again  avail  myself  of  the 
journal  I  have  quoted.' 

"  26th  August,  1814. — At  seven  this  morning  we  were  in 
the  Sound  which  'divides  the  Isle  of  Rum  from  that  of  Eigg. 
The  latter,  although  hilly  and  rocky,  and  traversed  by  a  re- 
markably high  and  barren  ridge,  called  Scoor-Rigg,  has,  in 
point  of  soil,  a  much  more  promising  appearance.  Southward 
of  both  lies  the  Isle  of  Muicb,  or  Muck,  a  low  and  fertile 
island,  and  though  the  least,  yet  probably  the  most  valuable 
of  the  three.  We  manned  the  boat,  and  rowed  along  the 
shore  of  Egg  In  quest  of  a  cavern,  which  had  been  the  memo- 
rable scene  of  a  horrid  feudal  vengeance.  We  had  rounded 
more  than  half  the  island,  admiring  the  entrance  of  many  a 
bold  natural  cave,  which  its  rocks  exhibited,  without  finding 
that  which  we  sought,  until  we  procured  a  guide.  Nor,  in- 
deed, was  it  surprising  that  it  should  have  escaped  the  search 
of  strangers,  as  there  are  no  outward  indications  more  than 
might  distinguish  the  entrance  of  a  fox-earth.  This  noted 
cave  lias  a  very  narrow  opening,  through  wliich  one  can  hardly 
creep  on  his  knees  and  liands.  It  rises  steep  and  lofty  within, 
and  runs  into  the  bowels  of  the  rock  to  the  depth  of  255  mea- 
sured feet ;  the  height  at  tlie  entrance  may  be  about  three  feet, 
but  rises  within  to  eighteen  or  twenty,  and  the  breadth  may 
vary  in  the  same  proportion.  The  rude  and  stony  bottom  of 
this  cave  is  strewed  v/ith  the  bones  of  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, the  sad  relics  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  the  island,  200 
in  number,  who  were  slain  on  the  following  occasion : — ^The 
Mac-Donalds  of  the  Isle  of  Egg,  a  people  dependent  on  Clan- 
Ranald,  had  done  some  injury  to  the  Laird  of  Mac-Leod.  The 
tradition  of  tbe  isle  says,  that  it  was  by  a  personal  attack  on 
the  chieftain,  in  which  his  back  was  broken.  But  that  of  the 
other  isles  bears,  more  probably,  that  the  injury  was  offered  to 
two  or  three  of  the  Mac-Leods,  who,  landing  upon  Eigg,  and 
using  some  freedom  with  the  young  women,  were  seized  by 
the  islanders,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  turned  adrift  in  a  boat, 
which  the  winds  and  waves  safely  conducted  to  Skye.  To 
avenge  the  offence  given,  Mac-Leod  sailed  witli  such  a  body 
of  men,  as  rendered  resistance  hopeless.  The  natives,  fearing 
his  vengeance,  concealed  tliemselves  in  this  cavern,  and,  after 
a  strict  search,  the  Mac-Leods  went  on  board  their  galleys, 
after  doing  what  mischief  they  could,  concluding  the  inhabit- 

1  See  note  2  G,  ji  483,  ante. 


ants  had  left  the  isle,  and  betaken  themselves  to  the  T<ong  Isl- 
and, or  some  of  Clan-Ranald's  otlier  possessions.  But  next 
morning  they  espied  from  the  vessels  a  man  upon  the  island, 
and  immediately  landing  again,  tliey  traced  Ids  retreat  by  the 
marks  of  his  footsteps,  a  light  snow  being  unhappily  on  the 
ground.  Mac-Leod  then  surrounded  the  cavern,  summoned 
the  subterranean  garrison,  and  demanded  that  the  individuals 
who  had  offended  him  should  be  delivered  up  to  him.  This 
was  peremptorily  refused.  The  chieftain  then  caused  liis  peo- 
ple to  divert  the  course  of  a  rill  of  water,  wliicli,  falling  over 
the  entrance  of  the  cave,  would  liave  prevented  his  purposed 
vengeance.  He  then  kindled  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern  a 
huge  fire,  composed  of  turf  and  fern,  and  maintained  it  with 
unrelenting  assiduity,  until  all  within  were  destroyed  by  suffo- 
cation. The  date  of  this  dreadful  deed  must  have  been  re- 
cent, if  one  may  judge  from  the  fresh  appearance  of  those  rel- 
ics. 1  brought  off,  in  spite  of  the  prejudice  of  our  sailors,  a 
skull  from  among  the  numerous  specimens  of  mortality  which 
the  cavern  afforded.  Before  re-einburking  we  visited  another 
cave,  opening  to  the  sea,  but  of  a  character  entirely  different, 
being  a  large  open  vault,  as  high  as  that  of  a  cathedral,  and 
running  back  a  great  way  into  the  rock  at  the  same  height. 
The  height  and  width  of  the  opening  gives  ample  light  to  the 
whole.  Here,  after  1745,  when  the  Catholic  priests  were 
scarcely  tolerated,  the  priest  of  Eigg  used  to  perform  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  service,  most  of  the  islanders  being  of  that  per- 
suasion. A  huge  ledge  of  rocks  rising  about  half-way  tip 
one  side  of  the  vault,  served  for  altar  and  pulpit  ;  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  priest  and  Highland  congregation  in  sucli  an  ex- 
traordinary place  of  worship,  might  have  engaged  the  pencil  of 
Salvator." 


Note  2  P. 


-that  wondrous  dome. 


Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 

By  skill  of  earthly  architect, 

JVature  herself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise 

A  Minster  to  her  Maker's  praise. — P.  441. 

It  would  be  unpardonable  to  detain  the  reader  upon  a  won- 
der so  often  described,  and  yet  so  incapable  of  being  under- 
stood by  description.  This  palace  of  Neptune  is  even  grander 
upon  a  second  than  the  first  view.  Tiie  stupendous  columns 
which  form  the  sides  of  the  cave,  the  depth  and  strength  of 
the  tide  which  rolls  its  deep  and  heavy  swell  up  to  the  extre- 
mity of  the  vault — the  variety  of  the  tints  formed  by  white, 
crimson,  and  yellow  stalactites,  or  petrifactions,  which  occupy 
the  vacancies,  between  the  base  of  the  broken  pillars  which 
form  the  roof,  and  intersect  them  with  a  rich,  curious,  and  va- 
riegated chasing,  occupying  each  interstice — the  corresponding 
variety  below  water,  where  the  ocean  rolls  over  a  dark-red  or 
violet-colored  rock,  from  which,  as  from  a  base,  the  basaltic 
columns  arise — the  tremendous  noise  of  the  swelling  tide,  min 
gling  with  the  deep-toned  echoes  of  the  vault, — are  circum- 
stances elsewhere  unparalleled. 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  varied  appearance 
of  the  little  archipelago  of  islets,  of  which  Staffa  is  the  most 
remarkable.  This  group,  called  in  Gaelic  Tresharnish,  affords 
a  thousand  varied  views  to  the  voyager,  as  they  appear  in  dif- 
ferent positions  with  reference  to  his  course.  The  variety  of 
their  shape  contributes  much  to  the  beauty  of  these  effects. 


Note  2  Q. 


Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more. — P.  441. 

Tlie  ballad,  entitled  "  Macphail  of  Colonsay,  and  the  Mer- 
maid  of  Corrievrekin"    [see  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.   it.    o. 


« 


488 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


285],  was  composed  by  John  Leydcn,  from  a  tradition  which 
he  found  while  making  a  tour  through  the  Hebrides  about 
J801,  soon  before  liis  fatal  departure  for  India,  where,  after 
liaving  made  farther  progress  in  Oriental  literature  tlian  any 
man  of  letters  who  had  embraced  those  studies,  he  died  a 
martyr  to  his  zeal  for  knowledge,  in  the  island  of  Java,  im- 
mediately after  the  landing  of  our  forces  near  Batavia,  in  Au- 
gust, 18H. 


K'OTE  2  R. 


Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  they  bore, 

Then  dragged  their  hark  the  isthmus  o'er. — P.  441. 

The  peninsula  of  Cantire  is  joined  to  South  Knapdale  by  a 
very  narrow  isthmus,  formed  by  the  western  and  eastern  Loch 
of  Tarbat.  These  two  salt-water  lakes,  or  bays,  encroach  so 
♦ar  upon  the  land,  and  the  e.xtreraities  come  so  near  to  each 
other,  that  there  is  not  above  a  mile  of  land  to  divide  them. 

"  It  is  not  long,"  says  Pennant,  "  since  vessels  of  nine  or  ten 
tons  were  drawn  by  hoises  out  of  the  west  loch  into  that  of  the 
east,  to  avoid  the  dangers  of  the  Mull  of  Cantyre,  so  dreaded 
and  so  little  known  was  the  navigation  round  that  promontory. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  many,  that  these  little  isthmuses,  so  fre- 
quently styled  Tarbat  in  North  Britain,  took  their  name  from 
the  above  circnmstance  ;  Tarruiug,  signifying  to  draw,  and 
Bata,  a  boat.  This  too  might  be  called,  by  way  of  pre-emi- 
nence, the  Tarbat,  from  a  very  singular  circumstance  related 
by  TorfcDus.  When  Magnus,  the  barefooted  King  of  Norway, 
obtained  from  Donald-bane  of  Scotland  the  cession  of  the 
Western  Isles,  or  all  those  places  that  could  be  surrounded  in 
a  boat,  he  added  to  them  the  peninsula  of  Cantyre  by  this 
fraud  :  he  placed  himself  in  the  stern  of  a  boat,  held  the  rud- 
der, was  drawn  over  this  narrow  track,  and  by  this  species  of 
navigation  wrested  the  country  from  his  brother  monarch." — 
Pknnant's  Scotland,  London,  1790,  p.  190. 

But  that  Bruce  also  made  this  passage,  although  at  a  period 
two  or  three  years  later  than  in  the  poem,  ap])ears  from  the 
evidence  of  Barbour,  who  mentions  also  the  effect  produced 
upon  the  minds  of  the  Highlanders,  from  the  prophecies  cur- 
rent amongst  them  : — 

"  Bot  to  King  Robert  will  we  gang, 
That  we  haff  left  wnspokyn  of  lang. 
Quhen  he  had  conwoyit  to  the  se 
His  brodyr  Eduuard,  and  his  menye, 
And  othyr  men  off  gret  noblay. 
To  Tarbart  thai  held  thair  way, 
In  galayis  ordanyt  for  thair  far. 
Bot  tliaim  worthyt'  draw  thair  schippis  thar  : 
And  a  myle  wes  betuix  the  seys  ; 
Bot  that  wes  lompnyt^  all  with  treis. 
The  King  his  schippis  thar  gerts  draw. 
And  for  the  wynd  conth<  stoutly  blaw 
Apon  thair  bak,  as  thai  wald  ga, 
He  gert  men  rapys  and  mastis  ta. 
And  set  thaim  in  the  schippis  hey, 
And  sayllis  to  the  toppis  tey  ; 
And  gert  men  gang  thar  by  drawand. 
Tiie  wynd  thaim  helpyt,  that  was  blawand  ; 
f^wa  that,  in  a  litill  space, 
Thair  flote  all  our  drawiu  was. 

"  And  quhen  thai,  that  in  the  His  war. 
Hard  tell  how  the  gud  King  had  thar 
Gert  hys  schippis  with  saillis  ga 
Owt  our  betuix  [the]  Tarbart  [is]  twa, 
Tliai  war  abaysit=  sa  wtrely. 
For  thai  wyst,  throw  auld  prophecy, 

Were  oljliged  to.— 2  Laid  with  trees.— 3  Caused. — 4  Could. 


That  he  suld  gei*  schippis  sua 

Betuix  thai  seis  with  saillis  ga, 

Suld  wyne  the  His  sua  till  hand. 

That  nane  with  strenth  suld  him  withstand. 

Thari'or  they  come  all  to  the  King. 

Wes  nane  withstud  his  bidding, 

Owtakyn'  Jhone  of  Lome  allayne. 

Bot  Weill  sone  eftre  wes  he  tayiie  ; 

And  present  rycht  to  the  King. 

And  thai  that  war  of  his  leding, 

That  till  the  King  had  brokyn  fay ,8 

War  all  dede,  and  destroyit  away." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  x.  v. 


821 


Note  2  S. 


The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 
Bcn-Ohoil,  "  the  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 
Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 
And  bade  Loch  Ranza  smile. — P.  441. 

Loch  Ranza  is  a  beautiful  bay,  on  the  northern  extremity  of 
Arran,  opening  towards  East  Tarbat  Loch.  It  is  well  described 
by  Pennant : — "  The  approach  was  magnificent ;  a  fine  bay  in 
front,  about  a  mile  deep,  having  a  ruined  castle  near  the  lower 
end,  on  a  low  far  projecting  neck  of  land,  that  forms  another 
harbor,  with  a  narrow  passage  ;  but  within  has  three  fathom 
of  water,  even  at  the  lowest  ebb.  Beyond  is  a  little  plain  wa- 
tered by  a  stream,  and  inhabited  by  the  people  of  a  small  vil- 
lage. The  whole  is  environed  with  a  theatre  of  mountains  ; 
and  in  the  background  the  serrated  crags  of  Grianan-Athol  soar 
above." — Pennant's  Tour  to  the  tVestern  Isles,  p.  191-2. 
Ben-Ghaoil,  "  the  mountain  of  the  winds,"  is  generally  known 
by  its  English,  and  less  poetical  name,  of  Goatfield. 


Note  2  T. 


Each  to  Loch  Panza's  margin  spring  ; 
That  blast  wasficinded  by  the  King  ! — P.  443. 

The  pa-ssage  in  Barbour,  describing  the  landing  of  Brnce, 
aud  his  being  recognized  by  Douglas  and  those  of  his  followers 
who  had  preceded  him,  by  the  sound  of  his  horn,  is  in  the 
original  singularly  simple  and  affecting. — The  king  arrived  in 
Arran  with  thirty-three  small  row-boats.  He  interrogated  a 
female  if  there  had  arrived  any  warlike  men  of  late  in  that 
country.  "  Surely,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  I  can  tell  you  of  many 
who  lately  came  hither,  discomfited  the  English  governor,  and 
blockaded  his  castle  of  Brodick.  They  maintain  themselves  in 
a  wood  at  no  great  distance."  The  king,  truly  conceiving  that 
this  must  be  Douglas  and  his  followers,  who  had  lately  set  forth 
to  try  their  fortune  in  Arran,  desired  the  woman  to  condi  ct 
him  to  the  wood.     She  obejed. 

"  The  king  then  blew  his  horn  on  high, 
And  gert  his  men  that  were  him  by, 
Hold  them  still,  and  all  privy  ; 
And  syne  again  his  home  blew  he. 
James  of  Dowglas  heard  him  blow, 
And  at  the  la-st  alone  gan  know, 
And  said,  '  Soothly  yon  is  the  king ; 
I  know  long  while  since  his  blowing.' 
The  third  time  therewithall  he  blew, 
And  then  Sir  Robert  Boid  it  knew  ; 
And  said,  '  Yon  is  the  king,  but  dread, 
Go  we  forth  till  him,  better  speed.' 
Then  wout  they  till  the  king  in  hye, 
And  him  inclined  courteously, 

5  Confounded. —G  Make.— 1  Eicepting.— 8  Faitli. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


489 


And  blithly  welcomed  tliem  the  king, 
And  was  joyful  of  their  meeting, 
And  kissed  them  ;  and  speared'  syne 
How  they  had  fared  in  hunting  ? 
And  they  him  told  all,  but  lesing  :t 
Sj-ne  laud  they  God  of  their  meeting. 
Syne  with  the  king  till  his  harbourye 
Went  both  joyfu'  and  jolly." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  v.  pp.  115,  116. 


Note  2  U. 

-  -    his  brother  blamed, 

But  shared  the  weakness,  while  ashamed. 
With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turned, 
And  dash'd  away  the  tear  he  scorn'd. — P.  443. 

The  kind,  and  yet  fiery  character  of  Edward  Bruce,  is  well 
painted  by  Barbour,  in  the  account  of  his  behavior  after  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn.  Sir  Walter  Ross,  one  of  the  very  few 
Scottish  nobles  who  fell  in  that  battle,  was  so  dearly  beloved 
by  Edward,  that  he  wished  the  victory  had  been  lost,  so  Ross 
had  lived. 

"  Out-taken  him,  men  has  not  seen 
Where  he  for  any  men  made  moaning." 

And  here  the  venerable  Archdeacon  intimates  a  piece  of  scan- 
dal. .Sir  Edward  Bruce,  it  seems,  loved  Ross's  sister,  par 
amours,  to  the  neglect  of  his  own  lady,  sister  to  David  de 
Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole.  This  criminal  passion  had  evil 
consequences  ;  for,  in  resentment  to  the  affront  done  to  his 
sister,  Athole  attacked  the  guard  which  Bruce  had  left  at 
Cambuskenneth,  during  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  to  protect 
his  magazine  of  provisions,  and  slew  Sir  William  Keith,  the 
commander.     For  which  treason  he  was  forfeited. 

In  like  manner,  when  in  a  sally  from  Carrickfergus,  Neil 
Fleming,  and  the  guards  whom  he  commanded,  had  fallen, 
after  the  protracted  resistance  which  saved  the  rest  of  Edward 
Bruce's  array,  he  made  such  moan  as  surprised  his  followers  : 

"  Sic  moan  he  made  men  had  ferly,3 
For  he  was  not  cnstomably 
Wont  for  to  moan  men  any  thing. 
Nor  would  not  hear  men  make  moaning." 

Snch  are  the  nice  traits  of  character  so  often  lost  in  general 
history. 


Note  2  V. 


Thou  heard' St  a  wretched  female  plain 

In  agony  of  travel-pain. 

And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 

Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand. 

And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do. 

Rather  than,  like  a  knight  untrue, 

Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 

A  woman  in  her  last  distress. — P.  -145. 

This  incident,  which  illustrates  so  happily  the  chivalrous 
generosity  of  Bruce's  character,  is  one  of  the  many  sim|)le  and 
natural  traits  recorded  by  Barbour.  It  occuiTed  during  the 
expedition  which  Bruce  made  to  Ireland,  to  support  the  pre- 
tensions of  his  brother  Edward  to  the  throne  of  that  kingdom. 
Bruce  was  about  to  retreat,  and  his  host  was  arrayed  for 
moving. 

' '  The  king  has  heard  a  woman  cry, 
He  asked  what  that  was  in  hy.^ 
'  It  is  the  layndar,3  sir,'  sai  ane, 


1  A«ked.- 
Child-bed. 


2  Without  lying. — 3  Wonder.- 
62 


Haste,  —  5  Lanndress.- 


'  That  her  child-ills  right  now  has  ta'ea : 
And  must  leave  now  behind  us  here. 
Therefore  she  makes  au  evil  cheer.'T 
The  king  said,  '  Certes,^  it  were  pity 
That  she  in  that  point  left  should  be. 
For  certes  I  trow  there  is  no  man 
That  he  no  will  rue^  a  woman  than.' 
His  liosts  all  there  arested  he. 
And  gert'o  a  tent  soon  stinted'i  be, 
And  gert  her  gang  in  hastily, 
And  other  women  to  be  her  by. 
While  she  was  delivered  he  bade  ; 
And  syne  forth  on  his  ways  rade. 
And  how  she  forth  siiould  carried  be, 
Or  he  forth  fure,'^  ordained  he. 
This  was  a  full  great  courtesy, 
Thatswilk  a  king  and  so  mighty, 
Gert  his  men  dwell  en  this  manner, 
But  for  a  poor  lavender." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  xvi.  pp.  39,  40. 


Note  2  "W. 


O'er  chasms  he  pass' d,  where  fractures  wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride. — P,  443, 

The  interior  of  the  island  of  Arran  abounds  with  beautifal 
Highland  scenery.  The  hills,  being  very  rocky  and  precipi- 
tous, afford  some  cataracts  of  great  height,  though  of  incon- 
siderable breadth.  ^  There  is  one  pass  over  the  river  Machrai, 
renowned  for  the  dilemma  of  a  poor  woman,  who,  being 
tempted  by  the  narrowness  of  the  ravine  to  step  across,  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  first  movement,  but  took  fright  when  it 
became  necessary  to  move  the  other  foot,  and  remained  in  a 
posture  equally  ludicrous  and  dangerous,  until  some  chance 
passenger  assisted  her  to  extricate  herself.  It  is  said  she  re- 
mained there  some  hours. 


Note  2  X, 

He  eross'd  his  brow  beside  the  stone 
Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan  ; 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild, 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled. — P.  448. 

The  isle  of  Arran,  like  those  of  Man  and  Anglesea,  abounds 
with  many  relics  of  heathen,  and  proliably  Drnidical,  super- 
stition. There  are  high  erect  columns  of  unhewn  stone,  the 
most  early  of  all  monuments,  the  circles  of  rude  stones,  com- 
monly entitled  Drnidical,  and  the  cairns,  or  sepulchral  piles, 
within  which  are  usually  found  urns  enclosing  ashes.  Much 
doubt  necessarily  rests  upon  the  history  of  such  monuments, 
nor  is  it  possible  to  consider  them  as  exclusively  Celtic  or 
Drnidical.  By  much  the  finest  circles  of  standing  stones,  ex- 
cepting Stonehege,  are  those  of  Stenhonse,  at  Stennis,  in  the 
island  of  Pomona,  the  principal  isle  of  the  Orcades.  These, 
of  course,  are  neither  Celtic  nor  Drnidical  ;  and  we  are  assured 
that  many  circles  of  the  kind  occur  both  in  Sweden  and  Nor- 
way. 


Note  2  T. 

Old  Brodick's  gothic  towers  were  seen ; 
From  Hastings,  late  their  English  Lord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword. — P.  448. 

Brodick  or  Brathwick  CasJtle,  in  the  Isle  of  Arran,  is  an  an- 
cient fortress,  near  au  open   roadstead   called   Brodick-Bav, 

1  Stop.— 8  Certainly.— 9  Pity.— 10  Caused.— 11  PitcliL-d.— 12  Moved. 


490 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and  not  far  distant  from  a  tolerable  Iiarbor,  closed  in  by  the 
Island  of  Lamlash.  This  important  place  had  been  assailed  a 
Bhort  time  before  Bruce's  arrival  in  tlie  island.  James  Lord 
Douglas,  who  accompanied  Bruce  to  his  retreat  in  Racbrine, 
Beem's,  in  the  sjiring  of  1306,  to  liave  tired  of  his  abode  there, 
and  set  out  accordingly,  in  the  phrase  of  tlie  times,  to  see  what 
adventnre  God  would  send  him.  Sir  Robert  Boyd  accom- 
panied him ;  and  liis  knowledge  of  the  localities  of  Arran 
apjiears  to  liave  directed  his  course  thither.  They  landed  in 
the  island  privately,  and  appear  to  have  laid  an  ambush  for 
Sir  John  Hastings,  the  English  governor  of  Brodwick,  and 
surprised  a  considerable  supply  of  arms  and  provisions,  and 
nearly  took  the  castle  itself.  Indeed,  that  they  actually  did 
BO,  has  been  generally  averred  by  historians,  although  it  does 
not  appear  from  the  narrative  of  Barbour.  On  the  contrary, 
it  would  seem  that  they  took  shelter  within  a  fortification  of 
the  ancient  inhabitants,  a  rampart  called  Tor  an  Sciiia.n. 
When  they  were  joined  by  Bruce,  it  seems  probable  that  they 
had  gained  Brodick  Castle.  At  least  tradition  says,  that  from 
the  battlements  of  the  tower  he  saw  the  supposed  signal-fire 
on  Turnberry-nook.  .  .  .  The  castle  is  now  much  modernized, 
but  has  a  dignified  appearance,  being  surrounded  by  flourish- 
ing plantations. 


Note  2  Z. 


Oft,  too,  with  unaceustom'd  ears, 

A  language  muck  unmeet  he  hears. — P.  448. 

Barbonr,  with  great  simplicity,  gives  an  anecdote,  from 
which  it  would  seem  that  the  vice  of  profane  swearing,  after- 
wards too  general  among  the  Scottish  nation,  was,  at  this 
time,  confined  to  military  men.  As  Douglas,  after  Bruce's 
return  to  Scotland,  was  roving  about  the  raonntainous  coun- 
try of  Tweeddale,  near  the  water  of  Line,  he  chanced  to  hear 
some  persons  in  a  farm-house  say  "the  devil.^'  Concluding, 
from  this  hardy  expression,  that  the  house  contained  warlike 
guests,  he  immediately  assailed  it,  and  had  the  good  fortune 
to  make  prisonei's  Thomas  Randolph,  afterwards  the  famous 
Earl  of  Murray,  and  Alexander  Stuart,  Lord  Bonkle.  Both 
were  then  in  the  English  interest,  and  had  come  into  that 
country  with  the  purpose  of  driving  out  Douglas.  They  after- 
wards ranked  among  Bruce's  most  zealous  adherents. 


Note  3  A. 


For,  see !  the  ruddy  signal  made. 
That  Clifford,  with  his  merry-men  all. 
Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall. — P.  449. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  by  which  Bruce  was  induced 
to  enter  Scotland,  under  the  false  idea  that  a  signal-fire  was 
lighted  upon  the  shore  near  his  maternal  castle  of  Turnberry 
— the  disappointment  which  he  met  with,  and  the  train  of 
BUiieess  which  arose  out  of  tliat  very  disappointment,  are  too 
curious  to  be  passed  over  unnoticed.  The  following  is  the 
narrative  of  Barbour.  The  introduction  is  a  favorable  speci- 
men of  his  style,  wliich  seems  to  be  in  some  degree  the  model 
for  that  of  Gawain  Douglas  :  — 

"  This  wcs  in  ver'  qnhen  wynter  tid, 
With  his  blastis  hidwyss  to  bid. 
Was  our  drywyn  :  and  byrdis  smale, 
As  turturis  and  the  nychtyngale, 
Begouth^  rycht  sariely;  to  syng  ; 
And  for  to  mak  in  thair  singyng 
Swete  notis,  and  sownys  ser,* 


t  SoriDJ. — 2  Began. — 3  Loftily.- 
•ring 


1  Several. — 5  Make. — 6  Buds. — 7  Cov- 


And  melodys  jilesand  to  her. 
And  the  treis  begoulh  to  ma^ 
Burgeans,c  and  brycht  blomys  alsua, 
To  wyn  the  helyng?  off' thair  hewid, 
That  wykkyt  wyntir  had  thaim  rewid.8 
And  all  gressys  beguth  to  spryng. 
In  to  that  tyme  the  nobill  king. 
With  his  flote,  and  a  few  menye,' 
Thre  hundyr  I  trow  thai  mycht  be, 
Is  to  the  se,  owte  oft'  Arane 
A  litill  forouth,'"  ewyn  gane. 

"  Thai  rowit  fast,  with  all  thair  mycht, 
Till  that  apon  thaim  fell  the  nycht, 
That  woux  myrk"  apon  gret  maner, 
Swa  that  thai  wyst  noclit  quiiar  thai  wer. 
For  thai  na  nedill  had,  na  stane  ; 
Bot  rowit  alwayis  in  till  ane, 
Sterand  all  tyme  apon  the  fyr. 
That  thai  saw  brynnand  lycht  and  schyr." 
It  wes  bot  auenturi^  thaim  led  : 
And  they  in  schort  tyme  sa  thaim  sped, 
That  at  the  fyr  arywyt  thai  ; 
And  went  to  land  bot  mar  delay. 
And  Cuthbert,  that  has  sens  the  fyr. 
Was  full  offangyr,  and  off  ire  : 
For  he  durst  nocht  do  it  away  ; 
And  wes  alsua  dowtand  ay 
That  his  lord  suld  pass  to  se. 
Tharfor  thair  cummyn  waytit  he  ; 
And  met  them  at  thair  arywing. 
He  wes  wele  sone  broucht  to  the  King, 
That  speryt  at  him  how  he  had  done. 
And  he  with  sar  hart  tauld  him  sone, 
How  that  he  fand  nane  Weill  luffand  ; 
Bot  all  war  fayis,  that  he  fand ; 
And  that  the  lord  the  Persy, 
With  ner  thre  hundre  in  cnmpany, 
Was  in  the  castell  thar  besid, 
Fullfillyt  offdisiiyt  and  prid.  "» 

Bot  ma  than  twa  partis  off  his  rowt 
War  herberyt  in  the  toune  without ; 
'  And  dyspytyt  yow  mar,  Schir  King, 
Than  men  may  dispyt  ony  thing.' 
Than  said  the  King,  in  full  gret  ire  ; 
'  Tratour,  quhy  maid  thow  than  the  fyr  ?' — 
'  A  !  Schyr,'  -said  he,  '  sa  God  me  se  ! 
The  fyr  wes  newyr  maid  for  me. 
Na,  or  the  nycht,  I  wyst  it  nocht ; 
Bot  fra  I  wyst  it,  weill  I  thocht 
That  ye,  and  haly  your  menye, 
In  hyi''  suld  put  yow  to  the  se. 
For  thi  I  cum  to  mete  yow  her, 
To  tell  perellys  that  may  aper.' 

"  The  King  wes  off  his  spek  angry. 
And  askyt  his  prywe  men,  in  by, 
Ciuhat  at  thaim  thoucht  wes  best  to  do. 
Schyr  Edward  fryst  answert  thar  to, 
Ilys  brodyr  that  wes  swa  hardy, 
And  said  :  '  I  saw  yow  jekyrly 
Thar  sail  na  perell,  that  may  be, 
Dryve  me  eftsonysi^  to  the  se. 
Myne  auentur  her  tak  will  I, 
duhethir  it  be  esfull  or  angry.'  — 
'  Brothyr,'  he  said   '  sen  thou  will  sua, 
It  is  gude  that  we  samyn  ta 
Dissese  or  ese,  or  payne  or  play, 
Eftyr  as  God  will  ws  purway.ts 

8  Bcre.ived.— 9  Men.— 10  Before.— 11  Dark.— 12  Clear.— 23  AdTOTtur* 
—14  Haste. — 15  Soon  after. — 16  Prepare. 


I 


And  sen  men  sayis  that  the  Persy 

Myn  heretage  will  occupy  ; 

And  liis  inenye  sa  ner  ws  lyis. 

That  ws  (lis|)ytis  mony  wy?s  ; 

Ga  we  and  wenge'  sum  off  the  dispyte 

And  tliat  may  we  haifl"done  alss  tite;a 

For  thai  ly  traistly,-'  but  dreding 

Oft' ws,  or  off  our  her  cummyng. 

And  thoucht  we  slepand  slew  thaim  all, 

Repruff  tharof  na  man  sail. 

For  wprrayour  na  forss  suld  ma, 

dnhelhir  he  mycht  ourcom  his  fa 

Throw  strenth,  or  throw  snteltt;  ; 

Bot  that  gud  faith  ay  haldyn  he.'  " 

Barbocr's  Bruce,  Book  iv.  v.  I. 


NOTK  3  B. 


JtTow  ask  you  whence  that  wondroits  light, 
Wliose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight  ? 
It  ne'er  was  known. — P.  451. 

The  {ollowin^'  are  the  words  of  an  ingenious  correspondent, 
lo  whom  I  am  obliged  for  much  information  respecting  Turn- 
berry  and  its  neighborhood.  "  The  only  tradition  now  re- 
membered of  the  landing  of  Robert  the  Bruce  in  Carrick,  re- 
lates to  the  fire  seen  by  him  from  the  Isle  of  Arran.  It  is  still 
generally  reported,  and  religiously  believed  by  many,  that 
this  fire  was  really  the  work  of  supernatural  power,  unassisted 
by  the  hand  of  any  mortal  being  ;  and  it  is  said,  that,  for  sev- 
eral centuries,  the  flame  rose  yearly  on  the  same  hour  of  the 
same  night  of  the  year,  on  which  the  king  first  saw  it  from  the 
turrets  of  Brodick  Castle  ;  and  some  go  so  far  as  to  say,  that 
if  the  e.icact  time  were  known,  it  would  be  still  seen.  That 
this  superstitious  notion  is  very  ancient,  is  evident  from  the 
place  where  the  fire  is  said  to  have  appeared,  being  called  the 
Bogles'  Brae,  beyond  the  remembrance  of  man.  In  support 
of  this  curious  belief,  it  is  said  that  the  practice  of  burning 
heath  for  the  improvement  of  land  was  then  unknown;  that 
a  spunkie  (Jack  o'lanthorn)  could  not  have  been  seen  across 
the  breadth  of  the  Forth  of  Clyde,  between  Ayrshire  and 
Arran  ;  and  that  the  courier  of  Bruce  was  his  kinsman,  and 
never  suspected  of  treachery." — Letter  from  Mr.  Joseph  Train, 
of  Newton  Stuart,  author  of  an  ingenious  Collection  of  Poems, 
illustrative  of  many  ancient  Traditions  in  Galloway  and  Ajt- 
shire,  Edinburgh,  1814.  [Mr.  Train  made  a  journey  into  Ayr- 
shire at  Sir  Walter  Scott's  request,  on  purpose  to  collect 
accurate  information  for  the  Notes  to  this  poem  ;  and  the 
reader  will  find  more  of  the  fruits  of  his  labors  in  Note  3  D. 
This  is  the  same  gentleman  whose  friendly  assistance  is  so 
often  acknowledged  in  the  Notes  and  Introductions  of  the 
Waverley  Novels.] 


IS'OTE  3  C. 


They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Leftfo-^  the  Castle's  silvan  reign. — P.  451. 

The  Castle  of  Turnberry,  on  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  was  the 
property  of  Robert  Bruce,  in  right  of  his  mother.  Lord  Hailes 
mentions  the  following  remarkable  circumstance  concerning 
the  mode  in  which  he  became  proprietor  of  it: — "Martha, 
Countess*  of  Carrick  in  her  own  right,  the  wife  of  Robert 
Bruce.  Lord  of  Annandale,  bare  him  a  son,  afterwards  Robert 
I.  (11th  July,  1274).  The  circumstances  of  her  marriage  were 
singular :  happening  to  meet  Robert  Bruce  in  her  domains, 
afae  became  enamored  of  him,  and  with  some  violence  led  him 

1  Avenge.— 2  Quickly.— 3  Confidently. 
Sir  Walter   Scott  has  misread  Mr.  Train's  MS.,  which  gave  not 


to  her  castle  of  Turnberry.  A  few  days  after  she  married  him, 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  relations  of  either  party,  and 
without  the  requisite  consent  of  the  king.  The  king  instantly 
seized  her  castle  and  whole  estates  :  Slie  afterwards  atoned 
by  a  fine  for  her  feudal  delinquency.  Little  did  Alexander 
foresee,  that,  from  this  union,  the  restorer  of  the  Scottish 
monarchy  was  to  arise." — Jlnnala  of  Scotland,  \o\.  ii.  p.  180. 
The  same  obliging  correspondent,  whom  I  have  quoted  in  the 
preceding  note,  gives  me  the  following  account  of  the  present 
state  of  the  ruins  of  Turnbeiry  : — "  Turnberry  Point  is  a  rock 
projecting  into  the  sea ;  the  top  of  it  is  about  eighteen  feet 
above  high-water  mark.  Upon  this  rock  was  built  the  castle. 
There  is  about  twenty-five  feet  high  of  the  wall  next  to  tl»» 
sea  yet  standing.  Upon  the  land  side  the  wall  is  only  about 
four  feet  high  ;  the  length  has  been  sixty  feet,  and  the  breadth 
forty-five :  It  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch,  but  that  is  now  near- 
ly filled  up.  The  top  of  the  ruin,  rising  between  forty  and 
fifty  feet  above  the  water,  has  a  majestic  appearance  from  the 
sea.  There  is  not  much  local  tradition  in  the  vicinity  con 
nected  with  Bruce  or  his  history.  In  front,  however,  of  the 
rock,  upon  which  stands  Culzean  Castle,  is  the  mouth  of  a 
romantic  cavern,  called  the  Cove  of  Colean,  in  which  it  is 
said  Bruce  and  his  followers  concealed  themselves  immediately 
after  landing,  till  they  arranged  matters  for  their  farther  en- 
terprises. Burns  mentions  it  in  the  poem  of  Hallowe'en.  The 
only  place  to  the  south  of  Turnberry  worth  mentioning,  with 
reference  to  Bruce's  history,  is  the  Weary  Nuik,  a  little  ro- 
mantic green  hill,  where  he  and  his  party  are  said  to  have 
rested,  after  assaulting  the  castle." 

Around  the  Castle  of  Turnberry  was  a  level  plain  of  about 
two  miles  in  extent,  forming  the  castle  park.  There  could  be 
nothing,  I  am  informed,  more  beautiful  than  the  copsewood 
and  verdure  of  this  extensive  meadow,  before  it  was  invaded 
by  the  ploughshare. 


Note  3  D. 


The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall ! — P.  455. 

I  have  followed  the  flattering  and  pleasing  tradition,  that  the 
Bruce,  after  his  descent  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  actually 
gained  possession  of  his  maternal  castle.  But  the  tradition  is 
not  accurate.  The  fact  is,  that  he  was  onlj'  strong  enough  to 
alarm  and  drive  in  the  ontposts  of  the  English  garrison,  then 
commanded,  not  by  Cliflbrd,  as  assumed  iu  the  text,  but  by 
Percy.  Neither  was  Clifford  slain  upon  this  occasion,. though 
he  had  several  skirmishes  with  Bruce.  He  fell  afterwards  in 
the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  Bruce,  after  alarming  the  castle 
of  Turnberry,  and  surprising  some  part  of  the  garrison,  who 
were  quartered  without  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  retreated  into 
the  mountainous  part  of  Carrick,  and  there  made  himself  so 
strong,  that  the  English  were  .obliged  to  evacuate  Turnberry, 
and  at  length  the  Castle  of  Ayr.  Many  of  his  benefactions  and 
royal  gifts  attest  his  attachment  to  the  hereditary  followers  of 
his  house,  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

It  is  generally  known  that  Bruce,  in  consequence  of  his  dis- 
tres.ses  after  the  battle  of  Methven,  was  affected  bj'  a  scorbutic 
disorder,  which  was  then  called  a  leprosy.  It  is  said  he  expe- 
rienced benefit  from  the  use  of  a  medicinal  spring,  about  a 
mile  north  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  called  from  that  circumstance 
King's  Ease.'  The  following  is  the  tradition  of  the  country, 
collected  by  Mr.  Train  : — "  After  Robert  ascended  the  throne, 
he  founded  the  priory  of  Dominican  monks,  every  one  of  whom 
was  under  the  obligation  of  putting  up  to  Heaven  a  prayer 
once  every  week-day,  and  twice  in  holydays,  for  the  recovery 
of  the  king  ;  and,  after  his  death,  these  masses  were  continued 
for  the  saving  of  his  soul.  The  ruins  of  this  old  monastery  aw 
now  nearly  level  with  the  ground.     Robert  likewise  caused 

King^s  Ease,  but  King's  Cnsr,  i.  c.  Casa  Regis,  the  name  of  the  royal 
foundation  described  below.  Jlr.  Train's  kindnesf  enables  the  Editor  to 
make  this  correction. — 1833. 


492 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


houses  to  be  built  round  the  well  of  King's  Case,  for  eight 
lepers,  ami  allowed  eight  bolls  of  oatmeal,  and  j£"28  Scotch 
money,  per  annum,  to  each  person.  These  donations  were  laid 
U()on  the  lands  of  Fullarton,  and  are  now  payable  by  the  Duke 
of  Portland.  Tlie  farm  of  Shiels,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ayr, 
has  to  give,  if  required,  a  certain  quantity  of  straw  for  the 
lepers'  beds,  and  so  much  to  thatch  their  houses  annually. 
Eacl.  leprous  ])erson  had  a  drinking-horn  provided  him  by  the 
king,  wliich  continued  to  be  hereditary  in  the  house  to  which 
it  was  first  granted.  One  of  those  identical  horns,  of  very 
curious  workmanship,  was  in  the  possession  of  the  late  Colonel 
Fullarton  of  that  Ilk." 

My  corresjiondent  i)roceeds  to  mention  some  curious  rem- 
nants of  antiquity  i<;si)ecting  this  foundation.  "In  compli- 
ment to  Sir  V\'illiam  Wallace,  the  great  deliverer  of  his  coun- 
try. King  Robert  Rruce  invested  the  descendants  of  that  hero 
with  the  right  of  i)lacing  all  the  lepers  upon  the  establishment 
of  King's  Case.  This  patronage  continued  in  the  family  of 
Craigie,  till  it  was  sold  along  with  the  lands  of  the  late  Six 
'"liomas  Wallace.  The  Burgh  of  Ayr  then  purchased  the  right 
jf  applying  the  donations  of  King's  Case  to  the  support  of  the 
poor-house  of  Ayr.  The  lepers'  eharter-stone  was  a  basaltic 
block,  e.vactly  the  shape  of  a  sheep's  kidney,  and  weighing 
au  Ayrshire  boll  of  meal.  The  surface  of  this  stone  being 
as  smooth  as  glass,  there  was  not  any  other  way  of  lifting  it 
than  by  turning  the  hollow  to  the  ground,  there  extending  the 
arms  along  each  side  of  the  stone,  and  clasping  the  hands  in 
the  cavity.  Young  lads  were  always  considered  as  deserving 
to  be  ranked  among  men,  when  tliey  could  lift  the  blue  stone 
of  King's  Case.  It  always  lay  beside  the  well,  till  a  few  years 
ago,  when  some  English  dragoons  encamped  at  that  place 
wantonly  broke  it,  since  which  the  fragments  have  been  kept 
by  the  freemen  of  Prestwick  in  a  place  of  security.  There  is 
one  of  these  chartei^stones  at  the  village  of  Old  Daily,  in 
Carrick,  which  has  become  more  celebrated  by  the  following 
event,  which  happened  only  a  few  yeare  ago  : — The  village 
of  New  Daily  being  now  larger  than  the  old  place  of  the  same 
name,  tlie  inhabitants  insisted  that  the  charter-stone  should  be 
removed  from  the  old  town  to  the  new,  but  the  people  of  Old 
Daily  were  unwilling  to  part  with  their  ancient  right.  De- 
mands and  remonstrances  were  made  on  each  side  without 
effect,  till  at  last  man,  woman,  and  child,  of  both  villages, 
marched  out  and  by  one  desperate  engagement  put  an  end  to  a 
war,  the  commencement  of  wliich  no  pei-son  then  living  re- 
membered. Justice  and  victory,  in  this  instance,  being  of  the 
same  party,  the  villagers  of  the  old  town  of  Daily  now  enjoy 
the  pleasure  of  keeping  the  bluc-stanc  unmolested.  Ideal 
privileges  are  often  attached  to  some  of  these  stones.  In  Gir- 
van,  if  a  man  can  set  his  back  against  one  of  the  above  de- 
scription, he  is  supposed  not  liable  to  be  arrested  for  debt,  nor 
can  cattle,  it  is  imagined,  be  poinded  as  long  as  they  are  fas- 
tened to  the  same  stone.  That  stones  were  often  used  as  sym- 
bols to  denote  the  right  of  possessing  land,  before  the  use  of 
written  documents  became  general  in  Scotland,  is,  I  think, 
exceedingly  probable.  The  charter-stone  of  Inverness  is  still 
kept  with  great  care,  set  in  a  frame,  and  hooped  with  iron,  at 
the  market-place  of  that  town.  It  is  called  by  the  inhabitants 
of  that  district  Clack  na  Couddin.  I  think  it  is  very  likely 
that  Carey  lias  mentioned  this  stone  in  his  poem  of  Craic  Pha- 
derick.  This  fs  only  a  conjecture,  as  I  have  never  seen  that 
work.  While  the  famous  marble  chair  was  allowed  to  remain 
at  Scoon,  it  was  considered  as  the  charter-stone  of  the  kin'^dom 
of  Scotland."  " 


WOTE  3  E. 


"  Bring  here,"  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four. 
My  noble  fathers  loved  gf  yore." — P.  455. 

These  mazers  were  large  drinking-cups,  or  goblets.    Mention 
->f  them  occurs  in  a  curioiis  inventory  of  the  treasure  and  jew- 


els of  King  James  III.,  which  will  be  pubUshed,  with  other 
curious  documents  of  antiquity,  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Thomas 
Thomson,  D.  Register  of  Scotland,  under  the  title  of  "  A  Col- 
lection of  Inventories,  and  other  Records  of  the  Royal  Ward- 
robe, Jewel-House,"  &c.  I  copy  the  passage  in  which  mention 
is  made  of  the  mazers,  and  also  of  a  habiliment,  called  "  Kin" 
Robert  Brace's  serk,"  i.  e.  shirt,  meaning,  perhaps,  his  shirt 
of  mail ;  although  no  other  arms  are  mentioned  in  the  inven- 
tory. It  might  have  been  a  relic  of  more  sanctified  description, 
a  penance  shirt  perhaps. 

Extract  from  "  Inventare  of  ane  Parte  of  the  Oold  and 
Si'vcr  conyeit  and  unconyeit,  Jowellis,  and  uthtr  Stujff 
pertcining  to  Vrnquhils  oure  Sovciane  Lords  Fader,  that 
he  had  in  Depois  the  Tyme  of  his  Deceis,  and  that 
come  to  the  Handis  of  oure  Soverane  Lord  that  now  is, 

M.CCCC.LSXXVIII." 

"  Memorandum  fundin  in  a  bandit  kist  like  a  gardeviant.i 
in  the  fyrst  the  grete  chenye^  of  gold,  contenand  sevjn  score 
sex  linkis. 

Item,  thre  jilatis  of  silver. 

Item,  tnelf  salfatis.3 

Item,  fyftene  discheis^  ouregilt. 

Item,  a  grete  gilt  plate. 

Item,  twa  grete  bassingis=  ouregilt. 

Item,  FOUR  Masaris,  called  Kins  Robert  the  Brocis, 

w'ith  a  cover. 
Item,  a  grete  cok  maid  of  silver. 

Item,  the  hede  of  silver  of  aue  of  the  coveris  of  masar. 
Item,  a  fare  dialle.o 
Item,  twa  kasis  of  knyfBs.' 
Item,  a  pare  of  auld  knitfis. 
Item,  takin  be  the  smyth  that  opinnit  the  lokkis,  in  gold  fonrty 

demyis. 
Item,  in  Inglys  grotis'' xxiiii.  li.  and  the  said  silver 

given  again  to  the  takaris  of  hym. 
Item,  ressavit  in  the  clossat  of  Davidis  tour,  ane  haly  water-fat 

of  silver,  twa  boxis,  a  cageat  tume,  a  glas  with  rois-water 

a  dosouue  of  lorchis.  King  Robert  Bkucis  Serk." 

The  real  use  of  the  antiquarian's  studies  is  to  bring  the 
minute  information  which  he  collects  to  bear  upon  points  of 
history.  For  example,  in  the  inventory  I  have  just  quoted, 
there  is  given  the  contents  of  the  black  kist,  or  chest,  belong- 
ing to  James  HI.,  which  was  his  strong  box,  and  contained  a 
quantity  of  treasure,  in  money  and  jewels,  surpassing  what 
might  have  been  at  the  period  expected  of  "  poor  Scotland's 
gear."  This  illustrates  and  authenticates  a  striking  passage 
in  the  history  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  by  Hume  of  Godscroft. 
The  last  Earl  of  Douglas  (of  the  elder  branch)  had  been  re- 
duced to  monastic  seclusion  in  the  Abbey  of  Lindores,  by  James 
II.  James  III.,  in  his  distresses,  would  willingly  have  recalled 
him  to  public  life,  and  made  him  his  lieutenant.  "  But  he," 
says  Godscroft,  "laden with  years  and  old  age,  and  weary  of 
troubles,  refused,  saying.,  Sir,  you  have  keept  mee,  and  your 
black  coffer  in  Sterling,  too  long,  neither  of  us  can  doe  you 
any  good  :  I,  because  my  friends  have  forsaken  me,  and  my 
followers  aud  dependers  are  fallen  from  me,  betaking  them- 
selves to  other  masters ;  and  your  black  trunk  is  too  farre  from 
you,  and  your  enemies  are  between  you  and  it :  or  (as  others 
say)  because  there  was  in  it  a  sort  of  black  coyne,  that  the 
king  had  caused  to  be  coyned  by  the  advice  of  his  courtiers; 
which  moneyes  (saith  he)  sir,  if  you  had  put  out  at  the  first, 
the  people  would  have  taken  it ;  and  if  you  had  employed 
mee  in  due  time,  I  might  have  done  you  service.  But  now 
there  is  none  that  will  take  notice  of  me,  nor  meddle  with 

1  Gard-Tin,  or  wine-cooler.— 2  Chain.— 3  Salt-cellars,  anciently  the  object 
of  niucli  curious  workmanship. — 4  Dishes. — 5  Basins. — 6  Dial. — T  Cases  of 
knives. — s  English  groats. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


405) 


I 


vonr  money."— IIcme's  History  of  the  House  of  Douglas, 
fol.  Edin.  11344,  p.  206. 


Note  3  F. 


Jlronse  old  friends,  and  gather  new. — P.  455. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  Kyle,  says  ancient  tradition, 
that  Robert  Bruce  had  landed  in  Carriclc,  with  the  intention 
of  recovering  the  crown  of  Scotland,  the  Laird  of  Craigie,  and 
forty-eight  men  in  his  immediate  neighborhood,  declared  in 
favor  of  their  legitimate  prince.  Bruce  granted  them  a  tract 
of  land,  still  retained  by  the  freemen  of  Newton  to  this  day. 
The  original  charter  was  lost  when  the  pestilence  was  raging 
at  Ayr  ;  but  it  was  renewed  by  one  of  the  Jameses,  and  is  dated 
at  Faulkland.  The  freemen  of  Newton  were  formerly  officers 
by  rotation.  The  Provost  of  Ayr  at  one  time  was  a  freeman 
of  Newton,  and  it  happened  to  be  his  turn,  while  provost  in 
Ayr,  to  be  officer  in  Newton,  both  of  which  offices  he  dis- 
charged at  the  same  time. 

The  forest  of  Selkirk,  or  Ettrick,  at  this  period,  occupied  all 
the  district  which  retains  that  denomination,  and  embraced 
the  neighboring  dales  of  Tweeddale,  and  at  least  the  Upper 
Ward  of'Clydesdale.  All  that  tract  was  probably  as  waste  as 
it  is  mountainous,  and  covered  with  the  remains  of  the  ancient 
Caledonian  Forest,  which  is  supposed  to  have  stretched  from 
(/heviot  Hills  as  far  as  Hamilton,  and  to  have  comprehended 
even  a  part  of  Ayrshire.  At  the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk,  Sir 
John  Stewart  of  Bonkill,  brother  to  the  Steward  of  Scotland, 
commanded  the  archers  of  Selkirk  Forest,  who  fell  around 
the  dead  body  of  their  leader.  The  English  historians  have 
commemorated  the  tall  and  stately  persons,  as  well  as  the 
unswerving  faith,  of  these  foresters.  Nor  has  their  interesting 
fall  esca[)ed  the  notice  of  an  elegant  modern  poetess,  whose 
subject  led  her  to  treat  of  that  calamitous  engagement. 

"  The  glance  of  the  morn  had  sparkled  bright 
On  their  plumage  green  and  their  actons  light ; 
The  bugle  was  strung  at  each  hunter's  side. 
As  they  had  been  bound  to  the  chase  to  ride ; 
But  the  bugle  is  mute,  and  the  shafts  are  spent, 
The  arm  unnerved  and  the  bow  unbent, 
And  the  tired  forester  is  laid 
Far,  far  from  the  clustering  greenwood  shade  ! 
Sore  have  they  toil'd — they  are  fallen  asleep, 
And  their  slumber  is  heavy,  and  dull,  and  deep ! 
When  over  their  bones  the  grass  shall  wave. 
When  the  wild  winds  over  their  tombs  shall  rave, 
Memory  shall  lean  on  their  graves,  and  tell 
How  Selkirk's  hunters  bold  around  old  Stewart  fell !" 

Wallace,  or  the  Fight  of  Falkirk  [by  Miss 
HoLFORD],  Lond.  4to.  1809,  pp.  170-1. 


Note  3  G. 


When  Bruce's  banner  had  victorious  flow'  d, 

O'er  Loudoun's  viountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale. — P.  456. 

The  first  important  advantage  gained  by  Bruce  after  land- 
ing at  Turnberry,  was  over  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, the  same  by  whom  he  had  been  defeated  near  Meth- 
veu.  They  met,  as  has  been  said,  by  appointment,  at  Lou- 
donhill,  in  the  west  of  Scotland.  Pembroke  sustained  a 
defeat ;  and  from  that  time  Bruce  was  at  the  head  of  a  con- 
siderable flying  army.  Yet  he  was  subsequently  obliged  to 
retreat  into  Aberdeenshire,  and  was  there  assailed  by  Comyn, 
Earl  of  Buchan,  desirous  to  avenge  the  death  of  his  relative, 
.he  Red  Comyn,  and  supported  by  a  body  of  English  troops 
ander  Philip  <le  Moubray.  Bruce  was  ill  at  the  time  of  a  scrof- 
alons  disorder,  but  took  horse  to  meet  his  enemies,  although 


obliged  to  be  supported  on  either  side.     He  was  victorious,  and 
it  b  said  that  the  agitation  of  his  spirits  restored  liis  health. 


Note  3  H. 


JVhen  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale. — P.  456. 

The  "good  Lord  James  of  Douglas,"  during  these  commo- 
tions, often  took  from  the  English  his  own  ca.*tle  of  Douglas, 
but  being  unable  to  garrison  it,  contented  himself  with  destroy- 
ing the  fortifications,  and  retiring  into  the  mountain.s.  As  a 
reward  to  his  jiatriotism,  it  is  said  to  have  been  prophesied, 
that  how  often  soever  Douglas  Castle  should  be  destroyed,  it 
should  always  again  rise  more  magnificent  from  its  ruins. 
Upon  one  of  these  occasions  he  used  fearful  cruelty,  causing 
all  the  store  of  provisions,  which  the  English  had  laid  up  in 
his  castle  to  be  heaped  together,  bursting  the  wine  and  beer 
casks  among  the  wheat  and  flour,  slaughtering  the  cattle  upon 
the  same  spot,  and  upon  the  top  of  the  whole  cutting  the  throats 
of  the  English  prisoners.  This  pleasantry  of  the  "  good  Lord 
James"  is  commemorated  under  the  name  of  the  Douglas's 
Larder.  A  more  pleasing  tale  of  chivalry  is  recorded  by  Gods- 
croft. — "  By  this  means,  and  such  other  e.xploits,  he  so  affright- 
ed the  enemy,  that  it  was  counted  a  matter  of  great  jeopardie 
to  keep  this  castle,  which  began  to  be  called  the  adventurous 
(or  hazardous)  Castle  of  Douglas  ;  whereupon  Sir  John  Wal- 
ton being  in  suit  of  an  English  lady,  she  wrote  to  him,  that 
when  he  had  kept  the  adventurous  Castle  of  Douglas  seven 
years,  then  he  might  think  himself  worthy  to  be  a  suitor  to  her. 
Upon  this  occa.sion  Walton  took  upon  him  the  keeping  of  it, 
and  succeeded  toThruswall,  bnt  he  ran  the  same  fortune  with 
the  rest  that  were  before  liim.  For  Sir  James,  having  first 
dressed  an  ambuscado  near  unto  the  place,  he  made  fourteen 
of  his  men  take  so  many  sacks,  and  fill  them  with  grass,  as 
though  it  had  been  corn,  which  they  carried  in  the  way  to 
Lanark,  the  chief  market  town  in  that  county :  so  hoping  to 
draw  forth  the  captain  by  that  bait,  and  either  to  take  him  or 
the  castle,  or  both.  Neither  was  this  expectation  frustrated, 
for  the  captain  did  bite,  and  came  forth  to  have  taken  this  vic- 
tual (as  he  supposed).  But  ere  he  could  reach  these  carrieiB, 
Sir  James,  with  his  company,  had  gotten  between  the  castla 
and  him  ;  and  these  disguised  carriers,  seeing  the  captain  fol 
lowing  after  them,  did  quickly  cast  off  their  sacks,  mounted 
themselves  on  horseback,  and  met  -he  captain  with  a  sharp 
encounter,  being  so  much  the  more  amazed,  as  it  was  un- 
locked for :  wherefore,  when  he  saw  these  carriers  metamor- 
phosed into  warriors,  and  ready  to  assault  him,  fearing  that 
which  was,  that  there  was  some  train  laid  for  them,  he  turned 
about  to  have  retired  to  his  castle,  but  there  he  also  met  with 
his  enemies  ;  between  which  two  companies  he  and  his  whole 
followers  were  slain,  so  that  none  escaped  ;  the  captain  after- 
wards being  searched,  they  found  (as  is  reported)  his  mis- 
tress's letter  about  him." — Hume's  History  of  the  House  of 
Douglas,  fol.  pp.29,  30.i 


Note  3  I. 

^nd  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John. — P.  456. 

"  John  de  St.  John,  with  15,000  horsemen,  had  advanced 
to  oppose  the  inroad  of  the  Scots.  By  a  forced  march  he  en- 
deavored to  surprise  them,  but  intelligence  of  his  motions  was 
timeously  received.  The  courage  of  Edward  .Bruce,  approach- 
ing to  temerity,  frequently  enabled  him  to  achieve  what  men 
of  more  judicious  valor  would  never  have  attempted.  He  or- 
dered the  infantry,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  his  army,  to  intrench 
themselves  in  strong  narrow  ground.  He  himself,  with  fifty 
horsemen  well  harnessed,  issued  forth  under  cover  of  a  thick 

1  This  is  the  foundation  of  the  Author's  last  romance.  Castle  Oangf- 
ous. — ^Ed. 


494 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


mist,  .surprised  the  English  on  their  march,  attacked  and  dis- 
persed tlienL" — Dalrymple's  Annals  of  Scotland,  quarto, 
Ediuburgh,  1779,  p.  25. 


Note  3  K. 


llhey  Ravdolph's  war-cry  swell'd  the  soutlterng-ale.—P.  456. 

Thomas  Randolph,  Bruce's  sister's  son,  ajenowned  Scottish 
chief,  was  in  the  early  part  of  his  life  not  more  remarkable  for 
consistency  than  Bruce  himself.  He  espoused  his  uncle's 
party  when  Bruce  first  assumed  the  crown,  and  was  made 
prisoner  at  the  fata,  battle  of  Methven,  in  Avhicii  his  relative's 
nopes  appeared  to  be  ruined.  Randolph  accordingly  not  only 
submitted  to  the  English,  but  took  an  active  part  against 
Bruce  ;  appeared  in  arms  against  liim ;  and,  in  the  skirmish 
where  he  was  so  closely  pursued  by  the  bloodhound,  it  is  said 
his  nei)hew  took  his  standard  with  his  own  hand.  But  Ran- 
ilol|)li  was  afterwards  made  prisoner  by  Douglas  in  Tweeddale, 
and  brought  before  King  Robert.  Some  harsh  language  was 
exchanged  between  the  uncle  and  nephew,  and  the  latter  was 
committed  for  a  time  to  close  custody.  Afterwards,  however, 
they  were  reconciled,  and  Randolph  was  created  Earl  of  Mo- 
ray about  1312.  After  this  period  he  eminently  distinguished 
himself,  first  by  the  surprise  of  Edinburgh  Castle,  and  after- 
wards by  many  similar  enterprises,  conducted  with  equal 
courage  and  ability. 


Note  3  L. 


Stirling's  towers, 

Beleaguered  by  King  Robert's  powers  ; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce. — P.  456. 

When  a  long  train  of  success,  actively  improved  by  Robert 
Bruce,  had  made  him  master  of  almost  all  Scotlanil,  Stirling 
Castle  continued  to  hold  out.  The  care  of  the  blockade  was 
committed  by  the  king  to  his  brother  Edward,  who  concluded 
a  treaty  with  Sir  Philip  Mowbray,  the  governor,  that  he  should 
surrender  the  fortress,  if  it  were  not  succored  by  the  King  of 
England  before  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day.  The  King  se- 
verely blamed  his  brother  for  the  impolicy  of  a  treaty,  which 
gave  time  to  the  King  of  England  to  advance  to  the  relief  of 
the  castle  with  all  his  assembled  forces,  and  obliged  himself 
either  to  meet  them  in  battle  with  an  inferior  force,  or  to  re- 
treat with  dishonor.  "Let  all  England  come,"  answered 
the  reckless  Edward  ;  "we  \n\\  fight  them  were  they  more." 
The  consequence  was,  of  course,  that  each  kingdom  mustered 
its  strength  for  the  e.xpected  battle ;  and  as  the  space  agreed 
upon  reached  from  Lent  to  Jlidsumraer,  full  time  was  allowed 
for  that  purpose. 


Note  3  M. 

Ti)  summon  prince  and  peer, 
At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  Liege. — P.  456. 
There  is  printed  in  Rymer's  Foedera  the  summons  issued 
upon  this  occa.sion  to  the  sheritF  of  York ;  and  he  mentions 
eighteen  other  persons  to  whom  similar  ordinances  were  issued. 
It  seems  to  respect  the  infantry  alone,  for  it  is  entitled,  De 
peditibus  ad  recussum  Castri  de  Stryvelin  a  Scoiis  obscssi, 
properare  faciendis.  Thi?  circumstance  is  also  clear  from  the 
reasoning  of  the  writ,  which  states:  "We  have  understood 
that  our  Scottish  enemies  and  rebels  are  endeavoring  to  collect 
as  strong  a  force  as  possible  of  infantry,  in  strong  and  marehy 
grounds,  where  the  approach  of  cavalry  would  be  difficult, 
between  us  and  the  ca.«tle  of  Stirling."  It  then  sets  forth 
Wowbray's  agreement  to  surrender  tlie  castle,  if  not  relieved 


before  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day,  and  the  king's  determina- 
tion, with  divine  grace,  to  raise  the  siege.  "  Therefore,"  the 
summons  further  bears,  "  to  remove  oursaid  enemies  and  reb- 
els from  such  places  as  above  mentioned,  it  is  necessary  for 
us  to  have  a  strong  force  of  infantry  fit  lor  arms."  And  ao- 
cordingly  the  sheritf  of  York  is  commanded  to  equip  and 
send  forth  a  body  of  four  thousand  infantry,  to  be  assembled 
at  Werk,  upon  the  tenth  day  of  June  first,  under  pain  of  the 
royal  displeasure,  &c. 


Note  3  N. 


And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued. 

Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude. — P.  456. 

Edward  the  First,  with  the  usual  policy  of  a  conqueror, 
employed  the  Welsh,  whom  he  had  subdued,  to  assist  him  in 
his  Scottish  wars,  for  which  their  habits,  as  mountaineers, 
particularly  fitted  them.  But  this  policy  was  not  without  its 
risks.  Previous  to  the  battle  of  Falkirk,  the  Welsh  quarrelled 
with  the  English  men-at-arms,  and  after  bloodslied  on  both 
parts,  separated  themselves  from  his  army,  and  the  feud  be- 
tween them,  at  so  dangerous  and  critical  a  juncture,  was  rec- 
onciled with  difficulty.  Edward  II.  followed  his  father's  e.iL- 
ample  iu  this  particular,  and  with  no  better  success.  They 
could  not  be  brought  to  exert  themselves  in  the  cause  of  thcit 
conquerors.  But  they  had  an  indifierent  reward  for  their  for- 
bearance. Without  arms,  and  clad  only  in  scanty  dresses  of 
linen  cloth,  they  appeared  naked  in  the  eyes  even  of  the  Scot- 
tish peasantry ;  and  after  the  rout  of  Bannockburn,  were 
ma-ssacrcd  by  them  in  great  numbers,  as  they  retired  in  con- 
fusion towards  their  own  country.  They  were  under  com- 
mand of  Sir  Maurice  de  Berkeley. 


Note  3  0. 


And  Connoght  pour'd  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 
Dark  Eth  O'Connor  sway'd. — P.  456. 

There  is  in  the  Fcedera  an  invitation  to  Eth  O'Connor,  chief 
of  the  Irish  of  Connaught,  setting  forth  that  the  king  was 
about  to  move  against  his  Scottish  rebels,  and  therefore  re- 
questing the  attendance  of  all  the  force  he  could  muster,  either 
commanded  by  himself  in  person,  or  by  some  nobleman  of  his 
race.  These  an.xiliaries  were  to  be  commanded  by  Richard 
de  Burgh,  Earl  of  Ulster.  Similar  mandates  were  issued  to 
the  following  Irish  chiefs,  whose  names  may  astonish  the  un- 
learned, and  amuse  the  antiquary. 

"  Eth  O  Donnuld,  Duci  Hibemicornm  de  Tyconil ; 
Dcmod  O  Kalian,  Duci  Iliberuicorura  de  Fernetrew  ; 
Doneval  O  Neel,  Duci  Hibemicornm  de  Tryov/yn  ; 
Neel  Macbreen,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Kynallewan  ; 
Eth  Ollyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Turtery  ; 
Admely  Mac  Anegus,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Onehagli ; 
Neel  O  Hanlan,  Duci  Hiboniicoruin  de  Erthere  ; 
Bien  Mac  Mahun,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Uriel ; 
Lauercagb  Mao  Wyr,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Lougherin  , 
Gillys  O  RaW.y,  Duci  Hibernicoiuiii  de  Bresfeny  ; 
Geffrey  O  Fergy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Montiragwil ; 
Felyn  O  Honughur,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Connach  ; 
Donethuth  O  Bien,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tothmund ; 
Dermod  Mac  Arthy,  Duci  Hibernicorum' de  Dessemoand  ■ 
Denenol  Carbragh  ; 
Maur.  Kenenagh  Mac  Murgh  ; 
Murghugh  O  Bryn  ; 
David  O  Tothvill ; 
Dermod  O  Tonoghur,  Uoftaly  ; 
Fyu  O  Dyrasy  ; 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


496 


Souethnth  Mac  Gillephatriek ; 

Lyssagli  O  Mortli  ; 

Gilljertus  Ekclly,  Duci  Ilibernicorum  de  Omany  ; 

Mac  Ethelau  ; 

Oinalau  Hulyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  Midie." 

Rymer's  Fcedera,  vol.  iii.  pp.  47(5,  477. 


Note  3  P. 

Their  chief,  Fitz-Loais.—P.  458. 

Fitz-Lonis,  or  Alac-Louis,  otherwise  called  Fullarton,  is  a 
Camily  of  ancient  descent  in  the  Isle  of  Arran.  They  are  said 
to  be  of  French  origin,  as  the  name  intimates.  They  attached 
themselves  to  Bruce  upon  his  first  landing  ;  and  Fergus  Mac- 
Louis,  or  Fullarton,  received  from  the  grateful  monarch  a 
charter,  dated  26th  November,  in  the  second  year  of  bis  reign 
(1307),  for  the  lands  of  Kilmichel,  and  others,  which  still  re- 
main in  this  very  ancient  and  respectable  family. 


Note  3  Q. 

In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye. 

The  forces  of  King  Robert  He. — P.  458. 

The  arrangements  adopted  by  King  Robert  for  the  decisive 
battle  of  Bannockburn,  are  given  ver3'  distinctly  by  Barbour, 
and  form  an  edifying  lesson  to  tacticians.  Yet,  till  commented 
upon  by  liord  Hailes,  this  important  passage  of  liistory  has 
been  generally  and  strangely  misunderstood  by  iiistorians.  I 
will  here  endeavor  to  detail  it  fully. 

Two  days  before  the  battle,  Bruce  selected  the  field  of  action, 
and  took  post  there  with  his  army,  consisting  of  about  30,000 
disciplined  men,  and  about  half  the  number  of  disorderly  attend- 
ants upon  the  camp.  The  ground  was  called  the  New  Park  of 
Stirling  ;  it  was  partly  open,  and  partly  broken  by  copses  of 
wood  and  marshy  ground.  He  divided  his  regular  forces  into 
four  divisions.  Three  of  these  occupied  a  front  line,  separated 
from  each  other,  yet  sufliciently  near  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
munication. The  fourth  division  formed  a  reserve.  The  line 
extended  in  a  north-easterly  direction  from  the  brook  of  Ban- 
nock, which  was  so  rugged  and  broken  as  to  cover  the  right 
flank  cftt'ctually,  to  the  village  of  ?aint  Ninians,  probably  in 
the  line  of  the  jiresent  road  from  Stirling  to  Kilsyth.  Edward 
Bruce  commanded  the  right  wing,  which  w'as  strengthened  by 
a  strong  body  of  cavalry  under  Keith,  the  Marsschal  of  Scot- 
land, to  whom  was  committed  the  important  charge  of  attack- 
ing the  English  archers ;  Douglas,  and  the  young  Steward  of 
Scotland,  led  the  central  wing  ;  and  Thomas  Randolph,  Earl 
of  Moray,  the  left  wing.  The  King  himself  commanded  the 
fourth  division,  which  lay  in  reserve  behind  the  others.  The 
royal  standard  was  pitched,  according  to  tradition,  in  a  stone, 
having  a  round  hole  for  its  reception,  and  thence  called  the 
Bore-stone.  It  is  still  shown  on  the  top  of  a  small  eminence, 
called  Brock's-brae,  to  the  southwest  of  Saint  Ninians.  His 
main  body  thus  disposed,  King  Robert  sent  the  follow'ers  of  the 
camp,  fifteen  thousand  and  upwards  in  number,  to  the  emi- 
nence in  rear  of  his  army,  called  from  that  circumstance  the 
Gillies'  (i.  e.  the  servants')  Hill. 

The  military  advantages  of  this  position  were  obvious.  The 
Scottish  left  flank,  protected  by  the  brook  of  Bannock,  could 
not  be  turned  ;  or,  if  that  attempt  were  made,  a  movement  by 
tlie  reserve  might  have  covered  it.  Again,  the  English  could 
not  pass  the  Scottish  army,  and  move  towartls  Stirling,  without 
exposing  their  flank  to  be  attacked  while  in  march. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Scottish  line  had  been  drawn  up 
east  and  west,  and  facing  to  the  southward,  as  affirmed  by 

1  An  assistance  which  (by  the  way)  could  not  have  been  rendered,  had 
^ot  the  English  approached  from  the  Boutheast  j  since,  had  their  march 


Buchanan,  and  adopted  by  Mr.  Nimmo,  tlie  author  of  the 
History  of  Stirlingshire,  there  appears  nothing  to  have  pre 
vented  the  English  apjiroaching  upon  the  carse,  or  level  ground 
from  Falkirk,  either  from  turning  the  Scottish  left  flank,  oi 
from  passing  their  position,  if  they  preferred  it,  without  coming 
to  an  action,  and  moving  on  to  the  relief  of  Stirling.  And  the 
Gillies'  Hill,  if  this  less  probable  hypothesis  be  adopted,  would 
be  situated,  not  in  the  rear,  as  allowed  by  all  the  historians, 
but  upon  the  left  flank  of  Bruce's  army.  The  only  objection 
to  the  liyjiothesis  above  laid  down,  is,  that  the  left  flank  ol 
Bruce's  army  was  thereby  exposed  to  a  sally  from  the  garri^^.m 
of  Stirling.  But,  1st,  the  garrison  were  bound  to  neutrality  by 
terms  of  Mowbray's  treaty;  and  Barbour  even  seems  to  cen- 
sure, as  a  breach  of  faith,  some  secret  assistance  which  they 
rendered  their  countrymen  upon  the  eve  of  battle,  in  placing 
temporary  bridges  of  doors  and  spars  over  the  pools  of  water  in 
the  carse,  to  enable  them  to  advance  to  the  charge.'  2dly,  Had 
this  not  been  tiie  ca.se,  the  strength  of  the  garrison  was  proba- 
bly not  sufficient  to  excite  apprehension.  3dly,  The  adveise 
hypothesis  leaves  the  rear  of  the  Scottish  army  as  much  ex- 
posed to  the  Stirling  garrison,  as  the  left  flank  would  be  in  the 
case  sujjposed. 

It  only  remains  to  notice  the  nature  of  tlie  ground  in  front  of 
Bruce's  line  of  battle.  Being  part  of  a  park,  or  chase,  it  was 
con.siderably  interrupted  witli  trees;  and  an  extensive  mar-li, 
still  visible,  in  some  places  rendered  it  inaccessible,  and  in  all 
of  ditficult  approach.  More  to  the  northward,  where  the  natu- 
ral impediments  were  fewer,  Bruce  fortified  his  position  against 
cavalry,  by  digging  a  number  of  pits  so  close  together,  says 
Barbour,  as  to  resemble  the  cells  in  a  honey-comb.  They 
were  a  foot  in  breadth,  and  between  two  and  three  fee{  deep, 
many  rows  of  them  being  placed  one  behind  the  other.  They 
were  slightly  covered  with  brushwood  and  green  sods,  so  as  not 
to  be  obvious  to  an  impetuous  enemy. 

All  the  Scottish  army  were  on  foot,  excepting  a  select  body 
of  cavalry  stationed  with  Edward  Bruce  on  the  right  wing, 
under  the  immediate  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith,  the  Mar- 
shal of  Scotland,  who  were  destined  for  the  important  service 
of  charging  and  dispersing  the  English  archeis. 

Thus  judiciously  posted,  in  a  situation  fortified  both  by  art 
and  nature,  Bruce  awaited  tlie  attack  of  the  English. 


Note  3  R. 

Beyond,  the  Southern  host  appears. — P.  458. 

Upon  the  23d  June,  1314,  the  alarm  reached  the  Scottish 
army  of  the  approacli  of  the  enemy.  Douglas  and  the  Marshal 
were  sent  to  recoimoitre  with  a  body  of  cavalry  : 

"  And  soon  the  great  host  have  they  seen, 
Where  shields  shining  were  so  sheen, 
And  basinets  burnished  bright. 
That  gave  against  the  sun  great  light. 
They  saw  so  fele-  brawdyLe^  baners, 
Standards  and  pennons  and  spears, 
And  so  fele  kniglits  upon  steeds, 
All  flaming  in  their  weeds, 
And  so  fele  bataills,  and  so  broad. 
And  too  so  great  room  as  they  rode, 
That  the  maist  host,  and  the  stoutest 
Of  Christendom  and  the  greatest. 
Should  be  abaysit  for  to  see 
Their  foes  into  such  quantity." 

The  Bruce,  vol.  ii.  p.  Ill, 

The  two  Scottish  commanders  were  cautious  in  the  account 
which  they  brought  back  to  their  camp.     To  the  king  in  [iri 

been  due  north,  the  whole  Scottish  ai-my  must  have  been  between  th.re 
and  the  garrison.  1  Many.  3  DispUved 


496 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


n 


▼ate  they  told  the  formidable  state  of  the  enemy  ;  but  in  public 
reported  that  the  English  were  indeed  a  numerous  host,  but  ill 
commanded,  and  worse  disciplined. 


Note  3  S. 


PFith  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 

'Beneath  their  chieftains  rank'd  their  files.— P.  458. 

Tlie  men  of  Argyle,  the  islanders,  and  the  Highlanders  in 
general,  were  ranked  in  the  rear.  They  must  liave  been  nu- 
merous, for  Bruce  liad  reconciled  himself  with  almost  all  their 
chieftains,  excepting  the  obnoxious  MacDougals  of  Lorn. 
The  following  deed,  containing  the  submission  of  the  potent 
Earl  of  Ross  to  the  King,  was  never  before  published.  It  is 
dated  in  the  third  j'ear  of  Robert's  reign,  that  is,  1309. 

"Obligacio  Comitis  Rossensis  per  Homagium  Fideli- 

TATEM  ET  ScRIPTUM. 

"  Universis  christi  fidelibns  ad  quorum  noticiam  presentes 
litere  peruenerint  Willielmus  Comes  de  Ross  salutem  in  domi- 
no sempiternam.  (iuia  maguificus  princeps  Dominus  Robertus 
dei  graeia  Rex  Scottorum  Dominus  mens  ex  innata  sibi  boni- 
tate,  inspiratacjue  clemencia,  et  graeia  special!  remisit  michi 
pure  rancorem  animi  sui,  et  relaxauit  ac  condonauit  michi  om- 
nimodas  transgressiones  seu  ofTensas  contra  ipsum  et  suos  per 
me  et  nieos  vsque  ad  eonfeccionem  literarum  preseneium  per- 
petratas  :  Et  terras  meas  et  tenementa  mea  omnia  graciose  con- 
cessit. Et  me  nichilominus  de  terra  de  Dingwal  et  ferncroskry 
infra  comitatum  de  Suthyrland  de  benigna  liberalitate  sua  heri- 
ditarie  infeodare  carauit.  Ego  tantam  principis  beneuolenciara 
efficaciter  attendens,  et  pro  tot  graciis  michi  factis,  vicem  sibi 

gratitudinis  meis  pro  viribus  de  celero  digne 

yite  cupiens  exhibere,  subicio  et  oblige  me  et  heredes  meos  et 
homines  meos  vniuersos  dicto  Domino  meo  Regi  per  omnia 

erga  suam  regiani  dignitatem,  quod  eri- 

mus  de  cetero  fideles  sibi  et  heredibus  suis  et  fidele  sibi  seruicium 
auxilium  et  concilium contra  omnes  homi- 
nes et  feminas  qui  vivere  poterint  aut  raori,  et  super  h Ego 

Willielmus  pro  me hominibus  meis  vni- 

uersis  dicto  domino  meo  Regi manibus  homagium 

sponte  feci  et  super  dei  ewangelia  sacramentum  j)restiti 

In  quorum  omnium  testimonium  sigillum  raeum, 

et  sigilla  Hugonis  filii  et  heredis  et  Johannis  filii  mei  vna  cum 
sigillis  venerabilium  patrum  Dominorum  Dauid  et  Thome  Mo- 
raviensis  et  Rossensis  dei  graeia  episcoporum  |)resentibus  Uteris 
snnt  appensa.  Acta  scriptji  et  data  apud  Aldern  in  Morauia 
vltimo  die  mensis  Oetobris,  Anno  Regiii  dioti  domini  nostri 
Regis  Robert!  Tertio.  Testibus  venerabilibus  patribus  supra- 
dietis.  Domino  Bernardo  Cancellario  Regis,  Dominis  Williel- 
mo  de  Haya,  Johanne  de  Striuelyn,  Willielmo  Wysman,  Jo- 
hanne  de  Ffenton,  Dauid  de  Berkeley,  et  VValtero  de  Berke- 
ley militibus,  magistro  Waltero  Heroc,  Decano  ecclesie  Mora- 
nie,  magistro  Willielmo  deCreswel  eiusdem  ecclesie  precentore 
et  multis  aliis  nobilibus  clericis  et  laicis  dictis  die  et  loco  con- 
gregatis." 

The  copy  of  this  curious  document  was  supplied  by  my 
friend,  3Ir.  Thomson,  Deputy  Register  of  Scotland,  wliose  re- 
searches into  our  ancient  records  are  daily  throwing  new  and 
important  light  upon  the  history  of  the  country. 


Note  3  T. 
The  Monarch  rode  along  the  van. — P.  459. 
The  English  vanguard,  commanded  by  the  Earls  of  Glouces- 
er  and  Hereford,  came  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army  upon  the 

1  Comrades.— 2  Ilast*.— 3  Without  shrinking.- -1  Spurred.— 5  Line. 


evening  of  the  23d  of  June.  Bruce  waj  then  riding  upon  a 
httle  palfrey,  in  front  of  his  foremost  line,  putting  his  host  in 
order.  It  was  then  that  the  personal  encounter  took  place  be- 
twixt him  and  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  a  gallant  English  knight, 
the  issue  of  which  had  a  great  eifect  upon  the  spirits  of  both 
armies.     It  is  thus  recorded  by  Barbodr  : — 

"  And  quhen  Glosyster  and  Herfurd  war 
With  thair  bataill,  approchand  ner, 
Before  thaira  all  tbar  come  rydand, 
With  helm  on  held,  and  sper  in  hand 
Schyr  Henry  the  Bonne,  the  worthi. 
That  wes  a  wycht  knycht,  and  a  hardy  ; 
And  to  the  Erie  off  Herfurd  cusyne : 
Armyt  in  arrays  gud  and  fyne  ; 
Come  on  a  sted,  a  bow  schote  ner, 
Befor  all  othyr  that  thar  wer : 
And  knew  the  King,  for  that  he  saw 
Him  swa  rang  his  men  on  raw  ; 
And  by  the  croune,  that  wes  set 
Alsna  apon  his  bassynet. 
And  towart  him  he  went  in  by. 
And  [quhen]  the  King  sua  apertly 
Saw  him  cum,  forouth  all  his  feris,l 
In  hy-  till  him  the  hors  he  steris. 
And  quhen  Schyr  Henry  saw  the  King 
Cum  on,  for  owtyn  abaysing,^ 
Till  him  he  raid  in  full  gret  hy 
He  thoucht  that  he  suld  weill  lychtly 
Wyn  him,  and  haf  him  at  his  will, 
Sen  he  him  horsyt  saw  sa  ill. 
Sprent^  thai  samyn  in  till  a  ling.s 
Schyr  Henry  myssit  the  noble  King. 
And  he,  that  in  his  sterapys  stud. 
With  the  ax  that  wes  hard  and  gud, 
With  sa  gret  mayne''  racht  him  a  dynt, 
That  nothyr  hat,  na  helm,  mycht  stynt 
The  hewy'  dusche'  that  he  him  gave, 
That  ner  the  held  till  the  harynys  clave. 
Tlie  hand  ax  schaft  fruschit^  in  twa ; 
And  he  doune  to  the  erd  gan  ga 
All  flatlynys,">  for  him  faillyt  mycht. 
This  wes  the  fryst  strak  oft"  the  fycht." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  viii.  v.  684. 

The  Scottish  leaders  remonstrated  with  the  King  npon  his 
temerity.  lie  only  answered,  "  I  have  broken  my  good  battle- 
axe."— The  Enghsh  vanguard  retreated  after  witnessing  this 
single  combat.  Probably  their  generals  did  not  think  it  advisa- 
ble to  hazard  an  attack  while  its  unfavorable  issue  remained 
upon  tlieir  minds. 


Note  3  U. 


What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet  sound, 
And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 
Our  leftward  flank  7 — 460. 

While  the  van  of  the  English  army  advanced,  a  detached 
body  attempted  to  relieve  Stirling.  Lord  Hailes  gives  the  fol 
lowing  account  of  this  manceuvre  and  the  result,  which  is  ac- 
companied by  circumstances  highly  characteristic  of  the  chiv- 
alrous manners  of  the  age,  and  displays  that  generosity  which 
reconciles  us  even  to  their  ferocity  upon  other  occasions. 

Bruce  had  enjoined  Randolph,  who  commanded  the  left 
wing  of  his  army,  to  be  vigilant  in  preventing  any  advanced 
parties  of  the  English  from  throwing  succors  Into  the  castle  of 
Sturling. 

"  Eight  hundred  horsemen,  commanded  by  Sir  Robert  Cli& 

6  Strength,  or  force.— 7  Heavy.— 8  Clash.— 9  Broke.— 10  Flat. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


497 


ford,  were  detached  from  the  English  army  ;  they  made  a  cir- 
cuit by  the  low  grounds  to*he  east,  and  approached  the  castle. 
Tlie  King  perceived  their  motions,  and,  coming  np  to  Ran- 
dolph, angrily  exclaimed,  'Thoughtless  man  !  you  have  suf- 
fered the  enemy  to  pass.'  Randolidi  hasted  to  repair  his 
fault,  or  perish.  As  he  advanced,  the  English  cavalry  wheeled 
to  attack  him.  Randolph  drew  np  his  troops  in  a  circular 
form,  with  their  spears  resting  on  the  ground,  and  protended 
on  every  side.  At  the  first  onset,  Sir  William  Daynecourt,  an 
English  commander  of  distinguished  note,  was  slain.  The 
enemy,  far  superior  in  numbers  to  Randolph,  environed  liim, 
and  i)ressed  hard  on  his  little  band.  Douglas  saw  his  jeopardy, 
and  requested  the  King's  permission  to  go  and  succor  him. 
'  You  shall  not  move  from  your  ground,'  cried  the  King  ;  '  let 
Randolph  extricate  himself  as  he  best  may.  I  will  not  alter 
my  order  of  battle,  and  lose  the  advantage  of  my  position.' — 
'In  truth,'  replied  Douglas,  '  I  cannot  stand  by  and  see  Ran- 
dolph perish  ;  and,  therefore,  with  your  leave,  I  must  aid 
him.'  The  King  unwillingly  consented,  and  Douglas  flew  to 
the  assistance  of  his  friend.  While  approaching,  he  perceived 
that  the  English  were  falling  into  disorder,  and  that  the  perse- 
verance of  Randolph  had  prevailed  over  their  impetuous  cour- 
age. 'Halt,'  cried  Douglas,  'those  brave  men  have  repulsed 
the  enemy  ;  let  us  not  diminish  their  glory  by  sharing  it.'  " — 
Dalrymple's  Jlnnals  of  Scotland,  4to.  Edinburgh,  1779, 
pp.  44,  45. 

Two  large  stones  erected  at  the  north  end  of  the  village  of 
Newhouse,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  part  of 
Stirling,  ascertain  the  place  of  this  memorable  skirmish.  Tne 
circumstance  tends,  were  confirmation  necessary,  to  support 
the  opinion  of  Lord  Hailes,  that  the  Scottish  line  had  Stirling 
on  its  left  flank.  It  will  be  remembered,  that  Randolph  com- 
manded infantry,  Daynecourt  cavalry.  Supposing,  therefore, 
according  to  the  vulgar  hypothesis,  that  the  Scottish  line  was 
drawn  up,  facing  to  the  south,  in  the  line  of  the  brook  of  Ban- 
nock, and  consequentl)'  that  Randolph  was  stationed  with  his 
left  flank  resting  upon  Milntown  bog,  it  is  morally  impossible 
that  his  infantry,  moving  from  that  position,  with  whatever 
celerity,  could  cut  off"  from  Stirling  a  body  of  cavalry  who  had 
already  passed  St.  Ninians,'  or,  in  other  words,  were  already 
between  them  and  the  town.  Whereas,  supposing  Randolph's 
left  to  have  approached  St.  Ninians,  the  short  movement  to 
Newhouse  could  easily  be  executed,  so  as  to  intercept  the  Eng- 
lish in  the  manner  described. 


Note  3  V. 

Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 

Pipe-clang  and  bugle-sound  were  toss'd. — P.  461. 

There  is  an  old  tradition,  that  the  well-known  Scottish  tune 
of  "Hay,  tutti  taitti,"  was  Brnce's  march  at  the  battle  of 
Bannockburn.  The  late  Mr.  Ritson,  no  granter  of  proposi- 
tions, doubts  whether  the  Scots  had  any  martial  music,  quotes 
Froissart's  account  of  each  soldier  in  the  host  bearing  a  little 
horn,  on  which,  at  the  onset,  they  would  make  such  a  horrible 
noise,  as  if  all  the  devils  of  hell  had  been  among  them.  He 
observes,  that  these  horns  are  the  only  music  mentioned  by 
Barbour,  and  concludes,  that  it  must  remain  a  moot  point 
whether  Brnce's  army  were  cheered  by  the  sound  even  of  a 
Bolitary  bagpipe. — Historical  EssaT/  prefixed  to  Ritson's 
Scottish  Songs. — It  may  be  observed  in   passing,  that  the 

1  Barbour  a.ay3  expressly,  they  avoided  the  New  Park  (where  Bruce'a 
iimiy  lay),  and  held  "  well  neath  the  Kirk,"  which  can  only  mean  St. 
Ninians. 

2  Together. 

3  Schiltrum. — This  word  has  been  variously  limited  or  extended  in  its 
signification.  In  general,  it  seems  to  imply  a  large  body  of  men  drawn  up 
very  closely  together.  But  it  has  been  limited  to  imply  a  round  or  circular 
body  of  men  so  drawn  np.  I  cannot  understand  it  with  this  limitation  in 
the  present  case.     The  schiitrum  of  the  Scottish  army  at  Falkirk  was  un- 

63 


Scottish  of  this  jieriod  certainly  observed  some  musical  ca- 
dence, even  in  winding  their  liorns,  since  Bruce  was  at  once 
recognized  by  his  followers  from  his  mode  of  blowing.  Sen 
Note  2  T.  on  canto  iv.  But  the  tradition,  true  or  false,  has 
been  the  means  of  securing  to  Scotland  one  of  the  finest  lyrics  in 
the  language,  the  celebrated  war-song  of  Burns, — "  Scots,  wha 
hae  wi'  Wallace  bled." 


Note  3  W. 


JVoja  onward,  and  in  open  view. 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew. — P.  461. 

Upon  the  24th  of  June,  the  English  army  advanced  to  the 
attack.  The  narrowness  of  the  Scottish  front,  and  the  nature 
of  the  ground,  did  not  permit  them  to  have  the  full  advantage 
of  their  numbers,  nor  is  it  very  easy  to  find  out  what  was  their 
proposed  order  of  battle.  The  vanguard,  however,  appeared 
a  distinct  body,  consisting  of  archers  and  spearmen  on  foot, 
and  commanded,  as  already  said,  by  the  Earls  of  Gloucester 
and  Hereford.  Barbour,  in  one  place,  mentions  that  they 
formed  nine  battles  or  divisions ;  but  from  the  following 
passage,  it  appears  that  there  was  no  room  or  space  for  them 
to  extend  themselves,  so  that,  except  the  vanguard,  the  wholw 
army  appeared  to  form  one  solid  and  compact  body  :- 

"  The  English  men,  on  either  party, 
That  as  angels  shone  brightly. 
Were  not  array'd  on  such  manner  ". 
For  all  their  battles  samyn^  were 
In  a  schiltrum.3     But  whether  it  was 
Through  the  great  straitness  of  the  place 
That  they  were  in,  to  bide  fighting; ; 
Or  that  it  was  for  abaysing  ;■' 
I  wete  not.     But  in  a  schiitrum 
It  seemed  they  were  all  and  some  ; 
Out  ta'en  the  vaward  anerly,^ 
That  right  with  a  great  company, 
Be  them  selwyn,  arrayed  were. 
Who  had  been  by,  might  have  seen  there 
That  folk  ourtake  a  mekill  feild 
On  breadth,  where  many  a  shining  shield, 
And  many  a  burnished  bright  armour, 
And  many  a  man  of  great  valour, 
Might  in  that  great  scliiltrum  be  seen  : 
And  many  a  bright  banner  and  sheen." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  vol.  il.  D.  IJ  . 


Note  3  X. 


See  where  yon  barefoot  Abbot  stands, 

M.nd  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands. — P.  461. 

"  RIaurice,  abbot  of  Inchaffray,  placing  himself  on  an  eml 
nence,  celebrated  mass  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army.  He  then 
passed  along  the  front  barefooted,  and  bearing  a  crucifi.x  In  his 
hands,  and  exhorting  the  Scots,  in  a  few  and  forcible  words, 
to  combat  for  their  rights  and  their  liberty.  The  Scots  kneeled 
down.  '  They  yield,'  cried  Edward  ;  '  see,  they  implore  mer 
cy.' — '  They  do,'  answered  Ingelrara  de  Umfraville,  '  but  not 
ours.  On  that  field  they  will  be  victorious,  or  die.'  " — Annals 
of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  47. 

doubtedly  of  a  chcular  form,  in  order  to  resist  the  attacks  of  the  English 
cavalry,  on  whatever  quarter  they  might  be  charged.  But  it  does  not  ap- 
pear how,  or  why,  the  English,  advancing  to  the  attick  at  Bannockburn, 
should  have  arT.ayed  themselves  in  a  circular  form.  It  seems  more  proba- 
ble, that,  by  Schiitrum  in  the  present  CAse,  Barbour  means  to  exprCM  ar 
irregidar  mass  into  which  the  English  army  was  compressed  by  the  nn. 
wieldiness  of  its  numbers,  and  the  carelessness  or  ignorance  of  its  leaders. 

4  Frightening. 

5  Alone. 


498 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


IfoTE  3  Y. 

Forth,  Marshal,  on  the  peasant  foe'. 
We'll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow. 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose ! — P.  462. 

The  English  archers  commenced  the  attack  with  theii  usual 
bravery  and  dexterity.  But  against  a  force,  whose  importance 
he  had  learned  by  fatal  experience,  Bruce  was  provided.  A 
small  but  select  body  of  cavalry  were  detached  from  the  riglit, 
under  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith.  They  rounded,  as  I 
conceive,  the  marsh  called  Milntown  bog,  and,  keeping  the 
firm  ground,  charged  tlie  left  flank  and  rear  of  the  English 
archers.  As  the  bowmen  had  no  spears  nor  long  weapons  fit 
to  defend  themselves  against  horee,  they  were  instantly  thrown 
into  disorder,  and  spread  through  the  whole  English  army  a 
confusion  from  which  they  never  fairly  recovered. 

"  The  Inglis  archeris  scliot  sa  fast. 
That  myclit  thair  schot  haff  ony  last 
It  had  bene  hard  to  Scottis  men. 
Bot  King  Robert,  that  wele  gan  ken^ 
That  thair  archeris  war  peralouss, 
And  thair  schot  rycht  hard  and  grewouss, 
Ordanyt,  forouflis  the  assemble, 
Hys  marschell  with  a  gret  menye, 
Fyve  hundre  arniyt  in  to  stele, 
That  on  lycht  horss  war  horsyt  welle, 
For  to  pryk^  amang  the  archeris  ; 
And  swa  assaile  thaim  with  tliair  speris, 
That  thai  na  layser  haiff  to  schute. 
This  marschell  that  Ik  of  mute,-l 
That  Scliyr  Robert  of  Keyth  was  caald, 
As  Ik  hefor  her  has  yow  tauld, 
Quhen  he  saw  the  bataillis  sua 
Assembill,  and  to  gidder  ga. 
And  saw  the  archeris  schoyt  stoutly  ; 
With  all  thaim  oft' his  cumpany, 
In  hy  apon  thaim  gan  he  rid  ; 
And  our  tuk  thaim  at  a  sid  : 
And  ruschyt  apiang  thaim  sarudly, 
Stekand  thaim  sa  dispitously, 
And  in  sic  fusoun^  berand  doun, 
And  slayand  thaim,  for  owtyn  ransoun  ;' 
That  thai  thaim  scalyt*  euirilkane.9 
And  fra  that  tyme  furth  thar  wes  nana 
That  assemblyt  schot  to  ma.'" 
Quhen  Scottis  archeris  saw  that  thai  sua 
War  rebatyt,"  thai  woux  hardy, 
And  with  all  thair  mycht  schot  egrely 
Amang  the  horss  men,  that  thar  raid  ; 
And  woundis  wid  to  thaim  thai  maid  ; 
And  slew  of  thaim  a  full  gret  dele." 

Barbocr's  Bruce,  Book  ix.  v.  228. 

Although  the  success  of  this  manoeuvre  was  evident,  it  is 
very  remarkable  that  the  Scottish  generals  do  not  appear  to 
have  profited  by  the  lesson.  Aliuost  every  subsequent  battle 
which  they  lost  against  England,  was  decided  by  the  archers, 
to  whom  the  close  and  compact  an-ay  of  the  Scottish  phalanx 
afforded  an  exposed  and  unresisting  mark.  The  bloody  battle 
of  Halidoun-hill,  fought  scarce  twenty  years  afterwards,  was 
so  completely  gained  by  the  archers,  that  the  English  are  said 
to  have  lost  only  one  knight,  one  esquire,  and  a  few  foot-sol- 
diers. At  the  battle  of  Neville's  Cross,  in  1346,  where  David 
II.  was  defeated  and  made  prisoner,  John  de  Graliam,  observ- 
ing the  loss  which  the  Scots  sustained  from  the  English  bow- 
men, offered  to  charge  and  disperse  them,  if  a  hundred  men-at- 
arms  were  put  under  his  command.  "  But,  to  confess  the 
trnth,"  says  Fordun,  "  he  could  not  procure  a  single  horseman 

1  Know. — 2  Disjoined  from  the  main  body. — 3  Spur. — i  That  I  speak 
of. — 5  Set  upon  their  flank.— -6   Numbers. — 7  Rausom. — S  dispersed. — 
Kvery  one. — 10  Make. — 11  Driven  back. 


for  the  service  proposed."     Of  such  little  use  is  experience  'n 
war,  where  its  results  are  opposed  Sy  habit  or  prejudice. 


Note  3  Z. 


Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before. 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore! — P.  462. 

Roger  Ascham  quotes  a  similar  Scottish  proverb,  "  whereby 
they  give  the  whole  praise  of  shooting  honestly  to  Englishmen, 
saying  thus,  '  that  every  English  archer  beareth  under  his  gir 
die  twenty-four  Scottes.'  Indeed  Toxophilns  says  before,  and 
truly  of  the  Scottish  nation,  '  The  Scottes  surely  be  good  men 
of  warre  in  theyre  owne  feates  as  can  be  ;  but  as  for  shoot- 
inge.  they  can  neither  use  it  to  any  profite,  nor  yet  challenge  it 
for  any  praise." — Works  of  Ascham,  edited  by  Bennet,  4to. 
p.  110. 

It  is  said,  I  trust  incorrectly,  by  an  ancient  English  historian, 
that  the  "good  Lord  James  of  Douglas"  dreaded  the  superi- 
ority of  the  English  archers  so  much,  that  when  he  made  any 
of  them  prisoner,  he  gave  him  the  option  of  losing  the  forefin- 
ger of  his  riglit  hand,  or  his  right  eye,  either  species  of  mutila- 
tion rendering  him  incapable  to  use  the  bow.  I  have  mislaid 
the  reference  to  this  singular  passage. 


Note  4  A. 


Sown !  down  !  in  headlong  overthrow. 
Horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  go. — P.  462. 

It  is  generally  alleged  by  historians,  that  the  English  men-at- 
arms  fell  into  the  hidden  snare  wliicli  Bruce  had  prepared  for 
them.  Barbour  does  not  mention  the  circumstance.  Accord- 
ing to  his  account,  Randolph,  seeing  the  slaughter  made  by 
the  cavalry  on  the  right  wing  among  the  archers,  advanced 
courageously  against  the  main  body  of  the  English,  and  en- 
tered into  close  combat  with  them.  Douglas  and  Stuart,  who 
commanded  the  Scottish  centre,  led  their  division  also  to  the 
charge,  and  the  battle  becoming  general  along  the  whole  line, 
was  obstinately  maintained  on  both  sides  for  a  long  space  of 
time  ;  the  Scottish  arcliers  doing  great  execution  among  the 
English  men-at-arms,  after  the  bowmen  of  England  were  dis- 
persed. 


Note  4  B. 


And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony. — P.  462. 

I  have  been  told  that  this  line  requires  an  explanatory  note  ; 
and,  indeed,  those  who  witness  the  silent  patience  with  which 
liorses  submit  to  tlie  most  cruel  usage,  may  be  jjermitted  to 
doubt,  that,  in  moments  of  sudden  and  intolerable  anguish, 
they  utter  a  most  melancholy  cry.  Lord  Erskine,  in  a  speech 
made  in  the  House  of  Lords,  upon  a  bill  for  enforcing  huma- 
nity towards  animals,  noticed  this  remarl  able  fact,  in  language 
which  I  will  not  mutilate  by  attempting  to  repeat  it.  It  was 
my  fortune,  upon  one  occasion,  to  hear  a  horse,  in  a  moment 
of  agony,  utter  a  thrilling  scream,  which  I  still  consider  the 
most  melancholy  sound  I  ever  heard. 


Note  4  C. 


Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  Rock  : 
Rush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen  charge. — P.  464. 

When  the  engagement  between  die  main  bodies  had  lasted 
some  time,  Bruce  made  a  decisive  movement,  by  bringing  np 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


499 


jhe  Scottish  reserve.  It  is  traditionally  said,  that  at  this  cri- 
sis, he  addressed  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  in  a  plirase  used  as  a 
motto  by  some  of  his  ocscendants,  "  My  trust  is  constant  in 
•hee."  Barbour  intimates,  that  the  reserve  "  assembled  on 
one  field,"  that  is,  on  the  same  line  with  the  Scottish  forces 
already  engaged  ;  wliich  leads  Lord  Hailes  to  conjecture  tliat 
the  Scottish  ranks  must  have  been  ranch  thinned  by  slaughter, 
since,  in  that  circumscribed  ground,  there  was  room  for  the 
reserve  to  fall  into  the  Une.  But  the  advance  of  the  Scottish 
cavalry  must  have  contributed  a  good  deal  to  form  the  va- 
vincy  occuj>ied  by  the  reserve. 


Note  4  D. 


To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 
Jiiid  mimic  ensiffns  high  they  rear. — P.  464. 

The  followers  of  tlie  Scottish  camp  observed,  from  the  Gil- 
lies' Hill  in  the  rear,  the  impression  produced  upon  the  English 
army  by  the  bringing  up  of  the  Scottish  reserve,  and,  prompted 
by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  or  the  desire  of  plunder, 
assumed,  in  a  tumultuary  manner,  such  arms  as  they  found 
nearest,  fastened  sheets  to  tent-poles  and  lances,  and  showed 
themselves  like  a  new  army  advancing  to  battle. 

"  Yomen,  and  swanys,i  and  pitaill,^ 
That  in  the  Park  yemyt  wictaill,^ 
War  left ;  quhen  thai  wyst  but  lesing,< 
That  thair  lordis,  with  fell  fechtyng, 
On  thair  fayis  assemblyt  wer  ; 
Ane  offthaim  selwyn^  that  war  thar 
Capitane  of  thaim  all  thai  maid. 
And  schetis,  that  war  sumedele^  brad, 
Thai  festnyt  in  steid  off  baneris, 
Apon  lang  treys  and  speris  : 
And  said  that  thai  wald  se  the  fycht ; 
And  help  thair  lordis  at  thair  mycht. 
Q,uhen  her  till  all  assentyt  wer, 
In  a  rout  assemblit  er  ;' 
Fyftene  thowsand  thai  war,  or  ma. 
And  than  in  gret  hy  gan  thai  ga, 
With  thair  baneris,  all  in  a  rout. 
As  thai  had  men  bene  styth^  and  stont. 
Thai  come,  with  all  that  assemble, 
Rycht  quhill  thai  mycht  the  bataill  se  ; 
Than  all  at  anys  thai  gave  a  cry, 
'  Sla  !  sla  !  Apon  thaim  hastily  !'  " 

Barbodr's  Bruce,  Book  ix.  v.  410. 

The  unexpected  apparition,  of  what  seemed  a  new  army, 
completed  the  confusion  which  already  prevailed  among  the 
English,  who  fled  in  every  direction,  and  were  pursued  with 
immense  slaughter.  The  brook  of  Bannock,  according  to 
Barbour,  was  so  choked  with  the  bodies  of  men  and  horses, 
that  it  might  have  been  passed  dry-shod.  The  followers  of 
the  Scottish  camp  fell  upon  the  disheartened  fugitives,  and 
added  to  the  confusion  and  slaughter.  Many  were  driven 
into  the  Foith,  and  perished  there,  which,  by  the  way,  could 
hardly  have  happened,  had  the  armies  been  drawn  up  east 
and  west ;  since,  in  that  case,  to  get  at  the  river,  the  English 
fugitives  must  have  fled  through  the  victorious  army.  About 
a  short  mile  from  the  field  of  battle  is  a  place  called  the 
Bloody  Folds.  Here  the  Earl  of  Gloucester  is  said  to  have 
made  a  stand,  and  died  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his  own  mili- 
tary tenants  and  vassals.  He  was  much  regretted  by  both 
sides  ;  and  it  is  said  the  Scottish  would  gladly  have  saved  his 
life,  but,  neglecting  to  wear  his  surcoat  with  armorial  bear- 


1  Swains. — 2  Rabble. — 3  Kept  the  proviaions.- 
Somewhat  —7  Are. — S  Stiff. 


Lying, — 5  Selves. — 


ings  over  his  armor,  he  fell  anknown,  after  bis  horse  had  been 
stabbed  with  spears. 

Sir  Marmaduke  Twenge,  an  English  knight,  contrived  to 
conceal  himself  during  the  fury  of  the  pursuit,  and  when  it 
was  somewhat  slackened,  approached  King  Robert.  "  Whose 
prisoner  are  you,  Sir  Marmaduke  V  said  Bruce,  to  whom  he 
was  personally  known.  "Yours,  sir,"  answered  the  kniglit. 
"  I  receive  you,"  answered  the  king,  and,  treating  him  with 
the  utmost  courtesy,  loaded  him  with  gifts,  and  dismissed  him 
witliout  ransom.  The  other  prisoners  were  all  well  treated. 
There  might  be  policy  in  this,  as  Bruce  would  naturally  wish 
to  acquire  the  good  opinion  of  the  English  barons,  who  were 
at  this  time  at  great  variance  with  their  king.  But  it  also  well 
accords  with  his  high  chivalrous  character. 


Note  4  E. 


O .'  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due. — P.  464. 

Edward  II.,  according  to  the  best  authorities,  showed,  in 
the  fatal  field  of  Banuockburn,  jiersonal  gallantry  not  un- 
worthy of  his  great  sire  and  greater  son.  He  remained  on  the 
field  till  forced  away  by  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  when  all  was 
lost.  He  then  rode  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  and  demanded 
admittance  ;  but  the  governor,  remonstrating  upon  the  impru- 
dence of  shutting  himself  up  in  that  fortress,  which  must  so 
soon  surrender,  he  assembled  around  his  person  five  hundred 
men-at-arms,  and,  avoiding  the  field  of  battle  and  the  victo- 
rious army,  fled  towards  Linlithgow,  pursued  by  Douglas  with 
about  sixty  horse.  They  were  augmented  by  Sir  Lawrence 
Abernethy  with  twenty  more,  whom  Douglas  met  in  the  Tor- 
wood  npon  their  way  to  join  the  English  army,  and  whom  he 
easily  persuaded  to  desert  the  defeated  monarch,  and  to  assist 
in  the  pursuit.  They  hung  upon  Edward's  flight  as  far  as 
Dunbar,  too  few  in  number  to  a-ssail  him  with  effect,  but  enough 
to  harass  his  retreat  so  constantly,  that  whoever  fell  an  instant 
behind,  was  instantly  slain  or  made  prisoner.  Edward's  igno- 
minious flight  terminated  at  Dunbar,  where  tlie  Earl  of  March, 
who  still  professed  allegiance  to  him,  "received  him  full 
gently."  From  thence,  the  monarch  of  so  great  an  empue, 
and  the  late  commander  of  so  gallant  and  nnmerons  an  army, 
escaped  to  Bamborough  in  a  fishing  vessel. 

Bruce,  as  will  appear  from  the  following  docnment,  lost  no 
time  in  directing  the  thunders  of  Parliamentary  censure  against 
such  part  of  his  subjects  as  did  not  return  to  their  natural  alle- 
giance after  the  battle  of  Banuockburn. 

Apud  Monasterium  de  Cambuskenneth, 

vi  die  novembris,  m,ccc,xiv. 

Judicium  Reditum  apud  Kambuskinet  contra  omnes  illos  gut 
tunc  fuerunt  contra  fidem  et  pacem  Domini  Regis, 

Anno  gracie  millesirao  tricentisimo  quarto  decimo  sexto  die 
Novembris  tenente  parliameutum  suum  Excellentissimo  prin- 
cipe  Domino  Roberto  Dei  gracia  Rege  Scottorum  Illustri  in 
monasterio  de  Cambuskyneth  concordatnm  fuit  finaliter  Ju- 
dicatum  [ac  super]  hoc  statutnm  de  Concilio  et  Assensu  Epis- 
coporum  et  ceterorum  Prelatorum  Comitum  Baronum  et  alio- 
rum  nobilium  regni  Scocie  nee  non  et  tocins  communitatis 
regni  predict!  quod  omnes  qui  contra  fidem  et  pacem  dicti 
domini  regis  in  hello  sen  alibi  mortui  sunt  [vel  qui  die]  to  die 
ad  pacem  ejus  et  fidem  non  venerant  licet  sepius  vocati  et  le- 
gitime expectati  fuissent  de  terris  et  tenementis  et  omni  alio 
statu  infra  regnnm  Scocie  perpetno  sint  exheredati  et  habean- 
tur  de  cetero  tanquam  inimici  Regis  et  Regni  ab  omni  veudi- 
cacione  juris  hereditarii  vel  juris  alterius  cujuscnnqne  in  pos- 
terura  pro  se  et  heredibus  suis  in  perjietuum  jirivati  Ad  per- 
petuam  igitur  rei  memoriam  et  evidentem  probacionem  hujns 


500 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1 


Juditii  et  Statuti  sigilla  Episcoporum  et  aliornm  Prelatorum 
iiec  lion  et  comitum  Barotinm  ac  ceterorum  nobilium  dicti 
ReTii  present!  ordiuacioni  Judicio  et  statute  sunt  appensa. 

Sigillam  Domini  Regis 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Sancti  Andree 
Sigillura  Roberti  Episcopi  Glascuensis 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Dunkeldensi» 

.     .     .    Episeop.  

.     .     .    Episcopi 

.     .     .     Episcopi 

Sigillum  Alani  Episcopi  Sodorensis 
Sigillum  Johannis  Episcopi  Brechynensis 
Sigillum  Andree  Episcopi  Ergadiensis 
Sigillum  Frechardi  Episcopi  Cathanensia 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Scona 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Calco 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Abirbrothok 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancta  Cruce 
Sisillum  Abbatis  de  Londoris 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Newbotill 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Cupro 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Paslet 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dunfermelyn 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Lincluden 
Sigillura  Abbatis  de  Insula  Missarum 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancto  Columba 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Deer 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dulce  Corde 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Coldinghame 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Rostynot 
Sigillum  Prioris  Sancte  Andree 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Pittinwem 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Insula  de  Lochlevin 
Sigillum  Penescalli  fcocie 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Comitis  de  Ros 


Sigillum  Gilberti  de  la  Haya  Constabularii  Scocie 

Sigillum  Rooerti  de  Ketli  Mariscalli  Scocie 

Sigillum  Hugonis  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Jacobi  de  Duglas 

Sigillura  Jobannis  de  Sancto  Claro 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Alexandri  de  Settone 

Sigillum  Walter!  Haliburtone 

Sigillum  Davidis  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Duncan!  de  Wallays 

Sigillum  Tliome  de  Discbingtone 

Sigillum  Anuree  de  Moravia 

Sigillum  Arcbibaldi  de  Betun 

Sigillnm  Ranulphi  de  Lfill 

Sigillum  Maleomi  de  Balfour 

Sigillura  Normanni  de  Lesley 

Sigillum  Nigelli  de  Campo  bello 

Sigillum  Morni  de  Musco  Campc 


Note  4  F. 

JVor  for  De  Jlrgcntine  alone, 

Through  j\ri7iian's  church  these  torches  shone, 

Jlnd  rose  the  death-prayer^  s  awful  tone. — P.  465. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  attending  the  death  of  De 
Argentine  have  been  already  noticed  (Note  L).     Besides  this 

1  Together.  2  R-ed,  or  gilded. 

S  [The  extracts  from  Barbour  in  this  edition  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poems 


renowned  warrior,  there  fell  many  representatives  of  the 
noblest  houses  in  England,  which  never  sustained  a  more 
bloody  and  disastrous  defeat.  Barbour  says  that  two  hundred 
pairs  of  gilded  spurs  were  taken  frora  the  field  of  battle  ;  and 
that  some  were  left  the  author  can  bear  witness,  who  has  in 
bis  possession  a  curious  antique  spar,  dag  ap  in  the  morafS, 
not  long  since. 

"  It  wes  forsnth  a  gret  ferly, 
To  se  samyni  sa  fele  dede  lie. 
Twa  hnndre  payr  of  spuris  reid,^ 
War  tane  of  knichtis  that  war  de!d." 

I  am  now  to  take  my  leave  of  Barbour,  not  without  a  sincere 
w^isli  that  the  public  may  encourage  the  undertaking  of  my 
friend  Dr.  Jamieson,  who  has  issued  proposals  for  publishing 
an  accurate  edition  of  his  poem,  and  of  blind  Harry's  Wal- 
lace.' The  only  good  edition  of  The  Bruce  was  published  by 
Mr.  Pinkerton,  in  3  vols.,  in  1790  ;  and,  the  learned  editor 
having  had  no  personal  access  to  consult  the  manuscript,  !t  is 
not  without  errors  ;  and  it  has  besides  become  scarce.  Of 
Wallace  there  is  no  tolerable  edition  ;  yet  these  two  poems  do 
no  small  lionor  to  the  early  state  of  Scottish  poetry,  and  Tlie 
Bruce  is  justly  regarded  as  containing  authentic  historical 
facts. 

The  following  list  of  the  slain  at  Bannockbum,  extracted 
from  the  continuator  of  Trivet's  Annals,  will  show  the  extent 
of  the  national  calamity. 

List  of  the  Slain. 


Knights  and  Knights  Ban- 
nerets. 
Gilbert  de  Clare,  Earl  of  Glou- 
cester, 
Robert  de  Clifford, 
Payan  Tybetot, 
W'illiani  Le  Mareschal, 
John  Comyn, 
William  de  Vescey, 
John  de  IHontfort, 
Nicolas  de  Ilasteleigh, 
W'illiam  Dayncourt, 
^gidius  de  Argenteyne, 
Edmond  Comyn, 
John  Lovel  (the  rich), 
Edmund  de  Hastynge, 
Milo  de  Stapleton, 


Simon  Ward, 
Robert  de  Feltoti, 
Michael  Poyning, 
Edmund  Maulley. 

Knights. 
Henry  de  Bonn, 
Thomas  de  UfTord, 
John  de  Elsingfelde, 
John  de  Harcourt, 
Walter  de  Hakelut, 
Philip  de  Courtenay, 
Hugo  de  Scales, 
Radulph  de  Beauchamp 
John  de  Penbrigge, 
With  33  others  of  the  same 
rank,  not  named. 


Prisoners. 


Barons  and  Baronets. 
Henry  de  Bonn,  Earl  of  Here- 
ford, 
Lord  John  Giffard, 
W^illiam  de  Latimer, 
Maurice  de  Berkeley, 
Ingelram  de  Umfraville, 
Marmaduke  de  Twenge, 
John  de  Wyletone, 
Robert  de  Maulee, 
Henry  Fitz-IIugh, 
Thomas  de  Gray, 
Walter  de  Beauchamp, 
Richard  de  Charon, 
John  de  AVevelmton 
Robert  de  Nevil, 
John  de  Segrave, 
Gilbert  Peeche, 
John  de  Clavering, 


Antony  de  Lucy, 
Radulph  de  Camys, 
John  Oe  Evere, 
Andrew,  de  Abremhyn. 

Knights. 
Thomas  de  Berkeley, 
The  son  of  Roger  Tyrrel, 
Anselm  de  Mareschal, 
Giles  de  Beauchamp, 
John  de  Cyfrewast, 
John  Bluwet, 
Roger  Corbet, 
Gilbert  de  Bonn, 
Bartholomew  de  Enefeld, 
Thomas  de  Ferrers,  [tort 

Radulph  and  Thomas  Botte- 
John  and  Nicholas  de  King- 
stone  (brothers), 


have  been  uniformly  corrected  by  the  text  of  Dr.  Jamieson 'a  Bruce,  pub- 
lished, along  with  Blind  Harry's  Wallace,  Edin.  1 820, 2  vol^  4i3.— Ed.]    , 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


501 


William  Lovel, 
Henry  de  Wileton, 
Baldwin  de  Frevill, 
John  de  Clivedon,i 
Adomar  la  Zouche, 
John  de  Merewode, 
John  Maufe,2 


Thomas  and  Odo  Lele  Erce- 

dekene, 
Robert  Beaupel  (the  son), 
John  Mautravprs  (the  son), 
William  and  William  Giffard, 
and   34   other   knij;hts,  not 
named  by  the  historian. 


And  in  sum  there  were  slain,  along  with  the  Earl  of  Glouces- 
ter, forty-two  barons  and  bannerets.  The  number  of  earls, 
barons,  and  bannerets  made  captive,  was  twenty-two,  and 
sixty-eight  kniglits.  3Iany  clerks  and  esquires  were  also  there 
Blain  or  taken.     Roger  de  Northbnrge,  keeper  of  the  kii^f' 


1  SuppoMd  CliyUm. 


SMaule. 


signet  (Cvstos  Targj<B  Domini  Regis),  was  made  prisoner 
with  his  two  clerks,  Roger  de  Wakenfelde  and  Thomas  de 
Switon,  upon  which  the  king  caused  a  seal  to  be  made,  and 
entitled  it  his /)r(i;y  sea/,  to  distinguish  the  same  from  the  signet 
so  lost.  The  Earl  of  Hereford  was  exchanged  against  Bruce's 
queen,  who  had  been  detain-^d  in  captivity  ever  since  the  year 
13flG.  The  Targia,  or  signet,  was  restorod  to  England  tlirough 
the  intercession  of  Ralph  de  Monthermer,  ancestor  of  Eord 
Moira,  who  is  said  to  have  found  favor  in  the  ejes  of  the  Scot- 
tish king. — Continuation  of  Trivet's  Jlnnals,  Hall's  edit. 
Oxford,  1712,  vol.  ii.  p.  14. 

Such  were  the  immediate  consequences  of  the  Field  of  Ban- 
nockburn.  Its  more  remote  effects,  in  completely  establishing 
the  national  independence  of  Scotland,  afford  a  boundless  field 
for  speculation- 


]g»J^tal»vaaJ^^;.aJategi»■v:^.^v^'<|-rlW.^^^VJ%^>.-■v-«la.^.■,^a^^>r^H■■»«t^>»^^ 


^l}t  litii  of  toatcrUo: 


A    POEM,» 


"  Though  Valoia  braved  young  Edward's  gentle  hand, 
And  Albert  rush'd  on  Henry's  way-worn  band, 
With  Europe's  ehosen  sons,  in  arms  renown'd, 
Yet  not  on  Vere's  bold  archers  long  they  look'd, 
Nor  Audley's  squires  nor  Mowbray's  yeomen  brook'd, — 
They  saw  their  standard  fall,  and  left  their  monarch  bound." 

Aeeksidb. 


TO 

HER     GRACE 

THE 


DUCHESS    OF    WELLINGTON, 

PRINCESS   OF   WATERLOO, 

&c.  &c.  &c. 

THE    FOLLO"WING    VERSES 

ARE   MOST   RESPECTFULLY   INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

It  may  be  some  apology  for  the  imperfections  of  this  poem,  that  it  was  composed  hastily,  and  during  a 
short  tour  iipon  the  Continent,  when  the  Author's  tabors  were  liable  to  frequent  interruption;  but  its 
best  apjology  is,  that  it  was  written  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  the  Waterloo  Subscription. 
Abbotsford,  1815. 


(^l)e  fit[h  of  iOatcrloo. 


Pair  Brussels,  thou  art  far  behind, 
Though,  lingering  on  the  morning  wind, 

We  yet  may  hoar  the  hour 
Peal'd  over  orchard  and  canal, 
With  voice  prolong'd  and  measured  fall, 

From  proud  St.  Micliael's  tower ; 
Thy  wood,  dark  Soignies,  holds  us  now,' 
Where  the  tail  beeches'  glossy  bough 

>  Published  by  Constable  &  Co.  in  October,  1815.    8vo.   Ss. 

*  "  The  wood  of  Soignies  is  supposed  to  be  a  remnant  of  the 

forest  of  Ardennes   famous  in  Boiardo's  Orlando,  and  immor- 


For  many  a  league  around, 
With  birch  and  darksome  oak  between, 
Spreads  deep  and  far  a  pathless  screen, 

Of  tangled  forest  ground. 
Stems  planted  close  by  stems  defy 
The  adventurous  foot — the  curious  eye 

For  access  seeks  in  vain ; 
And  the  brown  tapestry  of  leaves, 
Strew'd  on  the  bhghted  ground,  receives 

Nor  sun,  nor  air,  nor  rain. 
No  opening  glade  dawns  on  our  way, 
No  streamlet,  glancing  to  the  ray, 

tal  in  Shakspeare's  '  As  yon  Like  it.'  It  is  also  celebrated  in 
Tacitus  as  being  the  spot  of  successful  defence  by  the  Germans 
against  the  Roman  encroachments." — Byron. 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


503 


Our  \roodlancl  path  has  cross'd ; 
And  the  straight  causeway  -which  we  tread, 
Prolongs  a  hue  of  dull  arcade, 
Unvarying  through  the  unvaried  shade 

Until  in  distance  lost. 

II. 

A  brighter,  livelier  scene  succeeds ;' 
In  groups  the  scattering  wood  recedes, 
Hedge-rows,  and  huts,  and  sunny  meads, 

And  corn-fields,  glance  between ; 
The  peasant,  at  his  labor  blithe, 
PUes  the  hook'd  staif  and  shorten'd  scythe  :^ — 

But  when  these  ears  were  green, 
Placed  close  within  destruction's  scope, 
Full  little  was  that  rustic's  hope 

Their  ripenmg  to  have  seen  ! 
And,  lo,  a  hamlet  and  its  fane  : — 
Iict  not  the  gazer  with  disdain 

Then"  architecture  view ; 
For  yonder  rude  ungraceful  shrine, 
And  disproportion'd  spire  are  thine,^ 

Immortal  Waterloo  !* 

III. 
Fear  not  the  heat,  though  full  and  high 
The  Sim  has  scorch'd  the  autiunn  sky. 
And  scarce  a  forest  straggler  now 
To  shade  us  spreads  a  greenwood  bough ; 
These  fields  have  seen  a  hotter  day 
Than  e'er  was  fired  by  sunny  ray.^ 

>  "  Southward  from  Brussels  lies  the  field  of  Diooa, 
Some  three  hours'  journey  for  a  well-girt  man  ; 
A  horseman,  who  in  haste  pursued  his  road, 
Would  reach  it  as  the  second  liour  began. 
The  way  is  through  a  forest  deep  and  wide. 
Extending  many  a  mile  on  either  side. 

"  No  cheerful  woodland  this  of  antic  trees, 

With  thickets  varied  and  with  sunny  glade; 
Look  where  he  will,  the  weary  traveller  sees 

One  gloomy,  thick,  impenetrable  shade 
Of  tall  straight  trunks,  which  move  before  his  sight, 
With  interchange  of  lines  of  long  green  light. 

"  Here,  where  the  woods  receding  from  the  road 

Have  left  on  either  hand  an  open  space 

For  fields  and  gardens,  and  for  man's  abode, 

Stands  Waterloo  ;  a  little  lowly  place, 
Obscure  till  now,  when  it  hath  risen  to  fame, 
And  given  the  victory  its  English  name." 

Squthey's  Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

3  MS. — "  Let  not  the  stranger  with  disdain 

Its  misproportions  view ; 

Yon  \  ''"^"^'^  ^°"^'^  \  ungraceful  shrine, 
(  awkward  and  ) 

And  yonder  humble  spire,  are  thine." 

4  "  What  time  the  second  Carlos  ruled  in  Spain, 

Last  of  the  Austrian  line  by  fate  decreed. 
Here  Castanaza  rear'd  a  votive  fane. 

Praying  the  patron  saints  to  bless  with  seed 


Yet  one  mile  on,  yon  shatter'd  hedge 
Crests  the  soft  hill  whose  long  smooth  ridge 

Looks  on  the  field  below, 
And  sinks  so  gently  on  the  dale. 
That  not  the  folds  of  Beauty's  veil 

In  easier  curves  can  flow. 
Brief  space  from  thence,  the  groimd  again 
Ascending  slowly  from  the  plain, 

Forms  an  opposing  screen. 
Which,  with  its  crest  of  upland  ground. 
Shuts  the  horizon  all  around. 

The  soften'd  vale  between 
Slopes  smooth  and  fair  for  courser's  tread ; 
Not  the  most  timid  maid  need  dread 
To  give  her  snow-white  palfi-ey  head 

On  that  wide  stubble-ground  f 
N"or  wood,  nor  tree,  nor  bush,  are  there. 
Her  cqm-se  to  intercept  or  scare, 

Nor  fosse  nor  fence  are  found. 
Save  where,  from  out  her  shatter'd  bowers. 
Rise  Hougomont's  dismantled  towers.' 

IV. 
Now,  see'st  thou  aught  in  this  lone  scene 
Can  tell  of  that  wliich  late  hath  been  ? — 

A  stranger  might  reply, 
"  The  bare  extent  of  stubble-plain 
Seems  lately  lighten'd  of  its  gram ; 
And  yonder  sable  tracks  remain 
Marks  of  the  peasant's  ponderous  wain. 

When  harvest-home  was  nigh.^ 

His  childless  sovereign.     Heaven  denied  an  heir, 
And  Europe  mouru'd  in  blood  the  frustrate  prayer." 

SOUTHEY. 

To  the  original  chapel  of  the  !Marquis  of  Castanaza  has  now 
been  added  a  building  of  considerable  extent,  the  whole  inte- 
rior of  which  is  filled  with  monumental  inscriptions  for  the 
heroes  who  fell  in  the  battle. 

6  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

6  "As  a  plain,  Waterloo  seems  marked  ont  for  the  scene  of 
some  great  action,  though  this  may  be  mere  imagination.  I 
have  viewed  with  attention,  those  of  Platea,  Troy,  Mantinea, 
Leuctra,  Chaeronea,  and  Marathon  ;  and  the  field  around 
Mont  t~'t.  Jean  and  Hougomont  appeai-s  to  want  little  but  a 
better  cause,  and  that  indefinable  but  impressive  halo  wiiich 
the  lapse  of  ages  throws  around  a  consecrated  spot,  to  vie  in 
interest  with  any  or  aU  of  these,  except,  perhaps,  the  last  men 
tioned." — Byron. 

7  MS.—"  Save  where,  j  ''^    \  fire-scathed  bcwers  among, 

Rise  the  rent  towers  of  Hougotcoui. 

8  "  Is  the  spot  mark'd  with  no  colossal  bust, 

Nor  column  trophied  for  triumphal  show  ? 
None  :  But  the  moral's  truth  tells  simpler  so. 
As  the  ground  was  before,  thus  let  it  be  ; — 
How  that  red  rain  hath  made  the  harvest  grow  I 
And  is  this  all  the  world  has  gain'd  by  thee. 
Thou  first  and  last  of  fields  !  king-making  Victory  V 

Byron 


'  Was  it  a  soothing  or  a  mournful  tlionght, 
Amid  this  scene  of  slaughter  as  we  stood, 
Where  armies  had  with  recent  fury  fought 


504 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


On  these  broad  spots  of  trampled  ground, 
■perchance  the  rustics  dauced  such  round 

As  Teniers  loved  to  draw ; 
And  where  the  earth  seems  scorch'd  by  flame, 
To  dress  the  homely  feast  they  came, 
And  toil'd  the  kerchief 'd  village  dame 

Around  her  fire  of  straW 

V. 
So  deem'st  thou — so  each  mortal  deems. 
Of  tliat  which  is  from  that  which  seems : — 

But  other  harvest  here, 
Tlmn  that  which  peasant's  scythe  demands, 
Was  gather'd  in  by  sterner  hands, 

With  bayonet,  blade,  and  spear. 
No  vulgar  crop  was  theirs  to  reap, 
No  stinted  harvest  thin  and  cheap  ! 
Heroes  before  each  fatal  sweep 

Fell  tliick  as  ripen'd  grain  ; 
And  ere  the  darkening  of  the  day. 
Piled  high  as  autiunn  shocks,  there  lay 
The  ghastly  harvest  of  the  fray. 

The  corpses  of  the  slain.' 

VI. 

Ay,  look  again — that  line,  so  black 
And  trampled,  marks  the  bivouac. 
Yon  deep-graved  ruts  the  artillery's  track, 

So  often  lost  and  won ; 
And  close  beside,  the  harden'd  mud 
Still  shows  where,  fetlock-deep  in  blood, 
The  fierce  dragoon,  through  battle's  flood, 

Dash'd  the  hot  war-horse  on. 
These  spots  of  excavation  tell 
The  ravage  of  the  bursting  shell — 
And  feel'st  thou  not  the  tainted  steam. 
That  reeks  against  the  sultry  beam. 

From  yonder  trenched  mound  ? 
The  pestilential  fumes  declare 
That  Carnage  has  replenish'd  there 

Her  garner-house  profound. 

VII. 
Far  other  harvest-home  and  feast. 
Than  claims  the  boor  from  scythe  released, 
On  these  scorch'd  fields  were  known ; 

To  mark  how  gentle  Nature  still  pursued 
Her  quiei  course,  as  ifslie  took  no  eare 
For  what  her  noblest  work  had  suffer'd  there. 

"  The  pears  had  ripen'd  on  the  garden  wall ; 

Those  leaves  which  on  llie  autumnal  earth  were  spread, 
The  trees,  though  pierced  and  scared  with  many  a  ball, 

Had  only  in  tlieir  natural  season  shed  ; 
Flowers  were  in  seed,  wliose  buds  to  swell  began 
When  such  wild  havoc  here  was  made  by  man." 

SOUTHEY. 
*  "  Earth  had  received  into  her  silent  womb 

Her  slaughter'd  creatures  ;  liorse  and  man  they  lay, 


Death  hover'd  o'er  the  maddening  rout, 
And,  in  the  thrilhng  battle-shout. 
Sent  for  the  bloody  banque^  out 

A  summons  of  his  own. 
Through  rolling  smoke  the  Demon's  eye 
Could  well  each  destined  guest  espy, 
Well  could  his  ear  in  ecstasy 

Distinguish  every  tone 
Tliat  fiU'd  the  chorus  of  the  fray — 
From  cannon-roar  and  trumpet-bray, 
From  charging  squadrons'  wild  huiTa, 
From  the  wild  clang  that  mark'd  their  way,— 

Down  to  the  dying  groan. 
And  the  last  sob  of  life's  decay. 

When  breath  was  aU  but  flown. 

VIII. 

Feast  on,  stern  foe  of  mortal  life, 
Feast  on ! — but  think  not  that  a  strife. 
With  such  promiscuous  carnage  rife. 

Protracted  space  may  last ; 
The  deadly  tug  of  war  at  length 
Must  limits  find  in  human  strength. 

And  cease  when  these  are  past. 
Vain  hope  ! — that  morn's  o'erclouded  sun 
Heard  the  wild  shout  of  fight  begun 

Ere  he  attaind  his  height. 
And  through  the  war-smoke,  volumed  high, 
Still  peals  that  um-emitted  cry. 

Though  now  he  stoops  to  night. 
For  ten  long  hours  of  doubt  and  dread, 
Fresh  succors  from  the  extended  head 
Of  cither  liiU  the  contest  fed ; 

Still  down  the  slope  they  drew, 
The  charge  of  columns  paused  not. 
Nor  ceased  the  storm  of  shell  and  shot ; 

For  all  that  war  could  do 
Of  skin  and  force  was  proved  that  day. 
And  tiu-n'd  not  yet  the  doubtful  fray 

On  bloody  Waterloo. 

IX. 
Pale  Brussels !  then  what  thoughts  were  thine, 
When  ceaseless  from  the  distant  line 

Continued  thunders  came  I 
Each  burgher  held  his  breath,  to  hear 

And  friend  and  foe,  within  the  general  tomb. 

Equil  ha<l  been  their  lot ;  one  fatal  day 
For  all,  .  .  one  labor,  .  .  and  one  place  of  rest 
They  found  within  their  common  parent's  breast. 

"  The  passing  seasons  had  not  yet  effaced 

The  stamp  of  numerous  hoofs  irapress'd  by  force 
Of  cavaliy,  whose  path  might  still  be  traced. 

Yet  Nature  everywhere  resumed  her  course  ; 
Low  pansies  to  the  sun  their  purple  gave, 
And  the  soft  poi)py  hlossom'd  on  the  grave." 

SonTHEY 
"^  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


505 


ITiese  forerunners'  of  havoc  near, 

Of  rapine  and  of  flame. 
Wliat  ghastly  sights  were  thine  to  meet, 
When  rolling-  through  thy  stately  street, 
The  wounded  show'd  their  mangled  plight' 
In  token  of  the  xmfinish'd  fight. 
And  from  each  anguish-laden  wain 
The  blood-drops  laid  thy  dust  like  rain  !* 
How  often  in  tlie  distant  drum 
Heard'st  thou  the  fell  Invader  come, 
'\^niile  Ruin,  shouting  to  his  band, 
Shook  high  her  torch  and  gory  brand ! — 
Cheer  thee,  fair  City !  From  yon  stand, 
Impatient,  still  liis  outstretch'd  hand 

Points  to  liis  prey  in  vain. 
While  maddening  in  his  eager  mood, 
And  all  unwont  to  be  withstood, 

He  fires  the  fight  again, 

X. 

On !  On !"  was  still  his  stem  exclaim ; 
"  Confront  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame  ! 

Rush  on  the  levell'd  gun  P 
My  steel-clad  cuirassiers,  advance  ! 
Each  Hulan  forward  with  his  lance, 
My  Guard — my  Chosen — charge  for  France, 

France  and  Napoleon  1" 
Loud  answer'd  their  acclaiming  shout. 
Greeting  the  mandate  which  sent  out 
Their  bravest  and  their  best  to  dare 
The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share." 
But  He,  his  country's  sword  and  shield, 
StiU  in  the  battle-front  reveal'd. 
Where  danger  fiercest  swept  the  field. 

Came  like  a  beam  of  light. 
In  action  prompt,  in  sentence  brief — 
"  Soldiers,  stand  firm,"  cxclaim'd  the  Chief, 

"  England  shall  tell  the  fight  l'" 

XL 

On  came  the  whirlwind — like  the  last 
But  fiercest  sweep  of  tempest-blast — 

»  MS. — "  Harbingers." 
MS.—"  Streaming." 
MS.— "Bloody  plight." 
'  Within  those  walls  there  linger'd  at  that  honr, 
Many  a  brave  soldier  on  the  bed  of  pain, 
Whom  aid  ol' human  art  should  ne'er  restore 

To  see  his  country  and  his  friends  again  ; 
And  many  a  victim  of  that  fell  debate, 
Whose  life  yet  waver'd  in  the  scales  of  fate. 

"  Others  in  wagons  borne  abroad  I  saw. 

Albeit  recovering,  still  a  mournful  sight ; 
Languid  and  helpless,  some  were  stretch'd  on  straw, 

Some  more  advanced,  sustain'd  themselves  upright. 
And  with  bold  eye  and  careless  front,  raethonght, 
Seem'd  to  set  wounds  and  death  again  at  naught. 


What  hid  it  been,  '.'neo,  in  the  recent  days 
Of  that  great  Iriumph   when  the  open  woand 
64 


On  came  the  whirlwind — steel-gleams  broke 
Like  lightning  through  the  rolling  smoke ; 

The  war  was  waked  anew. 
Three  hundred  cannon-mouths  roar'd  loud. 
And  from  their  throats,  with  flash  and  cloud, 

Tlieir  showers  of  iron  threw. 
Beneath  their  fire,  in  full  career, 
Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 
The  lancer  couch'd  his  ruthless  spear, 
And  hurrying  as  to  havoc  near. 

The  cohorts'  eagles  flew. 
In  one  dark  torrent,  broad  and  strong, 
The  advancing  onset  roU'd  along. 
Forth  harbingcr'd  by  fierce  acclaim. 
That,  from  the  shroud  of  smoke  and  flame, 
Peal'd  wildly  the  imperial  name. 

XII. 

But  on  the  British  heart  were  lost 

The  terrors  of  the  charging  host ; 

For  not  an  eye  the  storm  that  view'd 

Changed  its  proud  glance  of  fortitude, 

Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  staid. 

As  dropp'd  the  dying  and  the  dead.' 

Fast  as  their  ranks  the  thunders  tear. 

Fast  they  renew'd  each  serried  square  ; 

And  on  the  wounded  and  the  slain 

Closed  their  diminish'd  files  again, 

Till  from  their  line  scarce  spears'  lengths  throa 

Emerging  from  the  smoke  they  see 

Helmet,  and  plume,  and  panoply, — • 

Then  waked  their  fire  at  once  1 
Each  musketeer's  revolving  kneU, 
As  fast,  as  regularly  fell. 
As  when  they  practise  to  display 
Their  disciphne  on  festal  day. 

Then  down  went  helm  and  lance, 
Down  were  the  eagle  banners  sent, 
Down  reehng  steeds  and  riders  went, 
Corslets  were  pierced,  and  pennons  rent ; 

And,  to  augment  the  fray, 
Wheel'd  full  against  their  staggering  flanks. 

Was  festering,  and  along  the  crowded  ways. 

Hour  after  hour  was  heard  the  incessant  sound 
Of  wheels,  which  o'er  the  rough  and  stony  road 
Convey'd  their  living  agonizing  load  ! 

"  Hearts  little  to  the  melting  mood  inclined. 

Grew  sick  to  see  their  sutferings  ;  and  the  thought 
Still  comes  with  horror  to  the  shuddering  mind 

Of  those  sad  days,  when  Belgian  ears  were  taught 
The  Britisii  soldier's  cry,  half  groan,  half  prayer. 
Breathed  when  his  pain  is  more  than  he  can  bear." 

SoUTHKY. 

s  MS. "  his  stern  exclaim  ; 

'  Where  fails  the  sword  make  way  by  flame  I 
Recoil  not  from  the  cannon's  aim  ; 

Confront  them  and  they're  won.'  " 
See  Appendix,  Note  C.     6  Ibid.  Note  D.      '  Ibid.  Note  E 
8  MS. — "  Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  stopp'd. 

Though  close  beside  a  comrade  dropp'd." 


606 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  English  horsemen's  foaming  ranka 

Forced  ■'^heir  resistless  way. 
Tlien  to  the  musket-knell  succeeds 
The  clash  of  swords — the  neigh  of  steeds — 
As  phes  the  smith  liis  clangmg  trade,' 
Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  blade  ;^ 
And  while  amid  their  close  array 
The  well-served  cannon  rent  thek  way,' 
And  -while  amid  their  ecatter'd  band 
Raged  the  fierce  rider's  bloody  br.and, 
Recoil'd  in  common  rout  and  fear, 
Lancer  and  guard  and  cuirassier, 
Horsemen  and  foot — a  mingled  host, 
Their  leaders  fall'n  their  standards  lost. 

XIII. 

Then,  Wellingtox  !  thy  piercing  eye 
This  crisis  caught  of  destiny — 

The  British  host  had  stood 
That  morn  'gainst  charge  of  sword  and  lance* 
As  theu"  own  ocean  rocks  hold  stance. 
But  when  thy  voice  had  said,  "  Advance !" 

They  were  their  ocean's  flood. — 

0  Thou,  whose  inauspicious  aim 

Hath  wrought  thy  host  this  horn-  of  shame, 
Thmk'st  thou  thy  broken  bands  will  bide 
The  terrors  of  yon  rushing  tide  ? 
Or  will  thy  chosen  brook  to  feel 
The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel,* 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

2  "I  heard  the  broadswords'  deadly  clang, 

As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang  !"       Ladij  of  the  Lake. 

3  MS. — "  Beneath  that  storm,  in  full  career, 

Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 

T-i      1  S  came  with  levell'd  t  ,„„„. 

The  lancer  ]  ,.,,,-.,      ( SP^"> 

<  coucii  u  his  latal     ) 

Sworn  I  ^^^^  I  to  do  or  die  ; 
But  not  an  instant  would  they  bear 

The  \      "°  ^"^  /  of  each  serried  square, 
(  volhes      I 

They  halt,  they  turn,  they  fly  ! 
Not  even  their  chosen  brook  to  feel 
The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel ; 
Enough  that  through  their  close  array 
The  well-plieil  cannon  tore  their  way  ; 
Enough  that  'mid  their  broken  band 
The  horsemen  plied  the  bloody  brand, 
Recoil'd,"  &c. 
*  "  The  cuirassiers  continued  their  dreadful  onset,  and  rode 
np  to  the  squares  in  the  full  confidence,  apparently,  of  sweep- 
ing every  thing  before  the  impetuosity  of  their  charge.     Their 
onset  and   reception  was  like  a  furious  ocean  pouring  itself 
against  a  chain  of  insulated  rocks.     The  British  square  stood 
unmoved,  and  never  gave  fire  until  the  cavalry  were  wilhin 
ten  yards,  when  men  rolled  one  way,  horses  galloped  another, 
and  the  cuirassiers  were  in  every  instance  driven  back." — Life 
uf  Bonaparte,  vol.  ix.  p.  12. 
5  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 
'  MS. — "  Or  can  thy  memory  fail  to  quote, 

Heard  to  thy  cost,  the  vengeful  note 
Of  Prussia's  trumpet  tone  ?" 
"  We  observe  a  certain  degree  of  similitude  in  some  pas- 


Or  dost  thou  turn  thine  eye 
Where  coming  squadrons  gleam  afar. 
And  fresher  thunders  wake  the  war, 

And  other  standards  fly  ? — 
Think  not  that  in  yon  columns,  file 
Thy  conquering  troops  from  distant  Dyle — 

Is  Blucher  yet  unknown  ? 
Or  dwells  not  in  thy  memory  still 
(Heard  frequent  in  thine  hour  of  ill). 
What  notes  of  hate  and  vengeance  thrill 

In  Prussia's  trumpet  tone  ? — * 
What  yet  remains  ? — shall  it  be  thine 
To  head  the  relics  of  thy  line 

In  oue  dread  effort  more  ? — 
The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved,^ 
And  thou  canst  tell  what  fortime  proved 

That  Chieftain,  who,  of  yore, 
Ambition's  dizzy  paths  essay'd. 
And  with  the  gladiators'  aid 

For  emphe  enterprised — 
He  stood  the  cast  his  rashness  play'd, 
Left  not  the  victuns  he  had  made. 
Dug  Ins  red  grave  with  his  own  blade 
And  on  the  field  he  lost  was  laid, 

Abhon-'d — ^but  not  despised.' 

XIV. 
But  if  revolves  thy  fainter  thought 
On  safety — howsoever  bought, — 

sages  of  Mr.  Scott's  present  work,  to  the  compositions  of  Lord 
Byron,  and  particularly  his  Lordship's  Ode  to  Bonajiarte ;  and 
we  think  that  whoever  peruses  '  The  Field  of  Waterloo,'  with 
that  Ode  in  his  recollection,  will  be  struck  with  this  new  re- 
semblance. We  allude  principally  to  such  passages  as  that 
which  begins, 

'  The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved,'  &c. 
and  to  such  lines  as, 

'  Now,  seest  thou  aught  in  this  loved  scene, 
Can  tell  of  that  which  late  hath  been  V 
or, 

'  So  deem'st  thou — so  each  mortal  deems, 

Of  that  which  is,  from  that  which  seems  ;' 

lines,  by  the  way,  of  which  we  cannot  express  any  very  great 
admiration.  This  sort  of  influence,  however,  over  even  the 
principal  writers  of  the  day  (whether  they  are  conscious  of  the 
influence  or  not),  is  one  of  the  surest  tests  of  genius,  and  one 
of  the  proudest  tributes  which  it  receives." — Monthly  Review. 
8  "  Vi^hen  the  engagement  was  ended,  it  evidently  appeared 
with  what  undaunted  spirit  and  resolution  Catiline's  army  had 
been  fired  ;  for  the  body  of  every  one  was  found  on  that  very 
spot  which,  during  the  battle,  he  had  occupied  ;  those  only  ex- 
cepted who  were  forced  from  their  posts  by  the  Prsetorian  co- 
hort ;  and  even  they,  though  they  fell  a  little  out  of  their 
ranks,  were  all  wounded  before.  Catiline  himself  was  found, 
far  from  his  own  men,  amidst  the  dead  bodies  of  the  enemy, 
bre.ithing  a  little,  with  an  air  of  that  fierceness  still  in  his  face 
which  he  had  when  alive.  Finally,  in  all  his  army  there  was 
not  so  much  as  one  free  citizen  taken  prisoner,  either  in  the  en- 
gagement or  in  flight  ;  for  they  spared  their  own  lives  as  little 
as  those  of  the  enemy.  The  army  of  the  republic  obtained  the 
victory,  indeed,  but  it  was  neither  a  cheap  nor  a  joyful  one,  for 
their  bravest  men  were  either  slain  in  battle  or  dangerously 
wounded.     As  there  were  many,  too,  who  went  to  view  the 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO.                                        50'/ 

Then  turn  tliy  fearful  rein  and  ride, 

XVI. 

Though  twice  ten  thousand  men  have  died 

List — frequent  to  the  hurrying  rout, 

On  this  eventful  day, 

The  stern  pursuers'  vengeful  shout 

To  gild  the  mihtary  fame 

Tells,  that  ujjon  their  broken  rear 

Whicli  thou,  for  hfe,  in  traffic  tame 

Rages  the  Prussian's  bloody  spear. 

Wilt  barter  thus  away. 

So  fell  a  shriek  was  none. 

Shall  future  ages  tell  this  tale 

Wlien  Beresina's  icy  flood 

Of  inconsistence  faint  and  frail  ? 

Redden'd  and  thaw'd  with  flame  and  blood,* 

And  art  thou  He  of  Lodi's  bridge. 

And,  pressing  on  thy  desperate  way. 

Marengo's  field,  and  Wagram's  ridge ! 

Raised  oft  and  long  their  wild  hurra. 

Or  is  thj"^  soul  like  mountain-tide, 

The  childi-en  of  the  Don. 

That,  swell'd  by   winter  storm   and 

Thine  ear  no  yell  of  horror  cleft 

shower. 

So  ominous,  when,  all  bereft 

Rolls  down  m  turbulence  of  power, 

Of  aid,  the  vaUant  Polack  leftr-* 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide ; 

Ay,  left  by  thee — found  soldier's  grave' 

Reft  of  these  aids,  a  riU  obscure. 

In  Leipsic's  corpse-encumber'd  wave. 

Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean  and  poor. 

Fate,  in  those  various  perils  past. 

Whose  channel  shows  display'd 

Reserved  thee  still  some  future  cast , 

The  wrecks  of  its  iiupetiious  course, 

On  the  dread  die  thou  now  hast  thrown. 

But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 

Hangs  not  a  single  field  alone. 

By  which  these  wrecks  were  made ! 

Nor  one  campaign — thy  martial  fame. 

Tliy  empire,  dynasty,  and  name. 

XV. 

Have  felt  the  final  stroke  ; 

Spur  on  thy  way  ! — since  now  thine  ear 

And  now,  o'er  thy  devoted  head. 

Has  brook'd  thy  veterans'  wish  to  hear, 

The  last  stern  vial's  wrath  is  shed, 

"Wlio,  as  thy  flight  they  eyed. 

The  last  dread  seal  is  broke." 

Exclaim'd, — while  tears  of  anguish  came. 

Wrung  forth  by  pride,  and  rage,  and 

XVIL 

shame, — 

Since  live  thou  wdlt — refuse  not  now 

«  0,  that  he  had  but  died  !"» 

Before  these  demagogues  to  bow, 

But  yet,  to  sum  this  hour  of  ill. 

Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate, 

Look,  ere  thou  leavest  the  fatal  hiU, 

Who  shall  thy  once  hnperial  fate 

Back  on  yon  broken  ranks — 

Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate. — 

Upon  whose  wild  confusion  gleams 

Or  shall  we  say,  thou  stoop'st  less  low 

The  moon,  as  on  the  troubled  streams 

In  seeking  refuge  from  the  foe. 

When  rivers  break  their  banks, 

Against  whose  heart,  in  prosperous  life. 

And,  to  the  ruLn'd  peasant's  eye. 

Tliine  hand  hath  ever  held  the  knife  ? 

Objects  half  seen  roll  swiftly  by. 

Such  homage  hath  been  paid 

Down  the  red  cm-rent  hurl'd — 

By  Roman  and  by  Grecian  voice. 

So  mingle  banner,  wain,  and  gun, 

And  there  were  honor  in  the  choice. 

Wliere  the  tumultuous  flight  roUs  on 

If  it  were  freely  made. 

Of  warriors,  who,  when  morn  begun,* 

Then  safely  come — in  one  so  low, — 

Defied  a  banded  world. 

So  lost, — we  cannot  own  a  foe  ; 

field,  eitherontof  curiosity  or  a  desire  of  plunder,  in  turning  over 

2  MS. — "  Where  in  one  tide  of  terror  run. 

the  dead  bodies,  some  found  a  friend,  some  a  relation,  and  some 

The  warriors  that,  when  morn  begun." 

a  gues'  ;  others  there  were  likewise  who  discovered  their  ene- 

3 MS. — "  So  ominous  a  shriek  was  none, 

mies  ;  90  that,  through  the  whole  army,  there  appeared  a  mix- 

Not even  when  Beresina's  flood 

ture  of  gladness  and  sorrow,  joy  and  mourning." — Sallust. 

Was  thawed  by  streams  of  tepid  blood." 

J  The  MS.  adds, 

<  For  an  account  of  the  death  of  Poniatowski  at  Leipsic.  sa» 

"  That  pang  survived,  refuse  not  then 

Su:  Walter  Scott's  Life  of  Bonaparte,  vol.  vii.  p.  401. 

To  humble  thee  before  the  men. 

6  MS. — "  Not  such  were  heard,  when,  all  bereft 

Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate, 

Of  aid,  the  valiant  Polack  left — 

Who  shall  thy  once  imperial  fate 

Ay,  left  by  thee — found  gallant  grave." 

Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate, 

5  "  I  who  with  faith  unshaken  from  the  first, 

And  chafter  for  thy  crown  ; 

Even  when  the  tyrant  seem'd  to  touch  the  skies, 

As  usurers  wont,  who  suck  the  all 

Had  look'd  to  see  the  high  blown  bubble  burst, 

Of  the  fool-hardy  prodigal. 

And  for  a  fall  conspicuous  as  his  rise, 

When  on  the  giddy  dice's  fall 

Even  in  that  faith  had  look'd  not  for  defeat 

His  latest  hope  has  flown. 

So  swift,  so  overwhelmmg,  so  complete." 

But  yet,  to  sum,"  &c. 

SOUTHET. 

508 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Though  dear  experience  bid  us  end, 
In  thee  we  ne'er  can  hail  a  friend. — 
Come,  howsoe'er — but  do  not  hide 
Close  in  thy  heart  that  germ  of  pride, 
Erewhile,  by  gifted  bard  espied,' 
■  That  "  yet  imperial  hope  ;'" 
Think  not  that  for  a  fresh  rebound, 
To  raise  ambition  from  tlie  gi-ound. 

We  yield  thee  means  or  scope. 
In  safety  come — ^but  ne'er  again 
Hold  type  of  independent  reign ; 

No  islet  calls  thee  lord, 
We  leave  thee  no  confederate  band, 
No  symbol  of  thy  lost  command. 
To  be  a  dagger  in  the  hand 

From  -which  we  "wrench'd  the  sword. 

XVIIL 
Tet,  even  in  yon  sequester'd  spot, 
May  worthier  conquest  be  thy  lot 

Than  yet  thy  life  has  known ; 
Conquest,  unbought  by  blood  or  harm, 
That  needs  nor  foreign  aid  nor  arm, 

A  triumph  all  thine  own. 
Such  waits  thee  when  thou  shalt  control 
Those  passions  wild,  that  stubborn  soul. 

That  marr'd  thy  prosperous  scene  : — 
Hear  this — from  no  unmoved  heart, 
Which  sighs,  comparing  what  thou  aet 

With  what  thou  might'st  have  been  !' 

XIX. 

Thou,  too,  whose  deeds  of  fame  renew'd 
Bankrupt  a  nation's  gratitude. 
To  thine  own  noble  heart  must  owe 
More  than  the  meed  she  can  bestow. 
For  not  a  people's  just  acclaim. 
Not  the  full  hail  of  Europe's  fame, 
Thy  Prince's  smiles,  thy  State's  decree. 
The  ducal  rank,  the  garter'd  knee, 
Not  these  such  pure  delight  afford 
As  that,  when  hanging  up  thy  sword. 
Well  may'st  thou  think,  "  This  honest  steel 
Was  ever  drawn  for  public  weal ; 


iMS.- 


"  bnt  do  not  hide 


Once  more  that  secret  germ  of  pride, 
Which  erst  yon  gifted  bard  espied." 

»  *'  The  Desolater  desolate  ! 

The  Victor  overtnrown  . 
The  Arbiter  of  others'  fate 
A  Snppliant  for  his  own  I 
Is  it  some  yet  imperial  hope, 
That  with  such  change  can  calmly  copel 

Or  dread  of  death  alone  ? 
To  die  a  prince — or  live  a  slave — 
Thy  choice  is  most  ignobly  brave  ?* 

Byron's  Ode  to  Si'apiletrn. 
»  "  'Tis  done — bnt  yesterday  a  King  ! 

And  arm'd  with  Kings  to  strive — 


And,  such  was  rightful  Heaven's  decree. 
Ne'er  sheathed  unless  with  victory !" 

XX. 
Look  forth,  once  more,  with  soften'd  heart, 
Ere  from  the  field  of  fame  we  part  * 
Tritmiph  and  Sorrow  border  near. 
And  joy  oft  melts  into  a  tear. 
Alas !  what  links  of  love  that  morn 
Has  War's  rude  hand  asunder  torn ! 
For  ne'er  was  field  so  sternly  fought. 
And  ne"er  was  conquest  dearer  bought. 
Here  pUed  in  common  slaughter  sleep 
Tliose  whom  affection  long  sliall  weep : 
Here  rests  the  sire,  that  ne'er  shall  strain 
His  orphans  to  his  heart  again ; 
The  son,  whom,  on  his  native  shore. 
The  parent's  voice  shall  bless  no  more  ; 
The  bridegroom,  who  has  hardly  press'd 
His  blushing  consort  to  his  breast ; 
The  husband,  whom  through  many  a  year 
Long  love  and  mutual  faith  endear. 
Thou  canst  not  name  one  tender  tie. 
But  here  dissolved  its  relics  Ue  ! 
O !  when  thou  see'st  some  mourner's  veil 
Shroud  her  thin  form  and  visage  pale, 
Or  mark'st  the  Matron's  bursting  tears 
Stream  when  the  stricken  drum  she  hears; 
Or  see'st  how  manlier  grief,  suppress'd. 
Is  laboring  in  a  father's  breast, — 
With  no  enquiry  vain  pursue 
The  cause,  but  think  on  Waterloo ! 

XXL 

Period  of  honor  as  of  woes, 

What  bright  careers  'twas  thine  to  close  !— 

Mark'd  on  thy  roll  of  blood  what  names 

To  Briton's  memory,  and  to  Fame's, 

Laid  there  their  last  immortal  claims  I 

Thou  saw'st  in  seas  of  gore  expire 

Redoubted  Picton's  soul  of  fire — 

Saw'st  in  the  mingled  carnage  lie 

All  that  of  PoxsoNBT  could  die — 

De  Lancet  change  Love's  bridal-wreath, 


And  now  thon  art  a  nameless  thing  ; 

So  abject — yet  alive  I 
Is  this  the  man  of  thousand  thrones, 
Who  strew'd  our  earth  with  hostile  bones. 

And  can  he  thus  survive  t 
Since  he,  miscall'd  the  Morning  Star, 
Nor  man  nor  fiend  hath  fallen  so  far." 

Byron's  Ode  to  JiTapoleon 

4  "  We  left  the  field  of  battle  in  snch  mood 

As  human  hearts  from  thence  should  bear  away  , 

And,  musing  thus,  oar  purposed  route  pursued. 
Which  still  through  scenes  of  recent  bloodshed  lay 

Where  Prussia  late,  with  strong  and  stern  delight, 
Hnng  on  her  fated  foes  to  persecute  their  flight." 

SOUTHKT 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


509 


For  laurels  from  the  hand  of  Death — ' 
Saw'st  gallant  Miller's''  failing  eye 
Still  bent  where  Albion's  banners  fly, 
And  Cameron,^  in  the  shock  of  steel, 
Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel ; 
And  generous  Gordon,*  'mid  the  strife, 
Fall  -while  he  -watch'd  his  leader's  life. — 
Ah !  though  her  guardian  angel's  shield 
Fenced  Britain's  hero  through  the  field, 
Fate  not  the  less  her  power  made  known, 
Thi'ough  his  friends'  hearts  to  pierce  his  own  I 

XXII. 
Forgive,  brave  Dead,  the  imperfect  lay  I 
"Who  may  your  names,  your  numbers,  say  ? 
What  high-strung  harp,  what  lofty  line. 
To  each  the  dear-earud  jjraise  assign. 
From  high-born  chiefs  of  martial  fame 
To  the  poor  soldier's  lowlier  name  ? 
Lightly  ye  rose  that  dawning  day. 
From  your  cold  couch  of  swamp  and  clay, 
To  fill,  before  the  sun  was  low. 
The  bed  that  morniug  cannot  know. — 
Oft  may  the  tear  the  green  sod  steep, 
And  sacred  be  the  heroes'  sleep. 

Till  time  shall  cease  to  rim ; 
And  ne'er  beside  then-  noble  grave. 
May  Briton  pass  and  fail  to  crave 
A  blessing  on  the  fallen  brave 

Who  fought  with  Wellington ! 

XXIII. 

Farewell,  sad  Field  !  whose  blighted  face 
Wears  desolation's  withering  trace ; 
Long  shall  my  memory  retain 
Tliy  shatter'd  huts  and  trampled  grain. 
With  every  mark  of  martial  wrong. 
That  scathe  thy  towers,  fair  Hougomont  !* 
Yet  though  thy  garden's  green  ai'cade 


1  The  Poet's  friend,  Colonel  Sir  William  De  Lancey,  mar- 
ried the  beaatifttl  daughter  of  Sir  James  Hall,  Bart.,  in  April 
1815,  and  received  his  mortal  wound  on  the  18th  of  June. 
See  Captain  B.  Hall's  affecting  narrative  in  the  first  series  of 
his  "  Fragments  of  Voyages  and  Travels,"  vol.  ii.  p.  369. 

2  Colonel  Miller,  of  the  Guards — son  to  Sir  William  Miller, 
Lord  Glenlee.  When  mortally  wounded  in  the  attack  on  the 
Bois  de  Bossu,  he  desired  to  see  the  colors  of  the  regiment 
once  more  ere  he  died.  They  were  waved  over  his  head,  and 
the  e.xpiring  officer  declared  himself  satisfied, 

3  "  Colonel  Cameron,  of  Fassiefern,  so  often  distinguished 
in  Lord  Wellington's  despatches  from  Spain,  fell  in  the  action 
at  Clnatre  Bras  (16th  June,  1815),  while  leading  the  92d  or 
Gordon  Highlanders,  to  charge  a  body  of  cavalry,  supported  by 
infantry." — Paul's  Letters,  p.  91. 

■1  Colonel  the  Honorable  Sir  Alexander  Gordon,  brother  to 
the  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  who  has  erected  a  pillar  on  the  spot 
where  he  fell  by  the  side  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 
=>  "  Beyond  these  points  the  fight  extended  not, — • 
Small  theatre  for  such  a  tragedy  ! 
'ts  breath  scarce  more,  from  eastern  Popelot 


Tlio  marksman's  fatal  post  was  made, 
Though  on  thy  shatter'd  beeches  fell 
Tlie  blended  rage  of  shot  and  shell. 
Though  from  thy  blacken'd  portals  torn. 
Their  fall  thy  blighted  fruit-trees  mom-n. 
Has  not  such  havoc  bought  a  name 
Immortal  in  the  roUs  of  fame  ? 
Yes — Agiucourt  may  be  forgot. 
And  Cressy  be  an  unknown  spot. 

And  Blenheim's  name  be  new ; 
But  still  in  story  and  in  song. 
For  many  an  age  remember'd  long. 
Shall  live  the  towers  of  Hougomont, 

And  Field  of  Waterloo. 


CONCLUSIOK 
Stern  tide  of  htiman  Time  !  that  knoVst  not  rest, 
But,  sweeping  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb, 
Bear'st  ever  downward  on  thy  dusky  breast 
Successive  generations  to  their  doom ; 
While  thy  capacious  stream  has  equal  room 
For  the  gay  bark  where  Pleasm-e's  streamers 

sport. 
And  for  the  prison-ship  of  guilt  and  gloom. 
The  fisher-skiff,  and  barge  that  bears  a  court, 
Still  wafting  onward  all  to  one  dark  silent  port  ',— 

Stern  tide  of  Time !  tlu-ough  what  mysterious 
change  [driven ! 

Of  hope  and  fear  have  our   frail  barks  been 
For  ne'er  before,  vicissitude  so  strange 
Was  to  one  race  of  Adam's  offspring  given. 
And  siure  such  varied  change  of  sea  and  heaven. 
Such  unexpected  bursts  of  joy  and  woe. 
Such   fearful    strife  as  that   where   we   have 

striven. 
Succeeding  ages  ne'er  again  shall  know,    [flow ! 
Until  the  awful  term  when  Thou  shalt  cease  to 


To  where  the  groves  of  Hougomont  on  high 
Rear  in  the  west  their  venerable  head, 
And  cover  with  their  shade  the  countless  dead 

"  But  wouldst  thou  tread  this  celebrated  ground, 
And  trace  with  understanding  eyes  a  scene 
Above  all  other  fields  of  war  renown'd. 

From  western  Hougomont  thy  way  begin  ; 
There  was  our  strength  on  that  side,  and  there  first 
In  all  its  force,  the  storm  of  battle  burst." 

SouTHEY. 

Mr.  Son  they  adds,  in  a  note  on  these  verses  : — "  So  import 
ant  a  battle,  perhaps,  was  never  before  fought  within  so  sma/1 
an  extent  of  ground.  I  computed  the  distance  between  Hou- 
gomont and  Popelot  at  three  miles  ;  in  a  straight  hne  it  might 
probably  not  exceed  two  and  a  half.  Our  guide  was  very 
much  displeased  at  the  name  which  the  battle  had  obtained 
in  England,—'  Why  call  it  the  battle  of  Waterloo  V  he  said  ; 
'  Call  it  Hougomont,  call  it  La  Haye  Sainte,  call  it  Popelot— 
any  thing  but  Waterloo.'  " — Pilgrimage  to  Waierloo. 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Well  hast  thou  stood,  my  Country  !— the  brave 
fight  [iU ; 

Ilast  well  maintain'd  thi-ough  good  report  and 
In  thy  just  cause  and  in  thy  native  might, 
And  in  Heaven's  grace  and  justice  constant  still ; 
Whether  the  banded  prowess,  strength,  and  skill 
Of  half  the  world  against  thee  stood  array'd. 
Or  when,  with  better  views  and  freer  will, 
Beside  thee  Europe's  noblest  drew  the  blade, 
Each  emulous  in  arms  the  Ocean  Queen  to  aid. 

Well  art  thou  now  repaid — though  slowly  rose, 
And  struggled  long  with  mists  thy  blaze  of 

fame, 
Wlule  like  the  dawn  that  in  the  orient  glows 
On  the  broad  wave  its  earlier  lustre  came  ^^ 
Then  eastern  Egypt  saw  the  growing  flame, 
And  Maida's  myrtles  gleam'd  beneath  its  ray. 
Where  first  the   soldier,  stimg  with  generous 

shame, 
Rivall'd  the  heroes  of  the  wat'ry  way,      [away. 
And    wash'd  in  foemen's  gore   unjust  reproach 

1  MS. — "  On  the  broad  ocean  first  its  lustre  came." 

2  In  the  Life  of  Sir  W.  Scott,  vol.  v.,  pp.  99-104,  the  reader 
will  find  a  curious  record  of  minute  alterations  on  this  poem, 
suggested,  while  it  was  proceeding  through  the  press,  by  the 
printer  and  the  bookseller,  with  tlie  author's  good-natured 
replies,  sometimes  adopting,  sometimes  rejecting  what  was 
proposed. 

3  "  '  The  Field  of  Waterloo'  was  published  before  the  end 
of  October,  in  8vo  ;  the  profits  of  tlie  first  edition  being  the 
author's  contribution  to  the  fund  raised  for  the  relief  of  the 
widows  and  children  of  the  soldiers  slain  in  the  battle.  This 
piece  appears  to  have  disappointed  those  most  disposed  to  sym- 
pathize with  the  author's  views  and  feelings.  The  descent 
is  indeed  heavy  from  his  Bannockbuni  to  his  Waterloo :  the 
presence,  or  all  but  visible  reality  of  what  his  dreams  cher- 
ished, seems  to  have  overawed  his  imagination,  and  tamed  it 
into  a  weak  pomposity  of  movement.  The  burst  of  pure  na- 
tive enthusiasm  upon  the  Scottish  heroes  that  fell  around  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  person,  bears,  however,  the  broadest 
marks  of  '  The  Mighty  Minstrel :' — 

'  Saw  gallant  Miller's  fading  eye 

Still  bent  where  Albion's  standards  fly, 
And  Cameron,  in  the  shock  of  steel, 
Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel,'  &c. — 

and  this  is  far  from  being  the  only  redeeming  passage.    There 


Now,  Island  Empres.i,  wave  thy  crest  on  high, 
And  bid  the  banner  of  thy  Patron  flow, 
Gallant  Saint  George,  the  flower  of  Cliivalry. 
For  thou  hast  faced,  like  him,  a  dragon  foe. 
And  rescued  innocence  from  overthi^ow. 
And  trampled  down,  like  liim,  tyraaci:  Tuiirht. 
And  to  the  gazing  world  may'st  proudly  show 
The  chosen  emblem  of  thy  sainted  Knight, 
Who  quell'd  devouring  pride,  and  vindicctt&J  right, 

Yet  'mid  the  confidence  of  just  renown, 
Renown  dear-bought,  but  dearest  thus  acquii'ed, 
Write,  Britain,  write  the  moral  lesson  down : 
'Tis  not  alone  the  heart  with  valor  fired. 
The  discipline  so  dreaded  and  admired. 
In  many  a  field  of  bloody  conquest  known ; 
— Such  may  by  fame  be  lured,  by  gold  be  hired — 
'Tis  constancy  in  the  good  cause  alone, 
Best  justifies  the  meed  thy  valiant  sons  have  won.* 


END    OF   THE    FIELD    OF   WATERLOO, 


is  one,  indeed,  in  which  he  iUustrates  what  he  then  thought 
Buonaparte's  poorness  of  spirit  in  adversity,  wliich  always 
struck  me  as  pre-eminently  characteristic  of  Scott's  manner 
of  interweaving,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  the  moral  energies 
with  analogous  natural  description,  and  combining  thought 
with  imagery  : — 

'  Or  is  thy  soul  like  mountain  tide, 
That  swell'd  by  winter  storm  and  shower, 
Rolls  down  in  turbulence  of  power, 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide  ; 
Reft  of  these  aids,  a  rill  obscure. 
Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean  and  poor, 

Whose  cliannel  shows  display'd 
The  wrecks  of  its  impetuous  course. 
But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 

By  which  these  wrecks  were  made  !' 

"  The  poem  was  the  first  upon  a  subject  likely  to  be  snfli 
ciently  hackneyed  ;  and,  having  the  advantage  of  coming  out 
in  a  small  cheap  form — (prudently  imitated  from  Mun'ay's  in- 
novation with  the  tales  of  Byron,  which  was  the  deathblow 
to  the  system  of  verse  in  qn.arto) — it  attained  rapidly  a  meas- 
ure of  circulation  above  what  had  been  reached  either  by 
Rokeby  or  the  Lord  of  the  Isles." — Lockhart — Life  oj 
Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  106-107 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


511 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 
The  peasant,  at  his  labor  blithe, 
Plies  the  hook' (I  staff  and  shorten' d  scythe.— V.  503. 
The  reaper  in  Flanders  carries  in  his  left  hand  a  stick  with 
an  iron  hoolc,  with  which  he  collects  as  much  grain  as  he  can 
cut  at  one  sweep  with  a  short  scythe,  which  he  holds  in  his 
right  hand.      They  carry  on  this  double  process  with  great 
ipirit  and  de.\terity. 


Note  B. 

Pale  Brussels  !  then  what  thoughts  were  thine. — P.  504. 

It  was  affirmed  by  the  prisoners  of  war,  that  Bonaparte  had 
TFomised  his  army,  in  case  of  victory,  twenty-four  hours'  plun- 
der of  the  city  of  Brussels. 


Note  C. 
"  On!  On  I"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim. — P.  505. 

The  characteristic  obstinacy  of  Napoleon  was  never  more 
fully  displayed  than  in  what  we  may  be  permitted  to  hope 
will  prove  the  last  of  his  fields.  He  would  listen  to  no  ad- 
vice, and  allow  of  no  obstacles.  An  eye-witness  has  given 
the  following  account  of  his  demeanor  towards  the  end  of  the 
action : — 

"  It  was  near  seven  o'clock  ;  Bonaparte,  who  till  then  had 
remained  upon  the  ridge  of  the  hill  whence  he  could  best 
behold  what  passed,  contemplated  with  a  stem  countenance, 
the  scene  of  this  horrible  slaughter.  The  more  that  obstacles 
leemed  to  multiply,  the  more  his  obstinacy  seemed  to  in- 
crease. He  became  indignant  at  these  unforeseen  difficul- 
ties ;  and,  far  from  fearing  to  push  to  extremities  an  army 
whose  confidence  in  him  was  boundless,  he  ceased  not  to 
DOur  down  fresh  troops,  and  to  give  orders  to  march  forward — 
to  charge  with  the  bayonet — to  carry  by  storm.  He  was 
repeatedly  informed,  from  different  points,  that  the  day  went 
against  him,  and  that  the  troops  seemed  to  be  disordered  ;  to 
which  he  only  replied, — '  En-avant!  En-avant !' 

"  One  general  sent  to  inform  the  Emperor  that  he  was  in  a 
position  which  he  could  not  mnintain,  because  it  was  com- 
manded by  a  battery,  and  requested  to  know,  at  the  same 
time,  in  what  way  he  should  protect  his  division  from  the 
murderous  fire  of  the  English  artillery.  '  Let  him  storm  the 
■:attery,'  replied  Bonaparte,  and  turned  his  back  on  the  aide- 
de-camp  who  brought  the  message." — Relation  de  la  Battaille 
de  Mont-St-Jean.  Par  un  Temoin  Oculaire.  Paris,  1815, 
Bvo  p.  51. 


Note  D. 
The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share. — P.  505. 
It  has  been  reported  that  Bonaparte  charged  at  the  head  of 
his  guards,  at  the  last  period  of  this  dreadful  conflict.  This, 
however,  is  not  accurate.  He  came  down  indeed  to  a  hollow 
part  of  the  high  road,  leading  to  Charleroi,  within  less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  farm  of  La  Haye  Sainte,  one  of  the 
points  most  fiercely  disputed.  Here  he  liarangued  the  guards, 
and  informed  them  that  his  preceding  operations  had  destroyed 
the  British  infantry  and  cavalry,  and  that  they  had  only  to 
support  the  fire  of  the  artillery,  which  they  were  to  attack 
with  the  bayonet.  This  exhortation  was  received  with  shouts 
ol  Vive     Empercur,  which  ',vere  heard  over  all  our  line,  and 


led  to  an  idea  that  Napoleon  was  charging  in  person.  But  the 
guards  were  led  on  by  Ney  ;  nor  did  Bonaparte  approach 
nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  the  spot  already  mentioned, 
wliich  the  rising  banks  on  each  side  rendered  secure  from  all 
such  balls  as  did  not  come  in  a  straight  line.  He  witnessed 
the  earlier  part  of  the  battle  from  places  yet  more  remote,  par- 
ticularly from  an  observatory  which  had  been  placed  there  by 
the  King  of  the  Netherlands,  some  weeks  before,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  surveying  the  country.'  It  is  not  meant  to  infer  from 
these  particulars  that  Napoleon  showed,  on  that  memorable 
occasion,  the  least  deficiency  in  personal  courage  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  evinced  the  greatest  composure  and  presence  of  mind 
during  the  whole  action.  But  it  is  no  less  true  that  report  has 
erred  in  ascribing  to  him  any  desperate  efibrts  of  valor  for  re- 
covery of  the  battle;  and  it  is  remarkable,  that  during  the 
whole  carnage,  none  of  his  suite  were  either  killed  or  wounded, 
whereas  scarcely  one  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  personal 
attendants  escaped  unhurt. 


Note  E. 
England  shall  tell  the  fight  .'—P.  505. 
In  riding  up  to  a  regiment  which  was  hard  pressed,  the  Duke 
called  to  the  men,  "  Soldiers,  we  must  never  be  beat, — what 
will  they  say  in  England  1"     It  is  needless  to  say  how  this  ap- 
peal was  answered. 


Note  F. 
As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade. — P.  506. 
A  private  soldier  of  the  95th  regiment  compared  the  sonnd 
which  took  place  immediately  upon  the  British  cavalry  min- 
gling with  those  of  the  enemy,  to  "  a  thousand  tinkers  at 
work  mending  pots  and  kettles." 


Note  G. 
The  British  shock  of  leveU'd  steel. — P.  506. 
No  persuasion  or  authority  could  prevail  upon  the  French 
troops  to  stand  the  shock  of  the  bayonet.  Tlie  Imperial 
Guards,  in  particular,  hardly  stood  till  the  British  were  within 
thirty  yards  of  them,  although  the  French  author,  already 
quoted,  h:is  put  into  their  mouths  the  magnanimous  sentiment, 
"  The  Guards  never  yield — they  die."  The  same  author  has 
covered  the  plateau,  or  eminence,  of  St.  Jean,  which  formed 
the  Britisli  position,  with  redoubts  and  retrenchments  which 
never  had  an  existence.  As  the  narrative,  which  is  in  many 
respects  curious,  was  written  by  an  eye-witness,  he  was  proba- 
bly deceived  by  the  appearance  of  a  road  and  ditch  whicn  run 
along  part  of  the  hill.  It  may  be  also  mentioned,  in  criticising 
this  work,  that  the  writer  mentions  the  Chateau  of  Hougo- 
mont  to  have  been  carried  by  the  French,  althougli  it  was  res- 
olutely and  successfully  defended  during  the  whole  action. 
Tlie  enemy,  indeed,  possessed  themselves  of  the  wood  by 
which  it  is  surrounded,  and  at  length  set  fire  to  the  house  it- 
self; but  the  British  (a  detachment  of  the  Guards,  under  the 
command  of  Colonel  Macdonnell,  and  afterwards  of  Colonel 
Home)  made  good  the  garden,  and  thus  preserved,  by  their 
desperate  resistance,  the  post  which  covered  the  return  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  right  flank. 

1  The  mistakes  concerning  this  observatory  have  been  mutual.  The 
ETifUsh  supposed  it  was  erected  for  the  use  of  Bonaparte  :  and  a  Frendi 
writer  atfirms  it  was  constructed  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 


512 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


^arolb  U}t  Siaxtnthss: 


A    POEM'   IN   SIX   CANTOS. 


"  Upon  another  occasion,"  says  Sir  Walter,  "  /  sent  up  another  of  these  trifles,  which,  like  schoolboys' 
kites,  served  to  show  how  the  wind  ofpojmlar  taste  was  setting.  The  manner  was  supposed  to  be  that  of 
a  rude  lUinstrel,  or  Scald,  in  opposition  to  '  The  Bridal  of  Tj-icrmain,'  which  was  designed  to  belong  rather 
to  the  Italian  school.  This  new  fugitive  piece  was  called  'Harold  the  Dauntless  ;'  and  I  am  still  aston- 
ished at  my  having  committed  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name  which  Lord  Byron  had  made  so 
famous.  It  encountered  rather  an  odd  fate.  My  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg,  had  published, 
about  the  same  time,  a  work  called  the  'Poetic  Mirror^  coiitaining  imitations  of  the  principal  living 
poets.  There  was  in  it  a  very  good  imitation  of  my  own  style,  which  bore  such  a  resemblance  to  '  Harold 
the  Dauntless,' that  there  was  no  discovering  the  original  from  the  imitation;  and  I  believe  that  inany 
who  took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the  subject,  were  rather  of  opinion  that  my  ingenious  friend  was 
the  true,  and  not  the  fictitious  Simon  Pure" — Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.     1830.^ 


^arol^  tlje  fBauutlcBS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

There  is  a  mood  of  mind,  we  all  have  known 
On  drowsy  eve,  or  dark  and  low'ring  day, 
When  the  tired  spirits  lose  their  sprightly  tone. 
And  naught  can  chase  the  hngering  hours  away. 
Dull  on  our  soul  falls  Fancy's  dazzling  ray, 
And  wisdom  holds  his  steadier  torch  in  vain, 
Obscured  the  painting  seems,  mistuned  the  lay, 
Nor  dare  we  of  om-  hstless  load  complain, 
For  who  for  sympathy  may  seek  that  cannot  tell 
of  pain  ? 


1  Published  by  Constable  and  Co.,  January,  1817,  in  12mo. 
7s.  6'J. 

2  "Within  less  than  a  month,  the  Black  Dwarf  and  Old 
Mortality  were  followed  by  '  Harold  the  Dauntless,  by  the  au- 
thor of  the  Bridal  of  Triermain.'  This  poem  had  been,  it  ap- 
pears, begun  several  years  back  ;  nay,  part  of  it  had  been  ac- 
tually printed  before  the  appearance  of  Childe  Harold,  though 
that  circumstance  had  escaped  the  author's  remembrance  when 
he  penned,  in  1830,  his  Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles ; 
for  he  there  says,  '  I  am  still  astonished  at  my  having  commit- 
ted the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name  which  Lord  B)'- 
rou  had  made  so  famous.'  The  volume  was  published  by 
Messrs.  Constable,  and  had,  in  those  booksellers'  phrase,  '  con- 


The  jolly  sportsman  knows  such  drearihood, 
When  bursts  in  deluge  the  autiunnal  rain, 
Clouding  that  morn  which  threats  the  heath- 
cock's  brood ; 
Of  such,  in  summer's  drought,  the  anglers  plain. 
Who  hope  the  soft  mild  southern  shower  in  vain ; 
But,  more  than  all,  the  discontented  fair, 
"\\niom  father  stern,  and  sterner  aunt,  restrain 
From  county-ball,  or  race  occurring  rare, 
While  all  her  friends  around  their  vestments  gay 
prepare. 

Ennui ! — or,  as  our  mothers  call'd  thee,  Sjjleen  ! 
To  thee  we  owe  full  many  a  rare  device ; — 
Tliine  is  the  sheaf  of  painted  cards,  I  ween, 
The  rolling  billiard-ball,  the  rattling  dice, 


siderable  success.'  It  has  never,  however,  been  placed  on  a 
level  with  Triermain  ;  and,  though  it  contains  many  vigorous 
pictures,  and  splendid  verses,  and  here  and  there  some  hapjiy 
humor,  the  confusion  and  harsh  transitions  of  the  fable,  and 
the  dim  rudeness  of  character  and  manners,  seem  sufficient  to 
account  for  this  inferiority  in  public  favor.  It  is  not  surprising 
that  the  author  should  have  redoubled  his  aversion  to  the  notion 
of  any  more  serious  performances  in  verse.  He  had  seized  on 
an  instrument  of  wider  compass,  and  which,  handled  with 
whatever  rapidity,  seemed  to  reveal  at  every  touch  trea.sures 
that  had  hitherto  slept  unconsciously  within  him.  He  had 
thrown  oft"  his  fetters,  and  might  well  go  forth  rejoicing  in  the 
native  elasticity  of  his  strength." — lAfc  of  Scott,  vol.  i .  p.  181. 


CANTO  I. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


513 


Tlie  turziing-latlie  for  franaing  gimcrack  nice ; 
The  amatem-'s  blotch'd  pallet  thou  mayst  cLiim, 
Retort  and    air-pump,  threatening  frogs  and 

mice 
(Murders  disguised  by  philosophic  name), 
And  much  of  trifling  grave  and  much  of  buxom 

game. 

Then  of  tlie  books,  to  catch  thy  drowsy  glance 
Compiled,  what  bard  the  catalogue  may  quote ! 
Plays,  poems,  novels,  never  read  but  once ; — 
But  not  of  such  the  tale  fair  Edgeworth  wrote, 
Tliat  bears  thy  name,  and  is  thine  antidote ; 
And  not  of  such  the  strain  my  Thomson  sung, 
DeUcious  dreams  inspiring  by  his  note, 
Wliat  time  to  Indolence  his  harp  he  strung ; — 
0 1  might  my  lay  be  ra.nk'd  that  happier  list 
among  P 

Each  liath  his  refuge  whom  thy  cares  assail. 
For  me,  I  love  my  study-fire  to  trim. 
And  con  right  vacantly  some  idle  tale. 
Displaying  on  the  couch  each  listless  limb. 
Till  on  the  drowsy  page  the  lights  grow  dim, 
And   doubtful    slumber  half    supplies    the 

theme ; 
While  antique  shapes  of  knight  and  giant  grim. 
Damsel  and  dwarf,  in  long  procession  gleam, 
nd  the  Romancer's  tale  becomes  the  Reader's 

dream. 

'Tis  thus  my  malady  I  well  may  bear. 
Albeit  outstretch'd,  like  Pope's  own  Paridel, 
Upon  the  rack  of  a  too-easy  chair ; 
And  find,  to  cheat  the  time,  a  powerful  spell 
In  old  romaunts  of  errantry  that  tell. 
Or  later  legends  of  the  Fairy -folk. 
Or  Oriental  tale  of  Afrite  fell. 
Of  Genii,  Talisman,  and  broad-wing'd  Roc, 
Though  taste  may  blush  and  frown,  and  sober  rea- 
son mock. 

Oft  at  such  season,  too,  will  rhymes  unsought 
Arrange  themselves  in  some  romantic  lay ; 
The  which,  as  things  unfitting  graver  thought, 
Are  burnt  or  blotted  on  some  wiser  day. — 
These  few  survive — and  proudly  let  me  say. 
Court   not   the   critic's   smile,  nor  dread    his 

frown ; 
They  well  may  serve  to  whUe  an  hour  away, 
Nor  does  the  volume  ask  for  more  renown. 
Than  Ennui's  yawning  smile,  what  time  she  drops 
it  down. 


1  The  dry  humor,  and  sort  of  half  Spenserian  cast  of  these, 

jm  well  as  all  the  other  introdu<;tory  stanzas  in  the  poem,  we 

think  excellent,  and  scarcely  outdone  by  any  thing  of  the  kind 

we  know  of ;  and  there  are  few  parts,  taken  separately,  that 

63 


Varolii  tlje  Pauntleas. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


List  to  the  valorous  deeds  that  were  done 

By  Harold  the  Daimtless,  Coimt  Witikind's  son ! 

Count  Witikind  came  of  a  regal  strain,  [main. 

And  roved  with  his  Norsemen  the  land  and  the 
Woe  to  the  realms  which  he  coasted !  for  there 
Was  shedding  of  blood,  and  rending  of  hair, 
Rape  of  maiden,  and  slaughter  of  priest, 
Gatliering  of  ravens  and  wolves  to  the  feast : 
When  he  hoisted  his  standard  black. 
Before  him  was  battle,  beliind  him  wi-ack. 
And  he  burn'd  the  churches,  that  heathen  Dane, 
To  light  his  band  to  their  barks  again. 

11. 

On  Erin's  shores  was  liis  outrage  known, 

The  winds  of  France  had  his  banners  blown ; 

Little  was  there  to  plimder,  yet  stiU 

His  pirates  had  foray'd  on  Scottish  hUl : 

But  upon  merry  England's  coast 

More  frequent  he  saU'd,  for  he  won  the  most. 

So  wide  and  so  far  his  ravage  they  knew. 

If  a  sail  but  gleam'd  white  'gainst  the  welkin  blue^ 

Trumpet  and  bugle  to  arms  did  call, 

Burghers  hasten'd  to  man  the  wall. 

Peasants  fled  inland  his  fury  to  'scape. 

Beacons  were  hghted  on  headland  and  cape, 

Bells  were  toU'd  out,  and  aye  as  they  rimg 

Fearful  and  faintly  the  gray  brothers  sung, 

"  Bless  us,  St.  Mary,  from  flood  and  from  fire. 

From  famine  and  pest,  and  Count  Witikind's  ire  1" 

IIL 
He  liked  the  wealth  of  fair  England  so  well. 
That  he  sought  in  her  bosom  as  native  to  dweU. 
He  enter'd  the  Humber  in  fearftd  hotir. 
And  disembark'd  with  his  Danish  power. 
Three  Earls  came  against  him  with  all  their  tram ; 
Two  hath  he  taken,  and  one  hath  he  slain. 
Count  WitDiind  left  the  Humber's  rich  strand. 
And  he  wasted  and  warr'd  in  Northumberland. 
But  the  Saxon  King  was  a  sire  in  age, 
Weak  in  battle,  in  council  sage  ; 
Peace  of  that  heathen  leader  he  sought. 
Gifts  he  gave,  and  quiet  he  bought ; 
And  the  Coimt  took  upon  him  the  peaceable  style 
Of  a  vassal  and  liegeman  of  Britain's  broad  isle. 

have  not  something  attractive  to  the  lover  of  natural  poetry  i 
wliile  any  one  page  will  show  how  eztrcmcli/  like  it  is  to  the 
manner  of  Scott." — Blackwood'' s  Magazine  1817 


514 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CA^TO  I. 


IV. 
Time  -will  rust  the  sharpest  sword, 
Time  -will  consume  the  strongest  cord ; 
That  -which  moulders  hemp  and  steel, 
Mortal  arm  and  nerve  must  feel. 
Of  the  Danish  band,  -whom  Count  Witikind  led, 
Many  Avax'd  aged,  and  many  were  dead  : 
Himself  found  liis  armor  full  weighty  to  bear, 
Wriuklcd  his  brows  grew,  and  hoary  his  hair  ; 
He  lean'd  on  a  staff,  when  his  step  went  abroad. 
And  patient  his  palfrey,  when  steed  he  bestrode. 
As  he  grew  feebler,  his  wildness  ceased. 
He  made  himself  peace  with  prelate  and  priest, — 
Made  his  peace,  and,  stooping  liis  head, 
Patiently  listed  the  counsel  they  said : 
Saint  Cuthbert's  Bishop  was  holy  and  grave, 
Wise  and  good  was  the  counsel  he  gave. 

V. 
"  Thou  hast  murder'd,  robb'd,  and  spoil'd. 
Time  it  is  thy  poor  soul  were  assoil'd  ; 
Priests  didst  thou  slay,  and  churches  burn, 
Time  it  is  now  to  repentance  to  turn  ; 
Pienda  hast  thou  worshipp'd,  with  fiendish  rite, 
Leave  now  the  darkness,  and  wend  into  light : 
0  !  while  life  and  space  are  given. 
Turn  thee  yet,  and  think  of  Heaven !" 
That  stern  old  heathen  his  head  he  raised, 
And  on  the  good  prelate  he  steadfastly  gazed ; 
"  Give  me  broad  lands  on  the  Wear  and  the  Tyne, 
My  faith  I  will  leave,  and  PU  cleave  unto  thine." 

VI. 

Broad  lands  he  gave  him  on  Tyne  and  Wear, 
To  be  held  of  the  church  by  bridle  and  spear ; 
Part  of  Monkweannouth,  of  Tynedale  part. 
To  better  liis  wUl,  and  to  soften  his  heart : 
Count  Witikind  was  a  joyful  man. 
Less  for  the  faith  tlian  the  lands  that  he  wan. 
Tlie  high  church  of  Durham  is  dress'd  for  the  day. 
The  clergy  are  rank'd  in  their  solemn  array : 
There  came  the  Count,  in  a  bear-skin  warm, 
Leaning  on  Hilda  liis  concubine's  arm. 
He  kneel'd  before  Saint  Cutlibert's  shrine, 
With  patience  imwonted  at  rites  divine  ; 
He  abjured  the  gods  of  heathen  race, 
And  he  bent  his  head  at  the  font  of  grace. 
But  such  was  tlie  grisly  old  proselyte's  look. 
That  the  priest  who  baptized  him  grew  pale  and 

shook ; 
And  the  old  monks  mutter'd  beneath  their  hood, 
"  Of  a  stem  so  stubborn  can  never  spring  good !" 

VIL 

Up  then  arose  that  grim  convertite. 
Homeward  he  hied  him  when  ended  the  rite 
Tlie  Prelate  in  honor  will  with  him  ride. 
And  feast  in  his  castle  on  Tyne's  ftiir  side. 


Banners  and  banderols  danced  in  the  wind, 
Monks  rode  before  them,  and  spearmen  behind  ; 
Onward  they  pass'd,  till  fairly  did  shine 
Pennon  and  cross  on  the  bosom  of  Tyne  ; 
And  full  in  front  did  that  fortress  lower, 
In  darksome  strength  with  its  buttress  and  tower : 
At  the  castle  gate  was  young  Harold  there, 
Count  Witildnd's  only  offspring  and  heir. 

VIIL 
Young  Harold  was  fear'd  for  his  hardihood, 
His  strength  of  frame,  and  his  fury  of  mood. 
Rude  he  was  and  wild  to  behold. 
Wore  neither  collar  nor  bracelet  of  gold. 
Cap  of  vair  nor  rich  array. 
Such  as  should  grace  that  festal  day : 
His  doublet  of  bull's  hide  was  all  unbraced, 
Uncover'd  his  head,  and  his  sandal  unlaced  : 
His  shaggy  black  locks  on  his  brow  hung  low. 
And  his  eyes  glanced  tlu-ough  them  a  swarthy  glow ; 
A  Danish  club  in  his  hand  he  bore. 
The  spikes  were  clotted  with  recent  gore  ; 
At  his  back  a  she-wolf,  and  her  wolf-cubs  twain, 
In  the  dangerous  chase  that  morning  slain. 
Rude  was  the  gi'eeting  his  father  he  made, 
None  to  the  Bishop, — wliile  thus  he  said : — 

IX. 

"  Wliat  priest-led  hypocrite  art  thou. 
With  thy  humbled  look  and  thy  monkish  brow. 
Like  a  shavehng  who  studies  to  cheat  his  vow  ? 
Canst  thou  be  Witikind  the  Waster  known, 
Royal  Eric's  fearless  son, 
Haughty  Gimhilda's  haughtier  lorrl, 
Who  won  his  bride  by  the  axe  and  sword  , 
From  the  shi-ine  of  St.  Peter  the  chalice  who  tore, 
And  melted  to  bracelets  for  Freya  and  Thor ; 
With  one  blow  of  his  gauntlet  who  burst  the  skull, 
Before  Odin's  stone,  of  the  Mountain  Bull  ? 
Then  ye  worshipp'd  with  rites  that  to  war-gods 
belong,  [strong ; 

With  the  deed  of  the  brave,  and  the  blow  of  the 
And  now,  in  thine  age  to  dotage  simk. 
Wilt  thou  patter  thy  crimes  to  a  shaven  monk,— 
Lay  down  thy  maU-shh-t  for  clothing  of  hair, — 
Fasting  and  scoinge,  like  a  slave,  wilt  thou  bear  If 
Or,  at  best,  be  admitted  in  slothful  bower 
To  batten  with  priest  and  with  paramour  ? 
Oh !  out  upon  tliine  endless  shame  ! 
Each  Scald's  high  harp  shall  blast  thy  fame. 
And  thy  son  will  refuse  thee  a  father's  name !' 

X. 

Ireful  wax'd  old  Witikind's  look, 

His  faltering  voice  with  fury  shook : — 

"  Hear  me,  Harold  of  harden'd  heart  1 

Stubborn  and  wilful  ever  thou  wert. 

Thine  outrage  insane  I  conmiand  thee  to  cease. 


CANTO  I. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


515 


Fear  my  -wrath  and  remain  at  peace : — 
Just  is  the  debt  of  repentance  I've  paid, 
Richly  the  cliurch  has  a  recompense  made, 
And  the  truth  of  her  doctrines  I  prove  with  my 

blade. 
But  reckoning  to  none  of  my  actions  I  owe. 
And  least  to  my  son  such  accounting  -will  show. 
Why  speak  I  to  thee  of  repentance  or  truth, 
Who  ne'er  from  thy  cliildhood  knew  reason  or  ruth  ? 
Hence  !  to  the  wolf  and  the  bear  in  her  deu ; 
These  ai-e  thy  niates,  and  not  rational  men." 

XL 

Grimly  smiled  Harold,  and  coldly  replied, 

"  We  must  honor  our  sires,  if  we  fear  when  they 

chide. 
For  me,  I  am  yet  what  thy  lessons  have  made, 
I  was  rock'd  in  a  buckler  and  fed  from  a  blade ; 
An  infant,  was  taught  to  clasp  hands  and  to  shout 
From  the  roofs  of  the  tower  when  the  flame  had 

broke  out ; 
In  the  blood  of  slain  foemen  my  finger  to  dip. 
And  tinge  with  its  purple  my  cheek  and  my  lip. — 
'Tis  thou  know'st  not  truth,  that  hast  barter'd  in  eld, 
For  a  price,  the  brave  faith  that  thine  ancestors 

held.  [plain. — 

When  this  wolf," — and  the  carcass  he  flimg  on  the 
"  Shall  awake  and  give  food  to  her  um-slings  again, 
The  face  of  his  father  wiU  Harold  review  ; 
TUl  then,  aged  Heathen,  yoimg  Chi-istian,  adieu !" 

XII. 
Priest,  monk,  and  prelate,  stood  aghast, 
As  through  the  pageant  the  lieathen  pass'd. 
A  cross-bearer  out  of  his  saddle  he  flung, 
Laid  his  hand  on  the  pommel,  and  iuto  it  sprung. 
Loud  was  the  shriek,  and  deep  the  groan. 
When  the  holy  sign  on  the  earth  was  thrown ! 
The  fierce  old  Count  unsheathed  his  brand. 
But  the  calmer  Prelate  stay'd  his  hand. 
"  Let  him  pass  free ! — Heaven  knows  its  horn-, — 
But  he  must  own  repentance's  power. 
Pray  and  weep,  and  penance  bear. 
Ere  he  hold  land  by  the  Tyne  and  the  Weai-." 
Thus  m  scorn  and  in  wi-ath  from  his  father  is  gone 
Young  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikind's  son. 

XIIL 

High  was  the  feasting  ia  Witikind's  hall, 
ReveU'd  priests,  soldiers,  and  pagans,  and  all ; 
And  e'en  the  good  Bishop  was  fain  to  endure 
The  8canda],which  time  and  instruction  might  cure : 
It  were  dangerous,  he  deem'd,  at  the  fii-st  to  re- 
strain. 
In  his  wine  and  his  wassail,  a  half-christen'd  Dane. 
Tlie  mead  flow'd  around,  and  the  ale  was  drain'd 

Wild  was  the  laughter,  the  song,  and  the  cry ; 


With  Kyrie  Eleison,  came  clamorously  in 
Tlie  war-songs  of  Danesmen,  Xoi-^^eyan,  and  Finn, 
Till  man  after  man  the  contention  gave  o'er, 
Outstretch'd  on  the  rushes  that  strew'd  the  hall 
floor ;  [rout, 

And  the  tempest  within,  having  ceased  its  wild 
Gave  place  to  the  tempest  that  thunder'd  without. 

♦  XIV. 

Apart  from  the  wassail,  in  turret  alone. 

Lay  flaxen-hair'd  Gunnar,  old  Ermengarde's  son  ; 

In  the  train  of  Lord  Harold  that  Page  was  the 

first. 
For  Harold  in  childhood  had  Ermengarde  nursed ; 
And  grieved  was  young  Gxmnar  his  master  should 

roam, 
Unhoused  and  imfi-iended,  an  exile  from  home. 
He  heard  the  deep  thunder,  the  plasliing  of  rain. 


He  saw  the  red  hghtniua 


tln-ough  shot-hole  and 


pane ; 
"  And  oh !"  said  the  Page,  "  on  the  shelterless  wold 
Lord  Harold  is  wandering  in  darkness  and  cold ! 
"WTiat  thougli  he  was  stubborn,  and  wayward,  and 

wild,  [cliild, — 

He    endured   me   because    I   was   Ermengarde's 
And  often  from  dawn  till  the  set  of  the  sun. 
In  the  chase,  by  his  sthrup,  unbiddei^  I  run ; 
I  would  I  were  older,  and  knighthood  could  bear, 
I  would  soon  quit  the  banks  of  the  Tyne  and  the 

Wear :  [breath. 

For  my  mother's  command,  with  lier  last  parting 
Bade  me  follow  her  nurshug  in  Ufe  and  to  deatL 

XV. 

"  It  pours  and  it  thunders,  it  hghtens  amain. 
As  if  Lok.the  Destroyer,  had  burst  from  his  chain ! 
Accm'sed  by  the  Church,  and  expelFd  by  liis  sire, 
Nor  Christian  nor  Dane  give  him  shelter  or  fire, 
And  this  tempest  what  mortal  may  houseless  en- 
dure? 
Unaided,  unmantled,  he  dies  on  the  moor ! 
Whate'er  comes  of  Gunnar,  he  tarries  not  here." 
He  leapt  from  his  couch  and  he  grasp'd  to  his 
spear ;  [tread. 

Sought  the  liall  of  the  feast.     Undisturb'd  by  liis 
The  wassailers  slept  fast  as  the  sleep  of  the  dead : 
"  Ungrateful  and  bestial !"  his  anger  broke  forth, 
"To  forget   'mid  your  goblets  the  pride    of  the 
North !  [store. 

And  you,  ye  cowl'd  priests,  who  have  plenty  in 
Must  give  Guunai-  for  ransom  a  palfrey  and  ore." 

XVL 

Then,  heeding  fuU  little  of  ban  or  of  curse, 
He  has  seized  on  the  Prior  of  Jorvaux's  purse : 
Saint  Meneholt's  Abbot  next  morning  has  miss'd 
His  mantle,  deep  fmT'd  from  the  cape  to  the  wrist 
The  Seneschal's  keys  from  liis  belt  he  has  ta'en 


516 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  1. 


("Well  drench'd  on  that  eve  was  old  Hildebrand's 

braiii). 
To  the  stable-yard  he  made  his  -way, 
And  mounted  the  Bishop's  palfrey  gay, 
Castle  and  hamlet  behind  him  has  cast, 
And  right  on  his  way  to  the  moorland  has  pass'd. 
Sore  snorted  the  palfrey,  unused  to  face 
A  weather  so  wild  at  so  rash  a  pace ; 
So  long  he  snorted,  so  loud  he  neigh'd,       ' 
There  answer'd  a  steed  tliat  was  bound  beside, 
And  the  red  flash  of  lightning  show'd  there  where 

lay 
His  master,  Lord  Harold,  outstretch'd  on  the  clay. 

XVII. 

Up  he  started,  and  thunder'd  out,  "  Stand !" 
And  raised  the  club  in  his  deadly  hand. 
The  flaxen-hair'd  Gumiar  his  purpose  told, 
Show'd  the  palfrey  and  proffer'd  the  gold. 
"  Back,  back,  and  home,  thou  simple  boy  ! 
Thou  canst  not  share  my  grief  or  joy : 
Have  I  not  mark'd  thee  wail  and  cry 
"When  thou  hast  seen  a  sparrow  die  ? 
And  canst  thou,  as  my  follower  should, 
"Wade  ankle-deep  tlirough  foeman's  blood. 
Dare  mortal  and  immortal  foe. 
The  gods  above,  the  fiends  below, 
And  man  on  earth,  more  liateful  still, 
The  very  fountain-head  of  ill  ? 
Desperate  of  life,  and  careless  of  death. 
Lover  of  bloodshed,  and  slaugliter,  and  scathe, 
Such  must  thou  be  with  me  to  roam, 
And  such  thou  canst  not  be — back,  and  home  I" 

XVIII. 
Young  Gunnar  shook  like  an  aspen  bough,    [brow, 
As  he  heard  the  harsh  voice  and  beheld  the  dark 
And  half  he  repented  his  purpose  and  vow. 
But  now  to  draw  back  were  bootless  shame, 
And  he  loved  his  master,  so  urged  his  claim : 
"  Alas !  if  my  arm  and  my  courage  be  weak, 
Bear  with  me  a  wliile  for  old  Ermengarde's  sake ; 
Nor  deem  so  lightly  of  Gunnar's  faith. 
As  to  fear  he  would  break  it  for  peril  of  deatk 
Have  I  not  risk'd  it  to  fetch  thee  this  gold, 
This  surcoat  and  mantle  to  fence  thee  from  cold  ? 
And,  did  I  bear  a  baser  mind, 
"Wliat  lot  remains  if  I  stay  behind  ? 
The  priests'  revenge,  thy  ftxther's  wrath, 
A  dungeon,  and  a  shameful  death." 

XIX. 

"With  gentler  look  Lord  Harold  eyed 
The  Page,  then  turn'd  his  liead  aside ; 

J  "  It  may  be  worthy  of  notice,  that  in  Harold  the  Daunt- 
less there  is  a  wise  and  good  Eustace,  as  in  tlie  Monastery,  and 
a  Prior  of  Jorvaux,   who  is  robbed  (ante,  stanza  xvi.)  as  in 


And  either  a  tear  did  his  eyelash  stain, 

Or  it  caught  a  drop  of  the  passing  rain. 

"  Art  thou  an  outcast,  then  ?"  quoth  he ; 

"  The  meeter  page  to  follow  me." 

'Twere  bootless  to  tell  what  climes  they  sought, 

Ventures  achieved,  and  battles  fought ; 

How  oft  with  few,  how  oft  alone, 

Pierce  Harold's  arm  the  field  hath  won. 

Men  swore  his  eye,  that  flash'd  so  red 

"W^hen  each  other  glance  was  quench'd  with  dread. 

Bore  oft  a  light  of  deadly  flame. 

That  ne'er  from  mortal  courage  came. 

These  limbs  so  strong,  that  mood  so  stern. 

That  loved  the  couch  of  heath  and  fern. 

Afar  from  hamlet,  tower,  and  town, 

More  than  to  rest  on  driven  down ; 

That  stubborn  frame,  that  sullen  mood, 

Men  deem'd  must  come  of  aught  but  good , 

And  they  whisper'd,  the  great  Master  Fiend  waa 

at  one 
"With  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  "Witikind'a  son. 

XX. 

Years  after  years  had  gone  and  fled, 

The  good  old  Prelate  lies  lapj^'d  in  lead  ; 

In  the  chapel  still  is  shown 

His  sculptured  form  on  a  marble  stone, 

With  staff  and  ring  and  scapulaire, 

And  folded  hands  in  the  act  of  jjrayer. 

Saint  Cuthbert's  mitre  is  restmg  now 

On  the  haughty  Saxon,  bold  Aldingar's  brow ; 

Tlie  power  of  his  crozier  he  loved  to  extend 

O'er  whatever  would  break,  or  whatever  would 

bend ; 
And  now  hath  he  clothed  him  in  cope  and  in  pall. 
And  the  Chapter  of  Durham  has  met  at  his  call. 
"  And  hear  ye  not,  brethren,"  the  proud  Bishop 

said,  [dead  ? 

"That  our  vassal,  the  Danish  Count  Witikind's, 
All  his  gold  and  his  goods  hath  he  given 
To  holy  Chm-ch  for  the  love  of  Heaven, 
And  hath  founded  a  chantry  with  stipend  and 

dole,  [soul : 

That  priests  and  that  beadsmen  may  pray  for  hia 
Harold  his  son  is  wandering  abroad. 
Dreaded  by  man  and  abhorr'd  by  God ; 
Meet  it  is  not,  that  such  should  heir  ["Wear, 

The  lands  of  the  church   on   the  Tyne   and  the 
And  at  her  pleasure,  her  hallow'd  hands 
May  now  resume  these  wealthy  lands." 

XXL 

Answer'd  good  Eustace,'  a  canon  old, — 
"  Harold  is  tameless,  and  furious,  and  bold  ; 


Ivanhoe." — Adolphus'  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley, 

1822,  p.  281. 


CANTO  II. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


517 


Ever  Renown  blows  a  note  of  fame, 

In  vapory  folds,  o'er  the  landscape  strays, 

And  a  note  of  fear,  when  she  sounds  his  name : 

And  half  involves  the  woodland  maze, 

Mucli  of  bloodshed  and  much  of  scathe 

Like  an  early  widow's  veil, 

Have  been  their  lot  who  have  waked  his  wrath. 

Where  wimpling  tissue  from  tlie  gaze 

Leave  him  these  lands  and  lordsliips  stUl, 

The  form  half  hides,  and  half  betrays, 

Heaven  in  its  horn*  may  change  his  will ; 

Of  beauty  wan  and  pale. 

But  if  reft  of  gold,  and  of  hving  bare, 

An  evil  counsellor  is  despair." 

IIL 

More  had  he  said,  but  the  Prelate  frowu'd, 

Fair  Metelill  was  a  woodland  maid. 

And  murmur'd  his  brethren  who  sate  around. 

Her  father  a  rover  of  greenwood  shade, 

And  with  one  consent  have  they  given  their  doom, 

By  forest  statutes  undismay'd. 

That  the  Church  should  the  lands  of  Saint  Cuth- 

Who  lived  by  bow  and  quiver; 

bert  resume. 

WeU  known  was  Wulfstane's  archery. 

So  wUl'd  the  Prelate ;  and  canon  and  dean 

By  merry  Tyne  both  on  moor  and  lea. 

Gave  to  his  judgment  their  loud  amen. 

Tlu-ough  wooded  Weardale's  glens  so  free, 

WeU  beside  Stanhope's  wildwood  tree. 

And  well  on  Ganlesse  river. 

Yet  free  though  he  trespass'd   on  woodland 

game. 

More  known  and  more  fear'd  was  the  wizard 

ijaroli)  tijc  IDaixntle00. 

fame 
Of  Jutta  of  Rookhope,  the  Outlaw's  dame  ; 

Fear'd  when  she  frown'd  was  her  eye  of  flame, 

CANTO    SECOND. 

More  fear'd  when  in  wrath  she  laugh'd ; 

For  then,  'twas  said,  more  fatal  true 

To  its  dread  aim  her  spell-glance  flew. 

L 

Than  when  from  Wulfstane's  bended  yew 

'Tis  merry  in  greenwood, — thus  runs  the  old  lay, — 

Sprung  forth  the  gray-goose  shaft. 

In  the  gladsome  moiith  of  lively  May, 

When  the  wild  birds'  song  on  stem  and  spray 

IV. 

Invites  to  forest  bower ; 

Yet  had  this  fierce  and  dreaded  pair, 

Tlien  rears  the  ash  his  aiiy  crest, 

So  Heaven  decreed,  a  daughter  fair ; 

Then  shines  tlie  birch  in  silver  vest, 

'None  brighter  crown'd  the  bed. 

And  the  beech  in  glistening  leaves  is  drest. 

In  Britain's  bounds,  of  peer  or  prince, 

And  dark  between  shows  the  oak's  proud  breast. 

Nor  hath,  perchance,  a  loveUer  since 

Like  a  chieftain's  ii'owning  tower ; 

In  this  fair  isle  been  bred. 

Though  a  thousand  branches  join  their  screen. 

And  naught  of  fraud,  or  ire,  or  iU, 

Yet  the  broken  sunbeams  glance  between, 

Was  known  to  gentle  Metelill, — 

And  tip  the  leaves  with  hghter  green, 

A  simple  maiden  she ; 

With  brighter  tints  the  flower : 

The  speUs  in  dimpled  smile  that  lie. 

Didl  is  the  heart  that  loves  not  then 

And  a  downcast  blush,  and  the  darts  that  fly 

The  deep  recess  of  the  wildwood  glen. 

With  the  sidelong  glance  of  a  hazel  eye, 

Where  roe  and  red-deer  find  shelteruig  den. 

Were  her  arms  and  witchery. 

When  the  sun  is  in  his  power. 

So  young,  so  simple  was  she  yet. 

She  scarce  could  childhood's  joys  forget. 

n. 

And  stm  she  loved,  in  secret  set 

Less  merry,  perchance,  is  the  fading  leaf 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 

That  foUows  so  soon  on  the  gather'd  sheaf. 

To  plait  the  rushy  coronet. 

VV  hen  the  gi-eenwood  loses  the  name  ; 

And  braid  with  flowers  her  locks  of  jet, 

Silent  is  then  the  forest  bound. 

As  when  in  infancy ; — 

Save  the  redbreast's  note,  and  the  rustling  soimd 

Yet  could  that  heai't,  so  simple,  prove 

Of  frost-nipt  leaves  that  are  dropping  round, 

The  early  dawn  of  stealing  love: 

Or  the  deep-mouth'd  cry  of  the  distant  hoimd 

Ah  !  gentle  maid,  beware ! 

That  opens  on  his  game : 

The  power  who,  now  so  mild  a  guest, 

Tet  then,  too,  I  love  the  forest  wide, 

Gives  dangerous  yet  delicious  zest 

Whether  the  sim  in  splendor  ride. 

To  the  calm  pleasures  of  thy  breast. 

And  gild  its  many-color'd  side  ; 

Wm  soon,  a  tyrant  o'er  the  rest, 

Or  whether  the  soft  and  silvery  haze, 

Let  none  his  empire  share. 

518 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAXIO  11. 


V. 

One  morn,  in  kirtle  gi-een  array'd, 
Deep  ill  tlie  wood  the  maiden  stray'd, 

And,  where  a  fountain  sprung, 
She  sate  her  down,  unseen,  to  thread 
The  scarlet  berry's  mimic  braid. 

And  while  the  beads  she  strung, 
Like  the  blithe  lark,  whose  carol  gay 
Gives  a  good-mon-ow  to  the  day, 

So  hghtsomely  she  sung. 

VL 

"  Lord  "William  was  born  in  gilded  bower, 
The  heir  of  Wilton's  lofty  tower ; 
Yet  better  loves  Lord  William  now 
To  roam  beneath  wild  Rookhope's  brow ; 
And  WiUiam  has  lived   where   ladies 

fair 
With  gawds  and  jewels  deck  their  hair, 
Yet  better  loves  the  dew-drops  still 
That  pearl  the  locks  of  Metelill. 

"  The  pious  Palmer  loves,  I  wis. 
Saint  Cuthbert's  hallow'd  beads  to  Mss ; 
But  I,  though  simple  girl  I  be. 
Might  have  such  homage  paid  to  me  ; 
For  did  Lord  William  see  me  suit 
This  necklace  of  the  bramble's  fruit, 
He  fain — ^but  must  not  have  his  wiU — 
Would  kiss  the  beads  of  MetelilL 

"  My  nurse  has  told  me  many  a  tale, 
How  vows  of  love  are  weak  and  frail ; 
My  mother  says  that  courtly  youth 
By  rustic  maid  means  seldom  sooth. 
Wliat  shoidd  they  mean  ?  it  cannot  be, 
That  such  a  warning's  meant  for  me. 
For  naught — oh !  naught  of  fraud  or  ill 
Can  WiUiam  mean  to  Metelill !" 

VII. 

Sudden  she  stops — and  starts  to  feel 
A  weighty  hand,  a  glove  of  steel. 
Upon  her  shi'inking  shoulders  laid ; 
Fearful  she  turn'd,  and  saw,  dismay'd, 
A  Knight  in  plate  and  mail  array'd. 
His  crest  and  bearing  worn  and  fray'd, 

His  surcoat  soil'd  and  riven, 
Form'd  like  that  giant  race  of  yore. 
Whose  long-continued  crimes  outwore 

The  sufferance  of  Heaven. 
Stern  accents  made  his  pleasure  known, 
Tliough  then  he  used  liis  gentlest  tone  : 
"  Maiden,"   he   said,    "  smg    forth  thy 

glee. 
Start  not — sing  on — it  pleases  me." 


VIIL 

Secured  within  his  powerful  hold. 
To  bend  her  Iniee,  her  hands  to  fold, 

Was  aU  the  maiden  might ; 
And  "  Oh !  forgive,"  she  faintly  said, 
"  Tlie  terrors  of  a  simple  maid. 

If  thou  art  mortal  wight ! 
But  if — of  such  strange  tales  are  told — 
Unearthly  warrior  of  the  wold, 
Tliou  coniest  to  chide  mine  accents  bold, 
My  mother,  Jutta,  knows  the  spell. 
At  noon  and  midnight  pleasing  well 

The  disembodied  ear ; 
Oh !  let  her  powerful  charms  atone 
For  aught  my  rashness  may  have  done, 

And  cease  thy  grasp  of  fear." 
Then  laugh'd  the  Knight — ^his  laughter's  sound 
Half  in  the  hoUow  helmet  drown'd ; 
His  barred  visor  then  he  raised. 
And  steady  on  the  maiden  gazed. 
He  smooth'd  his  brows,  as  best  he  might, 
To  the  dread  calm  of  autumn  night. 

When  sinks  the  tempest  roar; 
Yet  still  the  cautious  fishers  eye 
The  clouds,  and  fear  the  gloomy  sky, 

And  haul  their  barks  on  shore. 

IX. 

"  Damsel,"  he  said,  "  be  wise,  and  leai-n 
Matters  of  weight  and  deep  concern: 

From  distant  realms  I  come. 
And,  wanderer  long,  at  length  have  plaim'd 
In  this  my  native  Northern  land 

To  seek  myself  a  home. 
Not  that  alone — a  mate  I  seek ; 
She  must  be  gentle,  soft,  and  meek, — 

No  lordly  dame  for  me ; 
Myself  am  something  rough  of  mood, 
And  feel  the  fii-e  of  royal  blood. 
And  therefore  do  not  hold  it  good 

To  match  in  my  degree. 
Then,  since  coy  maidens  say  my  face 
Is  harsh,  my  form  devoid  of  grace, 
For  a  fair  lineage  to  provide, 
'Tis  meet  that  my  selected  bride 

In  lineaments  be  fair ; 
I  love  thine  well — till  now  I  ne'er 
Look'd  patient  on  a  face  of  fear, 
But  now  that  tremulous  sob  and  tear 

Become  thy  beauty  rare. 
One  Mss — nay,  damsel,  coy  it  not ! — 
And  now  go  seek  thy  parents'  cot. 
And  say,  a  bridegroom  soon  I  come. 
To  woo  my  love,  and  bear  her  home." 


Home  sprung  the  maid  without  a  pause. 
As  leveret  'scaped  from  greyhound's  jaws ; 


CANTO  II.                             HAROLD  THE 

DAUNTLESS.                                      519 

But  still  she  lock'd,  howe'er  distress' d. 

Xill. 

The  secret  in  her  boding  breast ; 

Appall'd  a  while  the  parents  stood, 

Dreading  her  sire,  who  oft  forbade 

Then  changed  then*  fear  to  angry  mood. 

Her  steps  should  stray  to  distant  glade. 

And  foremost  fell  their  words  of  ill 

Night  canie — to  her  accustom'd  nook 

On  unresisting  Metelill : 

Her  distaff  aged  Jutta  took, 

Was  she  not  cautiou'd  and  forbid. 

And  by  the  lamp's  imperfect  glow, 

Forewarn'd,  implored,  accused  and  chid, 

Rough   Wulfstane   trimm'd   his   shafts   and 

And  must  she  still  to  greenwood  roam^ 

bow. 

To  marshal  such  misfortime  home  ? 

Sudden  and  clamorous,  from  the  ground 

"  Hence,  minion — to  thy  chamber  hence — 

Upstarted  shimberiug  brach  and  hound ; 

There  prudence  learn,  and  penitence." 

Loud  knocking  next  the  lodge  alarms, 

She  went — her  lonely  couch  to  steep 

And  Wulfstane  snatches  at  his  ai"ms, 

In  tears  wliich  absent  lovers  weep ; 

When  open  flew  the  yielding  door, 

Or  if  she  gain'd  a  troubled  sleep, 

And  that  grim  Warrior  press'd  the  floor. 

Fierce  Harold's  suit  was  still  the  theme 

XI. 

"  AU  peace  be  here — What !  none  replies  ? 

And  terror  of  her  feverish  dream. 

XIV. 

Dismiss  your  fears  and  your  surprise. 

Scarce  was  she  gone,  her  dame  and  sire 

'Tis  I — that  Maid  hath  told  my  tale, — 

Upon  each  other  bent  their  ire  ; 

Or,  trembler,  did  thy  courage  fail  ? 

"  A  woodsman  thou,  and  hast  a  spear. 

It  recks  not — it  is  I  demand 

And  couldst  thou  such  an  insult  bear?" 

Fair  Metelill  in  marriage  band ; 

Sullen  he  said,  "  A  man  contends 

Harold  the  Dauntless  I,  whose  name 

With  men,  a  witch  with  sprites  and  fiends ; 

Is  brave  men's  boast  and  caitiff's  shame." 

Not  to  mere  mortal  wight  belong 

The  parents  sought  each  other's  eyes, 

Yon  gloomy  brow  and  frame  so  strong. 

With  awe,  resentment,  and  surprise : 

But  thou — is  this  thy  promise  fair. 

Wulfstane,  to  quarrel  prompt,  began 

That  yom*  Lord  William,  wealthy  heir 

The  stranger's  size  and  thewes  to  scan ; 

To  Uh-ick,  Baron  of  Witton-le-Wear, 

But  as  he  scann'd,  his  courage  sunk. 

Should  Metehll  to  altar  bear  ? 

And  from  unequal  strife  he  shrunk. 

Do  all  the  spells  thou  boast'st  as  thine 

Then  forth,  to  blight  and  blemish,  flies 

Serve  but  to  slay  some  peasant's  kine. 

The  harmful  curse  from  Jutta's  eyes ; 

His  grain  in  autumn's  storms  to  steep, 

Yet,  fatal  howsoe'er,  the  sj^ell 

Or  thorough  fog  and  fen  to  sweep, 

On  Harold  innocently  fell ! 

And  hag-ride  some  poor  rustic's  sleep  ? 

And  disappointment  and  amaze 

Is  such  mean  mischief  worth  the  fame 

Were  in  the  witch's  wilder'd  gaze. 

Of  sorceress  and  witch's  name  ? 

Fame,  which  with  all  men's  wish  conspires, 

XII. 

With  thy  deserts  and  my  desires, 

But  soon  the  wit  of  woman  woke, 

To  danm  thy  corpse  to  penal  fires  ? 

And  to  the  Warrior  mild  she  spoke ; 

Out  on  thee,  witch  !  aroint !  aroint ! 

"  Her  child  was  all  too  young." — "  A  toy, 

What  now  shall  put  thy  schemes  in  joint  ? 

The  refuge  of  a  maiden  coy." — 

What  save  this  trusty  arrow's  point. 

Again,  "  A  powerful  baron's  heir 

From  the  dark  dingle  when  it  flies. 

Claims  in  her  heart  an  interest  fair." — 

And  he  who  meets  it  gasps  and  dies." 

"  A  trifle — whisper  in  his  ear, 

That  Harold  is  a  suitor  here  !"' — 

XV. 

Bafiied  at  length  she  souglit  delay : 

Stern  she  replied,  "  I  wiU  not  wage 

"  Would  not  the  Elnight  till  morning  stay  ? 

War  with  thy  folly  or  thy  rage ; 

Late  was  the  hour — he  there  might  rest 

But  ere  the  morrow's  sun  be  low. 

Till  morn,  then-  lodge's  honor'd  guest." 

Wulfstane  of  Rookhope,  thou  shalt  know, 

Such  were   her  words, — ^her   craft  might 

If  I  can  venge  me  on  a  foe. 

cast. 

Believe  the  while,  that  whatsoe'er 

Her  honor'd  guest  should  sleep  his  last : 

I  spoke,  in  ire,  of  bow  and  spear. 

"  JSTo,  not  to-night — but  soon,"  he  swore, 

It  is  not  Harold's  destiny 

"  He  would  return,  nor  leave  them  more." 

The  death  of  iDilfer'd  deer  to  die. 

The  threshold  then  his  huge  stride  crost, 

But  he,  and  thou,  and  yon  pale  moon 

A  nd  soon  he  was  in  darkness  lost. 

(That  shall  be  yet  more  paUid  soon. 

520 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  n. 


Before  she  sink  behind  the  dell), 
Thou,  she,  and  Ilarold  too,  shall  tell 
'What  Jutta  knows  of  charm  or  spell." 
Thus  muttering,  to  the  door  she  bent 
Her  -wayward  steps,  and  forth  she  went, 
And  left  alone  the  moody  sire, 
To  cherish  or  to  slake  his  ire. 

XVI, 

Far  faster  than  belong'd  to  age 

Has  Jutta  made  her  pilgrimage. 

A  priest  has  met  her  as  she  pass'd, 

And  cross'd  himself  and  stood  aghast : 

She  traced  a  hamlet — not  a  cur 

His  throat  would  ope,  liis  foot  would  stir ; 

By  crouch,  by  trembling,  and  by  groan, 

They  made  her  hated  presence  known ! 

But  when  she  trode  the  sable  fell. 

Were  wilder  sounds  her  way  to  tell, — 

For  far  was  heard  the  fox's  yell, 

The  black-cock  waked  and  faintly  crew, 

Scream'd  o'er  the  moss  the  scared  curlew : 

Wliere  o'er  the  cataract  the  oak 

Lay  slant,  was  heard  the  raven's  croak ; 

The  mountain-cat,  which  sought  liis  prey, 

Glared,  scream'd,  aud  started  from  her  way. 

Such  music  cheer'd  her  journey  lone 

To  the  deep  dell  and  rocking  stone  : 

There,  with  miliallow'd  hymn  of  praise, 

She  called  a  God  of  heathen  days. 

XVII. 
Knhocntion. 

"Feoii  thy  Pomeranian  throne. 
Hewn  in  rock  of  living  stone. 
Where,  to  thy  godliead  faithful  yet. 
Bend  Esthonian,  Finn,  and  Lett, 
And  their  swords  in  vengeance  whet. 
That  shall  make  tlune  altars  wet. 
Wet  and  rea  for  ages  more 
With  the  Clu-istians'  hated  gore, — 
Hear  me  !  Sovereign  of  the  Rock, 
Hear  me  !  mighty  Zeruebock  1 

"  Mightiest  of  the  mighty  known. 
Here  thy  wonders  have  been  shown  ; 
Hundred  tribes  in  various  tongue 
Oft  have  here  thy  praises  sung  : 
Down  that  stone  with  Runic  seam'd, 
Hundi-ed  victims'  blood  hath  stream'd ! 
Now  one  woman  comes  alone, 
And  but  wets  it  with  her  own. 
The  last,  the  feeblest  of  thy  flock, — 
Hear — and  be  present,  Zernebock ! 

"  Hark !  he  comes !  the  night-blast  cold 
Wilder  sweeps  along  the  wold  ; 


The  cloudless  moon  grows  dark  and  dim, 
And  bristhng  hair  and  quaking  limb 
Proclaim  the  Master  Demon  nigh, — 
Those  who  view  his  form  shall  die !  ' 
Lo !  I  stoop  and  veil  my  head ; 
Thou  who  ridest  the  tempest  di-ead, 
Shaking  hill  and  rending  oak — 
Spare  me  !  sjjare  me  !  Zernebock. 

"  He  comes  not  yet !     Shall  cold  delay 
Thy  votaress  at  her  need  repay  ? 
Thou — shall  I  call  thee  god  or  fiend  ? — 
Let  others  on  thy  mood  attend 
With  prayer  and  ritual — Jutta's  arms 
Are  necromantic  words  and  charms ; 
Mine  is  the  spell,  that  utter'd  once. 
Shall  wake  Thy  Master  from  his  trance. 
Shake  his  red  mansion-house  of  pain. 
And  burst  his  seven-times-twisted  chain  !— 
So  !  com'st  thou  ere  the  spell  is  spoke  ? 
I  own  thy  presence,  Zernebock." — 

XVIIL 

"  Daughter  of  dust,"  the  Deep  Voice  said, 

— Shook  while  it  spoke  the  vale  for  dread, 

Rock'd  on  the  base  that  massive  stone, 

The  Evil  Deity  to  own, — 

"  Daughter  of  dust !  not  mine  the  power 

Thou  seek'st  on  Harold's  fatal  hour. 

'Twixt  heaven  and  hell  there  is  a  strife 

Waged  for  liis  soul  and  for  his  life. 

And  fain  would  we  the  combat  win, 

And  snatch  him  in  his  hour  of  sin. 

Tliere  is  a  star  now  rising  red, 

That  threats  him  with  an  influence  di*ead : 

Woman,  thine  arts  of  mahce  whet, 

To  use  the  space  before  it  set. 

Livolve  him  with  the  church  in  strife. 

Push  on  adventurous  chance  his  life ; 

Om-self  will  in  the  horn-  of  need, 

As  best  we  may  thy  counsels  speed." 

So  ceased  the  Voice  ;  for  seven  leagues  round 

Each  hamlet  started  at  the  sound  ; 

But  slept  again,  as  slowly  died  ^ 

Its  thunders  on  the  hill's  blown  side. 

XIX 

"And  is  this  all,"  said  Jutta  stern, 

"  That  thou  canst  teach  and  I  can  learn  ? 

Hence  !  to  the  land  of  fog  and  waste, 

Tliere  fittest  is  thme  influence  placed. 

Thou  powerless,  sluggish  Deity  I 

But  ne'er  shall  Briton  bend  the  knea 

Again  before  so  poor  a  god." 

She  struck  the  altar  with  her  rod ; 

Slight  was  the  touch,  as  when  at  need 

A  damsel  stirs  her  tardy  steed ; 

But  to  the  blow  the  stone  gave  place, 


CANTO  III. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


521 


And,  starting  from  its  balanced  base, 

Roll'd  thundering  do'WTi  the  moonlight  dell, — 

Re-echo'd  moorland,  rock,  and  fell ; 

Into  the  moonlight  tarn  it  dash'd. 

Their  shores  the  sounding  surges  lash'd, 

And  there  was  ripple,  rage,  and  foam  ; 
But  on  that  lake,  so  dark  and  lone, 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeam  shone 

As  Jutta  liied  her  home. 


ijaroli)  tlje  Dauntless. 


CAXTO    THIRD. 


Gray  towers  of  Durham  !  there  was  once  a  time 
I  view'd  your  battlements  with  such  vague  hope, 
As  brightens  life  in  its  first  dawning  prime  ; 
Not  that  e'en  then  came  within  iiiucy's  scope 
A  vision  vain  of  mitre,  throne,  or  cope ; 
Yet,  gazing  on  the  venerable  hall. 
Her  flattering  dreams  would  in  perspective  ope 
Some  reverend  room,  some  prebendary's  stall, — 
And  thus  Hope  me  deceived  as  she  deceiveth  all.' 

Well  yet  I  love  thy  mix'd  and  massive  piles, 
Half  church  of  God,  half  castle  'gainst  the  Scot, 
And  long  to  roam  these  venerable  aisles. 
With  records  stored  of  deeds  long  since  forgot ; 
There  might  I  share  my  Surtees'^  happier  lot, 
Who  leaves  at  will  his  patrimonial  field 
To  ransack  every  crypt  and  hallow'd  spot. 
And  from  oblivion  rend  the  spoils  they  yield, 
Restoring  priestly  chant  and  clang  of  knightly 
shield. 

Vain  is  the  wish — since  other  cares  demand 
Each  vacant  horn-,  and  in  another  clime  ; 
But  still  that  northern  harp  invites  my  hand, 
Which  tells  the  wonder  of  thine  earlier  time ; 
And  fain  its  numbers  would  I  now  command 
To  paint  the  beauties  of  that  daTVT;iing  fair, 
When  Harold,  gazing  from  its  lofty  stand 
Upon  the  western  heights  of  Beam-epau'e, 
Saw  Saxon  Eadmer's  towers  begii't  by  winding 
Wear. 


1  In  this  stanza  occnra  one  of  many  touches  by  which,  in 
the  introductory  passages  of  Harold  the  Dauntless  as  of  Trier- 
main,  Sir  Walter  Scott  betrays  his  half-purpose  of  identifying 
the  author  with  his  friend  William  Erskine.  Tliat  gentleman, 
the  son  of  an  Episcopalian  clergyman,  a  stanch  churchman, 
and  a  man  of  the  gentlest  habits,  if  he  did  not  in  early  life  de- 
sign to  follow  the  paternal  profession,  might  easily  be  sup- 
66 


IL 

Fair   on  the  half-seen  streams  the  sunbeams 

danced. 
Betraying  it  beneath  the  woodland  bank, 
And  fair  between  the  Gothic  turrets  glanced 
Broad  lights,  and  shadows  fell  on  front  and  flank, 
Where  tower  and  buttress  rose  in  martial  rank, 
Aid  girdled  in  the  massive  donjon  Keep, 
And  from  their  circuit  peal'd  o'er  bu.*ii  anil  bank 
The  matin  bell  with  summons  long  and  deep. 
And  echo  answer'd  still  with  long  resounding  sweef 

III. 

Tlie  morning  mists  ro?e  from  the  ground, 
Each  merry  bird  awaken'd  roimd, 

As  if  in  revelry ; 
Afar  the  bugles'  clanging  sound 
Call'd  to  the  chase  the  lagging  hoimd ; 

The  gale  breathed  soft  and  free, 
And  seem'd  to  hnger  on  its  way 
To  catch  fr-esh  odors  from  the  spray, 
And  waved  it  in  its  wanton  play 

So  hght  and  gamesomely. 
The  scenes  which  morning  beams  reveal. 
Its  sounds  to  hear,  its  gales  to  feel 
In  all  their  fragrance  round  him  steal. 
It  melted  Harold's  heart  of  steel, 
And,  hardly  wotting  why. 
He  doff 'd  his  helmet's  gloomy  pride. 
And  hung  it  on  a  tree  beside. 

Laid  mace  and  falchion  by, 
And  on  the  greensward  sate  him  down. 
And  from  liis  dark  habitual  frown 

Relax'd  his  rugged  brow — 
Wboever  hath  the  doubtful  task 
From  that  stern  Dane  a  boon  to  ask, 

Were  wise  to  ask  it  now. 

IV. 
His  place  beside  yoimg  Gunnar  took, 
And  niark'd  his  master's  softening  look. 
And  in  his  eye's  dark  mirror  spied 
Tlie  gloom  of  stormy  thoughts  subside, 
And  cautious  watch'd  the  fittest  tide 

To  speak  a  warning  word. 
So  when  the  torrent's  billows  shrink. 
The  timid  pilgrim  on  the  brink 
Waits  long  to  see  them  wave  and  sink, 

Ere  he  dare  brave  the  ford, 
And  often,  after  doubtful  pause, 
His  step  advances  or  withdraws : 

posed  to  have  nourished  such  an  intention — one  which  no  one 
could  ever  have  dreamt  of  ascribing  at  any  period  of  his  dayi 
to  Sir  Walter  Scott  himself. 

2  Robert  Snrtees  of  Mainsforth,  Esq.,  F.  S.  A.,  author  of 
"  The  History  and  Antiquities  of  the  County  Palatine  of  Djr- 
nam."    3  vols.  foUo,  1816-20-23. 


522 


3C0TT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  ITi, 


Fearful  to  move  the  slumbering  ire 
Of  his  stern  lord,  thus  stood  the  squire, 

Till  Harold  raised  his  eye, 
That  glanced  as  -when  athwart  the  shroud 
Of  the  disjjersing  tempest-cloud 

The  bursting  sunbeams  fly. 


"  Arouse  thee,  son  of  Ermengarde, 
Offspring  of  prophetess  and  bard ! 
Take  harp,  and  greet  this  lovely  prime 
With  some  high  strain  of  Runic  rhyme, 
Strong,   deep,   but  powerful !     Peal  it 

round 
Like  that  loud  bell's  sonorous  sound, 
Yet  wild  by  fits,  as  when  the  lay 
Of  bu-d  and  bugle  hail  the  day. 
Such  was  my  gi-andske  Eric's  sport, 
When  dawn  gleam'd  on  his  martial  court. 
Heymar  the  Scald,  witl:  harp's  high  sound, 
Simomon'd  the  chiefs  who  slept  around ; 
Couch'd  on  the  spoils  of  wolf  and  bear. 
They  roused  like  lions  fi'om  their  lair, 
Then  rush'd  in  emulation  forth 
To  enhance  the  glories  of  the  North. — 
Proud  Eric,  mightiest  of  thy  race, 
Where  is  thy  shadowy  resting-place  ? 
In  wild  Vallialla  hast  thou  quaff 'd 
From  foeman's  skull  metheglin  draught, 
Or  wanderest  where  thy  cairn  was  piled 
To  frown  o'er  oceans  wide  and  wild  ? 
Or  have  the  milder  Chi-istians  given 
Thy  refuge  in  their  peaceful  heaven  ? 
"VSTiere'er  thou  art,  to  tliee  are  known 
Our  toils  endured,  om'  trophies  won, 
Our  wars,  our  wanderings,  and  our  woes." 
He  ceased,  and  Gunnar's  song  arose. 

VI. 
Song. 

"  Hawk  and  osprey  scream'd  for  joy 
O'er  the  beetling  cliffs  of  Hoy, 
Crimson  foam  the  beacli  o'erspread, 
Tlie  heath  was  dyed  with  darker  red. 
When  o'er  Eric,  Inguar's  son, 
Dane  and  Northman  piled  the  stone ; 
Singing  wild  the  war-song  stern, 
'  Rest  thee.  Dweller  of  the  Cairn !' 

"  Where  eddying  crurents  foam  and  boil 
By  Bersa's  burgh  and  Grsemsay's  isle. 
The  seaman  sees  a  martial  form 
Half-mingled  with  the  mist  and  storm. 
In  anxious  awe  he  bears  away 
To  moor  his  bark  in  Stromnn's  bay, 
And  murmurs  from  the  bounding  stem, 
'  Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn !' 


"  What  cares  disturb  the  mighty  dead  ? 
Each  honor'd  rite  was  duly  paid ; 
No  daring  hand  thy  hfchn  imlaced, 
Tliy  sword,  thy  shield,  were  near  thee  placed,- 
Tliy  fimty  couch  no  tear  profaned, 
Without,  with  hostile  blood  was  stain'd ; 
Within,  'twas  lined  with  moss  and  fern, — 
Then  rest  thee.  Dweller  of  the  Cairn ! — 

"  He  may  rest  not :  from  realms  afar 
Come  voice  of  battle  and  of  war. 
Of  conquest  wi-ought  with  bloody  hand 
On  Carmel's  cUffs  and  Jordan's  strand. 
When  Odin's  warlike  son  could  daunt 
The  turban'd  race  of  Termagaunt." 

VII. 
"Peace,"  said  the  Knight,  "the  noble  Scald 
Our  warlike  fathers'  deeds  recaU'd, 
But  never  strove  to  soothe  the  son 
With  tales  of  what  himself  had  done. 
At  Odin's  board  the  bard  sits  high 
Wh.^se  harp  ne'er  stoop'd  to  flatteiy ; 
But  highest  he  whose  daring  lay 
Hath  dared  unwelcome  truths  to  say." 
With  doubtful  smile  young  Gunnar  eyed 
His  master's  looks,  and  naught  replied — 
But  well  that  smile  his  master  led 
To  construe  what  lie  left  unsaid. 
"  Is  it  to  me,  thou  timid  youth. 
Thou  fear'st  to  speak  unwelcome  truth  ? 
My  soul  no  more  thy  censm-e  grieves 
Than  frosts  rob  laurels  of  their  leaves 
Say  on — and  yet — beware  the  rude 
And  wild  distemper  of  my  blood ; 
Loth  were  I  that  mine  ire  should  wrong 
The  youth  that  bore  my  shield  so  long, 
And  who,  in  service  constant  still, 
Tliough  weak  in  frame,  art  strong  in  will." — 
"  Oh !"  quoth  the  page,  "  even  there  depends 
My  counsel — there  my  warning  tends — 
Oft  seems  as  of  my  master's  breast 
Some  demon  were  the  sudden  guest ; 
Then  at  the  first  misconstrued  word 
His  hand  is  on  the  mace  and  sword. 
From  her  fii-m  seat  his  wisdom  driven, 
His  life  to  countless  dangers  given. — 
0  !  would  that  Gunnar  could  suffice 
To  be  the  fiend's  last  sacrifice. 
So  that,  when  glutted  with  my  gore. 
He  fled  and  tempted  thee  no  more !" 

VIIL 
Then  waved  his  hand,  and  shook  his  head 
The  impatient  Dane,  whUe  thus  he  said : 
"Pre fane  not,  youth — it  is  not  thine 
To  judge  the  spfrit  of  our  line — 
The  bold  Berserkar's  rage  divine, 


CANTO  III. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


5  2  J; 


Through  Tvhose  inspiring,  deeds  are  wrought 
Past  human  strength  and  human  thought. 
"WJien  full  upon  his  gloomy  soul 
The  champion  feels  the  influeuce  roll, 
He  swuns  the  lake,  he  leaps  the  wall — 
Bends  not  the  depth,  nor  plumbs  the  fall — 
Unshielded,  mail-less,  on  he  goes 
Singly  against  a  host  of  foes ; 
Their  spears  he  holds  like  wither'd  reeds, 
Their  mail  like  maiden's  silken  weeds ; 
One  'gainst  a  hundred  will  he  strive, 
Take  countless  wounds,  and  yet  survive. 
Then  rush  the  eagles  to  his  cry 
Of  slaughter  and  of  victory, — 
And  blood  he  quaffs  hke  Odin's  bowl. 
Deep   drinks   his   sword, — deep   drinks  his 

soul; 
And  all  that  meet  him  in  his  ire 
He  gives  to  ruiii,  rout,  and  fire ; 
Then,  like  gorged  Uon,  seeks  some  den, 
And  couches  till  he's  man  agen. — 
Thou  know'st  the  signs  of  look  and  limb, 
When  'gins  that  rage  to  overbrim — 
Thou  know'st  when  I  am  moved,  and  why ; 
And  when  thou  see'st  me  roll  mine  eye. 
Set  my  teeth  thus,  and  stamp  my  foot. 
Regard  thy  safety  and  be  mute ; 
But  else  speak  boldly  out  whate'er 
Is  fitting  that  a  knight  should  heai*. 
I  love  thee,  youth.     Thy  lay  has  power 
Upon  my  dai'k  and  sullen  hour  ; — 
So  Christian  monks  are  wont  to  say 
Demons  of  old  were  charm'd  away ; 
Then  fear  not  I  will  rashly  deem 
HI  of  thy  speech  whate'er  the  theme." 

IX. 

As  down  some  strait  in  doubt  and  dread 
The  watchful  pilot  drops  the  lead, 
And,  cautious  in  the  midst  to  steer. 
The  shoaling  channel  sounds  with  fear ; 
So,  lest  on  dangerous  ground  he  swerved, 
The  Page  his  master's  brow  observed, 
Pausing  at  intervals  to  fling 
His  hand  o'er  the  melodious  strmg. 
And  to  his  moody  breast  apjoly 
The  soothing  charm  of  harmony, 
"V\'Tule  hinted  half,  and  half  exprest, 
This  warning  song  convey'd  the  rest.- — 

Sonfl. 
1. 

"  HI  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven. 
And  ill  when  on  the  breakers  di'iven, — 
lU  when  the  storm-sprite  shrieks  in  air. 
And  the  scared  mermaid  tears  her  hair ; 
But  worse  when  on  her  helm  the  hand 
Of  some  false  traitor  holds  command. 


"  111  fares  the  fainting  Palmer,  placed 

'jNIid  Hebron's  rocks  or  Raua's  waste, — 

HI  when  the  scorching  sun  is  high, 

And  the  expected  font  is  dry, — 

Worse  when  liis  guide  o'er  siuid  and  heath, 

The  barbarous  Copt,  has  plaun'd  his  deatL 


"  HI  fares  the  Knight  with  buckler  cleft, 
And  dl  when  of  his  helm  bereft, — 
HI  when  his  steed  to  earth  is  flung, 
Or  from  his  grasp  his  falchion  wrung ; 
But  worse,  if  instant  ruin  token, 
WTien  he  lists  rede  by  woman  spoken." — 


"  How  now,  fond  boy  ? — Canst  thou  tliink  ill 
Said  Harold,  "  of  fair  Metelill  ?"— 
"  She  may  be  fair,"  the  Page  replied, 

As  through  the  strings  he  ranged, — 
"  She  may  be  fair ;  but  yet,"  he  cried. 

And  then  the  strain  he  changed, 

Song. 
1. 

"  She  may  be  fair,"  he  sang,  "  but  yet 

Far  fairer  have  I  seen 
Thau  she,  for  all  her  locks  of  jet, 

And  eyes  so  dark  and  sheen. 
Were  I  a  Danish  knight  in  arms, 

As  one  day  I  may  be. 
My  heart  should  own  no  foreign  charms,— 

A  Danish  maid  for  me. 


"  I  love  my  fathers'  northern  land. 

Where  the  dark  pine-trees  grow. 
And  the  bold  Baltic's  echoing  strand 

Looks  o'er  each  grassy  oe.' 
I  love  to  mark  the  Ungering  sun, 

From  Denmark  loth  to  go. 
And  leaving  on  the  billows  bright. 
To  cheer  the  short-lived  summer  night, 

A  path  of  ruddy  glow. 


"  But  most  the  northern  maid  I  love, 

With  breast  like  Denmark's  snow. 
And  form  as  fair  as  Denmark's  pine. 
Who  loves  with  pm-ple  heath  to  twine 

Her  locks  of  sunny  glow ; 
And  sweetly  blend  that  shade  of  gold 

With  the  cheek's  rosy  hue. 
And  Faith  might  for  her  mirror  hold 

That  eye  of  matchless  blue. 

1  Oe— Island. 


524 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


eAWTo  ir. 


'"Tis  hers  the  manly  sports  to  love 

That  southern  maidens  fear, 
To  bend  the  bow  by  stream  and  grove. 

And  lift  the  hunter's  spear. 
She  can  her  chosen  champion's  flight 

"With  eye  undazzled  see, 
Clasp  liim  victorious  fi'om  the  strife, 
Or  on  his  corpse  yield  up  her  life, — 

A  DjMiish  maid  for  me  !" 

XL 
Then  smiled  the  Dane — "  Thou  canst  so  well 
The  vktues  of  our  maidens  tell, 
Half  could  I  wish  my  choice  had  been 
Blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  golden  sheen, 
And  lofty  soul ; — yet  what  of  ill 
Hast  thou  to  charge  on  MeteliU  ?" — 
"  Nothing  on  her,"^  young  Gumiar  said^ 
"  But  her  base  sire's  ignoble  trade. 
Her  mother,  too — the  general  fame 
Hath  given  to  Jutta  evil  name, 
And  in  her  gray  eye  is  a  flame 
Art  caimot  hide,  nor  fear  can  tame. — 
'That  sordid  woodman's  peasant  cot 
Twice  have  thine  honor'd  footsteps  sought, 
And  twice  return'd  with  such  ill  rede 
As  sent  thee  on  some  desperate  deed." — 

XII. 
"  Thou  errest ;  Jutta  wisely  said, 
He  that  comes  suitor  to  a  maid, 
Ere  link'd  in  marriage,  should  provide 
Lands  and  a  dwelling  for  his  bride — 
My  father's,  by  the  Tyne  and  "Wear, 
I  have  reclaim'd." — "  0,  all  too  dear, 
And  all  too  dangerous  the  prize. 
E'en  were  it  won,"  young  Gunnar  cries ; — 
"  And  then  this  Jutta's  fresh  device. 
That  thou  shouldst  seek,  a  heathen  Dane, 
From  Dm-ham's  priests  a  boon  to  gain, 
"When  thou  hast  left  their  vassals  slain 
In  their  own  haUs !" — Flash'd  Harold's  eye, 
Thxmder'd  liis  voice — "  False  Page,  you  lie  ! 
The  castle,  hall  and  tower,  is  mine, 
Built  by  old  Witikind'on  Tyne. 
The  wild-cat  vsdU  defend  his  den, 
Fights  for  her  nest  the  timid  wren ; 
And  think'st  thou  I'll  forego  my  right 

1  "  Nothing  on  her,"  is  the  reading  of  the  interleaved  copy 
»f  1831 — "  On  her  naught,"  in  all  the  former  editions. 

3  "  All  is  hush'd,  and  still  as  death — 'tis  dreadful  1 
How  reverend  is  the  face  of  this  tall  pile, 
Whose  ancient  pillars  rear  their  marble  heads 
To  bear  aloft  its  arch'd  and  ponderous  roof, 
By  its  own  weight  made  stedfast  and  immovable, 
liooking  tranquillity  !     It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aching  sight.     The  tombs 


For  dread  of  monk  or  monidsb  knight  ? — 
Up  and  away,  that  deepening  bell 
Doth  of  the  Bishop's  toncla?^e  tell. 
Thither  will  I,  in  n^aniier  due, 
As  Jutta  bade,  my  claim  to  sue ; 
And,  if  to  right  me  they  are  loth, 
Then  woe  to  chm-ch  and  chapter  both  !" 
Now  shift  tnb  scene,  and  let  the  curtain  faU, 
And  our  i«ext  entry  be  Saint  Cuthbert's  halL 


Cjaroli)  tlje  ?DauntUs0. 


CANTO  FOURTH, 


L 

Full  many  a  bard  hath  sung  the  solemn  gloom 
Of  the  long  Gothic  aisle  and  stone-ribb'd  roof, 
O'er-canopying  shrine  and  gorgeous  tomb, 
Carved  screen,  and  altar  glimmering  ftir  aloof, 
And  blending  with  the  shade — a  matchless  proof 
Of  high  devotion,  which  hath  now  wax'd  cold  ;^ 
Yet  legends  say,  that  Luxury's  brute  hoof 
Intruded  oft  within  such  sacred  fold,       [of  old.^ 
Like  step  of  Bel's  false  priest,  track'd  in  his  fane 

"Well  pleased  am  I,  howe'er,  tliat  when  the  route 
Of  om-  rude  neighbors  whilome  deign'd  to  come, 
UncaU'd,  and  eke  unwelcome,  to  sweep  out 
To  cleanse  om:  chancel  from  the  rags  of  Rome, 
They  spoke  not  on  our  ancient  fane  the  doom 
To  which  then-  bigot  zeal  gave  o'er  their  own, 
But  spared  the  martyr'd  saint  and  storied  tomb 
Though  papal  mu-acles  had  graced  the  stone. 
And  though  the  aisles  stUl  loved  the  organ's  swel 
ling  tone. 

And  deem  not,  tliough  'tis  now  my  part  to  paint 
A  Prelate  sway'd  by  love  of  power  and  gold. 
That  all  who  wore  the  mitre  of  om-  Saint 
Like  to  ambitious  Aldingar  I  hold ; 
Since  both  in  modern  times  and  days  of  old 
It  sate  on  those  whose  vu-tues  might  atone 
Their  predecessors'  frailties  trebly  told : 
Matthew  and  Morton  we  as  such  may  own — 
And  such  (if  fame  speak  truth)  the  honor'd  Bar- 
rington.'* 

And  monumental  caves  of  deatl.  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  chillness  to  my  trembling  heart." 

Congreve's  Mourning  Bride,  Act  ii.  Scene  1. 
See  also  Joanna  Baillie's  "  De  Montfort,"  Acts  iv.  and  v. 
3  See,  in  the  Apocryphal  Books,  "  The  History  of  Bel  and 
the  Dragon." 

i  See,  for  the  lives  of  Bishop  Matthew  and  Bishop  Morton, 
here  alluded  to,  Mr.  Surtees's  History  of  the  Bishopric  of  Dur- 
ham :  the  venerable  Shnte  Bamngton,  their  honored  successor, 
ever  a  kind  friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  died  in  18;;26. 


CANTO  IV. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


525 


IL 

But  now  to  earlier  and  to  ruder  times, 

As  subject  meet,  I  tune  my  rugged  rlijmes. 

Telling  how  fairly  the  chapter  was  met, 

And  rood  and  books  in  seemly  order  set ; 

Huge  brass-clasp'd  volumes,  which  the  hand 

Of  studious  priest  but  rarely  scanu'd, 

Now  on  fair  carved  desk  display'd, 

'Twas  theirs  the  solemn  scene  to  aid. 

O'erhead  Avith  many  a  scutcheon  graced, 

And  quaint  devices  interlaced, 

A  labyrinth  of  crossing  rows. 

The  roof  in  lessening  arches  shows ; 

Beneath  its  shade  placed  proud  and  high, 

With  footstool  and  ^^•ith  canopy. 

Sate  Aldingar, — and  prelate  ne'er 

More  haughty  graced  Saint  Cuthbert's  chair ; 

Canons  and  deacons  were  placed  below, 

In  due  degree  and  leugthen'cT  row. 

Unmoved  and  silent  each  sat  there. 

Like  Linage  in  liis  oaken  chair ; 

Nor  head,  nor  hand,  nor  foot  they  stirr'd, 

Nor  lock  of  hair,  nor  tress  of  beard ; 

And  of  their  eyes  severe  alone 

The  twinkle  show'd  they  were  not  stone. 

III. 

The  Prelate  was  to  speech  address'd. 
Each  head  sunk  reverent  on  each  breast ; 
But  ere  his  voice  was  heard — without 
Arose  a  wild  tumultuous  shout. 
Offspring  of  wonder  mix'd  with  fear, 
Such  as  in  crowded  streets  we  hear 
Hailing  the  flames,  that,  bursting  out, 
Attract  yet  scare  the  rabble  rout. 
Ere  it  had  ceased,  a  giant  hand 
Shook  oaken  door  and  iron  band. 
Till  oak  and  iron  both  gave  way, 
Clash'd  the  long  bolts,  the  hinges  bray. 
And,  ere  upon  angel  or  saint  they  can  call. 
Stands  Harold  the  Daimtless  ia  midst  of  the  halL 

IV. 

"  Now  save  ye,  my  masters,  both  rocket  and  rood. 
From  Bishop  with  mitre  to  Deacon  with  hood ! 
For  here  stands  Count  Harold,  old  Witikind's  son. 
Come  to  sue  for  the   lands  which  his  ancestors 
won."  [eye. 

The  Prelate  look'd  roimd  him  with  sore  troubled 
Unwilling  to  gi-ant,  yet  afraid  to  deny ; 
While  each  Canon   and   Deacon  who  heard  the 

Dane  speak. 
To  be  safely  at  home  would  have  fasted  a  week : — 
Then  Aldingar  roused  him,  and  answer'd  again, 
"  Thou  suest  for  a  boon  which  thou  canst  not  ob- 
tain; 
The  Church  hath  no  fiefs  for  an  unchristen'd  Dane. 
Thy  father  was  wise,  and  his  treasure  hath  given, 


That  the  priests  of  a  chantry  might  hymn  him  to 

heaven ;  [due. 

And  the  fiefs  which  whilome  he  possess'd  as  his 
Have   lapsed  to  the   Church,  and  been   granted 

anew 
To  Anthony  Conyers  and  Alboric  Yere, 
For  the  service  Saint  Cuthbert's  bless'd  banner  lo 

bear,  [Wear ; 

When  the  bands  of  the  North  come  to  foray  the 
Then  disturb  not  our  conclave  with  wrangling  or 

blame,  [came." 

But  in  peace  and  in  patience  pass  hence  as  ye 


Loud  laugh'd  the  stern  Pagan, — "  They're  free  from 

the  care 
Of  fief  and  of  service,  both  Conyers  and  Vere,-  - 
Six  feet  of  your  chancel  is  all  they  will  need, 
A  buckler  of  stone  and  a  corslet  of  lead. — 
Ho,  Gunnar  ! — the  tokens ;" — and,  sever'd  anew, 
A  head  and  a  hand  on  the  altar  he  threw. 
Then  shudder'd  with  terror  both  Canon  and  ilonk, 
They  knew  the  glazed  eye  and  the  countenance 

shrunk. 
And  of  Anthony  Conyers  the  half-grizzled  hair, 
And  the  scar  on  the  hand  of  Sir  Alberic  Vere. 
There  was  not  a  churchman  or  priest  that  was  there. 
But  grew  pale  at  the  sight,  and  betook  him  to 

prayer. 

VL 

Count  Harold  laugh'd  at  their  looks  of  fear : 

"  Was  this  the  hand  should  your  banner  bear. 

Was  that  the  head  should  wear  the  casque 

In  battle  at  the  Church's  task  ? 

Was  it  to  such  you  gave  the  place 

Of  Harold  with  the  heavy  mace  ? 

Find  me  between  the  Wear  and  Tyne 

A  knight  will  wield  this  club  of  mine, — 

Give  him  my  fiefs,  and  I  will  say 

There's  wit  beneath  the  cowl  of  gray." 

He  raised  it,  rough  with  many  a  stain. 

Caught  from  crush'd  skull  and  spouting  brain ; 

He  wheel'd  it  that  it  slu-illy  sung. 

And  the  aisles  echo'd  as  it  swimg, 

Th(>n  dash'd  it  down  with  sheer  descent, 

And  spUt  King  Osric's  monument. — 

"  How  like  ye  this  music  ?  How  trow  ye  the  hand 

That  can  wield  such  a  mace  may  be  reft  of  its  land } 

No  answer  ? — I  spare  ye  a  space  to  agree, 

And  Saint  Cuthbert  inspire  you,  a  saint  if  he  be. 

Ten  strides  through  your  chancel,  ten  strokes  on 

your  bell. 
And  again  I  am  with  you — grave  fathers,  fareweU." 

VIL 
He  turn'd  from  their  presence,  he  clash'd  the  oaK 
door. 


526 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


A.nd  the  clang  of  his  stride  died  a"way  on  the  floor ; 
And  liis  head  from  his  bosom  the  Prelate  uprears 
With  a  ghost-seer's  look  when  the  ghost  disappears. 
^  Ye  priests  of  Saint  Cuthbert,  now  give  me  yom- 

rede, 
For  never  of  counsel  had  Bishop  more  need ! 
Were  the  arch-fiend  incarnate  in  flesh  and  in  bone, 
The  language,  the  look,  and  the  laugh  were  his 

own. 
In  the  bounds  of  Saint  Cuthbert  there  is  not  a 

knight 
Dare  confront  in  our  quarrel  yon  goblin  in  fight ; 
Then  rede  me  aright  to  his  claim  to  reply, 
'Tis  unlawful  to  grant,  and  'tis  death  to  deny." 

VIII. 
On  ven'son  and  malmsie  that  morning  had  fed 
The  Cellarer  Vinsauf — 'twas  thus  that  he  said  : — 
"  Delay  tUl  to-morrow  the  Chapter  s  reply  ; 
Let  the  feast  be  spread  fair,  and  the  wine  be 

pour'd  high : 
If  he's  mortal  he  drinks, — if  he  di-inks,  he  is  ours — 
His  bracelets  of  iron, — ^his  bed  in  our  towers." 
This  man  had  a  laughing  eye. 
Trust  not,  friends,  when  such  you  spy  ; 
A  beaker's  depth  he  well  could  dizain. 
Revel,  sport,  and  jest  amain — 
The  haunch  of  the  deer  and  the  grape's  bi"ight  dye 
Never  bard  loved  them  better  than  I ; 
But  sooner  than  Yiasauf  fill'd  me  my  wine, 
Pass'd  me  his  jest,  and  laugh'd  at  mine, 
Though  the  buck  were  of  Bearpark,  of  Bourdeaux 

the  vine, 
"With  the  dullest  hermit  I'd  rather  dine 
On  an  oaken  cake  and  a  draught  of  the  Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn  the  leech  spoke  next — ^he  knew 
Each  plant  that  loves  the  sun  and  dew, 
But  special  those  whose  juice  can  gain 
Dominion  o'er  the  blood  and  brain ; 
The  peasant  who  saw  him  by  pale  moonbeam 
Gathermg  such  herbs  by  bank  and  stream, 
Deem'd  his  thin  form  and  soundless  tread 
"Were  those  of  wanderer  from  the  dead. — 
"  Vinsauf,  thy  wine,"  he  said,  "  hath  power, 
Om-  gyves  are  heavy,  strong  our  tower ; 
Yet  three  drops  fi-om  this  flask  of  mine. 
More  strong  than  dungeons,  gyves,  or  wine, 
Shall  give  him  j)rison  under  gi-ound 
More  dark,  more  narrow,  more  profound. 
Short  rede,  good  rede,  let  Harold  have — 
A  dog's  death  and  a  heathen's  gi'ave." 
I  have  lain  on  a  sick  man's  bed. 
Watching  for  hours  for  the  leech's  tread, 
As  if  I  deem'd  that  his  presence  alone 
Were  of  power  to  bid  my  pain  begone ; 
I  have  listed  his  words  of  comfort  given 


As  if  to^  oracles  from  heaven ; 
I  have  counted  liis  steps  fi-om  my  chamber  door, 
And  bless'd  them  when  they  were  heard  no  more  ; 
But  sooner  than  Walwayn  my  sick  couch  should 

nigh, 
My  choice  were,  by  leech-craft  unaided,  to  die. 

X. 

"  Such  service  done  in  fervent  zeal, 

Tlie  Church  may  pardon  and  conceal," 

The  doubtful  Prelate  said,  "  but  ne'er 

The  coimsel  ere  the  act  should  hear. — 

Anselm  of  Jarrow,  advise  us  now, 

Tlie  stamp  of  wisdom  is  on  thy  brow ; 

Thy  days,  thy  nights,  in  cloister  pent, 

Are  still  to  mystic  learning  lent ; — 

Anselm  of  Jarrow,  in  thee  is  my  hope, 

Thou  weU  mayst  give  counsel  to  Prelate  or  Pope." 

XI. 

Answer'd  the  Prior — "  'Tis  wisdom's  use 

StUl  to  delay  what  we  dare  not  refuse ; 

Ere  granting  the  boon  he  comes  hither  to  ask. 

Shape  for  the  giant  gigantic  task ; 

Let  us  see  how  a  step  so  sounding  can  tread 

In  paths  of  darkness,  danger,  and  dread ; 

He  may  not,  he  will  not,  impugn  oiir  decree,. 

That  calls  but  for  proof  of  his  chivahy  ; 

And  were  Guy  to  return,  or  Sir  Be  vis  the  Strong, 

Our  wilds  have   adventm-e  might  cmnber  tliem 

long —  [no  more  ! 

The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields" «  Kind  Anselm, 

The  step  of  the  Pagan  approaches  the  door." 
The  churchmen  were  hush'd. — In  his  mantle  of  skin, 
With  his  mace  on  his  shoulder.  Count  Harold  strode 

in. 
There  was  foam  on  his  lips,  there  was  fire  in  his  eye, 
For,  chafed  by  attendance,  his  fury  was  nigh. 
"  Ho !  Bishop,"  he  said,  "  dost  thou  grant  me  my 

claim? 
Or  must  I  assert  it  by  falchion  and  flame  ?" — 

XIL 

"  On  thy  suit,  gallant  Harold,"  the  Bishop  replied, 
In  accents  which  trembled,  "  we  may  not  decide. 
Until  proof  of  your  strength  and  your  valor  wp 

saw — 
'Tis  not  that  we  doubt  them,  but  such  is  the  law." — 
"  And  would  you.  Sir  Prelate,  have  Harold  make 

sport  [com-t  ? 

For  the  cowls  and  the  shavelings  that  herd  ui  thy 
Say  what  shall  he  do  ? — From  the  shrine  shall  he 

tear 
The  lead  bier  of  thy  patron,  and  heave  it  m  air, 
And  through  the  long  chancel  make  Cuthbert  take 

wmg,  [sling  ?" — 

With  the  speed  of  a  bullet  dismiss'd  from  the 
"  Nay,  spare  such  probation,"  the  Cellarer  said. 


CANtO    IV. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


527 


"  From  the  mouth  of  our  minstrels  thy  task  shall 

be  read. 
Wliile  the  wine  sparkles  high  in  the  goblet  of  gold, 
And  tlie  revel  is  loudest,  thy  task  shall  be  told ; 
And  thyself,  gallant  Harold,  shall,  hearing  it,  tell 
That  the  Bishoji,  his  cowls,   and   liis  shavelings, 

meant  well." 

XIII. 
Loud  revell'd  the  guests,  and  the  goblets  loud  rang. 
But  louder  the  minstrel,  Hugh  Meneville,  sang ; 
And  Harold,  the  hurry  and  pride  of  whose  soul. 
E'en  when  verging  to  fmy,  own'd  music's  control, 
Still  bent  on  the  harper  his  broad  sable  eye, 
And  often  untasted  the  goblet  pass'd  by ; 
Thau  wine,  or  than  wassail,  to  him  was  more  dear 
The  minstrel's  high  tale  of  enchantment  to  hear ; 
And  the  Bishoj?  that  day  might  of  Vinsauf  complain 
That  liis  art  had  but  wasted  his  wine-casks  in  vain. 


XIV. 
Et>e  Castle  of  tf)e  Sebcii  Sfjfcllis. 

A  BALLAD. 

The  Druid  Urien  had  daughters  seven, 
Their  skill  could  call  the  moon  from  heaven ; 
So  fair  their  forms  and  so  high  their  fame, 
That  seven  proud  kings  for  their  suitors  came. 

King  Mador  and  Rhys  came  from  Powis  and  Wales, 
Unshorn  was  their  hair,  and  unpruned  were  their 
nails ;  [lame, 

From  Strath-Clwyde  was  Ewain,  and  Ewain  was 
And  the  red-bearded  Donald  from  Galloway  came. 

Lot,  King  of  Lodon,  was  hunclit)ack'd  from  youth ; 
Dunmail  of  Cumbria  had  never  a  tooth; 
But  Adolf  of  Bambrough,  Iforthumberland's  heir. 
Was  gay  and  was  gallant,  was  young  and  was  fair. 

There  was  strife  "mongst  the  sisters,  for  each  one 

would  have 
For  husband  King  Adolf,  the  gallant  and  brave  ; 
And  envy  bred  hate,  and  hate  m-ged  them  to  blows, 
When  the  firm  earth  was  cleft,  and  the  Arch-fiend 

arose  ! 

He  swore  to  the  maidens  their  wish  to  fulfil — 
They  swore  to  the  foe  they  would  work  by  Iiis  will. 
A  spindle  and  distaff  to  each  hath  he  given, 
"E^ow  hearken  my  spell,"  said   the   Outcast   of 
heaven. 

"  Ye  shall  ply  these  spindles  at  midnight  hour, 

1  "  The  word  '  peril'  is  continually  used  as  a  verb  by  both 

jvriters : — 

'  Nor  peril  aught  for  me  agen.' 

Lnibj  of  the  Lake.     Canto  ii.  stauEa  26. 
I  perill'd  thus  the  helpless  child.' 

Lord  of  the  Isles.    Canto  v.  stanza  10. 


And  for  every  spindle  shall  rise  a  tower, 

Wliere  the  right  shall  be  feeble,  the  wrong  shall 

have  power. 
And  there  shall  ye  dwell  with  your  paramour." 

Beneath  the  pale  moonlight  they  sate  on  the  wold, 
And  the  rliymes  which  they  chanted  must  never 

be  told ; 
And  as  the  black  wool  from  the  distaflf  they  sped, 
AYith  blood  frci^  then  bosom  they  moisten'd  the 

thread. 

[gleam. 
As  light  danced  the   spindles  beneath  the  cold 
The  castle  arose  like  the  birth  of  a  dream — 
The  seven  towers   ascended  like  mist  from  the 

ground, 
Seven  portals  defend  them,  seven  ditches  surround. 

Within  that  dread  castle  seven  monarchs  were  wed. 
But  six  of  the  seven  ere  the  morning  lay  dead ; 
With  their  eyes  all  on  fire,  and  their  daggers  all  red, 
Seven  damsels  sturround  the  Northumbrian's  bed. 

"  Six  kingly  bridegi-ooms  to  death  we  have  done, 
Six  gallant  kingdoms  King  Adolf  hath  won, 
Six  lovely  brides  aU  his  pleasure  to  do, 
Or  the  bed  of  the  seventh  shall  be  husbandlesstoo." 

Well  chanced  it  that  Adolf  the  night  when  he  wed 
Had  confess'd  and  had  sain'd  him  ere  boune  to  his 
bed ;  [drew. 

He  sprung  from  the  couch  and  his  broadsword  he 
And  there  the  seven  daughters  of  Urien  he  slew. 

The  gate  of  the  castle  he  bolted  and  seal'd. 
And  hung  o'er  each  arch-stone  a  crown  and  a  shield ; 
To  the  cells  of  Saint  Dunstan  then  wended  his  way. 
And  died  in  his  cloister  an  anchorite  gray. 

Seven  monarchs'  wealth  in  tliat  castle  hes  stow'd. 
The  foul  fiends  brood  o'er  them  like  raven  and  toad. 
Whoever  shall  guesten  these  chambers  within, 
From  curfew  till  matins,  that  treasm-e  shall  wiu. 

But  manhood  grows  faint  as  the  world  waxes  old ' 
There  lives  not  in  Britain  a  champion  so  bold. 
So  dauntless  of  heart,  and  so  prudent  of  brain. 
As  to  dare  the  adventure  that  treasure  to  gain. 

The  waste  ridge  of  Cheviot  shall  wave  with  the  rye, 
Before  the  rude  Scots  shall  Nortliumberland  ily. 
And  the  flint  clifts  of  Bambro'  shall  melt  in  the  sun 
Before  that  adventure  be  perill'd  and  won.* 

'  Were  the  blood  of  all  my  ancestors  in  my  veins,  I  would 
have  perilled  it  in  this  quarrel.' — Waverleij. 

'  I  were  undeserving  his  grace,  did  I  not  peril  it  for  his  goort 
— loanhoe. 
&c.  &c." — Adolphus'  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley 


526 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAKTO  V. 


XV. 

'  And  is  this  my  probation  ?"  wild  Harold  he  said, 
■'  Within  a  lone  castle  to  press  a  lone  bed  ? — 
Good  even,  my  Lord  Bishop, — Saint  Cuthbcrt  to 
borrow,  [row." 

The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields  receives  me  to-mor- 


fiarollr  tlje  JDauntUss. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


Denmark's  sage  corn-tier  to  her  princely  youth, 
Granting  his  cloud  an  ouzel  or  a  whale, ^ 
Spoke,  though  unwittingly,  a  partial  truth ; 
For  Fantasy  embroiders  Nature's  veil. 
The  tints  of  ruddy  eve,  or  dawning  pale, 
Of  the  swart  thunder-cloud,  or  silver  haze, 
Are  but  the  gi'ound-work  of  the  I'ich  detail 
"WTiicli  Fantsay  with  pencil  wild  portrays. 
Blending  what  seems  and  is,  in  the  wrapt  muser's 
gaze. 

Nor  are  the  stubborn  forms  of  earth  and  stone 
Less  to  the  Sorceress's  empire  given ; 
For  not  vtdth  unsubstantial  hues  alone. 
Caught  from  the  varying  surge,  or  vacant 

heaven, 
From  bursting  sunbeam,  or  from  flashing  levin. 
She  limns  her  pictm-es :  on  the  earth,  as  air, 
Arise  her  castles,  and  her  car  is  driven  ; 
And  never  gazed  the  eye  on  scene  so  fair. 
But  of  its  boasted  charms  gave  Fancy  half  the 
share. 

IL 

Up  a  wild  pass  went  Harold,  bent  to  prove, 
Hugh  Meneville,  the  adventure  of  thy  lay ; 
Gunnar  pm-sued  his  steps  in  faith  and  love, 
Ever  companion  of  his  master's  way. 
Midward  their  path,  a  rock  of  granite  gray 
From  the  adjoinmg  cliff  had  made  descent, — 
A  barren  mass — ^yet  with  her  drooping  spray 
Had  a  yoimg  birch-tree  crown'd  its  battlement, 
Twisting  her  fibrous  roots  through  cranny,  flaw 
and  rent. 

This  rock   and  tree   could   Gumiar's    thought 

engage 
TiU  Fancy  brought  the  tear-drop  to  his  eye, 

I  "  Hamlet.  Do  you  see  yonder  cloud,  that's  almost  in  shape 
«f  a  camel  ? 
Polonhis.  By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel,  indeed  I 
Ham.  Methinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 


And  at  his  master  ask'd  the  timid  Page, 
"  What  is  the  emblem  that  a  bard  shou'd  spy 
In  that  rude  rock  and  its  green  canopy  ?" 
And  Harold  said,  "  Like  to  the  helmet  brave 
Of  warrior  slain  in  fight  it  seems  to  lie, 
And  these  same  di-oopmg  boughs  do  o'er  it  wave 
Not  all  unlike  the  plume  his  lady's  favor  gave." — 

"  Ah,  no !"  replied  the  Page ;  "  the  ill-starr'd  love 
Of  some  poor  maid  is  in  the  emblem  shown. 
Whose  fates  are  with  some  hero's  interwove, 
And  rooted  on  a  heart  to  love  imknowu : 
And  as  the  gentle  dews  of  heaven  alone 
Nourish   those   drooping  boughs,   and   as   the 

scathe 
Of  the  red  lightning  rends  both  tree  and  stone, 
So  fares  it  with  her  unrequited  faith, — 
Her  sole  relief  is  tears — her  only  refuge  deatL" — • 

ni 

"  Tliou  art  a  fond  fantastic  boy," 
Harold  rephed,  "  to  females  coy, 

Yet  prating  still  of  love ; 
Even  so  amid  the  clash  of  war 
I  know  thou  lovest  to  keep  afar. 
Though  destined  by  thy  evil  star 

With  one  like  me  to  rove. 
Whose  business  and  whose  joys  are  found 
Upon  the  bloody  battle-ground. 
Yet,  foolish  trembler  as  thou  art. 
Thou  hast  a  nook  of  my  rude  heart. 
And  thou  and  I  will  never  part ; — 
Harold  would  wrap  the  world  in  flame 
Ere  injury  on  Gunnar  came  !" 

IV. 

The  grateful-  Page  made  no  reply, 
But  turn'd  to  Heaven  his  gentle  eye, 
And  clasp'd  his  hands,  as  one  who  said, 
"  My  toils — my  wanderings  are  o'erpaid  1" 
Then  in  a  gayer,  lighter  strain, 
Compell'd  himself  to  speech  again ; 

And,  as  they  flow'd  along, 
His  words  took  cadence  soft  and  slow, 
And  hquid,  like  dissolving  snow, 

They  melted  into  song. 


"  What  though  through  fields  of  carnage  wide 
I  may  not  follow  Harold's  stride. 
Yet  who  with  faithful  Gimnar's  pride 

Lord  Harold's  feats  can  see  ? 
And  dearer  than  the  couch  of  pride, 
He  loves  the  bed  of  gray  wolf's  hide, 

Pol.  It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 
Ham.  Or,  like  a  whale  t 
Pol.  Very  like  a  whale." 

Hamlet. 


CANTO  V.                               HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS.                                       529 

W  hen  slumbering  by  Lord  Harold's  side 

The  fiends  of  bloodshed  and  of  wratL 

In  forest,  field,  or  lea." — 

In  tliis  thine  hour,  yet  turn  and  hear ! 

VI. 

"  Break  off!"  said  Harold,  in  a  tone 

For  fife  is  brief  imd  judgment  near." 

IX. 

Where  hurry  and  surprise  were  shown, 

Then  ceased  Tlie  Voice. — Tlie  Dane  replied 

Witli  some  sHght  touch  of  fear, — 

In  tones  where  awe  and  inborn  pride 

"  Break  off,  we  are  not  here  alone  ; 

For  mastery  strove, — "  In  vain  ye  cliide 

A  Piilmer  form  comes  slowly  on ! 

Tlie  wolf  for  ravaging  the  flock. 

By  cowl,  and  staff",  and  mantle  known. 

Or  witli  its  hardness  taunt  the  rock, — 

My  monitor  is  near. 

I  am  as  they — my  Danish  strain 

Now  mark  him,  Gunnar,  heedfully ; 

Sends  streams  of  fire  through  every  vein. 

He  pauses  by  the  bliglited  tree — 

Amid  thy  realms  of  goule  and  ghost, 

Dost  see  him,  youth  1 — Thou  couldst  not  see 

Say,  is  the  fame  of  Eric  lost. 

When  in  the  vale  of  Galilee 

Or  Witikind's  the  Waster,  known 

I  first  beheld  liis  form. 

Wliere  fame  or  spoil  was  to  be  won ; 

Kor  when  we  met  that  other  while 

Whose  galleys  ne'er  bore  off  a  shore 

In  Cephalonia's  rocky  isle, 

Tliey  left  not  black  with  flame  ?— 

Before  the  fearful  storm, — 

He  was  my  sire, — and,  sjirung  of  liim, 

Dost  see  him  now  ?'' — The  Page,  distraught 

That  rover  merciless  and  grim. 

With  terror,  answer'd,  "  I  see  naught. 

Can  I  be  soft  and  tame  ?                         [me, 

And  there  is  naught  to  see. 

Part  hence,  and  with  my  crimes  no  more  upbraid 

Save  that  the  oak's  scathed  boughs  fling  down 

I  am  that  Waster's  son,  and  am  but  what  he  made 

Upon  the  path  a  shadow  brown. 

me." 

That,  like  a  pilgrim's  dusky  gown. 

Waves  with  the  waving  tree." 

X. 

The    Phantom    groan'd;  —  the    moimtain    shook 

VII. 

aroimd. 

Count  Harold  gazed  upon  the  oak 

The  fawn  and  wild-doe  started  at  the  sound. 

As  if  liis  eyestrings  would  have  broke, 

The  gorse  and  fern  did  wildly  round  them  wave, 

And  then  resolvedly  said, — 

As  if  some  sudden  storm  the  impulse  gave. 

"  Be  what  it  will  yon  pliantom  gray — 

"  All  thou  hast  said  is  truth — Yet  on  the  head 

Nor  heaven,  nor  hell,  shall  ever  say 

Of  that  bad  sire  let  not  the  charge  be  laid, 

That  for  their  shadows  from  his  way 

That  he,  like  thee,  with  unrelenting  pace. 

Count  Harold  turn'd  dismay'd : 

From  grave  to  cradle  ran  the  evil  race : — 

I'll  speak  him,  though  his  accents  fill 

Relentless  in  liis  avarice  and  ire. 

My  heart  with  that  unwonted  thrill 

Churches  and  towns  he  gave  to  sword  and  fiie_ 

Wliich  vulgar  minds  call  fear.' 

Shed  blood  like  water,  wasted  every  land. 

I  will  subdue  it !" — Forth  he  strode, 

Like  the  destroying  angel's  burning  brand ; 

Paused  where  the  blighted  oak-tree  show'd 

Fulfill'd  whate'er  of  ill  might  be  invented. 

Its  sable  shadow  on  tlie  road, 

Yes — all   these   things  he   did — he   did,  but   he 

And,  folding  on  liis  bosom  broad 

KEPENTED ! 

His  arms,  said,  "  Speak — I  hear." 

Perchance  it  is  part  of  liis  punisluuent  still, 

That  his  offspring  pmsues  his  example  of  lU. 

VIII. 

But  thou,  when  thy  tempest  of  wi-ath  shall  next 

The  Deep  Voice^  said,  "  0  wild  of  will, 

shake  thee,                                           [thee ; 

Furious  thy  purpose  to  fulfil — 

Gird  thy  loins  for  resistance,  my  son,  and  awake 

Heart-sear'd  and  unrepentant  still, 

If  thou  yield'st  to  thy  fury,  how  tempted  soever. 

How  long,  0  Harold,  shall  thy  tread 

The  gate  of  repentance  shall  ope  for  thee  nevee  !" — 

Disturb  the  slumbers  of  the  dead  ? 

Each  step  in  thy  wild  way  thou  makest, 

XL 

The  ashes  of  the  dead  thou  wakest ; 

"  He  is  gone,"  said  Lord  Harold,  and  gazed  as  ho 

And  shout  in  triumi^h  o'er  thy  path 

spoke ; 

1  "  I'll  speak  to  it,  thongh  hell  itself  shonld  gape." 

Thou  aged  carle,  so  stern  and  gray  ? 

Hamlet. 

—             —             —             — 

'  Know'st  thou  not  me  V  the  Deep  Voice  cried." 

a  "Why  Eit'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  hall, 
67 

Waverley  JVovels — Antiquary,  vol.  v.  p.  145 

530 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


"  Tliere  is  naught  on  the  path  but  the  shade  of  the 

oak. 
He  is  gone,  whose  strange  presence  my  feeling 

oppress'd,  [breast. 

Like  the  night-hag   that  sits  on  the  slumberer's 
Mj  heart  beats  as  thick  as  a  fugitive's  tread, 
And   cold   dews   di'op   from  my  brow  and   my 

head. — 
Ho !  Guimar,  the  flasket  yon  almoner  gave ; 
He  said  that  three  drops  would  recall  from  the 

grave.  [has  power, 

For  tho  first  tune  Count  Harold  owns  leech-craft 
Or,  his  courage  to  aid,  lacks  the  juice  of  a  flower !" 
The  page  gave  tlie  flasket,  whicli  Walwayn  had 

fill'd  [distiird— 

With  the  juice  of  wild  roots  that   his   art  had 
So  baneful  theii'  influence  on  all  that  had  breath, 
One  drop  had  been  phrensy,  and  two  had  been 

death. 
Harold  took  it,  but  drank  not ;  for  jubilee  shrill. 
And  music  and  clamor  were  heard  on  the  hill, 
And  down  the  steep  pathway,  o'er  stock  and  o'er 

stone, 
Tlie  train  of  a  bridal  came  bhthesomely  on ; 
There  was  song,  there  was  pipe,  there  was  timbrel, 

and  still 
The  burden  was,  "  Joy  to  the  fak  Metehll !" 

XII. 

Harold  might  see  from  his  high  stance, 
Himself  unseen,  that  train  advance 

With  mirth  and  melody  ; — 
On  horse  and  foot  a  mingled  tlu-ong. 
Measuring  theu'  steps  to  bridal  song 

And  bridal  minstrelsy ; 
And  ever  when  the  bUthesome  rout 
Lent  to  the  song  their  choral  shout, 
Redoubling  echoes  roU'd  about. 
While  echoing  cave  and  chft"  sent  out 

The  answering  symphony 
Of  all  those  mimic  notes  which  dwell 
In  hollow  rock  and  sounding  dell. 

XIII. 
Joy  shook  his  torch  above  the  band. 
By  many  a  various  passion  fann'd ; — 
As  elemental  sparks  can  feed 
On  essence  pure  and  coarsest  weed. 
Gentle,  or  stormy,  or  refined, 
Joy  takes  the  colors  of  the  mind. 
Lightsome  and  pure,  but  unrepress'd, 
He  fii'ed  the  bridegroom's  gallant  breast ; 
More  feebly  strove  with  maiden  fear. 
Yet  still  joy  glimmer'd  thi-ough  the  tear 
On  the  bride's  blushing  cheek,  that  shows 
Like  dew-drop  on  the  budding  rose ; 
While  Wulfstane's  gloomy  smUe  declared 
Tbe  glee  that  selfish  avarice  shared, 


And  pleased  revenge  and  malice  high 

Joy's  semblance  took  in  Jutta's  eye. 

On  dangerous  adventure  sped. 

The  witch  deem'd  Harold  with  the  dead, 

For  thus  that  morn  her  Demon  said : 

"  If,  ere  the  set  of  sun,  be  tied 

The  knot  'twixt  bridegroom  and  his  bride. 

The  Dane  shall  have  no  power  of  Ul 

O'er  William  and  o'er  Metelill." 

And  the  pleased  witch  made  answer,  "  Then 

Must   Harold   have   pass'd  from   the   paths  of 

men  ! 
Evil  repose  may  his  spu-it  have, — 
May  hemlock  and  mandrake  find  root  in  las 

grave, — 
May  his  death-sleep  be  dogged  by  dreams  ol 

dismay. 
And  his  waking  be  worse  at  the  answering  day.' 

XIV. 

Such  was  their  various  mood  of  glee 
Blent  in  one  shout  of  ecstasy. 
But  still  when  Joy  is  brimming  highest, 
Of  Sorrow  and  Misfortune  iiighest, 
Of  Terror  with  her  ague  cheek. 
And  Im-king  Danger,  sages  speak : — 
These  haunt  each  path,  but  chief  they  lay 
Their  snares  beside  the  primrose  way. — 
Thus  found  that  bridal  band  their  path 
Beset  by  Harold  in  liis  wrath., 
Trembhng  beneath  liis  maddening  mood, 
High  on  a  rock  the  giant  stood ; 
His  shout  was  hke  the  doom  of  d'^ath 
Spoke  o'er  theu'  heads  that  pass'd  beneath. 
His  destined  victims  might  not  spy 
The  reddening  terrors  of  his  eye, — 
The  frown  of  rage  that  writhed  liis  face, — 
The  hp  that  foam'd  like  boar's  in  chase ; — 
But  all  could  see — and,  seeing,  all 
Bore  back  to  shun  the  threaten'd  fall — 
The  fragment  which  their  giant  foe 
Rent  from  the  cliff  and  heaved  to  throw. 

XV. 
Backward  they  bore ; — yet  are  there  two 

For  battle  who  prepare  : 
Wo  pause  of  dread  Lord  WUKam  knew 

Ere  his  good  blade  was  bare ; 
And  Wulfstane  bent  his  fatal  yew, 
But  ere  the  silken  cord  he  drew, 
As  hurl'd  from  Hecla's  thunder,  flew 

That  ruin  tlu-ough  the  ah ! 
FuU  on  the  outlaw's  front  it  came, 
And  all  that  late  had  human  name. 
And  human  face,  and  human  frame, 
That  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  free  will 
To  choose  the  path  of  good  or  01, 

Is  to  its  reckoning  gone ; 


aASTO  V. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUJsTLESS. 


531 


And  naught  of  Wulfstanc  rests  behind, 

Save  that  beneath  that  stone, 
Half-buried  in  the  dinted  clay, 
A  red  and  shapeless  mass  there  lay 
Of  mingled  flesh  and  bone  ! 

XVI. 
As  from  the  bosom  of  the  sky 

Tlie  eagle  darts  amain, 
Three  bounds  from  yonder  summit  high 

Placed  Harold  on  the  plam. 
As  the  scared  wild-fowl  scream  and  fly, 

So  fled  the  bridal  train ; 
As  'gainst  the  eagle's  peerless  might 
The  noble  falcon  dares  the  fight. 

But  dares  the  fight  in  vain. 
So  fought  the  bridegroom  ;  fi'om  liis  hand 
The  Dane's  rude  mace  has  struck  his  brand, 
Its  ghttermg  fi-agmcnts  strew  the  sand. 

Its  lord  Ues  on  the  plain. 
Now,  Heaven !  take  noble  William's  part. 
And  melt  that  yet  unmelted  heart, 
Or,  ere  his  bridal  hour  dej^art. 

The  hapless  bridegroom's  slain  ! 

XVII. 

Comit  Harold's  phrensied  rage  is  high, 

There  is  a  death-fire  in  his  eye, 

Deep  furrows  on  his  brow  are  trench'd, 

His  teeth  are  set,  his  hand  is  clench'd. 

The  foam  upon  liis  Up  is  white. 

His  deadly  arm  is  up  to  smite ! 

But,  as  the  mace  aloft  he  swung, 

To  stop  the  blow  young  Guunar  sprung, 

Ai'ound  his  master's  knees  he  clung. 

And  cried,  "  In  mercy  spare  ! 
0,  tliink  upon  the  words  of  fear 
Spoke  by  that  visionary  Seer, 
The  crisis  he  foretold  is  here, — 

Grant  mercy, — or  despaii- !" 
This  word  suspended  Harold's  mood. 
Yet  still  with  arm  upraised  he  stood. 
And  visage  like  the  headsman's  rude 

Tliat  pauses  for  the  sign. 
"  0  mark  thee  with  tlie  blessed  rood," 
The  Page  implored ;  "  Speak  word  of  good, 
Resist  the  fiend,  or  be  subdued !" 

He  sign'd  the  cross  divine — 
Instant  his  eye  hath  human  light, 
Less  red,  less  keen,  less  fiercely  bright ; 
His  brow  relax'd  the  obdurate  frown, 
The  fatal  mace  sinks  gently  down, 


He  tiurns  and  strides  away  ; 
Yet  oft,  like  revellers  who  leave 
Unfinish'd  feast,  looks  back  to  grieve, 
As  if  repenting  the  reprieve 
He  granted  to  his  prey. 
Yet  still  of  forbearance  one  sign  hath  he  given. 
And  fierce  Witikind'a  son  made  one  step  towards 
heaven. 

XVIII. 
But  though  his  dreaded  footsteps  part. 
Death  is  behind  and  shakes  liis  dart ; 
Lord  WiUiam  on  the  plain  is  lying. 
Beside  him  Metclill  seems  dying  ! — 
Bring  odors — essences  in  liaste — 
And  lo !  a  flasket  richly  chased, — 
But  Jutta  the  elixir  proves 
Ere  pouring  it  for  those  she  loves — 
Then  Walwayn's  potion  was  not  wasted. 
For  when  three  drops  the  hag  had  tasted. 

So  dismal  was  her  yell. 
Each  bu'd  of  evil  omen  woke. 
The  raven  gave  his  fatal  croak. 
And   slu-iek'd   the   night-crow   from  the 

oak, 
The  screech-owl  from  the  thicket  broke, 

And  flutter'd  down  the  dell ! 
So  fearful  was  the  sound  and  stern. 
The  slumbers  of  the  full-gorged  erne 
Were  startled,  and  from  furze  and  fern 

Of  forest  and  of  fell, 
The  fox  and  famish'd  wolf  replied 
(For  wolves  then  prowl'd  the  Cheviot  side) 
From  mountain  head  to  mountain  head 
The  unliallow'd  soimds  aroimd  were  sped ;' 
But  when  their  latest  echo  fled, 
The  sorceress  on  the  gi'ound  lay  dead. 

XIX. 

Such  was  the  scene  of  blood  and  woes, 
With  which  the  bridal  morn  ai'ose 

Of  William  and  of  Metelill ; 
But  oft,  when  dawning  'gins  to  spread. 
The  summer  morn  peeps  dim  and  red 

Above  the  eastern  hill. 
Ere,  bright  and  fair,  upon  his  road 
The  King  of  Splendor  walks  abroad ; 
So,  when  this  cloud  had  pass'd  away, 
Bright  was  the  noontide  of  their  day. 
And  all  serene  its  setting  ray. 

1  See  a  note  on  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  Canto  v.  Et.  31,  p.  45^ 
ante. 


632 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


i^aroliT  tlje  ^Dauntless. 


OaNto   sixth. 


I. 

"Well  do  I  liope  tliat  this  my  minstrel  tale 
Will  tempt  no  traveller  from  southern  fields, 
Whether  in  tilbury,  barouche,  or  mail, 
To  view  the  Castle  of  these  Seven  Proud  Shields. 
Small  confirmation  its  condition  yields 
To  Meneville's  high  lay, — No  towers  are  seen 
On  the  wild  heath,  but  those  that  Fancy  builds. 
And,  save  a  fosse  that  tracks  the  moor  with 
green,  [been. 

Is  naught  remains  to  tell  of  what  may  there  have 

And  yet  grave  authors,  with  the  no  small  waste 
Of  their  grave  time,  have  dignified  the  spot 
By  theories,  to  prove  the  fortress  placed 
By  Roman  bands,  to  curb  the  invading  Scot. 
Hutchinson,  Horsley,  Camden,  I  might  quote, 
But  rather  choose  the  theory  less  civil 
Of  boors,  who,  origin  of  things  forgot. 
Refer  still  to  the  origin  of  evil,  [fiend  the  Devil. 
And  for  their  master-mason  choose  that  master- 

II. 

Therefore,  I  say,  it  was  on  fiend-bmlt  towers 
That  stout  Count  Harold  bent  his  wondering 

gaze. 
When  evening  dew  was  on  the  heather  flowers. 
And  the   last  sxmbeams  made   the   mountain 

blaze. 
And  tinged  the  battlements  of  other  days 
With  the  bright  level  light  ere  sinking  down. — 
Blumhied  thus,  the  Daimtless  Dane  surveys 
The  Seven  Proud  Sliields  that  o'er  the  portal 

frown,  [renown. 

And  on  their  blazons  traced  high  marks  of  old 

A  wolf  North  Wales  had  on  Ms  armor-coat, 
And  Rhys  of  Powis-land  a  couchant  stag  ; 
Strath-Clwyd's  strange  emblem  was  a  stranded 

boat, 
Donald  of  Galloway's  a  trotting  nag ; 
A  corn-sheaf  gilt  was  fertile  Lodon's  brag ; 
A  dudgeon-dagger  was  by  Dunmail  worn ; 
Northmnbrian  Adolf  gave  a  sea-beat  crag 
Surmounted  by  a  cross — such  signs  were  borne 
Upon  these  antique  shields,  all  wasted  now  and 

worn. 

in. 

ITiese  scann  d,  Count  Harold  sought  the  castle- 
door, 
Whose  ponderous  bolts  were  rusted  to  decay ; 


Yet  till  that  hour  adventurous  knight  forbore 
The  imobstructed  passage  to  essay. 
More  strong  than  armed  warders  in  array, 
And  obstacle  more  sure  than  bolt  or  bar, 
Sate  in  the  portal  Terror  and  Dismay, 
While  Superstition,  who  forbade  to  war 
With  foes  of  other  mould  than  mortal  clay, 
Cast  spells  across  the  gate,  and  batr'd  the  onward 
way. 

Vain  now  those  spells ;  for  soon  with  heavy  clank 
The  feebly-fasten'd  gate  was  inward  push'd. 
And,  as  it  oped,  through  that  emblazon'd  rank 
Of  antique  shields,  the  wind  of  evening  rush'd 
With  sound  most  like  a  groan,  and  then  was 

hush'd. 
Is  none  who  on  such  spot  such  sounds  could  hear 
But  to  liis  heart  the  blood  had  faster  rush'd ; 
Yet  to  bold  Harold's  breast  that  throb  was  dear- 
It  spoke  of  danger  nigh,  but  had  no  touch  of  fear. 

IV. 

Yet  Harold  and  his  Page  no  signs  have  traced 
Within  the  castle,  that  of  danger  show'd  ; 
For  still  the  halls  and  courts  were  wild  and  waste, 
As  through  their  precincts  the  adventurers  trode. 
The  seven  huge  towers  rose  stately,  tall,  and 

broad. 
Each  tower  presenting  to  their  scrutiny 
A  hall  in  which  a  king  might  make  abode, 
And  fast  beside,  garnish'd  both  proud  and  high, 
Was  placed  a  bower  for  rest  in  which  a  king  might 

lie. 

As  if  a  bridal  there  of  late  had  been, 
Deck'd  stood  the  table  in  each  gorgeous  hall ; 
And  yet  it  was  two  hundred  years,  I  ween, 
Since  date  of  that  unhallow'd  festival. 
Flagons,  and  ewers,  and  standing  cups,  were  aU 
Of  tarnish'd  gold,  or  silver  nothing  clear, 
With  throne  begilt,  and  canopy  of  pall,  [sear — 
And  tapestry  clothed  the  walls  with  fragments 
Frail  as  the  spider's  mesh  did  that  rich  woof  appear. 

V. 
In  every  bower,  as  round  a  hearse,  was  hung 
A  dusky  crimson  curtain  o'er  the  bed, 
And  on  each  couch  in  ghastly  wise  were  flung 
The  wasted  rehcs  of  a  monarch  dead ; 
Barbaric  ornaments  around  were  spread,  [stone. 
Vests  twined  with  gold,  and  chains  of  precious 
And  golden  circlets,  meet  for  monarch's  head ; 
While  grinn'd,  as  if  in  scorn  amongst  them  thrown. 
The  wearer's  fleshless  skull,  alike  with  dust  be- 
strown. 

For  these  were  they  who,  di-unken  with  delight. 
On  pleasure's  opiate  pillow  laid  theu-  head. 


CANTO  VI. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


53a 


For  whom  the  bride's  shy  footstep,  slow  and  light, 
TTas  changed  ere  morning  to  the  murderer's  tread. 
For  human  bliss  and  woe  in  the  frail  thread 
Of  human  life  are  all  so  closely  twined, 
That  till  the  shears  of  Fate  the  texture  shred, 
The  close  succession  cannot  be  disjoin'd, 
Nor  dare  we,  from  one  hour,  judge  tluit  wliich  comes 
behind. 

VI. 
But  where  the  work  of  vengeance  had  been  done, 
In  that  seventh  chamber,  was  a  sterner  sight ; 
There  of  the  witch-brides  lay  each  skeleton. 
Still  in  the  posture  as  to  death  when  dight. 
For  this  lay  prone,  by  one  blow  slain  outright ; 
And  that,  as  one  who  struggled  long  in  dying ; 
One  bony  hand  held  knife,  as  if  to  smite  ; 
One  bent  on  fleshless  knees,  as  mercy  crying ; 
One  lay  across  the  door,  as  kill'd  in  act  of  flying.' 

The  stern  Dane  smiled  this  charnel-house  to  see,— 
For  his  chafed  thought  returu'd  to  MetelUl ; — 
And  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  hath  woman's  perfidy, 
Empty  as  air,  as  water  volatile. 
Been  here  avenged — The  origm  of  ill 
Thi-ough  woman  rose,   the   Christian  doctrine 

saith : 
Nor  deem  I,  Gimnar,  that  thy  minstrel  skill 
Can  show  example  where  a  woman's  breath 
Hath  made  a  true-love  vow,  and,  tempted,  kept 

her  faith." 

VII. 

The  minstrel-boy  half  smiled,  half  sigh'd, 
And  his  half  filling  eyes  he  dried. 
And  said,  "  The  theme  I  shoidd  but  wi'ong, 
Unless  it  were  my  dying  song 
(Our  Scalds  have  said,  in  dying  hour 
The  Northern  harp  has  treble  power), 
Else  could  I  tell  of  woman's  faith. 
Defying  danger,  scorn,  and  death. 
Firm  was  that  faith, — as  diamond  stone 
Pure  and  unflaw'd, — her  love  unknown, 
And  unrequited ; — firm  and  pure, 
Her  stainless  faith  could  all  endure ; 
From  clime  to  chme, — from  place  to  place, — 
Through  want,  and  danger,  and  disgrace, 
A  wanderer's  wayward  steps  could  trace. — 
All  tliis  she  did,  and  guerdon  none 
Requii'ed,  save  that  her  burial-stone 
Should  make  at  length  the  secret  known, 
'  Thus  hath  a  faithful  woman  done.' — 

>  "  In  an  invention  like  this  we  are  hardly  to  look  for  prob- 
abilities, but  all  these  preparations  and  ornaments  are  not  quite 
consistent  with  tlie  state  of  society  two  hundred  years  before 
the  Danish  Invasion,  as  far  as  we  know  any  thing  of  it.  In 
these  matters,  however,  the  author  is  never  very  scrupulons, 
and  has  too  little  resarded  propriety  in  the  minor  circumstan- 


Not  in  each  breast  such  truth  is  laid, 
But  Eivir  was  a  Danish  maid." — 

VIII. 
"  Tliou  art  a  wild  enthusiast,"  said 
Count  Harold,  "  for  thy  Danish  maid  • 
And  yet,  young  Gunnar,  I  will  own 
Hers  were  a  faith  to  rest  upon. 
But  Eivir  sleeps  beneath  her  stone. 
And  all  resembling  her  are  gone. 
Wliat  maid  e'er  show'd  such  constancy 
In  plighted  faith,  like  thine  to  me  'i 
But  couch  thee,  boy  ;  the  darksome  shad* 
Falls  thickly  round,  nor  be  dismay'd 

Because  the  dead  are  by. 
They  were  as  we  ;  our  little  day 
O'erspent,  and  we  shall  be  as  they. 
Yet  near  me,  Gunnar,  be  thou  laid, 
Tliy  couch  upon  my  mantle  made, 
That  thou  mayst  think,  should  fear  invade, 

Thy  master  slumbers  nigh." 
Thus  couch'd  they  in  that  dread  abode. 
Until  the  beams  of  dawning  glow'd. 

IX. 

An  alter'd  man  Lord  Harold  rose, 
When  he  beheld  that  dawn  unclose — 

There's  trouble  in  his  eyes, 
And  traces  on  his  brow  and  cheek 
Of  mingled  awe  and  wonder  speak : 

"  My  page,"  he  said,  "  arise  ; — 
Leave  we  this  place,  my  page." — No  more 
He  utter'd  till  the  castle  door 
They  cross' d — but  there  he  paused  and  said, 
"  My  wildness  hath  awaked  the  dead — 

Disturb'd  the  sacred  tomb ! 
Jlethought  this  night  I  stood  on  high, 
Where  Hecla  roars  in  middle  sky, 
And  in  her  cavcrn'd  gulfs  could  spy 

The  central  place  of  doom ; 
And  there  before  my  mortal  eye 
Souls  of  the  dead  came  flitting  by, 
Whom  fiends,  with  many  a  fiendish  cry, 

Bore  to  that  evd  den ! 
My  eyes  grew  dizzy,  and  my  brain 
Was  wilder'd,  as  the  elvish  train. 
With  shriek  and  howl,  dragg'd  on  amain 

Tliose  who  had  late  been  men. 


"  With  haggard  eyes  and  streaming  hair, 
Jutta  the  Sorceress  was  there, 

ces  :  thus  Harold  is  clad  in  a  kind  of  armor  not  worn  until  soma 
hundred  years  after  the  era  of  the  poem,  and  many  of  the 
scenes  described,  like  that  last  quoted  (stanzas  iv.  v.  vi.\  be- 
long even  to  a  still  later  period.  At  least  tkis  defect  is  not  an 
imitation  of  Mr.  Scott,  who,  being  a  skilful  antiquary,  is  ex- 
tremely careful  as  to  niceties  of  this  sort." — Critical  Revieu. 


634 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI 


And  there  pass'd  Wulfstane,  lately  slain, 

Methought  wliile  thus  my  sire  did  teach. 

All  crush'd  and  foul  with  bloody  stain. — 

I  caught  the  meaning  of  his  speech. 

More  had  I  seen,  but  that  uprose 

Yet  seems  its  purport  doubtful  now." 

A  whirlwind  wild,  and  swept  tlie  snows ; 

His  hand  then  sought  his  thoughtful  brow  — 

And  with  such  sound  as  when  at  need 

Then  first  he  mark'd,  that  in  the  tower 

A  champion  spurs  his  horse  to  speed. 

His  glove  was  left  at  waking  hour. 

Tliree  arm'd  Icnic^hts  rush  on,  who  lead 

Caparison'd  a  sable  steed. 

XII. 

Sable  their  harness,  and  there  came 

Ti-embhng  at  first,  and  deadly  pale. 

Tluough  tlieir  closed  vizors  sparks  of  flame. 

Had  Gunnar  heard  the  vision'd  tale  ; 

The  first  proclaim'd,  in  sounds  of  fear, 

But  when  he  learn'd  the  dubious  close, 

'  Harold  the  Dauntless,  welcome  here  !' 

He  blush'd  like  any  opening  rose, 

TJie  next  cried,  '  Jubilee  !  we've  won 

And,  glad  to  hide  his  tell-tale  cheek, 

Count  Witilcind  the  Winter's  son  !' 

Hied  back  that  glove  of  mail  to  seek 

And  the  tliird  rider  sternly  spoke, 

When  soon  a  shriek  of  deadly  dread 

'  Mount,  in  the  name  of  Zernebock  ! — 

Summon'd  his  master  to  his  aid. 

From  us,  0  Harold,  were  thy  powers, — 

Thy  strength,  thy  dauntlessness,  are  ours ; 

XIII. 

Nor  think,  a  vassal  thou  of  hell. 

W  hat  sees  Count  Harold  in  that  bowe 

Witli  hell  can  strive.'     The  fiend  spoke  true  ! 

So  late  his  resting-place  ? — 

My  inmost  soul  the  summons  knew, 

The  semblance  of  the  Evil  Power, 

As  captives  know  the  knell 

Adored  by  all  his  race  ! 

That  says  the  headsman's  sword  is  bare, 

Odin  in  living  form  stood  there, 

And,  with  an  accent  of  despair, 

His  cloak  the  spoils  of  Polar  bear ; 

Commando  them  quit  their  cell. 

For  plumy  crest  a  meteor  shed 

I  felt  resistance  was  in  vain, 

Its  gloomy  radiance  o'er  his  head, 

My  foot  had  that  fell  stirrup  ta'en, 

Yet  veil'd  its  haggard  majesty 

My  hand  was  on  the  fatal  mane, 

To  the  wild  lightnings  of  his  eye. 

When  to  my  rescue  sped 

Such  height  was  his,  that  when  in  stone 

That  Palmer's  visionary  form, 

0  er  Upsal's  giant  altar  shown : 

And — ^like  the  passing  of  a  storm — 

So  flow'd  his  hoary  beard ; 

The  demons  yell'd  and  fled ! 

Such  was  his  lance  of  mountain-pine, 

So  did  his  sevenfold  buckler  shine ; — 

XI. 

But  when  his  voice  he  rear'd. 

"  His  sable  cowl,  flung  back,  reveal'd 

Deep,  without  harshness,  slow  and  strong, 

The  features  it  before  coneeal'd  ; 

The  powerful  accents  roU'd  along,  . 

And,  Gunnar,  I  could  find 

And,  while  he  spoke,  his  hand  was  laid 

In  him  whose  counsels  strove  to  stay 

On  captive  Gurmar's  shi-inking  head. 

So  oft  my  course  on  wilful  way, 

My  father  Witikind ! 

XIV. 

Doom'd  for  his  sins,  and  doom'd  for  mine, 

"  Harold,"  he  said,  "  what  rage  is  thuAt 

A  wanderer  upon  earth  to  pine 

To  quit  the  worship  of  thy  hne, 

Until  his  son  shall  turn  to  grace, 

To  leave  thy  Warrior-God  ? — 

And  smooth  for  him  a  resting-place. — 

With  me  is  glory  or  disgrace. 

G-unnar,  he  must  not  hunt  in  vain 

Mine  is  the  onset  and  the  chase. 

This  world  of  wi-etchedness  and  pain : 

Embattled  hosts  before  my  face 

I'll  tame  my  wilful  heart  to  live 

Are  witl)er'd  by  a  nod. 

In  peace — to  pity  and  forgive — 

Wilt  thou  then  forfeit  that  high  seat 

And  thou,  for  so  the  Vision  said. 

Deserved  by  many  a  dauntless  feat, 

Must  in  thy  Lord's  repentance  aid. 

Among  the  heroes  of  thy  line. 

Thy  mother  was  a  prophetess. 

Eric  and  fiery  Thorarine  ? — 

He  said,  who  by  her  skill  could  guess 

Tliou  wilt  not.     Only  I  can  give 

How  close  the  fiital  textures  join 

The  joys  for  which  the  valiant  live. 

Which  knit  th}'^  thread  of  life  with  mine  ; 

Victory  and  vengeance — only  I 

Th^,  dai-k,  he  hinted  of  disguise 

Can  give  the  joys  for  which  they  die, 

She  framed  to  cheat  too  curious  eyes. 

Tlie  immortal  tilt — the  banquet  full. 

Tlmt  not  a  moment  might  divide 

The    brimming    draught  •  from    foeman's 

Thy  fated  footsteps  from  my  side. 

skull. 

CANTO  VI.                            HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS.                                       535 

Mine  art  thou,  witness  tliis  thy  glove, 

Upon  her  brow  and  neck  he  threw. 

The  faithful  pledge  of  vassal's  love." 

And  mark'd  how  life  with  rosy  hue 

On  her  pale  .cheek  revived  anew, 

XV. 

And  glimmer'd  in  her  eye. 

"  Tempter,"  said  Harold,  firm  of  heart, 

Inly  he  said,  "  That  silken  tress, — 

"  I  charge  thee  hence  !  whate'cr  thou  art. 

What  blindness  mine  that  could  not  guess ! 

I  do  defy  thee — and  resist 

Or  how  could  page's  rugged  dress 

The  kindliiiL;-  phrcnsy  of  my  breast, 

That  bosom's  pride  belie  ? 

Waked  by  thy  words ;  and  of  my  mail, 

0,  dull  of  heart,  thi-ough  wild  and  wave 

Nor  glove,  nor  buckler,  splent,  nor  nail. 

In  search  of  blood  and  death  to  irave. 

Shall  rest  with  tlice — that  youth  release, 

With  such  a  partner  nigh  !'" 

And  G(jtl,  or  Demon,  part  m  peace." — 

"  Eivir,"  the  Shape  replied,  "  is  mine. 

XVIII. 

Mark'd  ha  the  birth-hour  with  my  sign. 

Then  m  the  mirror'd  pool  he  peer'd. 

Think'st  thou  that  priest  with  di'ops  of  spray 

Blamed  his  rough  locks  and  shaggy  beard. 

Could  wash  that  blood-red  mark  away  ? 

The  stains  of  recent  conflict  clear'd, — 

Or  that  a  borrow'd  sex  and  name 

And  thus  the  Champion  proved. 

Can  abrogate  a  Godhead's  claim  ?" 

That  he  fears  now  who  never  fear'd. 

Tlu-ill'd  this  strange  sjDeech  through   Harold's 

And  loves  who  never  loved. 

brain, 

And  Eivir — Ufe  is  on  her  cheek, 

He  clench'd  his  teeth  m  high  disdain, 

And  yet  she  wiU  not  move  or  speak. 

For  not  his  new-born  faith  subdued 

Nor  wiU  her  eyelid  fully  ope  ;• 

Some  tokens  of  his  ancient  mood. — 

Perchance  it  loves,  that  half-shut  eye. 

"  N"ow,  by  the  hope  so  lately  given 

Through  its  long  fringe,  reserved  and  shy, 

Of  better  trust  and  purer  heaven. 

Aff"ection's  opening  dawn  to  spy : 

I  will  assail  thee,  fiend  !" — Then  rose 

And  the  deep  blush,  which  bids  its  dye 

His  mace,  and  with  a  storm  of  blows 

O'er  cheek,  and  brow,  and  bosom  fly. 

The  mortal  and  the  Demon  close. 

Speaks  shame-facedness  and  hope. 

XVI. 

XIX. 

Smoke  roU'd  above,  fire  flash'd  around. 

But  vainly  seems  the  Dane  to  seek 

Darken'd  the  sky  and  shook  the  ground 

For  terms  his  new-born  love  to  speak, — 

But  not  the  artUlery  of  hell, 

For  words,  save  those  of  wi'ath  and  wrong 

Tlie  bickering  lightning,  nor  the  rock 

Till  now  were  strangers  to  his  tongue ; 

Of  turrets  to  the  earthquake's  shock. 

So,  when  he  raised  the  blushing  maid. 

Cjuld  Harold's  courage  quell. 

In  blunt  and  honest  terms  he  said 

Sternly  the  Dane  his  purpose  kept. 

('Twere  well  that  maids,  when  lovers  woo. 

And  blows  on  blows  resistless  heap'd, 

Heard  none  more  soft,  were  all  as  true), 

Till  quaU'd  that  Demon  Form, 

"  Eivir !  smce  thou  for  many  a  day 

And — for  his  power  to  liurt  or  kill 

Hast  foUow'd  Harold's  wayward  way. 

Was  bounded  by  a  higlier  will — 

It  is  but  meet  that  in  the  line 

Evanish'd  m  the  storm. 

Of  after-hfe  I  follow  thine. 

Nor  paused  the  Champion  of  the  North, 

To-morrow  is  Saint  Cuthbert's  tide. 

But  raised,  and  bore  his  Eivu:  fortli. 

And  we  will  grace  his  altar's  side. 

From  that  wild  scene  of  fiendish  strife, 

A  Christian  kniglit  and  Clnistian  bride ; 

To  Mght,  to  Uberty,  and  life  ! 

And  of  WitLkind's  son  shall  the  marvel  be  said. 

That  on  the  same  morn   he  was  christen'd  and 

XVII. 

wed." 

He  placed  her  on  a  bank  of  moss, 

• 

A  silver  runnel  bubbled  by. 

And  new-born  thoughts  liis  soul  engross. 

« 

And  tremors  yet  unlmown  across 

CONCLUSION. 

His  stubborn  sinews  fly. 

And  now,  Ennui,  what  ails  thee,  weary  maid  ? 

The  wliile  with  timid  hand  the  dew 

And  why  these  listless  looks  of  yawning  sorrow ' 

'  Mr.  AdoIphuB,  in  liis  LeUers  on  the  Author  of  Waverley, 

son  in  the  Irish  orphan  of  '  RoUebv,'  and  the  conversion  of 

p  230,  remarks  on  tlie  coincidence  between  "  the  catastrophe 

Harold's  page  into  a  female," — allwliich  he  calls  "specimens 

e<  'The  Black  Dwarf,'   the  recognition   of  Mortham's  lost 

of  unsuccessful  contrivance,  at  a  great  expense  of  probability." 

,536 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VT 


No  need  to  turn  the  page,  as  if  'twere  lead, 
Or  fling  aside  the  vohirae  till  to-moiTow. — 
Be  cheer'd — ^"tis  ended — and  I  will  not  borrow, 
.  To  try  thy  patience  more,  one  anecdote 

I  "  '  Harold  ihe  Dauntless,'  like  '  The  Bridal  of  Triermain,' 
I  a  tolerably  successful  imitation  of  some  parts  of  the  style  of 
I\Ir.  Walter  Scott ;  but  like  all  imitations,  it  is  clearly  distin- 
guishable from  the  prototype  ;  it  wants  the  life  and  seasoning 
of  originality.  To  illastrate  this  familiarly  from  the  stage  : — 
We  have  all  witnessed  a  hundred  imitations  of  popular  actors — 
of  Kemble,  for  instance,  in  which  the  voice,  the  gesture,  and 
BOmewhat  even  of  the  look,  were  copied.  In  externals  the  re- 
semblance might  be  sufficiently  correct ;  but  where  was  the 
"nforming  soul,  the  mind  that  dictated  the  action  and  expres- 
sion ?  Who  could  endure  the  tedium  of  seeing  the  imitator  go 
through  a  whole  character?  In  '  Harold  the  Dauntless,'  the 
imitation  of  Mr.  Scott  is  pretty  obvious,  but  we  are  weary  of 
it  before  we  an-ive  near  the  end.  The  author  has  talent,  and 
considerable  facility  in  versification,  and  on  this  account  it  is 
somewhat  lamentable,  not  only  that  he  should  not  have  se- 
lected a  better  model,  but  that  he  should  copy  the  parts  of  that 
model  which  are  least  worthy  of  study.  Perhaps  it  was  not 
easy  to  equal  the  energy  of  Mr.  Scott's  line,  or  his  picturesque 
descriptions.  His  peculiarities  and  defects  were  more  attaina- 
ble, and  with  these  the  writer  of  this  novel  in  verse  has  gener- 
ally contented  himself;  he  will  also  content  a  certain  number 
of  readers,  who  merely  look  for  a  few  amusing  or  surjirising 
incidents.  In  these,  however,  '  Harold  the  Dauntless'  does 
not  abound  so  much  as  '  The  Bridal  of  Triermain.'  They 
are,  indeed,  romantic  enough  to  satisfy  all  the  parlor-boarders 
'ladies'  schools  in  England  ;  but  they  want  that  appearance 
:i  probability  which  should  give  them  interest." — Critical  Re- 
view, April,  1817. 


"  We  had  formerly  occasion  to  notice,  with  considerable 
praise,  The  Bridal  of  Triermain.  We  remarked  it  as  a  pretty 
close  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott's  poetry  ;  and  as  that  great  master 
seems,  for  the  present,  to  have  left  his  lyre  unstrung,  a  substi- 
tute, even  of  inferior  value,  may  be  welcomed  by  the  public. 
It  appeared  to  us,  however,  and  still  does,  that  the  merit  of  the 
present  author  consists  rather  in  the  soft  and  wildly  tender 
passages,  than  in  those  rougher  scenes  offend  and  fray,  through 
which  the  poet  of  early  times  conducts  his  reader.  His  war- 
horse  follows  with  somewhat  of  a  hobbling  pace  the  proud  and 
impetuous  courser  whom  he  seeks  to  rival.  Unfortunately,  as 
it  appears  to  us,  the  last  style  of  poetical  excellence  is  rather 
more  aimed  at  here  than  in  the  former  poem  ;  and  as  we  do 
not  discover  any  improvement  in  the  mode  of  treating  it,  Ha- 
rold the  Dauutless  scarcely  appears  to  us  to  equal  the  Bridal  of 
Triermain.  It  contains,  indeed,  jiassages  of  similar  merit,  but 
not  quite  so  numerous  ;  and  such,  we  susjiect,  will  ever  be  the 
case  while  the  author  continues  to  follow  after  this  line  of 
poetry." — Scots  Mag.  Feb.  1817. 


"This  is  an  elegant,  sprightly,  and  delightful  little  poem, 
written  apparently  by  a  pei-son  of  taste  and  genius,  but  who 
either  possesses  not  the  art  of  forming  and  combining  a  plot, 
or  regards  it  only  as  a  secondary  and  subordinate  object.  In 
this  we  do  not  widely  differ  from  him,  but  are  sensible,  mean- 
time, that  many  others  will ;  and  that  the  rambling  and  un- 
certain nature  of  the  story  will  be  the  principal  objection 
urged  against  the  poem  before  us,  ao  well  as  the  greatest  bar 
10  its  extensive  popularity.  The  character  of  IMr.  Scott's  ro- 
mances has  effected  a  material  change  in  our  mode  of  esti- 
mating poetical  compositions.  In  all  the  estimable  works  of 
our  former  poets,  from  Spenser  down  to  Thomson  and  Cowper, 
the  plot  seems  to  have  been  regarded  as  good  or  bad,  only  in 


From  Bartholine,  or  Perin-skiold,  or  Snorro. 
Then  pardon  thou  thy  minstrel,  who  hath  wrote 
A  Tale    six   cantos    long,  yet   scorn'd  to  add  a 
note.' 

proportion  to  the  advantages  which  it  furnished  for  poetical 
description  ;  but,  of  late  years,  one  half,  at  least,  of  the  merit 
of  a  poem  is  supposed  to  rest  on  the  interest  and  management 
of  the  tale. 

"  We  speak  not  exclusively  of  that  numerous  class  of  read- 
ers who  peruse  and  estimate  a  new  poem,  or  any  poem,  with 
the  same  feelings,  and  precisely  on  the  same  principles,  as  they 
do  a  novel.  It  is  natural  for  such  persons  to  Judge  only  by  the 
effect  produced  by  the  incidents ;  but  we  have  often  been 
surprised  that  some  of  our  literary  critics,  even  those  to  whose 
judgment  we  were  most  disposed  to  bow,  should  lay  so  much 
stress  on  the  probability  and  fitness  of  every  incident  which 
the  fancy  of  the  poet  may  lead  him  to  embellish  in  the  course 
of  a  narrative  poem,  a  great  proportion  of  which  must  neces- 
sarily be  descriptive.  The  author  of  Harold  the  Dauntless 
seems  to  have  judged  differently  from  these  critics  ;  and  in 
the  lightsome  rapid  strain  of  poetry  which  he  iias  chosen,  we 
feel  no  disposition  to  quarrel  with  him  on  account  of  the  easy 
and  careless  manner  in  which  he  has  arranged  his  story.  In 
many  instances  he  undoubtedly  shows  the  hand  of  a  master, 
and  has  truly  studied  and  seized  the  essential  character  of  the 
antique — liis  attitudes  and  draperies  are  unconfined,  and  va- 
ried with  demi-tints,  possessing  much  of  the  lustre,  freshness, 
and  spirit  of  Rembrandt.  The  airs  of  liis  heads  have  grace, 
and  his  distances  something  of  the  lightness  and  keeping  of 
Salvator  Rosa.  The  want  of  harmony  and  union  in  the  car- 
nations of  his  females  is  a  slight  objection,  and  there  is  like- 
wise a  meagre  shectiness  in  his  contrasts  oC  chiaroscuro  ;  but 
these  are  all  redeemed  by  the  felicity,  execution,  and  rnastei 
traits  distinguishable  in  his  grouping,  as  in  a  Murillo  or  Carra 
veggio. 

But  the  work  has  another  quality,  and  though  its  leading 
one,  we  do  not  know  whether  to  censure  or  approve  it.  It  is 
an  avowed  imitation,  and  therefore  loses  part  of  its  value,  if 
viewed  as  an  original  production.  On  the  other  hand,  regarded 
solely  as  an  imitation,  it  is  one  of  the  closest  and  most  success- 
ful, without  being  either  a  caricature  or  a  parody,  that  perhaps 
ever  appeared  in  any  language.  Not  only  is  the  general  man- 
ner of  Scott  ably  maintained  throughout,  but  the  very  structure 
of  the  language,  the  associations,  and  the  train  of  thinking, 
appear  to  be  precisely  the  same.  It  was  once  alleged  by  some 
writers,  that  it  was  impossible  to  imitate  Mr.  Scott's  style  ; 
but  it  is  now  fully  proved  to  the  world  that  there  is  no  style 
more  accessible  to  imitation  ;  for  it  will  be  remarked  (laying 
parodies  aside,  which  any  one  may  execute),  that  Mr.  David- 
son and  Miss  Halford,  as  well  as  Lord  Byron  and  Wordsworth, 
each  in  one  instance,  have  all,  without  we  believe  intending 
it,  imitated  him  with  considerable  closeness.  The  author  of 
the  Poetic  Mirror  lias  given  us  one  specimen  of  his  most  pol- 
ished and  tender  style,  and  another,  still  more  close,  of  his 
rapid  and  careless  manner  ;  but  all  of  them  fall  greatly  short 
of  the  Bridal  of  Tricrvtain,  and  the  poem  vow  before  us. 
We  are  sure  the  author  will  laugh  heartily  in  his  sleeve  at  our 
silliness  and  want  of  jierception,  when  we  confess  to  him  that 
we  never  could  ojicn  either  of  these  works,  and  peruse  his  pages 
for  two  minutes  with  attention,  and  at  the  same  time  divest 
our  minds  of  the  idea  that  we  were  engaged  in  an  early  or 
experimental  work  of  that  great  master.  That  they  are  gene- 
rally inferior  to  the  works  of  Mr.  Scott  in  vigor  and  interest, 
admits  no'  of  dispute ;  still  they  have  many  of  his  wild  and 
softer  beauties  ;  and  if  they  fail  to  be  read  and  admirefl,  we 
shall  not  on  that  account  think  the  better  of  the  taste  of  the 
age." — Blackwood's  Magazine,  April,  J8!7. 

END   OF   HMIOLD  THE   DAUNTLESS. 


ON 


|)opular  poctrn, 


AND    ON    THE 


VARIOUS   COLLECTIOXS   OF   BALLADS   OF   BRITAm,   PARTICULARLY  THOSE 

OF   SCOTLAND. 


The  Introduction  originally  prefixed  to  "  Tlie 
Vlinstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  was  rather  of 
I  historical  than  a  literary  nature ;  and  the  re- 
marks -which  follow  have  been  added,  to  afford  the 
general  reader  some  information  upon  the  charac- 
ter of  Ballad  Poetry. 

It  would  be  thi-owing  away  words  to  jDrove, 
what  aU  must  admit,  the  general  taste  and  pro- 
pensity of  nations  in  their  eaily  state,  to  cultivate 
some  species  of  rude  poetry.  When  the  organs 
and  faculties  of  a  primitive  race  have  developed 
themselves,  each  for  its  proper  and  necessary  use, 
there  is  a  natural  tendency  to  employ  them  in  a 
more  refined  and  regulated  manner  for  piu"poses 
of  amusement.  The  savage,  after  proving  the  ac- 
tivity of  his  Umbs  in  the  chase  or  the  battle,  trains 
them  to  more  measured  movements,  to  dance  at 
the  festivals  of  his  tribe,  or  to  perform  obeisance 
before  the  altars  of  his  deity.  From  the  same  im- 
pulse, he  is  disposed  to  refine  the  ordinary  speech 
which  forms  the  vehicle  of  social  communication 
betwixt  him  and  liis  brethren,  until,  by  a  more  or- 
nate diction,  modulated  by  certain  rules  of  rhythm, 
cadence,  assonance  of  termination,  or  recurrence  of 
sound  or  letter,  he  obtains  a  dialect  more  solemn 
in  expression,  to  record  the  laws  or  exploits  of  his 
tribe,  or  more  sweet  in  sound,  in  which  to  plead 
his  own  cause  to  his  mistress. 

This  prmieval  poetry  must  have  one  general 
character  in  all  nations,  both  as  to  its  merits  and 
its  imperfections.  The  earlier  poets  have  the  ad- 
vantage, and  it  is  not  a  small  one,  of  having  the 
first  choice  out  of  the  stock  of  materials  wliich  are 
proper  to  the  art ;  and  thus  they  compel  later  au- 
thors, if  they  would  avoid  slavislily  imitating  the 
fathers  of  verse,  into  various  devices,  often  more 

1  These  remarks  were  first  appended  to  the  edition  of  tlie 
"Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  1830.— Ed. 

'  Sir  Walter  Scott,  as  this  paragraph  intimates,  never doubt- 
68 


ingenious  than  elegant,  that  they  may  establish,  if 
not  an  absolute  claim  to  originaUty,  at  least  a  visi- 
ble distinction  betwixt  themselves  and  their  pre- 
decessors. Thus  it  happens,  that  early  poets  al- 
most uniformly  display  a  bold,  rude,  original  cast 
of  genius  and  expression.  They  have  walked  at 
free-wUl,  and  with  unconstrained  steps,  along  the 
wilds  of  Parnassus,  while  their  followers  move 
with  constrained  gestures  and  forced  attitudes,  in 
order  to  avoid  placing  their  feet  where  their  pre- 
decessors have  stepped  before  them.  The  first 
bard  who  compared  his  hero  to  a  Hon,  struck  a 
bold  and  congenial  note,  though  the  simile,  in  a 
nation  of  himters,  be  a  very  obvious  one;  but 
every  subsequent  poet  who  shall  use  it,  must 
either  struggle  hard  to  give  his  Hon,  as  heralds 
say,  with  a  difference,  or  he  mider  the  imputation 
of  being  a  servile  imitator. 

It  is  not  probable  that,  by  any  researches  of 
modem  times,  we  shall  ever  reach  back  to  an  ear- 
lier model  of  poetry  than  Homer ;  but  as  there 
lived  heroes  before  Agamemnon,  so,  unquestiona- 
bly, poets  existed  before  the  immortal  Bard  who 
gave  the  Bling  of  kings  his  feme  ;  and  he  whom  all 
civilized  nations  now  acknowledge  as  the  Fatlier 
of  Poetry,  must  have  himself  looked  back  to  an 
ancestry  of  poetical  predecessors,  and  is  only  held 
original  because  we  know  not  from  whom  he  copied. 
Indeed,  though  much  must  be  ascribed  to  the  riches 
of  his  own  individual  genius,  the  poetry  of  Homer 
argues  a  degree  of  perfection  in  an  art  wliich  prac- 
tice had  already  rendered  regular,  and  concerning 
which,  his  frequent  mention  of  the  bards,  or  chant- 
ers of  poetry,  indicates  plainly  that  it  was  studied 
by  many,  and  known  and  admired  by  all.'' 

It  is  indeed  easily  discovered,  that  the  qualities 

ed  that  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  were  substantially  the  works  of 
one  and  the  same  individual.  He  said  of  the  Wolfian  hypo- 
thesis, that  it  was  the  most  irreligious  one  he  had  heard  of, 
and  could  never  be  believed  in  by  any  poet. — Ed. 


538 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


necessary  for  composing  sucli  poems  are  not  tlie 
portion  of  every  man  in  the  tribe  ;  that  the  bard, 
to  reach  excellence  in  his  art,  must  possess  some- 
thing more  than  a  fuU  command  of  words  and 
pln-ases,  and  the  knack  of  arranging  them  in  such 
form  as  ancient  examples  have  fixed  upon  as  tlie 
recognized  structure  of  national  verse,  Tlie  tribe 
speedily  become  sensible,  that  besides  this  degree 
of  mechanical  facihty,  -wliich  (hke  making  what 
arc  called  at  school  nonsense  verses)  may  be  at- 
tained by  dint  of  memory  and  practice,  much 
higher  quahfications  are  demanded.  A  keen  and 
active  power  of  observation,  capable  of  perceiv- 
ing at  a  glance  the  leading  circumstances  from 
which  the  incident  described  derives  its  chiirac- 
ter;  quick  and  powerful  feelings,  to  enable  the 
bard  to  comprehend  and  delineate  those  of  the 
actors  in  liis  piece ;  and  a  conunand  of  language, 
alternately  soft  and  elevated,  and  suited  to  express 
the  conceptions  which  he  had  formed  in  his  mind, 
are  all  necessary  to  eminence  in  the  poetical  art. 

Above  all,  to  attain  the  highest  point  of  his  pro- 
fession, the  poet  must  have  that  original  power  of 
embodying  and  detailing  ckcumstances,  which  can 
place  before  the  eyes  of  others  a  scene  which  only 
exists  in  liis  own  imagination.  This  last  high  and 
creative  faculty,  namely,  that  of  impressing  the 
mind  of  the  hearers  with  scenes  and  sentiments 
having  no  existence  save  through  their  art,  has 
procured  for  the  bards  of  Greece  the  term  of 
TIotnT}]';,  which,  as  it  singularly  happens,  is  hterally 
translated  by  the  Scottish  epithet  for  the  same 
class  of  persons,  whom  they  termed  the  JIakers. 
The  French  phrase  of  Trouveurs,  or  Troubadom-s, 
namely,  the  Finders,  or  Inventors,  has  the  same 
reference  to  the  quaUty  of  original  conception  and 
invention  proper  to  the  poetical  art,  and  without 
which  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist  to  any  pleas- 
ing or  useful  purpose. 

The  mere  arrangement  of  words  into  poetical 
rhythm,  or  combining  them  according  to  a  tech- 
nical rule  or  measm-e,  is  so  closely  connected  with 
the  art  of  music,  that  an  alUance  between  these 
two  fine  arts  is  very  soon  closely  formed.  It  is 
fruitless  to  inquire  which  of  them  has  been  first 
mveiited,  since  doubtless  the  precedence  is  acci- 
dental ;  and  it  signifies  little  whether  the  musician 
adapts  verses  to  a  rude  time,  or  whether  the  pri- 
mitive poet,  in  reciting  his  productions,  falls  natu- 
rally into  a  chant  or  song.  With  this  additional 
accomplishment,  the  poet  becomes  aoiio;,  or  the 
man  of  song,  and  his  character  is  complete  when 
the  adcUtional  accompaniment  of  a  lute  or  harp  is 
added  to  his  vocal  performance. 


1  The  "  Poema  del  Cid"  (of  which  Mr.  Frere  has  translated 
fonie  specimens)  is,  however,  considered  by  every  historian  of 
Spanish  literature,  as  the  work  of  one  hand  ;  and  is  eV'dently 


Here,  therefore,  we  have  the  history  of  early 
poetry  in  all  nations.  But  it  is  evident  that, 
though  poetry  seems  a  plant  proper  to  almost  all 
soils,  yet  not  only  is  it  of  various  kinds,  according 
to  the  chmate  and  country  in  wliich  it  has  its  ori- 
gin, but  the  poetry  of  different  nations  differs  still 
more  widely  in  the  degree  of  excellence  which  \i 
attains.  This  must  depend  in  some  measm^e,  no 
doubt,  on  the  temper  and  mamiers  of  the  people, 
or  their  proximity  to  those  spii'it-stirring  events 
which  are  naturally  selected  as  the  subject  of 
poetry,  and  on  the  more  comprehensive  or  ener- 
getic character  of  the  language  spoken  by  the 
tribe.  But  the  progi-ess  of  the  art  is  far  more  de- 
pendent upon  the  rise  of  some  highly  gifted  mcU- 
vidual,  possessing  in  a  pre-eminent  and  unconunon 
degree  the  powers  demanded,  whose  talents  in- 
fluence the  taste  of  a  whole  nation,  and  entail  on 
their  posterity  and  language  a  character  ahnost 
indelibly  sacred.  In  this  respect  Homer  stands 
alone  and  tmrivalled,  as  a  Hght  from  whose  lamp 
the  genius  of  successive  ages,  and  of  distant  na- 
tions, has  caught  fire  and  illummation  ;  and  who, 
though  the  early  poet  of  a  rude  age,  has  pm-chased 
for  the  era  he  has  celebrated,  so  much  reverence, 
that,  not  daring  to  bestow  on  it  the  term  of  bar- 
barous, we  distinguish  it  as  the  heroic  period. 

No  other  poet  (sacred  and  inspired  authors  ex- 
cepted) ever  chd,  or  ever  will,  possess  the  ^ame 
influence  over  j^osterity,  in  so  many  distant  lands, 
as  has  been  acquired  by  the  bluid  old  man  of 
Chios ;  yet  we  are  assured  that  his  works,  collected 
by  the  pious  care  of  Pisistratus,  who  caused  to  be 
united  mto  their  present  form  those  divine  poems, 
would  otherwise,  if  preserved  at  all,  have  ap- 
jieared  to  succeeding  generations  in  the  humble 
state  of  a  collection  of  detached  ballads,  connected 
only  as  referring  to  the  same  age,  the  same  gene- 
ral subjects,  and  the  same  cycle  of  heroes,  like  the 
metrical  poems  of  the  Cid  in  Spain,'  or  of  Robin 
Hood  in  England. 

In  other  countries,  less  favored,  either  in  lan- 
guage or  in  picturesque  incident,  it  caimot  be  su}> 
posed  that  even  the  genius  of  Homer  could  have 
sosyed  to  such  exclusive  eminence,  since  he  must 
at  once  have  been  deprived  of  the  subjects  and 
themes  so  well  adapted  for  his  muse,  and  of  the 
lofty,  melodious,  and  flexible  language  in  wliich  he 
recorded  them.  Other  nations,  during  the  forma- 
tion of  their  ancient  poetry,  wanted  the  genius  of 
Homer,  as  well  as  his  picturesque  scenery  and 
lofty  language.  Yet  the  investigation  of  the  early 
jwetry  of  every  nation,  even  the  rudest,  carries 
with  it  an  object  of  cimosity  and  interest.     It  is  a 


more  ancient  than  the  detached  ballads  on  the  Adventures  of 
the  Campeador,  wliicli  are  included  in  the  Cancioneros. — 
Ed. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


539 


chapter  in  Uie  history  of  the  diildhood  of  society, 
and  its  reseniblance  to,  or  dissimihirity  from,  the 
popuhxr  rhymes  of  other  nations  in  the  same  stage, 
must  needs  illustrate  the  ancient  history  ofc  states ; 
their  slower  or  swifter  progress  towards  civiliza- 
tion ;  theh  gradual  or  more  rapid  adoption  of  man- 
ners, sentiments,  and  religion.  The  study,  there- 
fore, of  lays  rescued  from  the  gulf  of  obliA'ion,  must 
in  every  case  possess  considerable  interest  for  the 
raoral  philosopher  and  general  historian. 

The  historian  of  an  individual  nation  is  equally 
or  more  deeply  interested  in  the  researches  into 
popular  poetry,  since  he  must  not  disdain  to  ga- 
ther from  the  tradition  conveyed  in  ancient  ditties 
and  ballads,  the  information  necessary  to  confirm 
or  correct  intelligence  collected  from  more  certain 
Bources.  And  although  tlie  poets  were  a  fablmg 
race  from  the  very  begioning  of  time,  and  so  much 
addicted  to  exaggeration,  that  tlicir  accounts  are 
seldom  to  be  relied  on  without  corroborative  evi- 
dence, yet  instances  frequently  occur  where  the 
statements  of  poetical  tradition  are  unexpectedly 
confirmed. 

To  the  lovers  and  admirers  of  poetiy  as  an  art, 
it  cannot  be  uninteresting  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the 
National  Muse  in  her  cradle,  or  to  hear  her  bab- 
bling the  earliest  attempts  at  the  formation  of  the 
tuneful  sounds  with  which  she  was  afterwards  to 
charm  posterity.  And  I  may  venture  to  add,  that 
among  poetry,  which,  however  rude,  was  a  gift  of 
Nature's  first  fruits,  even  a  reader  of  refined  taste 
will  find  his  patience  rewarded,  by  passages  in 
which  the  rude  minstrel  rises  into  subhmity  or 
melts  into  pathos.  These  were  the  merits  which 
induced  the  classical  Addison'  to  write  an  elabo- 
rate commentary  upon  the  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase, 
and  wliich  roused,  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  the 
heroic  blood  of  Sir  PhUip  Sidney.'^ 

It  is  true  that  passages  of  tliis  high  character 
seldom  occm- ;  for,  during  the  infancy  of  the  art  of 
poetry,  the  bards  have  been  generally  satisfied 
with  a  rude  and  careless  expression  of  their  senti- 
ments ;  and  even  when  a  more  fehcitous  expres- 
sion, or  loftier  numbers,  have  been  dictated  by  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  composition,  the  advantage  came 
unsought  for,  and  perhaps  unnoticed,  either  by 
the  minstrel  or  the  audience. 

Another  cause  contributed  to  the  tenuity  of 
thought  and  poverty  of  expression,  by  which  old 
ballads  are  too  often  distinguished.  The  apparent 
simplicity  of  the  ballad  stanza  carried  with  it  a 
strong  temptation  to  loose  and  trivial  composition. 
The  collection  of  rhymes,  accumulated  by  the  ear- 
liest of  the  craft,  appear  to  have  been  considered 

1  See  The  Spectator,  Nos.  70  and  74. 

»  "  I  never  heard  the  old  son?  of  Percie  and  Douglas,  that  I 


as  forming  a  joint  stock  for  the  common  use  of  the 
profession ;  and  not  mere  rhymes  only,  but  verses 
and  stanzas,  have  been  used  as  common  property, 
so  as  to  give  an  appearance  of  sameness  and  cru- 
dity to  the  whole  series  of  popular  jjoetry.  Such, 
for  instance,  is  the  salutation  so  often  repeated, — 

"  Now  Heaven  thee  save,  tliou  brave  young  knight. 
Now  Heaven  thee  save  and  see." 

And  such  the  usual  expression  for  taking  counsel 
with, 

"  Rede  me,  rede  me,  brother  dear, 
My  rede  shall  rise  at  thee." 

Such  also  is  the  unvaried  accoimt  of  the  rose  and 
the  brier,  wliich  are  said  to  spring  out  of  the  graA'e 
of  the  hero  and  heroine  of  these  metrical  legends, 
with  httle  effort  at  a  variati(;n  of  the  expressiftns 
in  wliich  the  incident  is  prescriptively  told.  Tlie 
least  acquaintance  with  flie  subject  will  recall  a 
gi-eat  number  of  commonplace  verses,  which  each 
baUad-maker  has  imceremoniously  appropriated  to 
liimself ;  thereby  greatly  facilitating  his  own  task, 
and  at  the  same  tune  degrading  his  art  by  his 
slovenly  use  of  over-scutched  plirases.  From  the 
same  indolence,  the  ballad-mongers  of  most  nations 
have  availed  themselves  of  every  opportunity  of 
prolonging  their  pieces,  of  the  same  kind,  without 
the  labor  of  actual  composition.  If  a  message  is 
to  be  delivered,  the  poet  saves  himself  a  httle 
trouble,  by  using  exactly  the  same  words  in  wliich 
it  was  originally  couched,  to  secure  its  being  trans- 
mitted to  the  person  for  whose  ear  it  was  intended. 
The  bards  of  ruder  cUmes,  and  less  favored  lan- 
guages, may  mdeed  claim  the  countenance  of 
Homer  for  such  repetitions;  but  whilst,  in  the 
Father  of  Poetry,  they  give  the  reader  an  oppor- 
tunity to  pause,  and  look  back  upon  the  enchanted 
ground  over  which  they  have  travelled,  they  afford 
notliing  to  the  modern  bard,  save  facilitating  the 
power  of  stupefying  the  audience  with  stanzas  of 
dull  and  tedioas  iteration. 

Another  cause  of  the  flatness  and  insipidity, 
which  is  the  gi'eat  imperfection  of  ballad  poetry, 
is  to  be  ascribed  less  to  the  compositions  in  then" 
original  state,  when  rehearsed  by  their  authors, 
than  to  the  ignorance  and  errors  of  the  reciters  or 
transcribers,  by  whom  they  have  been  transmitted 
to  us.  The  more  popular  the  composition  of  an 
ancient  poet,  or  Maker,  became,  the  greater  chance 
there  was  of  its  being  corrupted ;  for  a  poem 
transmitted  tnrough  a  mmiber  of  reciters,  like  a 
book  reprinted  in  a  multitude  of  editions,  incurs 
the  risk  of  impertinent  interpolations  from  the  con- 
ceit of  one  rehearser,  uuintelliiiible  blunders  fron. 


found  not  my  heart  moved  more  than  with  the  sound  o*"  a 
trumpet;  and  yet  it  is  sung  but  byVonie  blind  crowder,  witn 
no  rougher  voice  than  rude  style." — Sidney. 


540 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  stupidity  of  anotlier,  and  omissions  equally  to  be 
reo-retted,  from  tlie  want  of  memory  in  a  tliird.  This 
sort  of  injury  is  felt  yery  early  and  the  reader 
■will  find  a  curious  instance  in  the  Introduction  to 
the  Romance  of  Su-  Tristrem.  Robert  de  Brumie 
there  complains,  that  though  the  Romance  of  Sir 
Tristrem  was  the  best  which  had  ever  been  made, 
if  it  could  be  recited  as  composed  by  the  author, 
Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  yet  that  it  was  written  in 
such  an  ornate  style  of  language,  and  such  a  diffi- 
cult strain  of  versification,  as  to  lose  all  value  in  the 
mouths  of  ordinary  minstrels,  who  could  scarcely 
repeat  one  stanza  without  omitting  some  part  of 
it,  and  marring,  consequently,  both  the  sense  and 
the  rhythm  of  the  passage.'  This  deterioration 
could  not  be  limited  to  one  author  alone ;  others 
must  have  suffered  from  the  the  same  cause,  in 
the  same  or  a  greater  degree.  Nay,  we  are  au- 
thorized to  conclude,  that  in  proportion  to  the  care 
bestowed  by  the  author  upon  any  poem,  to  attain 
what  his  age  might  sujjpose  to  be  the  highest 
graces  of  poetry,  the  greater  was  the  damage  wliich 
it  sustained  by  the  inaccuracy  of  reciters,  or  their 
desire  to  humble  both  the  sense  and  diction  of  the 
poem  to  their  powers  of  recollection,  and  the  com- 
prehension of  a  vulgar  audience.  It  cannot  be  ex- 
pected that  compositions  subjected  in  this  way  to 
mutilation  and  corruption,  should  continue  to  pre- 
sent their  original  sense  or  diction ;  and  the  accu- 
racy of  our  editions  of  pojDular  poetry,  unless  in 
the  rare  event  of  recovering  origuial  or  early  copies, 
is  lessened  in  proportion. 

But  the  chance  of  these  corruptions  is  incalcu- 
lably increased,  when  we  consider  that  the  ballads 
have  been,  not  in  one,  but  innumerable  instances 
of  transmission,  liable  to  similar  alterations,  through 
a  long  course  of  centuries,  during  wliich  they  have 
been  handed  from  one  ignorant  reciter  to  another, 
each  discarding  whatever  original  words  or  phrases 
tune  or  fashion  h:id,  hi  his  opinion,  rendered  obso- 
lete, and  substituting  anachronisms  by  expressions 
taken  from  the  customs  of  his  own  day.  And  here 
it  may  be  remarked,  that  the  desire  of  the  reciter 
to  be  intelligible,  however  natural  and  laudable, 
has  been  one  of  the  greatest  causes  of  the  deterio- 
ration of  ancient  poetry.  The  mmstrel  who  en- 
deavored to  recite  with  fidelity  the  words  of  the 
author,  might  indeed  fall  into  errors  of  sound  and 
sense,  and  substitute  corruptions  for  words  he  did 
not  miderstand.     But  the  ingenuity  of  a  skilful 

1  "  That  thou  may  hear  in  Sir  Tristrem  : 
Over  gestes  it  has  the  steem, 
Over  all  that  is  or  was, 
If  men  it  sayd  as  made  Thomas  ; 
But  I  hear  it  no  man  so  say — 
But  of  some  copple  some  is  away,"  &c. 

An  instance  occurs  in  the  valuable  old  ballad,  called  Auld 


critic  could  often,  in  that  case,  revive  and  restore 
the  original  meaning ;  while  the  corrupted  words 
became,  in  such  cases,  a  warrant  for  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  whole  poem.'' 

In  general,  however,  the  later  reciters  appear 
to  have  been  far  less  desirous  to  speak  the  author's 
words,  than  to  introduce  amendments  and  new 
readings  of  their  own,  which  have  always  produced 
the  effect  of  modernizing,  and  usually  that  of  de- 
grading and  vulgarizing,  the  rugged  sense  and 
sphit  of  the  antique  minstrel.  Thus,  undergoing 
from  age  to  age  a  gradual  process  of  alteration 
and  recomposition,  our  popular  and  oral  minstrelsy 
has  lost,  in  a  great  measure,  its  original  appear- 
ance ;  and  the  strong  touches  by  which  it  had 
been  formerly  characterized,  have  been  generally 
smoothed  down  and  destroyed  by  a  process  simi- 
lar to  that  by  which  a  coin,  passing  from  hand  to 
hand,  loses  in  chculation  all  the  finer  marks  of  the 
impress. 

The  very  fine  ballad  of  Chevy  Cha-se  is  an  ex- 
ample of  this  degraduig  species  of  alchymy,  by 
which  the  ore  of  antiquity  is  deteriorated  and 
adulterated.  While  Addison,  in  an  sge  which  had 
never  attended  to  popular  poetry,  wrote  his  clas- 
sical criticism  on  that  ballad,  he  natm-aUy  took  for 
liis  text  the  ordinary  stall-copy,  although  he  might, 
and  ought  to  have  suspected,  that  a  ditty  couched 
in  the  language  nearly  of  his  own  time,  could  not 
be  the  s;xme  with  that  which  Sir  Pliilip  Sidney, 
more  than  one  hundi'ed  years  before,  had  spoken 
of,  as  being  "  evil  apparelled  in  the  dust  and  cob- 
webs of  an  uncivilized  age."  The  venerable  Bish- 
op Percy  was  the  first  to  coirect  this  mistake,  by 
producing  a  copy  of  the  song,  as  old  at  least  as 
the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  bearing  the  name  of  the 
author  or  transcriber,  Richard  Sheale.'  But  even 
the  Rev.  Editor  himself  fell  under  the  mistake  of 
supposing  the  modem  Chevy  Chase  to  be  a  new 
copy  of  the  original  ballad,  expressly  modernized 
by  some  one  later  bard.  On  the  contrary,  the 
current  version  is  now  universally  allowed  to  have 
been  produced  by  the  gradual  alterations  of  nu- 
merous reciters,  during  two  centuries,  in  the  course 
of  which  the  ballad  has  been  gradually  moulded 
into  a  composition  bearing  only  a  general  resem- 
blance to  the  original — expressing  the  same  events 
and  sentiments  in  much  smoothei  language,  and 
more  flowing  and  easy  versification ;  but  losing 
m  poetical  fii-e  and  energy,  and  in  the  vigor  and 

Maitland.  Tiie  reciter  repeated  a  verse,  descriptive  of  the  ae- 
fence  of  a  castle,  thus  : 

"  With  sprivg-wall,  stanes,  and  goads  of  aim. 
Among  them  fast  he  threw." 
Spring-wall,  is  a  corruption  of  springald,  a  military  engine 
for  casting  darts  or  stones ;   the  restoration  of  wJiich  reading 
gives  a  precise  and  clear  sense  to  the  lines. 
3  See  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  i.  p.  2. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


5i\ 


pithiness  of  the  expression,  a  great  deal  more  than 
it  has  gained  in  suavity  of  diction.     Thus : — 

■'  The  Percy  owt  of  Northumberland, 

And  a  vowe  to  God  mayd  lie, 
That  he  wokle  hunte  in  the  mountayns 

Off  Cheviot  within  dayes  thre, 
In  the  manger  of  doughty  Dougles, 

And  all  that  ever  with  him  be," 


"  The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 
A  vow  to  God  did  make. 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 
Three  summer  days  to  take,"  &c. 

From  this,  and  other  examples  of  the  same  kind, 
of  wliich  many  miglit  be  quoted,  we  must  often 
expect  to  find  the  remains  of  Minstrel  poetry,  com- 
posed originally  for  the  courts  of  princes  and  lialls 
of  nobles,  disguised  in  the  more  modern  and  vul- 
gar dialect  in  which  they  have  been  of  late  sung 
to  the  frequenters  of  the  rustic  ale-bench.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  mention  more  than  one  other  re- 
markable and  humbhng  mstance,  pruited  in  the 
curious  collection  entitled,  a  Ballad-Book,  where 
we  find,  in  the  words  of  the  ingenious  Editor,'  a 
stupid  ballad,  prmted  as  it  was  sung  in  Aunandale, 
founded  on  the  well-known  story  of  the  Prince  of 
Salerno's  daughter,  but  with  the  uncouth  change 
of  Dysmal  for  Gliismonda,  and  Guiscard  trans- 
formed mto  a  greasy  kitchen-boy. 

"  To  what  base  uses  may  we  not  return  !" 

Sometimes  a  still  more  material  and  systematic 
difference  appears  between  the  poems  of  antiqui- 
ty, as  tliey  were  originally  composed,  and  as  they 
now  exist.  This  occurs  in  cases  where  the  longer 
metrical  romances,  which  were  m  fasliion  during 
the  middle  ages,  were  reduced  to  shorter  compo- 
sitions, in  order  that  they  might  be  chanted  before 
an  inferior  audience.  A  ballad,  for  example,  of 
Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  and  his  intrigues  with  the 
Queen  of  Faery -Land,  is,  or  has  been,  long  current 
in  Teviotdale,  and  other  parts  of  Scotland.  Two 
ancient  copies  of  a  poem,  or  romance,  on  the  same 
subject,  and  containing  very  often  the  same  words 
and  turns  of  expression,  are  preserved  in  the  libra- 
ries of  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln  and  Peterborough. 
"We  are  left  to  conjecture  whether  the  originals  of 
such  ballads  have  been  gradually  contracted  into 
their  modern  shape  by  the  impatience  of  later 
audiences,  combined  with  the  lack  of  memory 
displayed  by  more  modern  reciters,  or  whether, 
in  particular  cases,  some  ballad-maker  may  have 

•  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe,  Esq.  The  Ballad-Book  was 
printed  in  1823,  and  inscribed  to  Sir  Walter  Scott ;  the  im- 
pression consisting  of  only  thirty  copies. 

2  These  two  ancient  Romances  are  reprinted  in  a  volume 
of"  Early  Metrical  Tales,"  edited  by  Mr.  David  Laing,  Edin- 
Durgh,  18-26,  small  8vo.     Only  175  copies  printed. 


actually  set  himself  to  woi-k  to  retrench  the  old 
dl^Ps  of  the  minstrels,  and  legularly  and  sys- 
tematically to  modernize,  and  if  the  phrase  be  per- 
mitted, to  balladize,  a  metrical  romance.  We  are 
assiu-ed,  however,  that  "  Roswal  and  Lilian"  was 
sung  through  the  streets  of  P]dinburgh  two  gene- 
rations since ;  and  we  know  that  the  romance  of 
'.'  Sir  Eger,  Sir  Grime,  and  Sir  Greysteil,'"''  had  also 
its  own  particular  chant,  or  tune.  Tlie  stall-copies 
of  both  these  romances,  as  they  now  exist,  are  very 
much  abbreviated,  and  probably  exhibit  them 
when  they  were  undergoing,  or  had  nearly 
undergone,  the  process  of  being  cut  down  into 
ballads. 

Takmg  mto  consideration  the  various  indirect 
channels  by  which  the  popular  poetry  of  our  an- 
cestors has  been  transmitted  to  tlieir  posterity,  it 
is  nothing  surprisuig  that  it  should  reach  us  in  a 
mutilated  and  degraded  state,  and  that  it  should 
little  correspond  with  the  ideas  we  are  apt  to  form 
of  the  first  productions  of  national  genius;  nay,  it 
is  more  to  be  wondered  at  tliat  we  possess  so  many 
ballads  of  considerable  merit,  than  that  the  much 
greater  number  of  them  which  must  have  once> 
existed,  should  have  perished  before  our  time. 

Having  given  this  brief  account  of  ballad  poetry 
in  general,  the  pui-pose  of  the  present  prefatory 
remarks  will  be  accomplished,  by  shortly  noticing 
the  popular  poetry  of  Scotland,  and  some  of  the 
efforts  wliich  have  been  made  to  collect  and  illus- 
trate it. 

It  is  now  generally  admitted  that  the  Scots  and 
Picts,  however  difltering  otherwise,  were  each  by 
descent  a  Celtic  race ;  that  they  advanced  in  a 
course  of  victory  somewhat  farther  than  the  pres- 
ent frontier  between  England  and  Scotland,  and 
about  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century  subdued 
and  rendered  tributary  the  Britons  of  Strathcluyd, 
who  were  also  a  Celtic  race  like  themselves.  Ex- 
cepting, therefore,  the  provinces  of  Berwickshire 
and  the  Lothians,  which  were  chiefly  inhabited  by 
an  Anglo-Saxon  population,  the  whole  of  Scotland 
was  peopled  by  different  tribes  of  the  same  abo- 
riginal race,' — a  race  passionately  addicted  to  mu- 
sic, as  appears  from  the  kindred  Celtic  nations  of 
Irish,  Welsh,  and  Scottish,  preservmg  each  to  this 
day  a  style  and  character  of  music  peculiar  to  their 
own  country,  though  all  three  bear  marks  of  gene- 
ral resemblance  to  each  other.  That  of  Scotland, 
in  particular,  is  early  noticed  and  extolled  by 
ancient  authors,  and  its  remains,  to  which  the  na- 
tives are  passionately  attached,  are  stUl  found  to 

3  The  author  seems  to  have  latterly  modified  his  original 
opinion  on  some  parts  of  this  subject.  In  his  reviewal  of  Mr. 
P.  F.  Tytler's  History  of  Scotland  (auart.  Rev.  vol.  xli.  p. 
328),  he  says,  speaking  of  the  period  of  the  final  subjugation 
of  the  Picts,  "It  would  appear  the  Scandinavians  had  colo- 
nies along  the  fertile  shores  of  Moray,  and  amonjx  the  mono- 


542 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


afford  pleasure  even  to  those  who  cultivate  the  art 
upon  a  more  rt  fined  and  varied  system. 

This  pkill  in  music  did  not,  of  course,  exist  with- 
out a  corresponding  degree  of  talent  for  a  species 
of  poetry,  adapted  to  the  habits  of  the  country, 
celebrating  the  victories  of  triumphant  clans,  pour- 
ing forth  lamentations  over  fallen  heroes,  and  re- 
cording such  marvellous  adventures  as  were  cal- 
culated to  amuse  individual  fomilies  around  their 
household  fires,  or  the  -whole  tribe  when  regaling 
in  the  hall  of  the  chief.  It  happened,  however, 
singularly  enough,  that  while  the  music  continued 
to  be  Celtic  in  its  general  measure,  the  language 
of  Scotland,  most  commonly  spoken,  began  to  be 
that  of  their  neighbors,  tlie  English,  ifttroduced  by 
the  multitude  of  Saxons  who  thronged  to  the  coiu-t 
of  Malcolm  Canmore  and  his  successors;  by  the 
crowds  of  prisoners  of  war,  whom  the  repeated 
ravages  of  the  Scots  in  Northumberland  carried  off 
as  slaves  to  their  country ;  by  the  influence  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  richest  and  most  populous  prov- 
uices  in  Scotland,  Berwicksliire,  namely,  and  the 
Lothians,  over  the  more  mountainous ;  lastly,  by 
the  superiority  which  a  language  like  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  considerably  refined,  long  since  reduced  to 
writing,  and  capable  of  expressing  the  wants, 
wishes,  and  sentiments  of  the  speakers,  must  have 
possessed  over  the  jargon  of  various  tribes  of  Irish 
and  British  origin,  limited  and  contracted  in  every 
varying  dialect,  and  differing,  at  the  same  time, 
from  each  other.  This  superiority  being  consid- 
ered, and  a  fair  length  of  time  being  allowed,  it  is 
no  wonder  that,  while  the  Scottish  j)eople  retained 
then-  Celtic  music,  and  many  of  their  Celtic  cus- 
toms, together  with  their  Celtic  dynasty,  they 
should  nevertheless  have  adopted,  throughout  the 
Lowlands,  the  Saxon  language,  while  in  the  High- 
lands they  retained  the  Celtic  dialect,  along  with 
the  dress,  arms,  manners,  and  government  of  their 
fathers. 

Tliere  was,  for  a  time,  a  solemn  national  recog- 
nizance that  the  Saxon  language  and  poetry  had 
not  originally  been  that  of  the  royal  family.  For, 
at  the  coronations  of  the  kings  of  Scotland,  previ- 
ous to  Alexander  III.,  it  was  a  part  of  the  solem- 
nity, that  a  Celtic  bard  stepped  forth,  so  soon  as 
the  king  assumed  his  seat  upon  the  fated  stone, 
and  recited  the  genealogy  of  the  monarch  in  Celtic 
verse,  setting  forth  his  descent,  and  the  right 
which  he  had  by  birth  to  occupy  the  place  of  sov- 
ereignty.    For  a  time,  no  doubt,  the  Celtic  songs 


tains  of  Sutherland,  whose  name  speaks  for  itself,  that  it  was 
given  by  the  Norwegians  ;  and  probably  they  had  also  settle- 
ments in  Caithness  and  the  Orcades."  In  tliis  essay,  however, 
he  adheres  in  the  main  to  his  Anti-Pinkertonian  doctrine,  and 
Ueats  tlie  Picts  as  Celts.— Ed. 

'  A  curions  account  of  the  reception  of  an  Irish  or  Celtic 


and  poems  remained  current  in  the  Lowlands, 
wlule  any  remnant  of  the  language  yet  lasted. 
Tlie  Gaehc  or  Irish  bards,  we  are  also  aware,  oc- 
casionally stroUed  into  the  Lowlands,  where  their 
music  might  be  received  with  favor,  even  after 
then-  recitation  was  no  longer  miderstood.  But 
though  these  aboriginal  poets  showed  themselves 
at  festivals  and  other  places  of  public  resort,  it 
does  not  appear  that,  as  in  Homer's  time,  the; 
were  honored  with  high  places  at  the  board,  anc 
savory  morsels  of  the  chine  ;  but  they  seem  rather 
to  have  been  accounted  fit  company  for  the  feigned 
fools  and  sturdy  beggars,  with  whom  they  were 
ranked  by  a  Scottish  statute.' 

Time  was  necessary  whoUy  to  eradicate  one 
language  and  introduce  another ;  but  it  is  remark- 
able that,  at  the  death  of  Alexander  the  Third, 
the  last  Scottish  king  of  the  pure  Celtic  race,  the 
popular  lament  for  his  death  was  composed  in 
Scoto-English,  and,  though  closely  resembling  the 
modern  dialect,  is  the  earliest  example  we  have  of 
that  language,  whether  in  prose  or  poetry.^  About 
the  same  time  flourished  the  celebrated  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  whose  poem,  written  in  English,  or 
Lowland  Scottish,  with  the  most  anxious  attention 
both  to  versification  and  alliteration,  forms,  even 
as  it  now  exists,  a  very  ciu-ious  specimen  of  the 
early  romance.  Such  compUcated  construction 
was  gi-eatly  too  concise  for  the  public  ear,  which 
is  best  amused  by  a  looser  diction,  in  which  nume- 
rous repetitions,  and  prolonged  descriptions,  enable 
the  comprehension  of  the  audience  to  keep  up  with 
the  voice  of  the  singer  or  reciter,  and  supply  the 
gaps  which  in  general  must  have  taken  place, 
either  through  a  failure  of  attention  in  the  hear- 
ers, or  of  voice  and  distinct  enimciation  on  the 
part  of  the  minstrel. 

The  usual  stanza  which  was  selected  as  the 
most  natural  to  the  language  and  the  sweetest  to 
the  ear,  after  the  complex  system  of  the  more 
courtly  measures,  used  by  Thomas,  of  Erceldoune, 
was  laid  aside,  was  that  which,  when  origmaUy 
introduced,  we  very  often  find  an-anged  in  two 
lines,  thus : — 

"Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed,  most  like  a  baron 
bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company,  whose  armor  shone  like 
gold  ;" 

but  which,  after  being  divided  into  four,  consti- 
tutes what  is  now  generally  caUed  the  ballad 
stanza, — 


bard  at  a  festival,  is  given  in  Sir  John  Holland's  Bake  of  the 
Honlat,  Bannatync  edition,  p.  liii. 

2  "  Whan  Alexander  onr  king  was  ded, 
Wha  Scotland  led  in  luve  and  lee, 
Away  was  sons  of  ale  and  bred, 
Of  wine  and  wax,  of  game  and  glee,"  &c. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  OX  POPULAR  POETRY. 


548 


"  Earl  Dongla?  on  liis  milk-white  steed, 
Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company. 
Whose  armor  shone  like  gold." 

The  breaking  of  the  Hnes  coutains  a  plainer  in- 
timation how  the  stanza  ought  to  be  read,  than 
every  one  could  gather  from  the  original  mode  of 
writing  out  the  poem,  where  the  position  of  the 
caesura,  or  inflection  of  voice,  is  left  to  the  individ- 
ual's own  taste.  This  was  sometunes  exchanged 
for  a  stanza  of  six  lines,  the  tliird  aud  sixth  rhym- 
ing together.  For  works  of  more  importance  ;md 
pretension,  a  more  complicated  versificatioa  was 
still  retained,  and  may  be  found  in  the  tale  of 
Ralph  Coilzear,'  the  Adventures  of  Arthur  at  the 
Taru-Wathelyn,  Sir  Gawain,  aud  Sir  Gologras,  and 
other  scarce  romances.  A  specimen  of  this  struc- 
ture of  verse  has  been  handed  down  to  our  times 
ill  the  stanza  of  Christ  Ivirk  on  the  Green,  trans- 
mitted by  King  James  I.,  to  A  llan  Ramsay  and 
to  Burns.  The  excessive  passion  for  alliteration, 
wliich  formed  a  rule  of  the  Saxon  poetry,  was  also 
retained  in  the  Scottish  poems  of  a  more  elevated 
character,  though  the  more  ordinary  minstrels  and 
ballad-makers  threw  off  the  restraint. 

The  varieties  of  stanza  thus  adopted  for  popular 
poetry  were  not,  we  may  easily  suppose,  left  long 
unemployed.  In  frontier  regions,  where  men  are 
continually  engaged  in  active  enterprise,  betwixt 
the  task  of  defending  themselves  and  amioying 
their  neighbors,  they  may  be  said  to  live  in  an 
atmosphere  of  danger,  the  excitation  of  which  is 
peculiarly  favorable  to  the  encouragement  of  po- 
etry. Hence,  the  expressions  of  Lesly  the  histori- 
an, quoted  in  the  following  Introduction,^  in  which 
he  paints  the  delight  taken  by  the  Borderers  in 
theu-  pecuUar  species  of  music,  and  the  rhyming 
ballads  in  which  they  celebrated  the  feats  of  their 
ancestors,  or  recorded  their  own  ingenious  strata- 
gems in  predatory  warfare.  In  the  same  Intro- 
duction, the  reader  will  find  the  reasons  alleged 
why  the  taste  for  song  was  and  must  have  been 
longer  preserved  on  the  Border  than  in  the  inte- 
rior of  the  country. 

Having  thus  made  some  remarks  on  early  poe- 
try in  general,  and  on  that  of  Scotland  in  particu- 
lar, the  Editor's  purpose  is,  to  mention  the  fate  of 
some  previous  attempts  to  collect  ballad  poetry, 
and  the  principles  of  selection  and  publication 
which  have  been  adopted  by  various  editors  of 
learning  and  information ;  and  although  the  pres- 

1  This,  and  most  of  the  other  romances  here  referred  to, 
may  be  found  reprinted  in  a  volume,  entitled,  "  Select  Re- 
mains of  the  Ar';ient  Popular  Poetry  of  Scotland"  (Edm. 
1822.  Small  4to.).  Edited  by  Mr.  David  Laing,  and  inscribed 
to  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

»  See  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scott  sh  Border,  vol.  i.  p.  213. 


ent  work  chiefly  regards  the  Ballads  of  Scotland, 
yet  the  investigation  must  necessarily  include 
some  of  the  principal  collections  among  the  Eng- 
lish also. 

Of  manuscript  records  of  ancient  ballads,  very 
few  have  been  yet  discovered.  It  is  probable 
that  the  minstrels,  seldom  knowing  either  how  tc 
read  or  write,  trusted  to  their  well-exercised 
memories.  Nor  was  it  a  difiicult  task  to  acquire 
a  sufiicient  stock  in  trade  for  their  jjurpose,  since 
the  Editor  has  not  only  known  many  persons  ca- 
pable of  retainilig  a  very  large  collection  of  legend- 
aiy  lore  of  this  kind,  but  there  was  a  period  in  his 
own  hfe,  when  a  memory  that  ought  to  have  been 
charged  with  more  valuable  matter,  enabled  hira 
to  recollect  as  many  of  these  old  st.ngs  as  would 
have  occupied  several  days  m  the  r«  citation. 

The  press,  however,  at  length  superseded  the 
necessity  of  such  exertions  of  recollection,  and 
sheafs  of  baUads  issued  from  it  weekly,  for  the 
amusement  of  the  sojourners  at  the  alehouse,  and 
the  lovers  of  poetry  in  grange  and  hall,  where 
such  of  the  audience  as  could  not  read,  had  at 
least  read  unto  them.  These  fugitive  leaves,  gen- 
erally printed  upon  broadsides,  or  in  small  mis- 
cellanies called  Garlands,  and  circulating  amongst 
persons  of  loose  and  careless  habits — so  far  as 
books  were  concerned — were  subject  to  destruc- 
tion from  many  causes ;  and  as  the  editions  in  the 
early  age  of  printing  were  probably  much  Umited, 
even  those  published  as  chap-books  in  the  early 
part  of  the  18th  centmy,  ai-e  rarely  met  with. 

Some  persons,  however,  seem  to  have  had  what 
their  contemporaries  probably  thought  the  bizaiTC 
taste  of  gathering  and  preserving  collections  of 
this  fugitive  poetry.  Hence  the  great  body  of 
ballads  in  the  Pepysian  collection  of  Cambridge, 
made  by  that  Secretary  Pepys,  whose  Diary  is  so 
very  amusing ;  and  hence  the  stUl  more  valuable 
deposit,  in  three  volumes  foho,  in  which  the  late 
Duke  John  of  Roxburghe  took  so  much  pleasure, 
that  he  was  often  fotmd  enlarging  it  with  fresh 
acquisitions,  which  he  pasted  in  and  registered 
with  his  own  hand. 

The  first  attempt,  however,  to  reprint  a  colle> 
tion  of  ballads  for  a  class  of  readers  distinct  from 
those  for  whose  use  the  stall-copies  were  intended, 
was  that  of  an  anonymous  editor  of  three  l'2mo 
volumes,  which  appeared  in  London,  with  engrav- 
ings. These  volumes  came  out  in  various  years, 
in  the  beginning  of  the  18th  century.*     The  editor 

3  "  A  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,  collected  from  the  best  and 
most  ancient  Copies  extant,  with  Introductions,  Historical  and 
Critical,  illustrated  with  copper-plates."  This  anonymoaa 
collection,  first  published  in  1723,  was  so  well  received,  that 
it  soon  passed  to  a  second  edition,  and  two  more  volumes  were 
added  in  1723  and  1725.  The  third  edition  ol  the  first  volnmo 
is  dated  1727.— En, 


544 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


writes  with  some  flippancy,  but  with  the  air  of  a 
person  superior  to  the  ordinary  drudgery  of  a  mere 
collector.  His  work  appears  to  have  been  got  up 
at  considerable  expense,  and  the  general  introduc- 
tions and  historical  illustrations  wliich  are  prefixed 
to  the  various  ballads,  are  written  with  an  ac- 
curacy of  which  such  a  subject  had  not  till  then 
been  deemed  worthy.  The  principal  part  of  the 
collection  consists  of  stall-ballads,  neither  possess- 
ing much  poetical  merit,  nor  any  particular  rarity 
or  curiosity.  Still  tliis  original  Miscellany  holds  a 
considerable  value  amongst  collectors ;  and  as  the 
three  volumes — being  pubUshed  at  different  times 
— are  seldom  found  together,  they  sell  for  a  high 
price  when  complete. 

We  may  now  turn  our  eyes  to  Scptland,  where 
the  facility  of  the  dialect,  which  cuts  off  the  con- 
sonants in  the  termination  of  the  words,  so  as 
greatly  to  simplify  the  task  of  rhyming,  and  the 
habits,  dispositions,  and  manners  of  the  people, 
were  of  old  so  favorable  to  the  composition  of  bal- 
lad-poetry, that,  had  the  Scottish  songs  been  pre- 
served, there  is  no  doubt  a  very  curious  history 
might  have  been  composed  by  means  of  minstrelsy 
only,  from  the  reign  of  Alexander  III.  in  1285, 
down  to  the  close  of  the  Civil  Wars  in  1745.  That 
materials  for  such  a  collection  existed,  cannot  be 
disputed,  since  the  Scottish  historians  often  refer 
to  old  ballads  as  authorities  for  general  tradition. 
But  their  regular  preservation  was  not  to  be 
hoped  for  or  expected.  Successive  garlands  of 
song  .sprung,  flourished,  faded,  and  were  forgotten, 
in  their  turn ;  and  the  names  of  a  few  specimens 
are  onlj^  preserved,  to  show  us  how  abundant  the 
display  of  these  wild  flowers  had  been. 

Like  tlie  natural  free  gifts  of  Flora,  these  poeti- 
cal garlands  can  only  bo  successfully  sought  for 
where  tlie  land  is  uncultivated ;  and  civilization 
and  increase  of  learning  are  sure  to  banish  them, 
as  the  plough  of  the  agriculturist  bears  down  the 
mountain  daisy.  Yet  it  is  to  be  recorded  with 
some  interest,  that  the  earliest  surviving  specimen 
of  the  Scottish  press,  is  a  Miscellany  of  Millar  and 
Chapman,'  which  preserves  a  consider,able  fund  of 
Scottish  popular  poetry,  and  among  other  things, 
no  bad  specimen  of  the  gests  of  Robin'  Hood,  "  the 
English  ballad-maker's  joy,"  and  whose  renown 
seems  to  have  been  as  freshly  preserved  in  the 
north  as  on  the  southern  shores  of  the  Tweed. 
There  were  probably  several  collections  of  Scot- 
tish ballads  and  metrical  pieces  during  the  seven- 

1  A  facsimile  reprint,  in  black-letter,  of  the  Original  Tracts 
wliich  issned  from  the  press  of  Walter  Chepman  and  Andro 
Myllar  at  Edinburgh,  in  the  year  1508,  w.as  published  under 
»he  title  of  "The  Knightly  Tale  of  Golagrus  and  Gawane, 
and  other  Ancient  Poems,"  in  1827,  4to.  The  "  litil  geste  " 
of  Robin  Hood,  referred  to  in  the  text,  is  a  fragment  of  a 
piece  contained  in  Ritson's  Collection. — Ed. 


teenth  century.  A  very  fine  one,  belonging  t*". 
Lord  Montagu,  perished  in  the  fii-e  which  con- 
stmied  Ditton  House,  about  twenty  years  ago. 

James  Watson,  in  1706,  pubhshed,  at  Edinburgh, 
a  miscellaneous  collection  in  three  parts,  contain- 
ing some  ancient  poetry.  But  tlie  first  editor  who 
seems  to  have  made  a  determined  effort  to  pre- 
serve our  ancient  popular  poetry  was  the  well- 
known  AUan  Ramsay,  in  his  Evergreen,  containing 
cliiefly  extracts  from  the  ancient  Scottish  Makers, 
whose  poems  have  been  preserved  in  the  Banna- 
tyne  Manuscript,  but  exhibitmg  amongst  them 
some  popular  ballads.  Amongst  these  is  the 
Battle  of  Harlaw,  apparently  from  a  modernized 
copy,  being  probably  the  most  ancient  Scottish 
historical  ballad  of  any  length  now  in  existence.* 
He  also  inserted  in  the  same  collection,  the  genu- 
ine Scottish  Border  baUad  of  Johnnie  Armstrong, 
copied  from  the  recitation  of  a  descendant  of  the 
unfortunate  hero,  in  the  sixth  generation.  This 
poet  also  included  in  the  Evergreen,  Hardyknute, 
which,  though  evidently  modern,  is  a  most  spiiited 
and  beautiful  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad.  In 
a  subsequent  collection  of  lyrical  pieces,  called  the 
Tea-Table  Miscellany,  Allan  Ramsay  inserted  sev- 
eral old  ballads,  such  as  Cruel  Barbara  Allan, 
The  Bonnie  Earl  of  Murray,  There  came  a  Ghost 
to  Margaret's  door,  and  two  or  three  others.  But 
his  unhappy  plan  of  writing  new  words  to  old 
times,  without  at  the  same  time  preserving  the 
ancient  verses,  led  him,  with  the  assistance  of 
"some  ingenious  young  gentlemen,"  to  throw 
aside  many  originals,  the  preservation  of  which 
would  liave  been  much  more  interesting  than  any 
thins  wliich  has  been  substituted  m  their  stead." 

In  fine,  the  task  of  collecting  and  illustrating 
ancient  popular  poetry,  whether  in  England  or 
Scotland,  was  never  executed  by  a  competent 
person,  possessing  the  necessary  powers  of  selec- 
tion and  amiotation,  till  it  was  undertaken  by  Dr. 
Percy,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Dromore  in  Ireland. 
Tliis  reverend  gentleman,  himself  a  poet,  and  rank- 
ing high  among  the  literati  of  the  day,  command- 
ing access  to  the  individuals  and  institutions  which 
could  best  afford  him  materials,  gave  the  public 
the  result  of  his  researches  in  a  work  entitled 
"  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry,"  in  three 
volumes,  published  in  London  1765,  which  has 
since  gone  through  four  editions.'*  The  taste  with 
which  the  materials  were  chosen,  the  crtreme 
felicity  with  which  they  were  illustrated,  the  dis- 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

-  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

<  Sir  Walter  Scott  corresponded  frequently  with  the  Bishop 
of  Dromore,  at  the  time  when  he  was  collecting  the  materiaU 
of  the  "  Border  Minstrels?." — Ed. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  OX  POPULAR  POETRY, 


play  at  once  of  antiquarian  knowledge  and  classi- 
cal reading  -which  the  collection  indicated,  render 
it  difficult  to  imitate,  and  impossible  to  excel,  a 
work  whicli  must  always  be  held  among  the  first 
of  its  class  in  point  of  merit,  though  not  actually 
the  foremost  in  point  of  time.  But  neitlicr  the 
high  character  of  the  work,  nor  the  rank  and  re- 
spectabihty  of  the  author,  could  protect  him  or 
his  labors,  from  the  invidious  attacks  of  criticism. 

The  most  formidable  of  these  were  directed  by 
Joseph  Ritson,  a  man  of  acute  observation,  pro- 
found research,  and  great  labor.  These  valuable 
attributes  were  unhapjnly  combined  with  an  eager 
irritabihty  of  temper,  which  induced  him  to  treat 
antiquarian  trifles  with  the  same  seriousness  which 
men  of  the  world  reserve  for  matters  of  import- 
ance, and  disposed  him  to  drive  controversies  into 
personal  quarrels,  by  neglecting  in  literary  de- 
bate, the  courtesies  of  ordinary  society.'  It  ought 
to  be  said,  however,  by  one  who  knew  him  well, 
that  tliis  irritabihty  of  disposition  was  a  constitu- 
tional and  pliysical  infirmity ;  and  that  Ritson's 
extreme  attachment  to  the  severity  of  truth,  cor- 
responded to  the  rigor  of  his  criticisms  upon  the 
labors  of  others.  He  seems  to  have  attacked 
Bishop  Percy  with  the  greater  animosity,  as  bear- 
ing no  good  will  to  the  hierarchy,  in  which  that 
prelate  held  a  distinguished  place. 

Ritson's  criticism,  in  which  there  was  too  much 
horse-play,  was  grounded  on  two  points  of  accusa- 
tion. The  first  point  regarded  Dr.  Percy's  definition 
of  the  order  and  office  of  minstrels,  which  Ritson 
considered  as  designedly  overcharged,  for  the  sake 
of  giving  an  undue  importance  to  his  subject.  The 
second  objection  respected  the  liberties  which  Dr. 
Percy  had  taken  with  his  materials,  in  adding  to, 
retrenching,  and  improving  them,  so  as  to  bring 
them  nearer  to  the  taste  of  his  own  period.  We 
will  take  some  brief  notice  of  both  topics. 

J^lr.tt,  Dr.  Percy,  in  the  first  edition  of  liis  work, 
certaiirly  laid  himself  open  to  the  charge  of  having 
given  an  inaccurate,  and  somewhat  exaggerated 
account  of  the  English  Minstrels,  whom  he  defined 
to  be  an  "  order  of  men  in  the  middle  ages,  who 
subsisted  by  the  arts  of  poetry  and  music,  and 
sung  to  the  harp  the  verses  which  they  themselves 
composed."  The  reverend  editor  of  the  Rehques 
produced  in  support  of  this  definition  many  curious 
quotations,  to  show  that  in  many  instances  the 
persons  of  these  minstrels  had  been  honored  and 
respected,  their  performances  applauded  and  re- 
warded by  the  great  and  the  courtly,  and  then- 
craft  imitated  by  princes  themselves. 

Agamst  both  these  propositions,  Ritson  made  a 
determined  opposition.     He  contended,  and  pro- 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 
69 


bably  with  justice,  that  the  minstrels  •w-o/e  noi 
necessarily  poets,  or  in  the  regular  habit  of  com- 
posing the  verses  which  they  sung  to  the  harp ; 
and  indeed,  tliat  the  word  minstrel,  m  its  ordinary 
acceptation,  meant  no  more  than  musician. 

Dr.  Percy,  from  an  amended  edition  of  his  Essay 
on  Minstrelsy,  jjrefixed  to  the  fourth  edition  of  the 
Rehques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  seems  to  liave  been, 
to  a  certain  pomt,  convinced  by  the  critic's  reason- 
ing; for  he  has  extended  the  definition  impugned 
by  Ritson,  and  the  minstrels  are  thus  described 
as  singing  verses  "  composed  by  themselves  or 
others."  This  we  apprehend  to  be  a  tenable  posi- 
tion ;  for,  as  on  the  one  hand  it  seems  too  broad  an 
averment  to  say  that  all  minstrels  were  by  pro- 
fession poets,  so  on  the  other,  it  is  extravagant  to 
affirm,  that  men  who  were  constantly  in  tht  habit 
of  reciting  verse,  should  not  frequently  have  ac 
quired  that  of  composing  it,  especially  when  their 
bread  depended  on  giving  pleasure  ;  and  to  have 
the  power  of  producing  novelty,  is  a  great  step 
towards  that  desirable  end.  No  unprejudiced 
reader,  therefore,  can  have  any  hesitation  in  adojjt- 
ing  Bisliop  Percy's  definition  of  the  minstrels,  and 
their  occupation,  as  qualified  in  the  fourth  edition 
of  his  Essay,  implying  that  they  were  sometmies 
poets,  sometimes  the  mere  reciters  of  the  poetry 
of  others. 

On  the  critic's  second  proposition,  Dr.  Percy  sue 
cessfully  showed,  that  at  no  period  of  history  was 
the  word  minstrel  appUed  to  instrumental  music 
exclusively;  and  he  has  produced  sufficient  evi- 
dence, that  the  talents  of  the  profession  were  aa 
frequently  employed  in  chanting  or  reciting  po- 
etry as  in  playing  the  mere  tunes.  There  is  ap- 
pearance of  distinction  being  sometimes  made  be 
tween  minstrel  recitations  and  minstrelsy  of  music 
alone ;  and  we  may  add  a  curious  instance,  to  those 
quoted  by  the  Bishop.  It  is  from  the  singular 
ballad  respecting  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,''  wliich 
announces  the  proposition,  that  tongue  is  chief  ol 
minstrelsy. 

We  may  also  notice,  that  the  word  minstrel  be 
ing  in  fact  derived  from  the  Minue-singer  of  the 
Germans,  means,  in  its  primary  sense,  one  who 
sinrfs  of  love,  a  sense  totally  inappUcable  to  a  mere 
instrumental  musician. 

A  second  general  point  on  wliich  Dr.  Percy  was 
fiercely  attacked  by  Mr.  Ritson,  was  also  one  on 
which  both  the  parties  nfight  claim  a  right  to  sing 
Te  Denm,  It  respected  the  rank  or  status  which 
was  held  by  the  minstrels  in  society  during  the 
middle  ages.  On  this  point  the  echtor  of  the  Re- 
hques of  Ancient  Poetry  had  produced  the  most 
satisfactory  evidence,  that,  at  the  comts  of  the 

2  Select  Remains  of  Popular  Pieces  of  Poetry.    Edinburgh 
1822. 


546 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Anglo-JTorman  princes,  tlie  professors  of  the  gay 
Ecience  were  the  favorite  solacers  of  the  leisure 
houi-s  of  princes,  who  did  not  tliemselves  disdain 
to  share  their  timeful  labors,  and  imitate  then- 
compositions.  Mr.  Ritson  re^^lied  to  this  with  great 
ingenuity,  arguing,  that  such  instances  of  respect 
paid  to  French  minstrels  reciting  in  their  native 
language  in  the  court  of  Norman  monarchs,  though 
held  in  Britain,  argued  nothing  in  favor  of  English 
artists  professing  the  same  trade ;  and  of  whose 
compositions,  and  not  of  those  existing  in  the 
Prench  language,  Dr.  Percy  professed  to  form  liis 
collection.  The  reason  of  the  distinction  betwixt 
the  respectabihty  of  the  French  nunstrels,  and  the 
degradation  of  the  same  class  of  men  in  England, 
Mr.  Ritson  plausibly  alleged  to  be,  that  the  Eng- 
lish language,  a  mixed  sijeech  betwixt  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  JSTorman-French,  was  not  known  at  the 
court  of  the  Anglo-Norman  kings  imtQ  the  reign 
of  Ed\\  ard  III. ;'  and  that,  therefore,  until  a  very 
late  period,  and  when  the  lays  of  minstrelsy  were 
gomg  out  of  fasliion,  English  performers  in  that 
capacity  must  have  confined  the  exercise  of  their 
talents  to  the  amusement  of  the  vulgar.  Wow,  as 
it  must  be  conceded  to  Mi-.  Ritson,  that  almost  aU 
the  English  metrical  romances  wliich  have  been 
preserved  till  the  present  day,  are  translated  from 
the  French,  it  may  also  be  allowed,  that  a  class  of 
men  employed  chiefly  in  rendering  into  English 
the  works  of  others,  could  not  hold  so  high  a  sta- 
tion as  those  who  aspired  to  original  composition ; 
and  so  far  the  critic  has  the  best  of  the  dispute. 
But  Mr.  Ritson  has  over-di-iven  his  argument,  since 
there  was  assuredly  a  period  in  English  liistory, 
when  tbe  national  minstrels,  wiiting  in  the  nation- 
al dialect,  were,  in  proportion  to  their  merit  in 
then-  calling,  held  in  honor  and  respect. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  for  example,  a  minstrel  who 
floiu-ished  in  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century,  was 
not  only  a  man  of  talent  in  his  art,  but  of  some 
rank  in  society ;  the  companion  of  nobles,  and  him- 
self a  man  of  landed  property.  He,  and  his  con- 
temporary Kendal,  wrote,  as  we  are  assm-ed  by 
Robert  de  Brunne,  m  a  passage  already  alluded 
to,  a  kind  of  English,  wliich  was  designed  for  "  pride 
and  nobleye,"^  and  not  for  such  infei-ior  persons  as 
Robert  himself  addressed,  and  to  whose  compre- 
hension he  avowedly  lowered  liis  language  and 
structure  of  versification.  There  existed,  there- 
fore, during  the  tune  of  this  historian,  a  more  re- 

1  That  monarch  first  used  the  vernacular  English  dialect  in 
.1  motto  which  he  displayed  on  his  shield  at  a  celebrated  tour- 
nament. The  legend  which  graced  the  representation  :i"  a  white 
■wan  on  the  king's  buckler,  ran  thus  : — 

"Ha!  ha!  the  whyte  swan  ! 
By  Goddis  soule  I  am  thy  man." 

*  The  learned  editor  of  Warton's  History  of  English  Poetry, 
IB  of  opinion  that  Sir  Wa.ter  Scott  misinterpreted  the  passage 


fined  dialect  of  the  English  language,  used  bv  such 
composers  of  popular  poetry  as  moved  in  a  higher 
cu-cle  ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  while 
their  productions  were  held  in  sucli  high  esteem, 
the  authors  must  have  been  honored  in  proportion. 

The  education  bestowed  upon  James  I.  of  Scot- 
land, when  brought  up  under  the  charge  of  Henry 
IV.,  comprehended  botli  music  and  the  art  of  ver- 
nacular poetry ;  in  other  words,  Mmstrelsy  in  both 
branches.  That  poetry,  of  which  the  King  left 
several  .specimens,  was,  as  is  well  known,  English  ; 
nor  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  a  prince,  upon  whose 
education  such  sedulous  care  was  bestowed,  would 
have  been  instructed  in  an  art  which,  if  we  are  to 
beheve  Mr.  Ritson,  was  degraded  to  the  last  de- 
gi-ee,  and  discreditable  to  its  professors.  The  same 
argument  is  strengthened  by  the  poetical  exercises 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  in  English,  written  during 
his  captivity  after  the  battle  of  Agincourt.'  It 
could  not  be  supposed  that  the  noble  prisoner  was 
to  solace  his  hours  of  imprisonment  with  a  degra- 
ding and  vulgar  species  of  composition. 

We  could  produce  other  instances  to  show  that 
this  acute  critic  has  carried  his  argument  consid- 
erably too  far.  But  we  prefer  taking  a  general 
view  of  the  subject,  which  seems  to  explain  clear- 
ly how  contradictory  evidence  should  exist  on  it, 
and  why  instances  of  great  personal  respect  to 
individual  minstrels,  and  a  high  esteem  of  the  art, 
are  quite  reconcilable  with  much  contempt  thrown 
on  the  order  at  large. 

All  professors  of  the  fine  arts — all  those  who 
contribute,  not  to  the  necessities  of  life,  but  to  the 
enjoyments  of  society,  hold  their  professional  re- 
spectability by  the  severe  tenure  of  exliibiting  ex- 
cellence in  theii'  department.  We  are  well  enough 
satisfied  with  the  tradesman  who  goes  through  his 
task  in  a  workmanlike  manner,  nor  are  we  disposed 
to  look  down  upon  the  divine,  the  lawyer,  or  the 
physician,  unless  they  display  gross  ignorance  of  , 
their  profession :  we  hold  it  enough,  that  if  they 
do  not  possess  the  liighest  knowledge  of  their  re- 
spective sciences,  they  can  at  least  instruct  us  on 
the  points  we  desire  to  know.     But 

"  mediocribns  esse  poetis 


Non  di,  non  homines,  non  concessere  colnmniE." 

Tlie  same  is  true  reepecting  the  professors  of 
painting,  of  sculpture,  of  music,  and  the  fine  art? 
in  general.     If  they  exhibit  paramoimt  excellence, 

referred  to.     De  Brunne,  according  to  this  author's  text,  says 
of  the  elder  reciters  of  the  metrical  romance, 

"  They  said  it  for  pride  and  nobleye, 
That  non  were  soulk  as  they  ;" 

i.  c.  they  recited  it  in  a  style  so  lofty  and  noble,  that  none  have 
since  equalled  them. —  JVarton,  edit.  1824,  vol.  i.  p.  183. — Ed 
3  See  the  edition  printed  by  Mr.  Watson   Taylor,  for  the 
Ro.vbnrghe  Club. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  OX  POPULAR  POETRY. 


tit  I 


no  situation  in  society  is  too  high  for  them  which 
their  manners  enable  them  to  fill ;  if  they  fall 
short  of  the  highest  point  of  aim,  they  degenerate 
into  sign-painters,  stone-cutters,  common  crowders, 
doggerel  rhymers,  and  so  forth,  the  most  contempt- 
ible of  manldnd.  The  reason  of  this  is  evident. 
Men  must  be  satisfied  with  such  a  supply  of  their 
actual  wants  as  can  be  obtained  in  the  circum- 
stances, and  should  an  individual  want  a  coat,  he 
must  employ  the  village  tailor  if  Stultze  is  not  to 
be  had.  But  if  he  seeks  for  delight,  the  case  is 
quite  different ;  and  he  that  cannot  hear  Pasta  or 
Sontag,  would  be  little  solaced  for  the  absence  of 
these  sirens,  by  the  strains  of  a  crack-voiced  bal- 
lad-singer. Nay,  on  the  contrary,  the  offer  of  such 
inadequate  compensation  would  only  be  regarded 
as  an  insult,  and  resented  accorchngly. 

The  theatre  affords  the  most  appropriate  exam- 
ple of  what  we  mean.  The  fii'st  circles  in  society 
are  open  to  persons  eminently  distinguished  in  the 
drama ;  and  their  rewards  are,  in  proportion  to 
those  who  profess  the  useful  arts,  incalculably 
higher.  But  those  who  lag  in  the  rear  of  the  dra- 
matic art  are  proportionally  poorer  and  more  de- 
graded than  those  who  are  the  lowest  of  a  useful 
trade  or  profession.  These  instances  will  enable 
us  readily  to  explain  why  the  greater  part  of  the 
minstrels,  practising  their  profession  in  scenes  of 
vulgar  mirth  and  debauchery,  humbling  their  art 
to  please  the  ears  of  drunken  clowns,  and  living 
with  the  dissipation  natm'al  to  men  whose  preca- 
rious subsistence  is,  according  to  the  ordinary 
phrase,  from  hand  to  mouth  oul}",  should  fall  un- 
der general  contempt,  while  the  stars  of  the  pro- 
fession, to  use  a  modern  phrase,  looked  down  on 
them  from  the  distant  empyrean,  as  the  planets 
do  upon  those  shooting  exhalations  arising  fi'om 
gross  vapors  in  the  nether  atmosphere. 

The  debate,  therefore,  resembles  the  apologue 
of  the  gold  and  silver  sliield.  Dr.  Percy  looked 
on  the  mmstrel  in  the  palmy  and  exalted  state  to 
which,  no  doubt,  many  were  elevated  by  their 
talents,  like  those  who  possess  excellence  in  the 
fine  arts  in  the  present  day ;  and  Ritson  consid- 
ered the  reverse  of  the  medal,  vfhen  the  poor  and 
wandering  glee-man  was  glad  to  purchase  his  bread 
by  singing  liis  ballads  at  the  alehouse,  wearing  a 
fantastic  habit,  and  latterly  sinking  into  a  mere 
crowder  upon  an  untuned  fiddle,  accompanying 
his  rude  strains  with  a  ruder  ditty,  the  helpless 
associate  of  drunken  revellers,  and  marvellously 
afraid  of  the  constable  and  parish-beadle.*  The 
difference;  betwixt  those  holding  the  extreme  po- 
sitions of  highest  and  lowest  in  such  a  profession, 
cannot  surely  be  more  marked  than  that  which 
goparated  David  Garriclc  or  John  Kemblo  from  the 

1  See  Ai)pendix   Note  D. 


outcasts  of  a  strolling  company,  exposed  to  penury, 
indigence,  and  persecution  according  to  law.* 

There  was  still  another  and  more  important 
subject  of  debate  between  Dr.  Percy  and  his  hos- 
tile critic.  The  former,  as  a  poet  and  a  man  of 
taste,  was  tempted  to  take  such  freedoms  with  his 
original  ballads  as  might  enable  him  to  please  a 
more  critical  age  than  that  in  which  they  were 
composed.  Words  were  thus  altered,  phrases  im- 
proved, and  whole  verses  were  inserted  or  omit- 
ted at  pleasure.  Such  freedoms  were  especially 
taken  with  the  poems  jjublished  from  a  folio  man- 
uscript in  Dr.  Percy's  own  possession,  very  curious 
fi-om  the  miscellaneous  nature  of  its  contents,  but 
unfortunately-  having  many  of  the  leaves  mutila- 
ted, and  injured  in  other  respects,  by  the  gross 
carelessness  and  ignorance  of  the  transcriber. 
Anxious  to  avail  himself  of  the  treasures  which 
this  manuscript  contained,  the  editor  of  the  Re- 
liques  did  not  hesitate  to  repair  and  renovate  the 
songs  which  he  di-ew  from  this  coiTupted  yet  cu- 
rious source,  and  to  accommodate  them  with  such 
emendations  as  might  recommend  them  to  the 
modern  taste. 

For  these  liberties  with  his  subject,  Ritson  cen- 
sured Dr.  Percy  in  the  most  micompromising  terms, 
accused  him,  in  violent  language,  of  interpolation 
and  forgery,  and  insinuated  that  there  existea  no 
such  thing  in  rerum  natura  as  that  folio  manu- 
scrij)t,  so  often  referred  to  as  the  authority  of  ori- 
ginals inserted  in  the  Reliques.  In  this  charge, 
the  eagerness  of  Ritson  again  bet;rayed  him  far- 
ther than  judgment  and  discretion,  as  well  as  cour- 
tesy, warranted.  It  is  no  doubt  highly  desirable 
that  the  text  of  ancient  poetry  should  be  given 
untouched  and  uncorrupted.  But  this  is  a  point 
which  did  not  occur  to  the  editor  of  the  Reliques 
in  1765,  whose  object  it  was  to  win  the  favor  of 
the  pubUc,  at  a  period  when  the  great  difficulty 
was  not  how  to  secure  the  veiy  words  of  old  bal- 
lads, but  how  to  arrest  attention  upon  the  subject 
at  all.  That  great  and  important  service  to  na- 
tional literature  would  probably  never  have  been 
attained  without  the  work  of  Dr.  Percy  ;  a  work 
which  first  fixed  the  consideration  of  general  read- 
ers on  ancient  poetry,  and  made  it  Wvu-th  while  to 
inquire  how  fiir  its  graces  were  really  antique,  of 
how  far  derived  from  the  taste  with  which  the 
piiblication  had  been  superintended  and  revised. 
The  object  of  Dr.  Percy  was  certainly  intimated 
in  several  parts  of  his  work,  where  he  ingenuously 
acknowledges,  that  certain  ballads  have  received 
emendations,  and  that  others  are  not  of  pure  and 
unmixed  antiquity  ;  that  the  beginning  of  some 
and  end  of  others  have  been  supplied  ;  and  upon 
the  whole,  that  he  has,  in  many  instances,  deco 

*  See  Apjiendix,  Note  E. 


548 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


rated  the  ancient  ballads  vith  the  graces  of  a 
more  Tefined  period. 

This  system  is  so  distinctly  intimated,  that  if 
'here  be  any  critic  still  of  opinion,  like  poor  Rit- 
8on,  whose  morbid  temperament  led  hun  to  such  a 
conclusion,  that  the  crime  of  literary  imitation  is 
equal  to  that  of  commercial  forgery,  he  ought  to 
recollect  that  guilt,  in  the  latter  case,  does  not 
exist  without  a  corresponding  charge  of  uttering 
the  forged  document,  or  causing  it  to  be  uttered, 
as  genu'ne,  without  whicli  the  mere  imitation  is 
not  culpable,  at  least  not  criminally  so.  This  qual- 
ity is  totally  awanting  in  the  accusation  so  roughly 
brouglit  agauist  Dr.  Percy,  who  avowedly  indulged 
in  such  alterations  and  improvements  upon  his 
materials,  as  might  adapt  them  to  the  taste  of  ar. 
age  not  otherwise  disposed  to  bestow  its  attention 
on  them. 

We  have  to  add,  that,  in  the  fourth  edition  of 
the  Reliques,  Mr.  Thomas  Percy  of  St.  John's  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  pleading  tlie  cause  of  his  uncle  with 
the  most  gentlemanlike  moderation,  and  with 
every  respect  to  Mr.  Ritson's  science  and  talents, 
has  combatetl  the  critic's  opinion,  without  any  at- 
tempt to  retort  his  injurious  language. 

It  would  be  now,  no  doubt,  desirable  to  have 
had  some  more  distinct  account  of  Dr.  Percy's  folio 
manuscript  and  its  contents ;  and  Mr.  Thomas  Per- 
cy, accordingly,  gives  the  original  of  the  marriage 
of  Sir  Gawain,  and  collates  it  with  the  copy  pub- 
lished in  a  complete  state  by  his  uncle,  who  has 
on  this  occasion  given  entire  rein  to  his  own  fancy, 
though  the  rude  origin  of  most  of  his  ideas  is  to  be 
found  in  the  old  ballad.  Tliere  is  also  given  a 
copy  of  that  elegant  metrical  tale,  "  The  Child  of 
EUe,"  as  it  exists  in  the  folio  manuscript,  which 
goes  far  to  show  it  has  derived  aU  its  beauties 
from  Dr.  Percy's  poetical  powers.  Judging  from 
these  two  specimens,  we  can  easily  conceive  why 
the  Reverend  Editor  of  the  "Reliques"  should 
have  declined,  by  the  production  of  the  folio  man- 
uscript, to  furnish  his  severe  Aristarch  with  wea- 
pons against  him,  which  he  was  sure  would  be  un- 
sparingly used.  Yet  it  is  certain,  the  manuscript 
contains  much  that  is  really  excellent,  though  mu- 
tilated and  sophisticated.  A  copy  of  the  fine  bal- 
lad of  "  Sir  Cauliu"  is  found  in  a  Scottish  shape, 
imder  the  name  of  "  Kuig  Malcolm  and  Sir  Col- 
vin,"  in  Buchan's  North  Country  Ballads,  to  be 
presently  mentioned.  It  is,  therefore,  unquestion- 
ably ancient,  thougli  possibly  retouched,  and  per- 
haps with  the  addition  of  a  second  part,  of  wliich 
the  Scottish  copy  has  no  vestiges.  It  would 
be  desirable  to  know  exactly  to  what  extent 
Dr.  Percy  had  used  the  license  of  an  editor,  in 

>  Introduction  to  Evans's  Ballads,  1810.  New  edition,  en- 
larged, &.C. 


these  and  other  cases ;  and  certainly,  at  this  pe- 
riod, would  be  only  a  degree  of  justice  due  to  hi? 
memory. 

On  the  whole,  we  may  dismiss  the  "  Reliques  ol 
Ancient  Poetry"  with  the  praise  and  censure  con- 
ferred on  it  by  a  gentleman,  himself  a  valuable  la- 
borer in  the  vineyard  of  antiquiUes.  "  It  is  the 
most  elegant  compilation  of  the  early  poetry  that 
has  ever  appeared  in  any  age  or  country.  But  it 
must  be  frankly  added,  that  so  numerous  are  the 
alterations  and  corrections,  that  the  severe  anti- 
quary, who  desires  to  see  the  old  English  ballads 
in  a  genuine  state,  must  consult  a  more  accurate 
edition  than  this  celebrated  work."* 

Of  Ritson's  own  talents  as  an  editor  of  ancient 
poetry,  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  hereafter. 
Tlie  first  collector  who  followed  the  example  ol 
Dr.  Percy,  was  Mr.  T.  Evans,  bookseller,  father  of 
the  gentleman  we  have  just  quoted.  His  "  Old 
Ballads,  historical  and  narrative,  with  some  of  mod- 
ern date,"  appeared  in  two  volumes,  in  1777,  and 
were  eminently  successful.  In  1784,  a  second  edi- 
tion appeared,  extending  the  work  to  four  vol- 
umes. In  this  collection,  many  ballads  found  ac- 
ceptance, which  Bishop  Percy  had  not  considered  as 
possessing  suificient  merit  to  claim  admittance  into 
the  ReUques.  The  8vo.  Miscellany  of  1723  yield- 
ed a  great  part  of  the  materials.  The  collection  of 
Evans  contained  several  modern  pieces  of  great 
merit,  which  are  not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and 
which  are  understood  to  be  the  productions  of  Wil- 
hani  .Julius  Mickle,  translator  of  tlie  Lusiad,  though 
they  were  never  clauned  by  him,  nor  received 
among  liis  works.  Amongst  them  is  the  elegiac 
poem  of  Cumnor  Hall,  wliich  suggested  the  ficti- 
tious narrative  entitled  Kenilworth.  The  Red- 
Cross  Knight,  also  by  Mickle,  which  has  furnished 
words  for  a  beautiful  glee,  first  occurred  in  the 
same  collection.  As  Mickle,  with  a  vein  of  great 
fecility,  united  a  power  of  verbal  melody  which 
might  have  been  envied  by  bards  of  much  greater 
renown,^  he  must  be  considered  as  very  successful 
in  tliese  efforts,  if  the  ballads  be  regarded  as 
avowedly  modern.  If  they  are  to  be  judged  of 
as  accurate  imitations  of  ancient  poetry,  they  have 
less  merit ;  the  deception  being  only  maintained 
by  a  huge  store  of  double  consonants,  strewed  at 
random  into  ordinaiy  words,  resembling  the  real 
fashion  of  antiquity  as  httle  as  the  niches,  turrets, 
and  tracery  of  plaster  stuck  upon  a  modern  front. 
In  the  year  1810,  the  four  volumes  of  1784  were 
republished  by  Mr.  R.  H.  Evans,  the  son  of  the 
original  editor,  with  very  considerable  alterationa 
and  additions.  In  tliis  last  edition,  the  more  ordi- 
nary modern  ballads  were  judiciously  retrenched 

«  See  Appenlix,  Note  F. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


5ii» 


in  number,  and  large  and  valuable  additions  made 
to  the  ancient  j^art  of  the  collection.  Being  in 
some  measure  a  supplement  to  the  Reliques  of 
Ancient  Poetry,  this  miscellany  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with  on  the  shelves  of  any  bibUomaniac 
who  may  choose  to  emulate  Captain  Cox  of  Co- 
ventry, the  prototype  of  all  collectors  of  popular 
poetry. 

While  Dr.  Percy  was  setting  the  example  of  a 
classical  publication  of  ancient  English  poetry,  the 
late  David  Herd  was,  in  modest  retirement,  com- 
piling a  collection  of  Scottish  Songs,  which  ho  has 
happily  described  as  "  the  poetry  and  music  of  the 
heart."  The  first  part  of  his  Miscellany  contains 
heroic  and  historical  ballads,  of  which  there  is  a 
respectable  and  well-chosen  selection.  Mr.  Herd,' 
an  accountant,  as  the  profession  is  called  ua  Edin- 
burgh, was  known  and  generally  esteemed  for  liis 
shrewd,  manly  common  sense  and  antiquarian  sci- 
ence, mixed  with  much  good  natm-e  and  great 
modesty.  His  hardy  and  antique  mould  of  counte- 
nance, and  his  venerable  grizzled  locks,  procured 
him,  amongst  his  acquaintance,  the  name  of  Gray- 
steil.  His  original  collection  of  songs,  in  one  vol- 
ume, appeared  in  1169 ;  an  enlarged  one,  in  two 
volumes,  came  out  in  lITG.  A  publication  of  the 
same  kind,  being  Herd's  book  still  more  enlarged, 
was  printed  for  Lawrie  and  Symmgton  in  1791. 
Some  modern  additions  occur  in  this  latter  work, 
of  which  by  far  the  most  valuable  were  two  fine 
imitations  of  the  Scottish  ballad  by  the  gifted  au- 
thor of  the  "  Man  of  Feeling," — (now,  alas  !  no 
more,) — called  "  Dmican"  and  "  Kenneth." 

John  Pinkerton,  a  man  of  considerable  learning, 
and  some  severity  as  well  as  acuteness  of  disposi- 
tion, was  now  endeavoring  to  force  himself  into 
public  attention ;  and  his  collection  of  Select  Bal- 
lads, London,  1183,  contains  sufiicient  evidence 
that  he  understood,  in  an  extensive  sense,  Horace's 
maxim,  quidlibet  audendi.  As  he  was  possessed  of 
considerable  powers  of  poetry,  though  not  equal 
to  what' he  was  willing  to  take  credit  for,  he  was 
resolved  to  enrich  his  collection  with  all  the  nov- 
elty and  uiterest  which  it  could  derive  from  a 
liberal  insertion  of  pieces  dressed  in  the  garb  of 
antiquity,  but  equipped  from  the  wardrobe  of  the 
editor's  imagmation.  With  a  boldness,  suggested 
perhaps  by  the  success  of  Mr.  Macphersou,  he  in- 
cluded, witliin  a  collection  amounting  to  only 
twenty-one  tragic  ballads,  no  less  than  five,  of 
which  he  afterwards  owned  himself  to  have  been 
altogether,  or  in  great  part,  the  author.  Tlie  most 
remarkable  article  in  this  Miscellany  was,  a  second 

J  David  Herd  was  a  native  of  St.  Cyrus,  in  Kincardineshire, 
and  though  often  tenneil  a  writer,  he  was  only  a  clerk  in  the 
office  of  iMr.  David  Russell,  accountant  in  EJinhurgli.  He 
died,  a2ed  78,  in  1810,  and  left  a  very  curious  library,  which 
was  dispersed  by  auction.     Herd  by  no  means  merited  the  ciiar- 


part  to  the  noble  ballad  of  Hardyk-nute,  wliich  has 
some  good  verses.  It  labors,  however,  under  thiij 
great  defect,  that,  in  order  to  append  his  own  con- 
clusion to  the  original  tale,  Mr.  Pinkerton  found 
himself  under  the  necessity  of  altering  a  leading 
circumstance  in  the  old  ballad,  wliich  would  have 
rendered  his  catastrophe  inappUcable.  With  such 
hcense,  to  write  continuations  and  conclusions 
would  be  no  difficult  task.  In  the  second  volume 
of  the  Select  Ballads,  consisting  of  comic  pieces,  a 
hst  of  fifty -two  articles  contained  nine  written  en- 
tnely  by  the  editor  himself.  Of  the  manner  in 
which  these  suj^posititious  compositions  are  exe 
cuted,  it  may  be  briefly  stated,  that  they  are  the 
work  of  a  scholar  much  better  acquiiinted  with  an- 
cient books  and  manuscripts,  than  witli  oral  tradi- 
tion and  popular  legends.  The  poetry  smells  of 
the  lamp  ;  and  it  may  be  truly  said,  that  if  ever  a 
ballad  had  existed  in  such  quaint  language  as  the 
author  employs,  it  could  never  have  been  so  popu- 
lar as  to  be  preserved  by  oral  tradition.  The 
glossary  displays  a  much  greater  acquaintance 
with  learned  lexicons  than  with  the  famiUar  dia- 
lect still  spoken  by  the  Lowland  Scottish,  and  it 
is,  of  course,  full  of  errors.*  Neither  was  Mr. 
Pinkerton  more  happy  in  the  way  of  conjectural 
illustration.  He  chose  to  fix  on  Sn  John  Bruce  of 
Kinross  the  paternity  of  the  ballad  of  Hardyknute, 
and  of  the  fine  poem  called  the  Vision.  Tlie  first 
is  due  to  Mrs.  Halket  of  Wardlaw,  the  second  to 
Allan  Ramsay,  although,  it  must  be  owned,  it  is  of 
a  character  superior  to  his  ordinary  poetry.  Sir 
Jolm  Bruce  was  a  brave,  blunt  soldier,  who  madt 
no  pretence  whatever  to  literature,  though  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Bruce  of  Arnot,  had  much  talent, 
a  cuxumstance  which  may  perhaps  have  misled 
the  antiquary. 

ill".  Pinkerton  read  a  sort  of  recantation,  in  a 
List  of  Scottish  Poets,  prefixed  to  a  Selection  of 
Poems  fi-om  the  Maitland  Manuscript,  vol.  i.  1186, 
in  which  he  acknowledges,  as  his  own  composition, 
the  pieces  of  spurious  antiquity  included  in  his 
"  Select  Ballads,"  with  a  coolness  which,  when  his 
subsequent  invectives  against  others  who  had  taken 
similar  liberties  is  considered,  infers  as  much  au- 
dacity as  the  studied  and  labored  defence  of  ob- 
scenity with  which  he  disgraced  the  same  pages. 

Li  the  mean  tune,  Joseph  Ritson,  a  man  of  dili- 
gence and  acumen  equal  to  those  of  Pinkerton,  but 
of  the  most  laudable  accm-acy  and  fidelity  as  an 
editor,  was  engaged  m  various  publications  re- 
specting poetical  antiquities,  in  which  he  employed 
profound  research.     A  select  collection  of  English 

acSer  given  iiim  by  Pinkerton,  of  "  an  illiterate  and  injadicions 
conpiler." — Ed. 

2  Bansiers,  forexample,  a  word  generally  applied  to  the  men, 
on  a  harvest  field,  who  bind  the  sheaves,  is  derived  from  ban,  to 
curse,  and  explained  to  mean,  "  blustering,  swearing  fellows.' 


650 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Songs  was  compiled  by  liim,  with  great  care  and 
considerable  taste,  and  published  at  London,  1783. 
A  new  edition  of  this  has  appeared  since  Ritson's 
death,  sanctioned  by  the  name  of  the  learned  and 
indefatigable  antiquary,  Thomas  Park,  and  aug- 
mented with  many  original  pieces,  and  some  which 
Ritson  had  prepared  for  pubhcation. 

Ritson's  Collection  of  Songs  was  followed  by  a 
curious  volume,  entitled,  "  Ancient  Songs  from  the 
time  of  Plenry  III.  to  the  Revolution,"  1190 ; 
"Pieces  of  Ancient  Popular  Poetry/'  1*792;  ajid 
"  A  collection  of  Scottish  Songs,  with  the  genuine 
miisic,"  London,  1794-.  This  last  is  a  genuine,  but 
rather  meagre  collection  of  Caledonian  popular 
songs.  Next  year  Mr.  Ritson  pubUshed  "  Robin 
Hood,"  2  vols.,  1795,  being  "  A  Collection  of  all  the 
Ancicut  Poems,  Songs,  and  Ballads  now  extant, 
relative  to  that  celebrated  Outlaw."  This  work  is 
a  notable  illustration  of  the  excellencies  and  de- 
fects of  Mr.  Ritson's  system.  It  is  almost  impossi- 
ble to  conceive  so  much  zeal,  research,  and  indus- 
try bestowed  on  a  subject  of  antiquity.  There 
scarcely  occurs  a  phrase  or  word  relating  to  Robin 
Hood,  whether  in  history  or  poetry,  in  law  books, 
in  ancient  proverbs,  or  common  parlance,  but  it  is 
here  collected  and  explained.  At  the  same  time, 
the  extreme  fidelity  of  the  editor  seems  driven  to 
excess,  when  we  find  him  pertinaciously  retaining 
all  the  munerous  and  gross  errors  which  repeated 
recitations  have  introduced  into  the  text,  and  re- 
garding it  as  a  sacred  duty  to  prefer  the  worst  to 
the  better  readings,  as  if  their  inferiority  was  a  se- 
curity for  their  being  genuine.  In  short,  when 
Ritson  copied  from  rare  books,  or  ancient  manu- 
scripts, there  could  not  be  a  more  accurate  editor ; 
wlien  taking  his  authority  from  oral  tradition,  and 
judging  between  two  recited  copies,  he  was  apt  to 
consider  the  worst  as  most  genuine,  as  if  a  poem 
was  not  more  likely  to  be  deteriorated  than  im- 
proved by  passmg  through  the  mouths  of  many  re- 
citers. In  the  Ballads  of  Robin  Hood,  this  super- 
stitious scrupulosity  was  especially  to  be  regretted, 
IS  it  tended  to  enlarge  the  collection  with  a  great 
number  of  doggerel  compositions,  which  are  all 
copies  of  each  other,  turning  on  the  same  idea  of 
Bold  Robin  meeting  with  a  shepherd,  a  tmker,  a 
mendicant,  a  tanner,  &c.  &c.,  by  each  and  aU  of 
whom  he  is  soundly  thrashed,  and  all  of  whom  he 
receives  into  his  band.  The  tradition,  which  avers 
that  it  was  the  brave  outlaw's  custom  to  try  a  bout 
at  quarter-staff  with  lus  young  recruits,  might  in- 
deed have  authorized  one  or  two  such  tales,  but 
the  greater  part  ought  to  have  been  rejected  as 
iiodern  imitations  of  the  most  paltry  kind,  com- 

I'TIie  first  opening  of  the  ballad  has  much  of  the  martial 
strain  witli  which  a  pibroch  commences.  Properat  in  mcdias 
res — according  to  the  classical  admonition. 


posed  probably  about  the  age  of  James  I.  of  Eng- 
land. By  adopting  this  spurious  trash  as  part  of 
Robin  Hood's  history,  he  is  represented  as  the  best 
cudgelled  hero,  Don  Quixote  excepted,  that  ever 
was  celebrated  in  prose  or  rhyme.  Ritson  also 
pubUshed  several  garlands  of  North  Country  songs. 

Looking  on  this  eminent  antiquary's  labors  in  a 
general  point  of  view,  we  may  deprecate  the  eager- 
ness and  severity  of  his  prejudices,  and  feel  sur- 
prise that  he  should  have  shown  so  much  irritabil- 
ity of  disposition  on  such  a  topic  as  a  collection  of 
old  ballads,  which  certainly  have  little  in  them  to 
affect  the  passions ;  and  we  may  be  sometunes  pro- 
voked at  the  pertinacity  with  which  he  has  pre- 
ferred bad  readings  to  good.  But  while  industry, 
research,  and  antiquarian  learning,  are  recommen- 
dations to  works  of  this  nature,  few  editors  will 
ever  be  found  so  competent  to  the  task  as  Joseph 
Ritson.  It  must  also  be  added  to  his  praise,  that 
although  not  willing  to  yield  his  opinion  rashly, 
yet  if  he  saw  reason  to  beliere  that  he  had  been 
mistaken  in  any  fact  or  argument,  he  resigned  his 
own  opinion  with  a  candor  equal  to  the  warmth 
with  which  he  defended  himself  while  confident 
he  was  in  the  right.  Many  of  his  works  are  now 
almost  out  of  print,  and  an  edition  of  them  in  com- 
mon orthography,  and  altering  the  bizarre  speUing 
and  character  which  his  prejudices  induced  the  au- 
thor to  adopt,  would  be,  to  antiquaries,  an  accept- 
able present. 

We  have  now  given  a  hasty  account  of  various 
collections  of  popular  poetry  durmg  the  eighteenth 
century ;  we  have  only  further  to  observe,  that,  in 
the  present  century,  this  species  of  lore  lias  been 
sedulously  cultivated.  The  "JMinstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border"  first  appeared  in  1802,  in  two 
volumes ;  and  what  may  appear  a  singular  coinci- 
dence, it  was  the  first  woi-k  printed  by  Mr.  James 
Ballantyne  (then  residing  at  Kelso),  as  it  was  the 
first  serious  demand  which  the  present  author 
made  on  the  patience  of  the  pubUc.  The  Border 
Slinstrelsy,  augmented  by  a  third  volume,  came  to 
a  second  edition  in  1803.  In  1803,  Mr.,  now  Sir 
John  Grahame  Dalzell,  to  whom  his  country  is 
obliged  for  his  antiquarian  labors,  publLshed  "  Scot- 
tish Poems  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,"  which,  among 
other  subjects  of  interest,  contains  a  curious  con- 
temporary ballad  of  Belrinnes,  wliich  has  some 
stanzas  of  considerable  merit.^ 

The  year  1806  was  distinguished  by  the  appear- 
ance of  "  Popular  Ballads  and  Songs,  from  Tradi- 
tions, Manuscripts,  and  Scarce  Editions,  with  Trans- 
lations of  Similar  Pieces  from  the  Ancient  Danish 
Language,  and  a  few  Originals  by  the  Editor,  Rcb 

"  MacCallanmore  came  from  the  v*est 
With  many  a  bow  and  brand  ; 
To  waste  the  Rinnes  he  thought  it  best 
The  Earl  of  Huntly's  land  " 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


651 


ert  Janiieson,  A.  M.,  and  F.  A.  S."'  This  work,  which 
was  not  greeted  by  the  pubhc  with  the  attention 
it  deserved,  opened  a  new  discovery  respecting 
the  original  source  of  the  Scottish  ballads.  'Mi: 
Jamieson's  extensive  acquaintance  with  the  Scan- 
dinavian hteratui-e,  enabled  him  to  detect  not  only 
a  general  similarity  betwixt  these  and  the  Danish 
ballads  preserved  in  the  "  Kierape  Viser,"  an  early 
collection  of  heroic  ballads  in  that  language,  but 
to  demonstrate  that,  in  many  cases,  the  stories  and 
songs  were  distinctly  the  same,  a  circumstance 
which  no  antiquary  had  hitherto  so  much  as  sus- 
pected. Mr.  Jamieson's  amiotations  are  also  very 
valuable,  and  preserve  some  cm-ious  illustrations 
of  the  old  poets.  His  imitations,  though  he  is  not 
entirely  free  from  the  affectation  of  using  rather 
too  many  obsolete  words,  are  generally  highly  in- 
teresting. The  work  fills  an  important  place  in 
the  collection  of  those  who  are  addicted  to  this 
branch  of  antiquarian  study. 

Mr.  Jolm  Finlay,  a  poet  whose  career  was  cut 
short  by  a  prcmatm'e  death,^  j^i^j'i'^liGd  a  short  col- 
lection of  "  Scottish  Historical  and  Romantic  Bal- 
lads," in  1808.  The  beauty  of  some  imitations  of 
the  old  Scottish  ballad,  with  the  good  sense,  learn- 
mg,  and  modesty  of  the  preliminary  dissertations, 
must  make  all  admirers  of  ancient  lore  regret  the 
early  loss  of  this  accomphshed  young  man. 

Various  valuable  collections  of  ancient  ballad- 
poetry  have  ap2)eared  of  late  years,  some  of  wlaicli 
are  illustrated  with  learning  and  acuteness,  as  those 
of  Mr.  MotherwelP  and  of  Mr.  Kinloch*  intimate 
much  taste  and  feeling  for  this  species  of  Utera- 
ture.  Nor  is  there  any  want  of  editions  of  ballads, 
less  designed  for  public  sale,  than  to  preserve  float- 
ing pieces  of  minstrelsy  which  are  in  immediate 
danger  of  perishing.  Several  of  those,  edited,  as 
we  have  occasion  to  know,  by  men  of  distinguished 
lalent,  have  appeared  in  a  smaller  form  and  more 
limited  edition,  and  must  soon  be  among  the  in- 
trouvabJcs  of  Scottish  typography.  "We  would  par- 
ticularize a  duodecimo,  under  the  modest  title  of 
a  "  Ballad  Book,"  without  place  or  date  annexed, 

1  After  tlie  completion  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  and  nearly 
three  years  previous  to  the  publication  of  his  own  CoUeLtion, 
Mr.  Jamieson  printed  in  the  Scots  Magazine  (October,  1803)  a 
List  of  desiderata  in  Scottish  Song.  His  communication  to 
the  Editor  of  that  work  contains  the  following  paragrajjh  : — 
"I  am  now  ttriting  out  for  the  press  a  Collection  of  Popular 
Ballads  and  Songs  from  tradition,  MSS.,  and  scarce  publica- 
tions, with  a  few  of  modern  date,  which  hav?  been  written  for, 
and  are  exclusively  dedicated  to  ray  collection.  As  many  of 
the  pieces  were  common  property,  I  have  heretofore  waited  for 
the  completion  of  Mr.  Walter  Scott's  Work,  with  more  anx- 
iety for  the  cause  in  general,  than  for  any  particular  and  selfish 
interest  of  my  ovi  n  ;  as  I  was  sure  of  having  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  such  pieces  as  that  gentleman  might  choose  to  adopt, 
appear  with  every  advantage  which  I,  partial  as  I  was,  could 
wisn  them.  The  most  sanguine  expectations  of  the  public 
liave  now  been  amply  gratified  ;  and  much  curious  and  valua- 


wliich  indicates,  by  a  few  notes  only,  the  capacity 
which  the  editor  possesses  for  supplying  the  most 
extensive  and  ingenious  illustrations  upon  antiqua- 
rian subjects.     Most  of  the  ballads  are  of  a  comic 
character,  and  some  of  them  admirable  specimens 
of  Scottish  dry  humor .^     Another  collection,  which 
calls  for  particular  distinction,  is  in  the  same  sizt, 
or  nearly  so,  and  bears  the  same  title  with  the 
preceding  one,  the  date  being,  Edinbm-gh,  1827. 
But  the  contents  are  announced  as  containing  the 
budget,  or  stock-in-trade,  of  an  old  Aberdeeo.shire 
minstrel,  the  very  last,  probably,  of  the  race,  who, 
according  to  Percy's  definition  of  the  profession, 
sung  his  own  compositions,  and  those  of  others, 
thi'ough  the  capital  of  the  county,  and  other  towns 
in  that  country  of  gentlemen.     This  man's  name 
was  Charles  Leslie,  but  he  was  known  more  gene- 
rally by  the  nickname  of  Mussel-mou'd  Charlie. 
from  a  singular  projection  of  liis  under  lip.     His 
death  was  thus  announced  in  the  newspapers  fo^ 
October,  1792 : — "  Died  at  Old  Rain,  m  Aberdeen- 
slnre,  aged  one  hundred  and  fom-  years,  Charles 
Leslie,  a  hawker,  or  ballad-singer,  well  known  in 
that  country  by  the  name  of  Mussel-mou'd  Chariie. 
He  followed  his  occupation  till  witliin  a  few  weeks 
of  his  death."     Charhe  was  a  devoted  Jacobite, 
and  so  popular  in  Aberdeen,  that  he  enjoyed  ir 
that  city  a  sort  of  monopoly  of  the  minstrel  call- 
uig,  no  other  person  bemg  allowed,  under  any  pre- 
tence, to  chant  ballads  on  the  causeway,  or  plain- 
staues,  of  "  the  brave  burgh."    Like  the  former  col- 
lection, most  of  Mussel-mou'd  Charlie's  songs  were 
of  a  jocose  character. 

But  the  most  extensive  and  valuable  additions 
wliich  have  been  of  .late  made  to  this  branch  of 
ancient  hterature,  are  the  collections  of  jMr.  Peter 
Buchan  of  Peterhead,  a  person  of  indefatigable  re- 
search in  that  department,  and  whose  industry  has 
been  crowned  with  the  most  successful  results. 
This  is  partly  owing  to  the  country  where  Mr. 
Buchan  resides,  which,  fuU  as  it  is  of  mmstrel  rel- 
ics, has  been  but  httle  ransacked  by  any  former 
collectors ;  so  that,  while  it  is  a  very  rare  event 

ble  matter  is  still  left  fcr  rae  by  Mr.  Scott,  to  whom  I  am  much 
indebted  for  many  acts  of  friendship,  and  much  liberality  and 
good  will  shown  towards  me  and  my  undertaking." — Ed. 

2  Mr.  Finlay,  best  known  by  his  "  Wallace,  or  The  Vale  c 
EUerslie,"  died  in  1810,  in  his  twenty-eighth  year.  An  affeo 
tionate  and  elegant  tribute  to  his  memory,  from  the  pen  of  Pro- 
fessor Wilson,  appeared  in  Blackwood's  Magazine,  November, 
1817.— Ed. 

3  Minstrelsy ;  Ancient  and  Modern,  with  an  Historical  In- 
troduction and  Notes.  By  William  Motherwell.  4to.  Glasg. 
1827. 

i  Ancient  Scottish  Ballads,  recovered  from  Tradition,  and 
never  before  published  ;  witli  Notes,  Historical  and  Explana- 
tory, and  an  Appendix,  containing  the  Airs  of  several  of  the 
ballads.     Svo.     Edin.  1827. 

5  This  is  Mr.  C.  K.  Sharpe's  Work,  already  allndeU  to.-~ 
£d. 


552 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


south  ol  the  Tay,  to  recover  any  ballad  having  a 
claim  to  antiquity,  ■which  has  not  been  examined 
and  republished  in  some  one  or  other  of  our  collec- 
tions of  ancient  poetiy,  those  of  Aberdeenshire 
have  been  comparatively  little  attended  to.  The 
present  Editor  •was  the  first  to  sohcit  attention  to 
these  nortl>em  songa,  in  consequence  of  a  collection 
of  ballads  communicated  to  him  by  his  late  re- 
spected fri  ind,  Lord  "Woodhouslee.  Mr.  Jamieson, 
in  his  collections  of  "  Songs  and  Ballads,"  being 
himself  a  native  of  ^lorayshire,  was  able  to  push 
this  inquiry  much  farther,  and  at  the  same  time, 
by  doing  so,  to  illustrate  his  theory  of  the  connec- 
tion bet-weon  the  ancient  Scottish  and  Danish  bal- 
lads, upoD  which  the  publication  of  Mr.  Buchan 
tlu'ows  much  hght.  It  is,  indeed,  the  most  com- 
plete collection  of  the  kind  which  has  yet  appeared.' 
Of  the  originahty  of  the  ballads  in  Mr.  Buchan's 
collection  we  do  not  entertain  the  slightest  doubt. 
Several  (we  may  instance  the  curious  tale  of 
"Tlie  Two  Magicians")  are  translated  from  the 
Norse,  and  ilr.  Buchan  is  probably  unacquainted 
with  the  originals.  Others  refer  to  points  of 
history,  with  which  the  editor  does  not  seem  to 
be  famUiar.  It  is  out  of  no  disrespect  to  this 
laborious  and  useful  antiquary,  that  we  observe 
liis  prose  composition  is  rather  florid,  and  forms, 
in  tliis  respect,  a  strong  contrast  to  the  extreme 
simplicity  of  the  ballads,  wliich  gives  us  the  most 
distinct  assurance  that  he  has  dehvered  the  lat- 
ter to  the  public  in  the  shape  in  which  he  found 
them.  Accordingly,  we  have  never  seen  any  col- 
lection of  Scottish  poetry  appearing,  from  in- 
ternal evidence,  so  decidedly  and  indubitably 
original.  It  is  perhaps  a  pity  that  Mr.  Buchan 
did  not  remove  some  obvious  errors  and  cor- 
ruptions ;  but,  in  truth,  though  their  remaining 
on  record  is  an  mjury  to  the  effect  of  the  ballads, 
in  point  of  composition,  it  is,  in  some  degree,  a 
proof  of  their  authenticity.  Besides,  although 
the  exertion  of  this  editorial  privilege,  of  select- 
ing readings,  is  an  advantage  to  the  ballads  them- 
selves, we  are  contented  rather  to  take  the  whole 
in  their  present,  though  imperfect  state,  than 
that  the  least  doubt  should  be  thrown  upon  them, 
by  amendments  or  alterations,  which  might  render 
then-  authenticity  doubtful.  The  historical  poems, 
we  observe,  are  few  and  of  no  remote  date. 
That  of  the  "  Bridge  of  Dee,"  is  among  the  oldest, 
and  there  are  others  referring  to  the  times  of 
the  Covenanters.     Some,  indeed,  are  composed  on 

1  Ancient  Ballads  and  Pongs  of  the  North  of  Scotland, 
hitliprlo  nnpublished  ;  with  Explanatory  Notes.  By  P.  B. 
8  vols.  8vo.     Edin.  1828 


still  more  recent  events  ;  as  the  marriage  of  the 
mother  of  the  late  illustrious  Byron,'  and  a  catas- 
trophe of  stiU  later  occurrence,  "The  Death  of 
Leith-hall." 

As  we  wish  to  interest  the  admirers  of  ancient 
minstrel  lore  in  this  curious  collection,  we  shall 
only  add,  that,  on  occasion  of  a  new  edition,  we 
would  recommend  to  Mr.  Buchan  to  leave  out  a 
number  of  songs  which  he  has  only  inserted  be- 
cause they  are  varied,  sometimes  for  the  worse, 
from  sets  which  have  appeared  in  other  pubHca- 
tions.  This  restriction  would  make  considerable 
room  for  such  as,  old  though  they  be,  possess  to 
this  age  all  the  grace  of  novelty. 

To  these  notices  of  late  collections  of  Scottish 
Ballads,  we  ought  to  add  some  remarks  on  the 
very  curious  "  Ancient  Legendary  Tales,  printed 
chiefly  from  Original  Sources,  edited  by  the  llev. 
Charles  Henry  Hartshorne,  M.  A.  1829."  The 
editor  of  this  imostentatious  work  has  done  his 
duty  to  the  public  with  much  labor  and  care,  and 
made  the  admirers  of  this  species  of  poetry  ac- 
quainted with  very  many  ancient  legendary  poems, 
which  were  hitherto  impublished  and  very  httle 
known.  It  increases  the  value  of  the  collection, 
that  many  of  them  are  of  a  comic  turn,  a  species 
of  composition  more  rare,  and,  from  its  necessary 
allusion  to  domestic  manners,  more  curious  and 
interesting,  than  the  serious  class  of  Romances. 


TVe  have  thus,  in  a  cursory  manner,  gone 
through  the  history  of  English  and  Scottish  popu- 
lar poetry,  and  noticed  the  principal  collections 
which  have  been  formed  from  time  to  time  of  such 
compositions,  and  the  principles  on  which  the 
editors  have  proceeded.  It  is  rcanifest  that,  of 
late,  the  pubUc  attention  has  been  so  much  turned 
to  the  subject  by  men  of  research  and  talent,  that 
we  may  well  hope  to  retrieve  from  oblivion  as 
much  of  om-  ancient  poetry  as  there  is  now  any 
possibihty  of  recovering. 

Another  important  psrt  of  our  task  consists  in 
giving  some  account  of  the  modern  imitalion  of 
the  English  EaJlid,  a  species  of  literary  iabor 
which  the  autVcr  ha£  himself  pvirsued  vi^'  soccfe 
success. 

Abbotsforp,  Ist  March,  1830. 

2  This  song  is  oaotsd  la  Moora'j  Life  o>f  Byron,  y<A  I  — 
Ed. 


APPENDIX  TO  KEMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY, 


553 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  HARLAW. — P.  544. 

That  there  was  such  an  ancient  ballad  is  certain,  and  the 
tune,  adapted  to  the  bagpipe,  was  long  extremely  popular, 
and,  within  the  remembrance  of  man,  the  first  which  was 
played  at  kirns  and  other  rustic  festivals.  But  there  is  a 
suspicious  phrase  in  the  ballad  as  it  is  published  by  Allan 
Ramsay.  When  describing  the  national  confusion,  the  baid 
?ays, 

"  Sen  the  days  of  auld  King  Harie, 
Such  slauchter  was  heard  or  seen." 

Unery,  Who  was  the  "auld  King  Harie"  here  meant?  If 
Henry  VIII.  be  intended,  as  is  most  likely,  it  must  bring  the 
date  of  the  poem,  at  least  of  that  verse,  as  low  as  Queen  Mary's 
time.  The  ballad  is  said  to  have  been  printed  in  1668.  A  copy 
of  that  edilion  would  be  a  great  curiosity. 

See  the  preface  to  the  reprint  of  this  ballad,  in  the  volume 
•f  "  Early  Metrical  Tales,"  ante  referred  to. 


Note  B. 


ALLAN  Ramsay's  "  evergreen." — P.  544. 

Green  be  the  pillow  of  honest  Allan,  at  whose  lamp  Burns 
lighted  his  brilhant  torch  !  It  is  without  enmity  to  his  mem- 
ory that  we  record  his  mistake  in  this  matter.  But  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  regret  that  such  an  affecting  tale  as  that  of 
Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray  should  have  fallen  into  his  hands. 
The  southern  reader  must  learn  (for  what  northern  reader  is 
ignorant  1)  that  these  two  beautiful  women  were  kinsfolk,  and 
60  strictly  united  in  friendship,  that  even  personal  jealousy 
could  not  interrujit  their  union.  They  were  visited  by  a  hand- 
some and  agreeable  young  man,  who  was  acceptable  to  them 
botli,  but  so  captivated  with  their  charms,  that,  wliile  confi- 
dent of  a  preference  on  the  part  of  both,  he  was  unable  to 
make  a  choice  between  them.  While  this  singular  situation 
of  the  three  persons  of  the  tale  continued,  the  breaking  out 
of  the  plague  forced  the  two  ladies  to  take  refuge  in  the  beau- 
tiful valley  of  Lynedoch,  where  they  built  themselves  a 
bower,  in  order  to  avoid  human  intercourse  and  the'langer  of 
infection.  Tlie  lover  was  not  included  in  tlieir  renunciation 
of  society.  He  visited  their  retirement,  brought  witli  him 
the  fatal  disease,  and  unable  to  return  to  IVrth,  which  was 
his  usual  residence,  was  nursed  by  the  fair  friends  with  all 
the  tenderness  of  affection.  He  died,  however,  having  first 
communicated  the  infection  to  his  lovely  attendants.  They 
followed  him  to  the  grave,  lovely  in  their  lives,  and  undivided 
in  their  death,  Their  burial-place,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
bower  which  they  built,  is  still  visible,  in  the  romantic 
vicinity  of  Lord  Lyndoch's  mansion,  and  prolongs  the  mem- 
ory of  female  friendship,  which  even  rivalry  could  not  dissolve. 
Two  stanzas  of  the  original  ballad  alone  survive  :  — 
70 


"  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Giay, 

They  were  twa  honnie  lasses  ; 
They  bigged  a  bower  on  yon  "^urn  brae. 
And  theekit  it  ower  wi'  rasnes. 

"  They  wadna  rest  iji  Methvin  kirk, 
Among  their  gentle  kin  ; 
But  they  wad  lie  in  Lednoch  braes, 
To  beek  against  the  sun." 

There  is,  to  a  Scottish  ear,  so  much  tenderness  and  simplicit> 
in  these  verses,  as  must  induce  us  {^  regret  that  the  rest  should 
have  been  superseded  by  a  pedantic  modern  song,  turning 
upon  the  most  unpoetic  part  of  the  legend,  the  hesitation, 
namely,  of  the  lover,  which  of  tlio  ladies  to  prefer.  One  of 
the  most  touching  expressions  in  tlie  song  is  tl»e  following  ex- 
clamation : 

"  Oh,  Jove  !  she's  like  thy  Pallas." 

Another  song,  of  which  Ramsay  chose  a  few  words  for  tho 
theme  of  a  rifacimcnto,  seems  to  have  been  a  curious  speci- 
men of  minstrel  recitation.  It  was  partly  verse,  partly  narra- 
tive, and  was  alternately  sung  and  repeated.  The  story  was 
the  escape  of  a  young  gentleman,  pursued  by  a  cruel  uncle, 
desirous  of  his  estate  ;  or  a  bloody  rival,  greedy  of  his  life  ;  or 
the  relentless  father  of  his  lady-love,  or  some  such  remorseless 
character,  having  sinister  intentions  on  the  person  of  the  fugitive. 
The  object  of  his  rapacity  or  vengeance  being  nearly  overtaken, 
a  shepherd  undertakes  to  mislead  the  pursuer,  who  comes  in 
sight  just  as  the  object  of  his  pui-suit  disappears,  and  greets  the 
shepherd  th.us : — 


Good  morrow,  shepherd,  and  my  friend, 
Saw  yon  a  young  man  tiiis  way  riding ; 

With  long  black  hair,  on  a  bob-tail'd  mare. 
And  I  know  that  I  cannot  be  far  behind  himt 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Yes,  I  did  see  him  this  way  riding, 
And  what  did  much  surprise  my  wit. 

The  man  and  liie  .uai^  .lew  lu  in  the  air 
And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  Ser  yet. 

Behind  yon  white  cloud  I  see  her  tail  wave, 
And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet." 

The  tune  of  these  verses  is  an  extremely  good  one,  and 
Allan  Ramsay  has  adapted  a  bacchanalian  song  lo  it  with 
some  success  ;  but  we  should  have  thanked  him  much  had  he 
taken  the  trouble  to  jjreserve  the  original  legend  of  the  old 
minstrel.  The  valuable  and  learned  friend'  to  wliom  we 
owe  this  mutilated  account  of  it,  has  often  heard  it  sun^ 
among  the  High  Jinks  of  Scottish  lawyers  of  the  last  genera- 
tion. 

1  ThL>  late  Right  Honorable  AVilliam  Adam,  Lord  Ciiief  Comnrjdoner  of 
tte  Scotcli  Jury  Court. — Ed. 


554 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  C. 

joseph  ritson. 

I' Neglecting,  in  literary  debate,  the  courtesies  of 

ordinary  society." — P.  545. 

For  example,  in  quoting  a  popular  song,  well  known  by  the 
jame  of  Maggie  Lauder,  the  editor  of  the  Reliques  had  given 
a  line  of  the  Dame's  address  to  the  merry  minstrel,  thus  :— 

"  Gin  ye  be  Rob,  I've  heard  of  you, 
You  dwell  upon  the  Border." 

Ritson  insisted  the  genuine  reading  was, 

"  Come  ye  frae  the  Border  ?' ' 

And  he  expatiates  with  great  keenness  on  the  crime  of  the 
Bisliop's  having  sophisticated  the  text  (of  which  he  produces 
no  evidence),  to  favor  his  opinion,  that  the  Borders  were  a 
favorite  abode  of  tlie  minstrels  of  both  kingdoms.  The  fact,  it 
is  believed,  is  undoubted,  and  tlie  one  reading  seems  to  support 
it  as  well  as  the  other. — [Joseph  Ritson  died  in  1803.] 


ISTOTE  D. 


"a  mere  crowder  upon  an  untuned  fiddle." — p.  547. 

In  Fletcher's  comedy  of  "  Monsieur  Thomas,"  such  a  fid- 
dler is  questioned  as  to  the  ballads  he  is  best  versed  in,  and 

replies, 

"  Under  your  mastership's  correction  I  can  snig, 
'  The  Duke  of  Norfolk,'  or  the  merry  ballad 
Of  Divius  and  Lazarus  ;'  '  Tlie  Rose  of  England  ;' 
'  In  Crete,  where  Dedimus  first  began  ;' 
'  Jonas  his  crying  out  against  Coventry.' 

Thomas.  Excellent ! 
Rare  matters  all. 

Fiddler.  '  Mawdlin  the  Mercliant's  Daughter  ;' 
'  The  Devil  and  ye  Dainty  Dames.' 

Thomas.  Rare  still. 

Fiddler.  '  The  Landing  of  the  Spaniards  at  Bow, 
With  the  bloody  battle  at  Mile-end.'  " 

The  poor   minstrel   is  described  as  accompanying  the  young 
rake  in  his  revels.     Launcelot  describes 

"  The  gentleman  himself,  young  Monsieur  Thomas, 
Errant  with  his  furious  myrmidons  ; 
The  fiery  fiddler  and  myself— now  singing, 
Now  beating  at  the  doors,"  &c. 


Note  E. 

MINSTRELS. — P.  547. 

The  "  Song  of  the  Traveller,"  an  ancient  piece  lately  dis- 
covered in  the  Cathedral  Library  at  Exeter,  and  published  by 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Coneybeare,  in  his  Illustrations  of  Anglo-Saxon 
Poetry  (1826),  furnishes  a  most  curious  picture  of  the  life  of 
the  Northern  Scald,  or  Minstrel,  in  the  high  and  palmy  state 


of  the    profession.     The  reverend  editor  thus   translates  tl» 
closing  lines ; 

"  IJle  est  carissimus  Terrje  incolis 
C/ui  Deus  addidit  Hominum  imperium  gerendam, 
duum  ille  eos  [bardos]  habeat  caros. 
Ita  comeantes  cum  cantilenis  feruntur 
Bardi  hominum  per  terras  multas  ; 
Simul  eos  remuneratur  ob  cantilenas  pulchras, 
Munerihus  immensis,  ille  qui  ante  nobiles 
Vult  judicium  snum  extoUere,  dignitatem  sustinere. 
Habet  ille  sub  cffilo  stabilem  famam." — P.  22. 

Mr.  Coneybeare  contrasts  this  "flattering  picture"  with  thu 
following  "  melancholy  specimen"  of  the  Minstrel  life  of  later 
times— containe<l  in  some  verses  by  Richard  Sheale  (the  alleged 
author  of  the  old  Chevy  Chase),  which  are  preserved  in  one  of 
the  Ashmolean  MSS. 

"  Now  for  the  good  cheere  that  I  have  had  here, 

I  give  you  hearty  thanks  with  bowing  of  my  shankes, 

Desiring  you  by  petition  to  grant  me  such  commission — 

Because  my  name  is  Sheale,  that  both  for  meat  and  meale, 

To  you  I  may  resort  sum  tyme  for  my  comforte. 

For  I  perceive  here  at  all  tymes  is  good  cheere. 

Both  ale,  wyne,  and  beere,  as  hyt  doth  now  appere, 

I  perceive  without  fable  ye  keepe  a  good  table. 

r  can  be  contente,  if  hyt  be  out  of  Lent, 

A  piece  of  beefe  to  take  my  honger  to  aslake. 

Both  mutton  and  veale  is  goode  for  Rycharde  Sheale ; 

Though  I  look  so  grave,  I  were  a  veri  knave, 

£f  I  wold  thinke  skorne  ether  evenynge  or  morne, 

Beyng  in  honger,  of  fresshe  samon  or  kongar, 

I  can  fynde  in  my  hearte,  with  my  friendis  to  take  a  parte 

Of  such  as  Godde  shal  sende,  and  thus  I  make  an  ende. 

Now  farewel,  good  myn  Hoste,  I  thank  youe  for  youre  coste 

Untyl  another  tyme,  and  thus  do  1  ende  my  ryme."— P.  28. 


Note  F. 

WILLIAM   JULIUS   MICKLE. — P.  548. 

In  evidence  of  what  is  stated  in  the  text,  the  author  would 
quote  the  introductory  stanza  to  a  forgotten  poem  of  Mickle, 
originally  published  under  the  injudicious  and  equivocal  title 
of  "  The  Coneu!)ine,"  but  in  subsequent  editions  calUd,  "  Sir 
Martyn,  or  The  Progress  of  Dissipation." 

"  Awake,  ye  west  winds,  through  the  lonely  dale. 
And,  Fancy,  to  thy  faery  bower  betake  ; 
Even  now,  with  balmy  sweetness  breathes  the  gale, 

Dimpling  with  downy  wing  the  stilly  lake  ; 
Through  the  pale  willows  faltering  whispers  wake. 

And  evening  comes  with  locks  bedropp'd  with  dew  ; 
On  Desmond's  mouldering  turrets  slowly  shake 
The  wither'd  ryegrass,  and  the  harebell  blue. 
And  ever  and  anon  sweet  Mulla's  plaints  renew." 

Mickle's  facility  of  versification  was  so  great,  that,  being  a 
printer  by  profession,  he  frequently  put  his  hues  into  types 
without  taking  the  trouble  previously  to  put  them  into  writing  ; 
thas  unitin?  the  composition  of  the  author  with  the  mechanical 
operation  wliich  typographers  call  by  the  same  name. 


ESSAY 


ON 


IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD.* 


The  invention  of  printing  necessarily  occasioned 
the  dow-nfoU  of  the  Order  of  Minstrels,  already  re- 
duced to  contempt  by  their  own  bad  habits,  by 
the  disrepute  attached  to  their  profession,  and  by 
the  law?  calculated  to  repress  their  hcensc.  When 
the  Metrical  Romances  were  very  many  of  them 
in  the  hands  of  every  one,  the  occupation  of  those 
who  made  their  Uving  by  reciting  them  was  in 
some  degree  abohshed,  and  the  minstrels  either 
disappeared  altogether,  or  sunk  into  mere  musi- 
cians, whose  utmost  acquaintance  with  poetry  was 
being  able  to  sing  a  ballad.  Perhaps  old  Anthony, 
who  acquired,  from  the  song  wliich  ho  accounted 
his  masterpiece,  the  name  of  Anthony  Now  Now, 
was  one  of  the  last  of  this  class  in  the  capital ;  nor 
does  the  tenor  of  his  poetry  evince  whether  it  was 
his  own  composition  or  that  of  some  other.'^ 

But  the  taste  for  popular  poetry  did  not  decay 
with  the  class  of  men  by  whom  it  had  been  for 
some  generations  practised  and  preserved.  Wot 
only  did  the  simple  old  ballads  retain  their  ground, 
though  circulated  by  the  new  art  of  printing,  in- 
stead of  being  preserved  by  recitation ;  but  in  the 
Garlands,  and  similar  collections-  for  general  sale, 
the  authors  aimed  at  a  more  ornamental  and  regu- 
lar style  of  poetry  than  had  been  attempted  by 
the  old  minstrels,  whose  composition,  if  not  extem- 
poraneous, was  seldom  committed  to  writing,  and 
was  not,  therefore,  susceptible  of  accurate  revision. 
This  was  the  more  necessary,  as  even  the  popular 
poetry  was  now  feeling  the  effects  arising  from 
the  advance  of  knowledge,  and  the  revival  of  the 
study  of  the  learned  languages,  with  all  the  ele- 
gance and  refinement  which  it  induced. 

In  short,  the  general  progress  of  the  country  led 
t:  an  improvement  in  the  department  of  popular 
poetry,  tending  both  to  soften  and  melodize  the 
language  employed,  and  to  ornament  the  diction 
beyond  that  of  the  rude  minstrels,  to  whom  such 
topics  of  composition  had  been  originally  aban- 

1  This  essay  was  written  in  April,  1830,  ami  forms  a  contin- 
uation of  tlie  "  Remarlis  on  Popular  Poetry." — Ed. 

2  He  might  be  supposed  a  contemporary  of  Henry  VIII.,  if 
*he  greeting  which  he  pretends  to  have  given  to  that  monarch 

B  of  his  own  composition,  and  spoken  iu  his  own  person. 


doned.  The  monotony  of  the  ancient  recitals  was, 
for  the  same  causes,  altered  and  improved  upon. 
The  eternal  descriptions  of  battles,  and  of  love  di- 
lemmas, which,  to  satiety,  filled  the  old  romances 
with  trivial  repetition,  was  retrenched.  If  any 
one  wishes  to  compare  the  two  eras  of  lyrical  poe- 
try, a  few  verses  taken  from  one  of  the  latest 
minstrel  ballads,  and  one  of  the  earliest  that  were 
written  for  the  press,  will  afford  him,  in  some  de- 
gree, the  power  of  doing  so. 

The  rude  Unes  from  Anthony  Now  Xow,  which 
we  have  just  quoted,  may,  for  example,  be  com- 
pared, as  Ritson  requests,  with  the  ornamented 
commencement  of  the  ballad  of  Fair  Rosamond  : — 

"  When  as  King  Henry  ruled  this  land 
The  second  of  that  name. 
Besides  his  queen  he  ilearly  loved 
A  fair  and  comely  dame. 

"  Most  peerless  was  her  beauty  found, 
Her  favor,  and  her  face  ; 
A  sweeter  creature  in  the  world, 
Could  never  prince  embrace. 

"  Her  crisped  locks,  like  threads  of  gold 
Appear'd  to  each  man's  sight ; 
Her  sparkling  eyes,  like  orient  pearls,    '  ' 
Did  cast  a  lieavenly  light. 

"  The  blood  within  her  crystal  cheeka 
Did  such  a  color  drive. 
As  though  the  lily  and  the  rose 
For  mastership  did  strive. "3 

It  may  be  rash  to  affirm,  that  those  who  lived 
by  singing  this  more  refined  poetry,  were  a  class 
of  men  different  from  the  ancient  nnnstrels ;  but 
it  appears,  that  both  the  name  of  the  professors, 
and  the  chai-acter  of  the  Minstrel  poetry,  had  sxmk 
in  reputation. 

The  facility  of  versification,  and  of  poetical  die 
tion,  is  decidedly  iu  favor  of  the  moderns,  as  might 
reasonably  be  expected  from  the  improved  taste, 

"  Good  morrow  to  our  noble  king,  quoth  I  ; 
Good  morrow,  quoth  he,  to  thou  : 
And  then  he  said  to  Anthony, 
O  Anthony  now  now  now." 
5  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  ii.  p.  147. 


656 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and  enlarged  luiowledge,  of  an  age  -which  abound- 
ed to  sflch  a  degree  in  poetry,  and  of  a  character 
60  iinaginati"e  as  was  the  EUzabethan  era.  The 
poetry  addressed  to  the  populace,  and  enjoyed  by 
them  alone,  was  animated  by  the  spirit  that  "was 
breathed  around  "We  may  cite  Shakspeare's  un- 
questionable and  decisive  evidence  in  this  respect. 
In  Twelfth  Nicjh*.  he  describes  a  popular  ballad, 
with  a  beauty  and  precision  which  no  one  but 
liimself  could  have  affixed  to  its  character ;  and 
the  whole  constitu<  es  the  strongest  appeal  in  favor 
of  that  species  ol  poetry  which  is  written  to  suit 
the  taste  of  the  pubhc  in  general,  and  is  most 
naturally  preserved  by  oral  tradition.  But  the 
remarkable  part  of  the  circumstance  is,  that  when 
the  song  is  actually  sung  by  Teste  the  clown,  it 
differs  in  almost  all  particulars  from  what  we 
might  have  been  justified  in  considering  as  attri- 
butes of  a  popular  ballad  of  that  early  period.  It 
is  sunple,  doubtless,  both  in  structure  and  phrase- 
ology, but  is  rather  a  love  song  than  a  minstrel 
ballad — a  love  song,  also,  which,  though  its  imagi- 
native figures  of  speech  are  of  a  very  simple  and 
intelligible  character,  may  nevertheless  be  com- 
pared to  any  thing  rather  than  the  boldness  of  the 
preceding  age,  and  resembles  nothing  less  than  the 
ordinary  minstrel  ballad.  The  original,  though  so 
well  known,  may  be  here  quoted,  for  the  purpose 
of  showhig  what  was,  in  Shakspeare's  tune,  re- 
garded as  the  poetry  of  "  the  old  age."  Almost 
CA'cry  one  has  the  passage  by  heart,  yet  I  must 
quote  it,  because  there  seems  a  marked  difference 
between  the  species  of  poem  which  is  described, 
and  that  which  is  sung. 

"  Mark  it,  Ciesario  ;  it  is  old  and  plain  : 
The  spinsters  and  the  Itnittei-s  in  the  sun, 
And  the  free  maids,  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones. 
Do  use  to  chant  it ;  it  is  silly  sooth, 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 
Like  the  old  age." 

ITie  song,  thus  beautifully  prefaced,  is  as  follows : 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid  ; 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 
1  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it ; 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 
I'id  share  it. 

"  Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweat. 
On  my  black  co/fin  let  there  be  strown  ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  hones  shall  be  thrown  : 
A  thousand,  thousand  siglis  to  save. 

Lay  me,  O  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave. 
To  weep  there."' 

1  Twelfth  Night,  Act  ii.  Scene  4th. 


On  comparing  tliis  love  elegy,  or  whatever  it 
may  be  entitled,  with  the  ordinary,  and  especially 
the  earlier  popular  poetry,  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  a  great  difference  will  be  observed  in  the 
structure  of  the  verse,  the  character  of  the  senti- 
ments, the  ornaments  and  refinement  of  the  lan- 
guage. Neither,  indeed,  as  might  be  expected 
from  the  progress  of  human  affairs,  was  the  change 
in  tlie  popular  style  of  poetry  achieved  without 
some  disadvantages,  which  counterbalanced,  in  a 
certain  degree,  the  superior  art  and  exercise  of 
fancy  which  had  been  introduced  of  late  times. 

The  expressions  of  Sir  PhUip  Sidney,  an  unques- 
tionable judge  of  poetry,  flourishing  in  Elizabeth's 
golden  reign,  and  drawing  around  him,  like  a  mag- 
net, the  most  distinguished  poets  of  the  age, 
amongst  whom  we  need  only  name  Shakspoare 
and  Spenser,  still  show  something  to  regret  when 
he  compared  the  highly  wrought  and  richly  orna- 
mented poetry  of  his  own  time,  with  the  ruder 
but  more  energetic  diction  of  Chevy  Cliase.  His 
words,  often  quoted,  cannot  yet  be  dispensed  with 
on  the  present  occasion.  They  are  a  chapter  in 
the  liistory  of  ancient  poetry.  "  Certainlyt*  says 
the  brave  knight,  "  I  must  confess  my  own  bar- 
barousness ;  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percy 
and  Douglas,  that  I  found  not  my  heart  more 
moved  than  with  a  trumpet.  And  yet  it  is  sung 
by  some  blind  crowder,  with  no  rougher  voice  than 
rude  style,  which  being  so  evil  apparelled  in  the 
dust  and  cobwebs  of  that  uncivil  age,  what  would 
it  work,  trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of 
Pindar.'"' 

If  we  inquire  more  particularly  what  were  the 
peculiar  charms  by  which  the  old  minstrel  ballad 
produced  an  effect  like  a  trumpet-sound  upon  the 
bosom  of  a  real  son  of  chivalry,  we  may  not  be 
wrong  in  ascribing  it  to  the  extreme  simplicity 
with  which  the  narrative  moves  forward,  neglect- 
ing all  the  more  minute  ornaments  of  speech  and 
diction,  to  the  grand  object  of  enforcing  on  the 
hearer  a  striking  and  affecting  catastrophe.  The 
author  seems  too  serious  in  liis  wish  to  affect  the 
audience,  to  allow  himself  to  be  drawn  aside  by 
any  thing  which  can,  either  by  its  tenor,  or  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  spoken,  have  the  perverse 
effect  of  distracting  attention  from  the  catastrophe. 

Such  grand  and  serious  beauties,  however,  oc- 
curred but  rarely  to  the  old  minstrels  ;  and  in  or- 
der to  find  them,  it  became  necessary  to  struggle 
through  long  passages  of  monotony,  languor,  and 
manity.  Unfortunately  it  also  happened,  that 
those  who,  like  Sidney,  could  ascertain,  feel,  and 
do  full  justice  to  the  beauties  of  the  heroic  ballad, 
were  few,  compared  to  the  numbers  who  could  lie 
sensible  of  the  trite  verbiage  of  a  bald  passage,  or 

2  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Defence  of  Poesy. 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


bo^T 


the  ludicrous  effect  of  an  absurd  rhyme.  In  Eng- 
land, accordingly,  the  popular  ballad  full  into  con- 
toiiipt  during  the  seventeenth  century ;  and  al- 
tliDHgli  ill  remote  counties'  its  inspiration  was 
occasionally  the  source  of  a  few  verses,  it  seems 
to  have  become  almost  entirely  obsolete  in  the 
ca])ital.  Even  tlie  Civil  Wars,  Avhich  gave  so  much 
occasion  for  ]>oetry,  produced  rather  song  and  sa- 
tire, than  the  b.allad  or  popular  epic.  The  curious 
reader  may  satisfy  liimself  on  this  point,  should  he 
wish  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  allegation,  by 
looking  through  D'Urfey's  large  and  curious  col- 
lection," when  he  will  be  aware  that  the  few  bal- 
lads wliich  it  contains  are  the  most  ancient  pro- 
ductions in  the  book,  and  very  seldom  take  their 
date  after  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

In  Scotland,  on  the  contrary,  the  old  minstrel 
ballad  long  continued  to  preserve  its  popularity. 
Even  the  last  contests  of  Jacobitism  were  recited 
witli  great  vigor  in  ballads  of  the  time,  the  authors 
of  some  of  which  are  known  and  remembered ; 
nor  is  there  a  more  spirited  ballad  preserved  than 
that  of  Mr.  Skirving^  (father  of  Skirving  the  art- 
ist), upon  the  battle  of  Prestonpans,  so  late  as 
1745.  But  tills  was  owing  to  cu'cumstances  con- 
nected with  tlie  habits  of  the  people  in  a  remote 
and  rude  country,  which  could  not  exist  in  the 
richer  and  wealtliier  provinces  of  England. 

On  the  whole,  however,  the  ancient  Heroic  bal- 
lad, as  it  was  called,  seemed  to  be  fast  declining 
among  the  more  erJightened  and  literary  part  of 
both  countries  ;  and  if  retained  by  the  lower  classes 
in  Scotland,  it  had  in  England  ceased  to  exist,  or 
degenerated  into  doggerel  of  the  last  degree  of 
vileness. 

Subjects  the  most  interesting  were  abandoned 
to  the  poorest  rhymers,  and  one  would  have 
thought  that,  as  in  an  ass-race,  the  prize  had  been 
destined  to  the  slowest  of  those  who  competed 
for  the  prize.  The  melancholy  fate  of  Miss  Ray,* 
who  fell  by  the  hands  of  a  frantic  lover,  could  only 
inspire  the  Grub  Street  muse  with  such  verses  as 
these, — that  is,  if  I  remember  them  correctly : 

"  A  Sandwich  favorite  was  this  fair, 
And  hpr  lie  dearly  loved  ; 
By  whom  six  cliildren  had,  we  hear  ; 
This  story  fatal  proved. 

"  A  clergyman,  O  wicked  one, 
In  Covent  Garden  shot  her ; 
No  time  to  cry  upon  he;  God, 
It's  hoped  He's  not  forgot  her." 

1  A  curious  and  spirited  specimen  occurs  in  Cornw.all,  as  late 
as  the  '.rial  of  the  Bishops  before  the  Revolution.  The  Presi- 
dent of  the  Royal  Society  of  London  (Mr.  Davies  Gilbert)  has 
pot  disdained  the  trouble  of  preserving  it  from  oblivion. 

2  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy. 


If  it  be  true,  as  in  other  cases,  that  when  things 
ai  ?  at  the  worst  they  must  mend,  it  was  certamly 
time  to  expect  an  anieliorution  in  the  department 
in  which  such  doggerel  passed  current. 

Accordingly,  previous  to  tliis  time,  a  new  spe- 
cies of  poetry  seems  to  have  arisen,  which,  in  some 
cases,  endeavored  to  pass  itself  as  the  production 
of  genuine  antiquity,  and,  in  others,  honestly  avow- 
ed an  attempt  to  emulate  the  merits  and  a  void  the 
errors  with  wliich  the  old  ballad  was  encumbered; 
and  in  tho  effort  to  accomplish  this,  a  species  of 
composition  was  discovered,  which  is  capable  of 
being  subjected  to  peculiar  rules  of  criticism,  and 
of  exhibiting  excellences  of  its  own. 

In  writing  for  the  use  of  the  general  reader, 
rather  than  the  poetical  antiquary,  I  sliall  be 
readily  excused  from  entering  into  any  inquiry  re- 
specting the  authors  who  first  showed  the  way  in 
this  peculiar  department  of  modern  poetry,  which 
I  may  term  the  imitation  of  the  old  ballad,  espe- 
cially that  of  the  latter  or  Elizabethan  era.  One 
of  the  oldest,  according  to  my  recollection,  which 
pretends  to  engraft  modern  refinement  upon  an- 
cient simplicity,  is  extremely  beautiful,  both  from 
the  words,  and  the  simple  and  aft'ecting  melody  tc 
which  they  are  usually  sung.  The  title  is,  "  Lord 
Henry  and  Fair  Catherine."     It  begins  thus : 

"  In  ancient  days,  in  Britain's  isle. 
Lord  Henry  well  was  known  ; 
No  kniglit  in  all  the  land  more  famed. 
Or  more  deserved  renown. 

"  His  thoughts  were  all  on  honor  bent, 
He  ne'er  would  stoop  to  love  : 
No  lady  in  the  land  had  power 
His  frozen  heart  to  move." 

Early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  this  peculiar 
species  of  composition  became  popular.  We  find 
Tickell,  the  friend  of  Addison,  who  produced  the 
beautiful  ballad,  "  Of  Leinster  famed  for  maid- 
ens fair,"  Mallet,  Goldsmith,  Shenstone,  Percy, 
and  many  others,  followed  an  example  which  had 
much  to  recommend  it,  especially  as  it  present- 
ed considerable  fiicilities  to  those  who  wished, 
at  as  little  exertion  of  trouble  as  possible,  to  at- 
tain for  themselves  a  certain  degree  of  Uterary 
reputation. 

Before,  however,  treating  of  the  professed  imi 
tators  of  Ancient  Ballad  Poetry,  I  ought  to  say  a 
word  upon  those  who  have  written  their  imita- 
tions with  the  preconceived  pm'pose  of  passing 
them  for  ancient. 

There  is  no  small  degree  of  cant  in  the  violent 

3  See  Hogg's  Jacobite  Relics,  vol.  i. — Ed. 

1  Miss  Ray,  the  beautiful  ini'^tress  of  the  Earl  of  Sandwich, 
then  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  was  afsassinated  by  Mr. 
Hackman,  "in  a  fit  of  frantic  jealous  love,"  as  Boswell  ex- 
presses it,  in  1779.    SeeCroker's  Boswell  vol.  iv.  p  254. — Bp. 


558 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOUKS. 


invectives  with  which  impostors  of  this  nature 
hiive  beeu  assailed.  In  fact,  the  case  of  each  is 
special,  and  ought  to  be  sei^arately  considered, 
according  to  its  o-fljn  circumstances.  If  a  yovmg, 
perhaps  a  female  author,  chooses  to  circulate  a 
beautiful  poem,  w  e  will  suppose  that  of  Hardy- 
knute,  under  the  disguise  of  antiquity,  the  pubUc 
is  surely  more  eni-iched  by  the  contribution  than 
injured  by  tlie  deception.'  It  is  hardly  possible, 
indeed,  without  a  power  of  poetical  genius,  and 
acquaintance  with  ancient  language  and  manners 
possessed  by  very  few,  to  succeed  in  deceiving 
those  who  have  made  this  branch  of  literature 
their  study.  The  very  deske  to  unite  modern  re- 
finement with  the  verve  of  the  ancient  minstrels, 
will  itself  betray  the  masquerade.  A  minute  ac- 
quaintance with  ancient  customs,  and  with  ancient 
history,  is  also  demanded,  to  sustain  a  part  which, 
as  it  must  rest  on  deception,  cannot  be  altogether 
an  honorable  one. 

Two  of  the  most  distinguished  authors  of  this 
class  have,  in  this  manner,  been  detected ;  bemg 
deficient  in  the  knowledge  requisite  to  support 
their  genius  in  the  disguise  they  meditated.  Har- 
dyknute,  for  instance,  already  mentioned,  is  irrec- 
oncilable with  aU  clu-onology,  and  a  cliief  with  a 
Norwegian  name  is  strangely  introduced  as  the 
first  of  the  nobles  brought  to  resist  a  N'orse  inva- 
sion, at  the  battle  of  Largs :  the  "  needlework  so 
rare,"  introduced  by  tlie  fair  authoress,  must  have 
been  certainly  long  posterior  to  the  reign  of  Alex- 
aiider  III.  In  Chatterton's  ballad  of  "  Su-  Charles 
Baudwin,"  we  find  an  anxious  attempt  to  repre- 
sent the  composition  as  ancient,  and  some  entries 
in  the  public  accounts  of  Bristol  were  appealed  to 
in  corroboration.  But  neither  was  this  ingenious 
but  most  unliappy  yoimg  man,  with  aU  bis  powers 
of  poetry,  and  with  the  antiquarian  knowledge 
wliich  he  had  collected  with  indiscriminating  but 
astonishing  research,  able  to  impose  on  that  part 
of  the  public  quahfied  to  judge  of  the  composi- 
tions, which  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  pass  off  as 
those  of  a  monk  of  the  14th  centmy.  It  was  in 
vain  that  he  in  each  word  doubled  the  consonants, 
like  the  sentinels  of  an  endangered  army.  The 
art  used  to  disguise  and  misspell  the  words  only 
overdid  what  was  intended,  and  afforded  sure  evi- 
dence that  the  poems  published  as  antiques  had 
been,  in  fact,  tampered  with  by  a  modern  artist, 
as  the  newly  forged  medals  of  modern  days  stand 
convicted  of  imposture  from  the  very  touches  of 
the  file,  by  wliich  there  is  an  attempt  to  imitate 
the  cracks  and  fissures  produced  by  the  hammer 
upon  the  original.* 

1 "  Hardyknnle  was  ine  first  poem  that  I  ever  learnt — the 
last  that  I  shall  forget." — MS.  note  of  Sir  Wa'^^r  Pcott  on  a 
leaf  of  Allan  Ramsay's  Tea-Table  Miscellany. 


I  have  only  met,  in  my  researches  into  these 
matters,  with  one  poem,  which,  if  it  had  been  pro- 
duced as  ancient,  could  not  have  been  detected  on 
internal  evidence.  It  is  the  "  "War  Song  upon  the 
victory  at  Brunnanburg,  translated  from  the  An- 
glo-Saxon into  Anglo-Norman,"  by  the  Right  Hon- 
orable John  Hookliam  Frere.  See  EUis's  Speci- 
mens of  Ancient  English  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  32.  The 
accomplished  Editor  tells  us,  that  this  very  singu- 
lar poem  was  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  style 
and  language  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  was 
written  during  the  controversy  occasioned  by  the 
poems  attributed  to  Rowley.  Mr.  Ellis  adds,- 
"the  reader  will  probably  hear  with  some  sur- 
prise, that  this  singular  instance  of  critical  inge- 
nuity was  the  composition  of-an  Eton  schoolboy." 

The  author  may  be  permitted  to  speak  as  an 
artist  on  this  occasion  (disowning,  at  the  same 
time,  all  pm-pose  of  imposition),  as  having  written, 
at  the  request  of  the  late  Mr.  Ritson,  one  or  two 
things  of  this  kind ;  among  others,  a  continuation 
of  the  romance  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  the  only 
one  which  chances  to  be  preserved.^  And  he 
thmks  himself  entitled  to  state,  that  a  modem 
poet  engaged  in  such  a  task,  is  much  in  the  situa- 
tion of  an  architect  of  the  present  day,  who,  if 
acquainted  with  his  profession,  finds  no  difficulty 
in  copying  the  external  forms  of  a  Gothif  castle  or 
abbey ;  but  when  it  is  completed,  can  hardly,  by  any 
artificial  tints  or  cement,  supply  the  spots,  weath- 
er-stains, and  hues  of  different  kinds,  with  which 
time  alone  had  invested  the  venerable  fabric  which 
he  deskes  to  imitate. 

Leaving  this  branch  of  the  subject,  in  which  the 
difficulty  of  passing  off  what  is  modern  for  what 
is  ancient  cannot  be  matter  of  regret,  we  may  be- 
stow with  advantage  some  brief  consideration  on 
the  fair  trade  of  manufacturing  modern  antiques, 
not  for  the  purpose  of  passing  them  as  contraband 
goods  on  the  skilful  antiquary,  but  in  order  to 
obtain  the  credit  due  to  authors  as  succGssful  irri- 
tators  of  the  ancient  sunpUcity,  while  their  system 
admits  of  a  considerable  infusion  of  modern  refine- 
ment. Two  classes  of  imitation  may  be  refenred 
to  as  belonging  to  this  species  of  composition. 
When  they  approach  each  other,  there  may  be 
some  difficulty  in  assigning  to  individual  poema 
their  peculiar  character,  but  in  general  the  differ- 
ence is  distinctly  marked.  The  distinction  lies  be- 
twixt the  authors  of  ballads  or  legendary  poemsi 
who  have  attempted  to  imitate  the  language,  the 
manners,  and  the  sentiments  of  the  ancient  poema 
which  were  their  prototypes;  and  those,  on  the 
contraiy,  who,  without  endeavoring  to  do  so,  have 


2  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

3  See  Sir  Tristrem,  Scott's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  v.  ;  M^iliixi 
1833. 


ESSAY  0^  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  AXCIENT  BALLAD. 


struck  out  a  particular  path  for  themselves,  which 
cannot,  with  strict  propriety,  be  termed  either 
jmcient  or  modern. 

In  the  actual  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad, 
Dr.  Percy,  whose  researches  made  him  well  ac- 
quainted with  that  department  of  poetiy,  was 
peeulia-ly  successful.  The  "  Hermit  of  Wark- 
(vortli,"  the  "  Childe  of  Elle,"  and  other  minstrel 
tales  of  his  composition,  must  always  be  remem- 
bered with  fondness  by  those  who  have  perused 
them  in  that  period  of  life  when  the  fcehngs  are 
strong,  and  the  taste  for  poetry,  especially  of  this 
timple  natm-e,  is  keen  and  poignant.  This  learned 
and  amiable  prelate  was  also  remarkable  for  his 
power  of  restoring  the  ancient  ballad,  by  throwing  i 
m  touches  of  poetry,  so  adapted  to  its  tone  and  . 
tenor,  as  to  assimilate  with  its  original  structure, 
and  impress  every  one  who  considered  the  subject 
as  being  coeval  with  the  rest  of  the  piece.  It  must 
be  owned,  that  such  freedoms,  when  assumed  by 
a  professed  antiquary,  addressing  himself  to  anti- 
quaries, smd  for  the  sake  of  illustrating  hterary 
antiquities,  are  subject  to  great  and  licentious 
abuse ;  and  herein  the  severity  of  Ritson  was  to  a 
certain  extent  justified.  But  when  the  license  is 
avowed,  and  practised  without  the  intention  to 
deceive,  it  cannot  be  objected  to  but  by  scrupulous 
pedantry. 

The  poet,  perhaps,  most  capable,  by  verses, 
lines,  even  single  words,  to  relieve  and  heighten 
the  character  of  ancient  poetry,  was  the  Scottish 
bard  Robert  Burns.  We  are  not  here  sjieaking 
of  the  avowed  lyrical  poems  of  his  own  composi- 
tion, which  he  communicated  to  Mr.  George  Thom- 
son, but  of  the  manner  in  which  he  recomposed 
and  rt  paired  the  old  songs  and  fragments  for  the 
collection  of  Johnson'  and  others,  when,  if  liis 
memorj  supphed  the  theme,  or  general  subject  of 
the  song,  such  as  it  existed  in  Scottish  lore,  his 
genius  contributed  that  pai't  which  was  to  give 
life  and  immortality  to  the  whole.  If  tliis  praise 
should  be  thought  extravagant,  the  reader  may 
compare  his  splendid  lyric,  "My  heart's  in  the 
Higlilands,"  with  the  tame  and  scarcely  half-intel- 
ligible remains  of  that  song  as  preserved  by  Mr. 
Peter  Buclian.  Or,  what  is  perhaps  a  still  more 
magnificent  example  of  what  we  mean,  "  Macpher- 
son's  Farewell,"  with  all  its  spirit  and  grandem*, 
as  repaired  by  Burns,  may  be  collated  with  the 
original  poem  called  "  Macpherson's  Lament,"  or 
sometimes  the  "  Ruffian's  Rant."  In  Burns's  bril- 
liant rifacimento,  the  same  strain  of  wild  ideas  is 
expressed  as  we  find  in  the  original ;  but  with  an 
infusion  of  the  savage  and  impassioned  spirit  of 
Highland  chivalry,  which  gives  a  splendor  to  the 

1  Johnson's  "  Musical  Museum,"  in  6  vols.,  was  lately  re-  I 
printed  at  Edinburgh.  I 


composition,  of  which  we  find  not  a  trace  in  the 
rudeness  of  the  ancient  ditty.  I  can  bear  witness 
to  the  older  verses  having  been  current  while  I 
was  a  cliild,  but  I  never  knew  a  line  of  the  inspired 
edition  of  the  Ayrshire  bard  until  the  appearance 
of  Johnson's  Museum. 

Besides  Percy,  Burns,  and  others,  we  must  not 
omit  to  mention  Mr.  Finlay,  whose  beautiful  song, 

"  There  came  a  knight  from  the  field  of  the  slain," 

is  so  happily  descriptive  of  antique  manners ;  or 
Mickle,  whose  accurate  and  interesting  imitations 
of  the  ancient  ballad  we  have  already  mentioned 
with  approbation  in  the  former  EsJay  on  Ballad 
Composition.  These,  with  others  of  modem  date, 
at  the  head  of  whom  we  must  place  Thomas 
Moore,  have  aimed  at  striking  the  ancient  harp 
with  the  same  bold  and  rough  note  to  which  it 
was  awakened  by  the  jmcient  minstrels.  Soutliey, 
"Wordsworth,  and  other  distinguished  names  of  the 
present  century,  have,  in  repeated  instances,  dig- 
nified this  branch  of  hterature ;  but  no  one  more 
than  Coleridge,  in  the  wild  and  inaagmative  tale 
of  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  which  displays  so  much 
beauty  with  such  eccentricity.  We  should  act 
most  unjustly  in  this  department  of  Scottish  ballad 
poetry,  not  to  mention  the  names  of  Leyden,  Hoarg. 
and  Allan  Cumimgham.  Tliey  have  all  three  lion 
ored  their  country,  by  arriving  at  distinction  from 
a  humble  origin,  and  there  is  none  of  theni  imder 
whose  hand  the  ancient  Scottish  harp  has  not 
sounded  a  bold  and  distinguished  tone.  Miss  Anne 
Bannerman  likewise  should  not  be  forgotten,  whose 
"Tales  of  Superstition  and  Cliivalry"  appeared 
about  1802.  They  were  perhaps  too  mystical  and 
too  abrupt ;  yet  if  it  be  the  purpose  of  this  kind 
of  ballad  jjoetry  powerfully  to  excite  the  imagina- 
tion, without  pretending  to  satisfy  it,  few  persons 
have  succeeded  better  than  this  gifted  lady,  whose 
volume  is  peculiarly  fit  to  be  read  in  a  lonely 
house  by  a  decaying  lamp. 

As  we  have  already  huited,  a  numerous  class  of 
the  authors  (some  of  them  of  the  very  first  class) 
who  condescended  to  imitate  the  simplicity  of  an- 
cient poetry,  gave  themselves  no  trouble  to  ob- 
serve the  costume,  style,  or  manner,  either  of  the 
old  minstrel  or  ballad-suiger,  but  assumed  a  strm 
ture  of  a  separate  and  pecuhivr  kind,  which  could 
not  be  correctly  termed  eitlier  ancient  or  modern, 
although  made  the  vehicle  of  beauties  which  were 
common  to  both.  The  discrepancy  between  the 
mark  which  they  avowed  their  purpose  of  shooting 
at,  and  that  at  which  they  really  took  aim,  is  best 
illustrated  by  a  production  of  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  their  number.  Goldsmith  describes 
the  young  family  of  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  as 
amusing  themselves  with  conversing  about  poetry 
Mr.  Burchell  observes,  that  the  British  poets,  whm 


560 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


imitated  the  classics,  have  especially  contributed 
to  introduce  a  false  taste,  by  loading  their  lines 
with  epithets,  so  as  to  present  a  combination  of 
luxuriant  ijuages,  without  plot  or  cormection, — a 
string  of  epithets  that  improve  the  sound,  without 
carrying  on  the  sense.  But  when  an  example  of 
popular  poetry  is  produced  as  free  from  the  fault 
s'hich  the  critic  has  just  ccusm-ed,  it  is  the  well- 
known  and  Wjautifid  poem  of  Edwin  and  Angelina ! 
which,  m  felicitous  attention  to  the  language,  and 
in  fanciful  ornament  of  imagery,  is  as  unhke  to  a 
minstrel  ballad,  as  a  lady  assuming  the  dress  of  a 
Shepherdess  for  a  masquerade,  is  different  from 
the  actual  Sisly  of  SaUsbury  Plain.  Tickell's 
beautiful  ballad  is  equally  formed  upon  a  pastoral, 
sentimental,  and  ideal  model,  not,  however,  less 
beautifully  executed ;  and  the  attention  of  Addi- 
son's friend  had  been  probably  directed  to  the 
ballad  stanza  (for  the  stanza  is  all  which  is  imi- 
tated) by  the  praise  bestowed  on  Chevy  Chase  in 
the  Spectator. 

Upon  a  later  occasion,  the  subject  of  Mallet's 
fine  poem,  Edwin  and  Emma,  being  absolutely 
rural  in  itself,  and  occurring  at  the  hamlet  of 
Bowes,  in  Yorksliire,  might  have  seduced  the  poet 
from  the  hcau  ideal  which  he  had  pictured  to  him- 
self, into  something  more  irmnediately  allied  to 
common  life.  But  Mallet  was  not  a  man  to  neg- 
lect what  was  esteemed  fashionable,  and  poor 
Hannah  Railton  and  her  lover  Wrightson  were 
en^'eloped  in  the  elegant  but  tinsel  frippery  ap- 
pertaining to  Edward  and  Emma ;  for  the  suniles, 
reflections,  and  suggestions  of  the  poet  are,  in  fact, 
too  intrusive  and  too  well  said  to  suffer  the  reader 
to  feel  the  full  taste  of  the  tragic  tale.  The  verses 
are  doubtless  beautiful,  but  I  must  o%vn  the  sunple 
prose  of  the  Curate's  letter,  who  gives  the  narra- 
tive of  the  tale  as  it  really  happened,  has  to  me  a 
tone  of  serious  veracity  more  affecting  than  the 
ornaments  of  Mallet's  fiction.  The  same  author's 
ballad,  "William  and  Margaret,"  has,  in  some 
degree,  the  same  fault.  A  disembodied  spirit  is 
not  a  person  before  whom  the  living  spectator 
takes  leisure  to  make  remarks  of  a  moral  kind,  as, 

•  Fo  will  the  fairest  face  appear, 

When  yonth  and  years  are  flown, 
And  such  the  robe  that  Kings  mast  wear 
Wlien  death  has  reft  their  crown." 

Upon  the  whole,  the  ballad,  though  the  best  of 
Mallet's  writing,  is  certainly  inferior  to  its  origi- 
nal, which  I  presuir  3  to  be  the  very  fine  and  even 
terrific  old  Scottish  '  ale,  beginning, 

"  There  came  a  ^'host  to  Margaret's  door." 

1  If  I  am  right  in  what  must  be  a  very  early  recollection,  I 
saw  Mr.  Cartwright  (then  a  student  of  medicine  at  the  Edin- 
burgh University)  at  tlie  house  of  my  maternal  grandfather, 
John  Rutherford,  M.  D. 


It  may  be  foiuid  in  Allan  Ramsay's  "Tea-table 
Miscellany." 

We  need  only  stop  to  mention  another  very 
beautiful  piece  of  this  fanciful  kind,  by  Dr.  Cart- 
wright,  called  Armiii  and  Elvira,  containing  some 
excellent  poetry,  expressed  with  \musual  felicity. 
I  have  a  vision  of  having  met  this  accomplished 
gentleman  in  iny  very  early  youth,  and  am  tho 
less  likely  to  be  mistaken,  as  he  was  the  first  living 
poet  I  recollect  to  have  seen.'  His  poem  had  the 
distinguished  honor  to  be  much  admired  by  our 
celebrated  philosopher,  Dugald  Stewart,  who  was 
wont  to  quote  with  much  pathos,  the  picture  of 
resignation  in  the  following  stanza  : — 

"  And  while  his  eye  to  Heaven  he  raised. 
Its  silent  waters  stole  away.  "2 

After  enumerating  so  many  persons  of  undoubt 
ed  genius,  who  have  cultivated  the  Arcadian  style 
of  poetry  (for  to  such  it  may  be  compared),  it 
would  be  endless  to  enumerate  the  various  Sir 
Eldreds  of  the  hiUs  and  downs  whose  stories  were 
woven  into  legendary  tales — which  came  at  length 
to  be  the  name  assigned  to  this  half-ancient,  half 
modem  style  of  composition. 

In  general  I  may  observe,  that  the  supposed  fa 
cUity  of  this  species  of  composition,  the  alluring 
simplicity  of  which  was  held  suSicient  to  support 
it,  afforded  great  attractions  for  those  whose  am- 
bition led  them  to  exercise  their  untried  talents 
in  verse,  but  who  were  desirous  to  do  so  with  the 
least  possible  expense  of  thought.  The  task  seems 
to  present,  at  least  to  the  inexperienced  acolyte 
of  the  Muses,  the  same  advantages  which  an  it 
strument  of  sweet  sound  and  small  compass  offen, 
to  those  who  begin  their  studies  in  music.  In 
either  case,  however,  it  fi-equently  happens  that 
the  scholar,  getting  tired  of  the  palling  and  monot- 
onous character  of  the  poetry  or  music  which  he 
produces,  becomes  desirous  to  strike  a  more  inde- 
pendent note,  even  at  the  risk  of  its  being  a  more 
difficult  one. 

The  same  simplicity  involves  an  inconvenience 
fatal  to  the  continued  popularity  of  any  species  of 
poetry,  by  exposing  it  in  a  paculiar  degree  to  ridi- 
cule and  to  parody.  Dr.  Johnson,  whose  style  of 
poetry  was  of  a  very  different  and  more  stately 
description,  could  ridicule  the  ballads  of  Percy,  in 
such  stanzas  as  these, — 

"  The  tender  infant,  meek  au^  mild, 
Fell  down  upon  a  stone  ; 
The  nurse  took  up  the  squalling  child, 
But  still  the  child  squall'd  on  ;" 

with  various  slipshod  imitations  of  the  same  qaal- 

*  Happily  altered  by  an  admiring  foreigner,  who  read 
"  The  silent  waters  stole  away." 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


501 


it/.'  It  did  not  require  his  talents  to  pursue  this 
vein  of  raillery,  for  it  was  such  as  most  men  could 
mitate,  and  all  could  enjoy.  It  is,  therefore,  little 
wonderful  that  this  sort  of  composition  should  be 
repaatedly  laid  aside  for  considerable  periods  ot 
time,  and  certainly  as  httle  so,  that  it  should  have 
been  repeatedly  revived,  like  some  forgotten  mel- 
ody, and  have  again  obtained  some  degree  of  pop- 
ularity, until  it  sunk  once  more  under  satire,  as 
well  as  parody,  but,  above  all,  the  effects  of  satiety. 

During  the  thirty  years  that  I  have  paid  some 
attention  to  literary  matters,  the  taste  for  the  an- 
cient ballad  melody,  and  for  the  closer  or  more 
distant  imitation  of  that  strain  of  jjoetry,  has  more 
than  once  arisen,  and  more  than  once  subsided,  in 
consequence,  perhaps,  of  too  unlimited  indulgence. 
That  this  has  been  the  case  in  other  countries,  we 
know  ;  for  the  Spanish  poet,  when  he  found  that 
the  beautiful  Morisco  romances  were  excluding  all 
other  topics,  confers  upon  them  a  hearty  maledic- 
tion.^ 

A  period  when  this  particular  taste  for  the  pop- 
ular ballad  was  in  the  most  extravagant  degree 
of  fashion,  became  the  occasion,  unexpectedly,  in- 
deed, of  my  deserting  the  profession  to  which  I 
was  educated,  and  in  which  I  had  sufBciently  ad- 
vantageous prospects  for  a  person  of  hmited  ambi- 
tion. I  have,  in  a  former  publication,  undertaken 
to  mention  this  cuxumstance  ;  and  I  will  endeavor 
to  do  so  with  becoming  brevity,  and  without  more 
egotism  than  is  positively  exacted  by  the  nature 
if  the  story. 

I  may,  in  the  first  place,  remark,  that  although 
the  assertion  has  been  made,  and  that  by  persons 
who  seemed  satisfied  with  then*  authority,  it  is  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  my  situation  in  hfe  or 
place  in  society  were  materially  altered  by  such 
success  as  I  attained  in  Hterary  attempts.  My 
birth,  without  giving  the  least  pretension  to  dis- 
tinction, was  that  of  a  gentleman,  and  connected 
me  with  several  respectable  families  and  accom- 
plished persons.  My  education  had  been  a  good 
one,  although  I  was  deprived  of  its  full  benefit  by 
indifferent  health,  just  atthe  period  when  I  ought 
to  have  been  most  sedulous  in  improving  it.  The 
young  men  with  whom  I  was  brouglit  up,  and 
Uved  most  familiarly,  were  those,  Avho,  from  op- 
portunities, birth,  and  talents,  might  be  expected 
to  make  the  greatest  advances  in  the  career  for 
which  we  were  all  destined;  and  I  have  the 
pleasure  still  to  preserve  my  youthful  intimacy 
witli  no  inconsiderable  number  of  them,  whom 
their  merit   has   carried   forward  to  the   highest 


>  Percy  was  especially  annoyed,  according  to  Boswell,  with 

"  I  put  my  hat  upon  my  head, 
And  walked  into  the  Strand, 
71 


honors  of  their  profession.  Neither  was  I  m  a 
situation  to  be  embarrassed  by  the  res  angusta 
domi,  which  might  have  otherwise  brought  painful 
additional  obstructions  to  a  path  in  which  progress 
is  proverbially  slow.  I  enjoyed  a  moderate  degree 
of  business  for  my  standing,  and  tlie  friendship  of 
more  than  one  person  of  consideration  and  in- 
fluence efiiciently  disposed  to  aiil  my  views  in. 
life.  The  private  fortune,  also,  which  I  might  ex- 
pect, and  finally  inherited,  from  my  family,  did 
not,  indeed,  amount  to  affluence,  but  placed  me 
considerably  beyond  aU  appreliension  of  want.  I 
mention  these  particulars  merely  because  they  are 
true.  Many  better  men  than  myself  liave  owed 
their  rise  from  indigence  and  obsciu-ity  to  their 
own  talents,  wliich  were,  doubtless,  much  more 
adequate  to  the  task  of  raising  thopa  than  any 
wliich  I  possess.  But  although  it  would  be  ab- 
surd and  imgracious  in  me  to  deny,  that  I  owe 
to  hterature  many  marks  of  distinction  to  which 
I  could  not  otherwise  have  asjiired,  and  particu- 
larly that  of  securing  the  acquaintance,  and  even 
the  friendship,  of  many  remarkable  persons  of  the 
age,  to  whom  I  could  not  othei"wise  have  made 
my  way  ;  it  would,  on  the  other  hand,  be  ridicu- 
lous to  affect  gratitude  to  the  pubhc  favor,  either 
for  my  general  position  in  society,  or  the  means  of 
supjDorting  it  with  decency,  matters  wliich  had 
been  otherwise  secured  under  the  usual  chances 
of  human  affairs.  Thus  much  I  liave  thouglit  it 
necessary  to  say  upon  a  subject,  which  is,  after  all, 
of  very  httle  consequence  to  any  one  but  myself.  I 
proceed  to  detail  the  circumstances  which  engaged 
me  in  literary  pursuits. 

During  the  last  ten  years  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  art  of  poetry  was  at  a  remarkably 
low  ebb  in  Britain.  Hay  ley,  to  whom  fashion  had 
some  years  before  ascribed  a  higher  degree  of  rep- 
utation than  posterity  has  confirmed,  had  now 
lost  his  reputation  for  talent,  though  lie  still  Uved 
beloved  and  respected  as  an  amiable  and  accom- 
plished man.  The  Bard  of  Memory  slumbered 
on  his  laurels,  and  He  of  Hope  had  scarce  begun 
to  attract  his  share  of  pubhc  attention.  Cowj^er, 
a  poet  of  deep  feeling  and  bright  genius,  was  stiU 
aUve,  indeed  ;  but  the  hypochondria,  which  was 
liis  mental  malady,  impeded  his  popularity.  Burns, 
wliose  genius  our  southern  neighbors  could  hardly 
yet  comprehend,  had  long  confined  himself  to 
song-writing.  Names  which  are  now  known  and 
distinguished  wherever  the  English  language  )<» 
spoken,  were  then  only  beginning  to  be  men- 
tioned ;  and,  unless  among  the  small  number  of 


And  there  I  met  another  man 
With  his  hat  in  his  hand."— Ed. 
»  See  the  Introduction  to  Lociiliart's  Spanish  Ballads,  1923 
p.  xzii. 


562 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1 


persons  who  habitually  devote  a  part  of  their 
leisure  to  literature,  even  those  of  Southey, 
Wordsworth,  and  Coleridge,  were  still  but  little 
known.  Tlie  realms  of  Parnassus,  like  many  a 
kingdom  at  the  period,  seemed  to  lie  open  to  the 
first  bold  invader,  whether  he  should  be  a  daring 
usurper,  or  could  show  a  legitimate  title  of  sove- 
reignty. 

As  far  back  as  1788,  a  new  species  of  literature 
began  to  be  introduced  into  this  countiy.  Ger- 
many, long  known  as  a  powerful  branch  of  the  Eu- 
ropean confederacy,  was  then,  for  the  first  time, 
heard  of  as  the  cradle  of  a  style  of  poetry  and  lit- 
erature, of  a  kind  much  more  analogous  to  that  of 
Britain,  than  either  the  French,  Spanish,  or  Italian 
schools,  though  all  three  had  been  at  various  times 
cultivated  and  unitated  among  us.  The  names  of 
Lessing,  Klopstock,  Schiller,  and  other  German 
poets  of  eminence,  were  only  known  in  Britain  very 
imperfectly.  "The  Sorrows  of  Werter"  was  the 
only  composition  that  had  attained  any  degree  of 
popularity,  and  the  success  of  that  remarkable 
novel,  notwithstanrling  the  distinguished  genius  of 
the  author,  was  retarded  by  the  nature  of  its  inci- 
dents. To  the  other  compositions  of  Goethe,  whose 
talents  were  destined  to  illuminate  the  age  in  which 
he  flourished,  the  English  remained  strangers,  and 
much  more  so  to  Scliiller,  Biirger,  and  a  whole  cy- 
cle of  foreigners  of  distinguished  merit.  The  ob- 
scurity to  which  German  literature  seemed  to  be 
condemned,  did  not  arise  fi-om  want  of  brilliancy 
In  the  lights  by  which  it  was  illuminated,  but  from 
the  palpable  thickness  of  the  darkness  by  wliich 
they  were  surrounded.  Frederick  II.  of  Prussia 
had  given  a  partial  and  ungracious  testimony 
against  his  native  language  and  native  literature, 
and  im politically  and  unwisely,  as  well  as  unjustly, 
had  yielded  to  the  French  that  superioi-ity  in  let- 
ters, wliicli,  after  liis  death,  paved  the  way  for 
their  obtaining,  for  a  time,  an  equal  superiority  in 
arms.  Tliat  great  Prince,  by  setting  the  example 
of  undervaluing  liis  country  in  one  respect,  raised 
a,  belief  in  its  general  inferiority,  and  destroyed  the 
manly  pride  with  wliich  a  nation  is  naturally  dis- 
posed to  regard  its  own  peculiar  manners  and  pe- 
culiar literature. 

Uiunoved  by  the  scornful  neglect  of  its  sover- 
eigns and  nobles,  and  encouraged  by  the  tide  of 
native  genius,  which  flowed  in  upon  the  nation, 
Gennan  literature  began  to  assume  a  new,  inter- 
esting, and  highly  impressive  character,  to  which 
it  became  impossible  for  strangers  to  shut  their 
eyes.  That  it  exhibited  the  faults  of  exaggeration 
and  false  taste,  almost  inseparable  from  the  first 
attempts  at  the  heroic  and  at  the  pathetic,  cannot 
be  denied.  It  was,  in  a  word,  the  first  crop  of  a 
rich  soil,  wliich  throws  out  weeds  as  well  as  flow- 
era  with  a  prolific  abundance 


It  was  so  late  as  the  21st  day  of  April,  178ft, 
that  the  literary  persons  of  Edinburgh,  of  whom, 
at  that  period,  I  am  better  qualified  to  speak  than 
of  those  of  Britain  generally,  or  especially  those  of 
London,  were  first  made  aware  of  the  existence 
of  works  of  genius  in  a  language  cognate  with  the 
English,  and  possessed  of  the  same  manly  force  of 
expression.  They  learned,  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  taste  which  dictated  the  German  composition.« 
was  of  a  kind  as  nearly  allied  to  the  English  as 
their  language.  Those  who  were  accustomed  from 
their  youth  to  admire  MUton  and  Shakspeare,  be- 
came acquainted,  I  may  say  for  the  first  time,  with 
the  existence  of  a  race  of  poets  who  had  the  same 
lofty  ambition  to  spurn  the  flaming  boundaries  of  the 
universe,'  and  investigate  the  reabns  of  chaos  and 
old  night ;  and  of  dramatists,  who,  disclauiung  the 
pedantry  of  the  unities,  sought,  at  the  expense  of  oc- 
casional improbabilities  and  extravagancies,  to  pre- 
sent life  in  its  scenes  of  wildest  contrast,  and  in  all 
its  boundless  variety  of  character,  mingling,  without 
hesitation,  Hvelier  with  more  serious  incidents,  and 
exchanging  scenes  of  tragic  distress,  as  they  occur 
in  conmion  life,  with  those  of  a  comic  tendency. 
This  emancipation  from  the  rules  so  servilely  ad- 
hered to  by  the  French  school,  and  particularly  by 
their  dramatic  poets,  although  it  was  attended 
with  some  disadrantages,  especially  the  risk  of 
extravagance  and  bombast,  was  the  means  of  giv- 
ing free  scope  to  the  genius  of  Goethe,  Schiller, 
and  others,  which,  thus  relieved  from  shackles,  was 
not  long  hi  soaring  to  the  highest  pitch  of  poetic 
sublimity.  The  late  venerable  Henry  Mackenzie, 
author  of  "  The  Man  of  Feehng,"  in  an  Essay  upon 
the  German  Theatre,  introduced  liis  countrymen 
to  tliis  new  species  of  national  literature,  the  pecu- 
liarities of  which  he  traced  with  equal  truth  and 
spirit,  although  they  were  at  that  time  known  to 
him  only  through  the  imperfect  and  imcongenial 
medium  of  a  French  translation.  Upon  the  daj 
already  mentioned  (21st  April,  1788),  he  read  to 
the  Royal  Society  an  Essay  on  German  Litera- 
ture, which  made  much  noise,  and  produced  a 
powerful  efi"ect.  "  Germany,"  he  observed,  "  in  her 
Utcrary  aspect,  presents  herself  to  observation  in 
a  singular  point  of  view ;  that  of  a  country  arrived 
at  maturity,  along  with  the  neighboring  nations, 
in  the  arts  and  sciences,  in  the  pleasures  and  re- 
finements of  manners,  and  yet  only  in  its  infancy 
with  regard  to  writings  of  taste  and  miagination. 
This  last  path,  however,  from  these  very  cu'cum- 
stances,  she  pursues  with  an  enthusiasm  which  no 
other  situation  could  perhaps  have  produced,  the 
enthusiasm  which  novelty  inspires,  and  whicli  the 
servility  incident  to  a  more  cultivated  and  critical 
state  of  literature   does .  not  restrain."     At  the 

>  "  Flammantia  raaania  mnndi," — LucRBTICS. 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATION!^  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


563 


eame  time,  the  accomplished  critic  showed  himself 
equally  familiar  with  the  classical  rules  of  the 
French  stage,  and  failed  not  to  touch  upon  the  ac- 
knowledged advantages  wliich  these  produced,  by 
the  encouragement  and  regulation  of  taste,  though 
at  the  risk  of  repressing  genius. 

But  it  was  not  the  di'amatic  literature  alone  of 
the  Germans  wliich  was  liitherto  unknown  to  their 
neighbors — theh  fictitious  narratives,  their  ballad 
poetry,  and  other  branches  of  their  literature, 
which  are  particularly  apt  to  bear  the  stamp  of 
the  extravagant  and  the  supernatural,  began  to 
occupy  the  attention  of  the  British  literati. 

In  Edinburgh,  where  the  remarkable  coincidence 
between  the  German  language  and  that  of  the 
Lowland  Scottish,  encouraged  young  men  to  ap- 
proach this  newly  discovered  spring  of  hterature, 
a  class  was  formed,  of  six  or  seven  intimate  friends, 
who  proposed  to  make  themselves  acquainted  with 
the  German  language.  They  were  in  the  habit  of 
living  much  together,  and  the  time  they  spent  in 
this  new  study  was  felt  as  a  period  of  great  amuse- 
ment. One  source  of  this  diversion  was  the  lazi- 
ness of  one  of  their  number,  the  present  author, 
who,  averse  to  the  necessary  toil  of  grammar  and 
its  rules,  was  in  the  practice  of  fighting  his  way  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  German  by  his  acquaintance 
with  the  Scottish  and  Anglo-Saxon  dialects,  and, 
of  course,  frequently  committed  blunders  which 
were  not  lost  on  his  more  accurate  and  more  stu- 
dious companions.  A  more  general  source  of 
'amusement,  was  the  despair  of  the  teacher,  on 
finding  it  impossible  to  extract  from  his  Scottish 
students  the  degree  of  sensibility  necessary,  as  he 
thought,  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  author  to 
whom  he  considered  it  proper  first  to  introduce 
them.  We  were  desirous  to  penetrate  at  once 
into  the  recesses  of  the  Teutonic  hterature,  and 
therefore  were  ambitious  of  perusing  Goethe  and 
Schiller,  and  others  whose  fame  had  been  sounded 
by  Mackenzie.  Dr.  WiUich  (a  medical  gentleman), 
who  was  our  teacher,  was  judiciously  disposed  to 
commence  our  studies  with  the  more  simple  dic- 
tion of  Gesner,  and  prescribed  to  us  "  The  Death 
of  Abel,"  as  the  production  from  which  our  Ger- 
man tasks  were  to  be  drawn.  Tlie  pietistic  style 
of  this  author  was  ill  adapted  to  attract  young 
persons  of  our  age  and  disposition.  We  could  no 
more  sympathize  with  the  overstrained  sentimen- 
tality of  Adam  and  his  fomily,  than  we  could  have 
Lad  a  fellow-feeling  with  the  jolly  Faun  of  the 
eame  author,  who  broke  his  beautiful  jug,  and  tlien 
made  a  song  on  it  which  might  have  affected  all 
Staffordshire.  To  sum  up  the  distresses  of  Dr. 
WUlich,  we,  with  one  consent,  voted  Abel  an  in- 

1  Alexander  Fraser  Tytler,  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Session 
uy  the  title  of  Lord  Woodhou^clee,  author  of  the  well-known 
*  Elements  of  General  History  "  and  long  eminent  as  Professor 


8ufi"erable  bore,  and  gave  the  pre-eminence,  in 
point  of  mascuhne  character,  to  his  brother  Cain, 
or  even  to  Lucifer  himself  When  these  jests, 
which  arose  out  of  the  sickly  monotony  and  affect- 
ed ecstasies  of  the  poet,  failed  to  amuse  us,  we 
had  for  our  entertainment  the  unutterable  sounds 
manufactured  by  a  Frenchman,  our  fellow-student, 
who,  with  the  economical  purpose  of  learning  two 
languages  at  once,  was  endeavoring  to  acquire 
German,  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  by  means  of 
English,  concerning  which  he  was  nearly  as  igno- 
rant. Heaven  only  knows  the  notes  which  lie  ut- 
tered, in  attempting,  witli  unpractised  organs,  to 
imitate  the  gutturals  of  these  two  intractable  lan- 
guages. At  length,  in  the  midst  of  much  laugliing 
and  Uttle  study,  most  of  us  acquired  some  know- 
ledge, more  or  less  extensive,  of  the  German  lan- 
guage, and  selected  for  ourselves,  some  in  the 
philosophy  of  Kant,  some  in  the  more  animated 
works  of  the  German  dramatists,  specimens  more 
to  our  taste  than  "  The  Death  of  Abel." 

About  this  period,  or  a  year  or  two  sooner,  the 
accomphshed  and  excellent  Lord  Woodhouselee,' 
one  of  the  friends  of  my  youth,  made  a  spirited 
version  of  "  The  Robbers"  of  Schiller,  which  I  be 
lieve  was  the  first  pubhshed,  though  an  English 
version  appeared  soon  afterwards  in  London,  as 
the  metropolis  then  took  the  lead  in  every  thing 
hke  hterary  adventure.  The  enthusiasm  with 
which  this  work  was  received,  greatly  increased 
the  general  taste  for  German  compositions. 

Wliile  imiversal  curiosity  was  thus  distinguisli- 
ing  the  advancing  taste  for  the  German  language 
and  literature,  the  success  of  a  very  young  student, 
in  a  juvenile  publication,  seemed  to  sliow  that  the 
prevaihng  taste  in  that  coimtry  might  be  easily 
employed  as  a  formidable  auxiliary  to  renewing 
tlie  spirit  of  our  own,  upon  the  same  system  as 
when  medical  persons  attempt,  by  the  transfusion 
of  blood,  to  pass  into  the  veins  of  an  aged  and  ex- 
hausted patient,  the  vivacity  of  the  circulation  and 
livehness  of  sensation  wliich  distinguish  a  young 
subject.  The  person  who  first  attempted  to  in- 
troduce sometliing  like  the  German  taste  into 
English  fictitious  dramatic  and  poetical  composi- 
tion, although  liis  works,  when  first  published, 
engaged  general  attention,  is  now  comparatively 
forgotten.  I  mean  Matthew  Gregory  Lewis,  whosi 
character  and  literary  history  are  so  immediately 
connected  with  the  subject  of  which  I  am  treating, 
that  a  few  authentic  particulars  may  be  here  in- 
serted by  one  to  whom  he  was  well  known." 

Lewis's  rank  in  society  was  determined  by  his 
birth,  which,  at  the  same  time,  assured  liis  fortune. 
His  father  was  Under-Secretary  at  War,  at  that 

of  History   in   the   University   of  Edinburgh.      He  died  ■ 
ISIO.-Ed. 
»  See  more  of  Lewis  in  the  Life  of  Stott,  vol.  ii.  pp.  8-14 


564 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


time  a  very  lucrative  appointment,  and  the  young 
poet  was  proTided  ■with  a  seat  in  Parliament  as 
soon  as  his  age  permitted  him  to  fill  it.  But  his 
mind  did  not  incline  him  to  poUtics,  or,  if  it  did, 
they  were  not  of  the  complexion  -which  his  fatlier, 
attached  to  Mr.  Pitt's  administration,  would  have 
approved.  He  was,  moreover,  indolent,  and  though 
possessed  of  abilities  sviflRcient  to  conquer  any  diffi- 
culty which  might  stand  in  the  way  of  classical 
attainments,  he  preferred  applying  Ins  exertions 
in  a  patli  where  they  were  rewarded  witli  more 
immediate  applause.  As  he  completed  his  edu- 
cation abroad,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  mdulging 
his  inchnation  for  the  extraordinary  and  supernatu- 
ral, by  wandering  through  the  whole  enchanted 
land  of  German  faery  and  diablerie,  not  forgetting 
the  paths  of  her  enthusiastic  tragedy  and  romantic 
poetry. 

We  are  easily  induced  to  imitate  what  we  ad- 
mire, and  Lewis  early  distinguished  himself  by  a 
romance  in  the  German  taste,  called  "  Tlie  Monk." 
In  this  work,  written  in  his  twentieth  year,  and 
founded  on  the  Eastern  apologue  of  the  Santon 
Barsisa,  the  author  introduced  supernatural  ma- 
chinery with  a  courageous  consciousness  of  liis  own 
power  to  manage  its  ponderous  strength,  which 
commanded  the  respect  of  his  reader.  "  The 
Monk"  was  pubUshed  in  1795,  and,  though  hable 
to  the  objections  common  to  the  school  to  which  it 
belonged,  and  to  others  peculiar  to  itself,  placed 
its  author  at  once  liigh  in  the  scale  of  men  of  let- 
ters. Nor  can  that  be  regarded  as  an  ordinary 
exertion  of  genius,  to  which  Charles  Fox  paid  the 
unusual  compliment  of  crossing  the  House  of  Com- 
mons that  he  might  congratulate  the  young  author, 
whose  work  obtained  liigh  praise  from  many  other 
able  men  of  that  able  time.  The  pai-ty  which  ap- 
proved "  The  Monk"  was  at  first  superior  in  the 
lists,  and  it  was  some  time  before  the  anonymous 
author  of  the  "  Pursuits  of  Literature"  denounced 
as  puerile  and  absurd  the  supernatural  machinery 
which  Lewis  had  iatroduced — 

I  bear  an  Englisli  heart, 


Unnsed  at  ghosts  or  rattling  bones  to  start.' 

Yet  the  acute  and  learned  critic  betrays  some  in- 
consistency in  praising  the  magic  of  the  Italian 
poets,  and  compUmenting  Mrs.  Radcliffe  for  her 
success  in  supernatural  imagery,  for  which  at  the 
same  moment  he  thus  sternly  censures  her  brother 
novehst. 

A  more  legitimate  topic  of  condemnation  was 
the  indelicacy  of  particular  passages.  The  present 
author  will  hardly  be  deemed  a  willing,  or  at  least 
an  Interested  apologist  for  an  offence  equally  re- 
pugnant to  decency  and  good  breeding.  But  as 
Lewis  at  once,  and  with  a  good  grace,  submitted 
to  the  voice  of  censure,  and  expunged  the  objec- 


tionable passages,  we  cannot  help  considering  tho 
manner  in  which  the  fault  was  insisted  on,  after 
aU  the  amends  had  been  offered  of  which  the  case 
could  admit,  as  in  the  last  degree  ungenerous  and 
uncandid.  The  pertinacity  with  which  the  pas- 
sages so  much  found  fault  with  were  dwelt  upon, 
seemed  to  warrant  a  belief  that  something  more 
was  desired  than  the  correction  of  the  author's 
errors ;  and  that,  where  the  apologies  of  extreme 
youth,  foreign  education,  and  instant  submission, 
were  unable  to  satisfy  the  critics'  fury,  they  must 
have  been  determined  to  act  on  the  severity  of 
the  old  proverb,  "  Confess  and  be  hanged."  Cer 
tain  it  is,  that  other  persons,  offenders  in  the  same 
degree,  have  been  permitted  to  sue  out  their  par- 
don without  either  retraction  or  pahnode.' 

Another  peccadillo  of  the  author  of  "  The  Monk" 
was  his  having  borrowed  from  Musajus,  and  from 
the  popular  tales  of  the  Germans,  the  singular  and 
striking  adventure  of  the  "  Bleeding  Nun."  But 
the  bold  and  free  hand  with  which  he  traced  some 
scenes,  as  well  of  natural  terror  as  of  that  which 
arises  from  supernatural  causes,  shows  distinctly 
that  the  plagiarism  could  not  have  been  occa- 
sioned by  any  deficiency  of  invention  on  his  part, 
though  it  might  take  place  from  wantonness  or 
wilfulness. 

In  spite  of  the  objections  we  have  stated,  "  The 
Monk "  was  so  highly  popular,  that  it  seemed  to 
create  an  epoch  in  our  literature.  But  the  public 
were  chiefly  captivated  by  the  poetry  with  which 
Mr.  Lewis  had  interspersed  liis  prose  narrative.  It 
has  now  passed  from  recollection  among  the  changes 
of  literary  taste ;  but  many  may  remember,  as  well 
as  I  do,  the  effect  produced  by  the  beautiful  bal- 
lad of  "  Durandarte,"  which  had  the  good  fortune 
to  be  adapted  to  an  air  of  great  sweetness  and 
pathos ;  by  the  ghost  tale  of  "  Alonzo  and  Imo- 
gine ;"  and  by  several  other  pieces  of  legendary 
poetry,  which  addressed  themselves  in  all  the 
charms  of  novelty  and  of  simphcity  to  a  public 
who  had  for  a  long  time  been  unused  to  any  regale 
of  the  kind.  In  his  poetry  as  well  as  his  prose, 
Mr.  Lewis  had  been  a  successful  imitator  of  the 
Germans,  both  in  his  attachment  to  the  ancient 
ballad,  and  in  the  tone  of  superstition  which  they 
wilUngly  mingle  with  it.  New  arrangements  of 
the  stanza,  and  a  varied  construction  of  verses, 
were  also  adopted,  and  welcomed  as  an  addition 
of  a  new  string  to  the  British  harp.  In  this  re- 
spect, the  stanza  in  which  "  Alonzo  the  Brave  "  is 
written,  waa  greatly  admired,  and  received  as  an 
improvement  worthy  of  adoption  into  English  poo- 
try. 

In  short,  Lewis's  works  were  admired,  and  the 
author  became  famous,  not  merely  through  liis  own 

I  See  Appendix,  Note  B , 


ESSAY  OX  IMITATIOXS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


565 


merit,  though  that"  was  of  no  mean  quality,  but 
because  he  had  in  some  measure  taken  the  public 
by  surprise,  by  using  a  style  of  composition,  which, 
like  national  melodies,  is  so  congenial  to  the  gen- 
eral taste,  that,  though  it  palls  by  being  much 
hackneyed,  it  lias  only  to  be  for  a  short  time  for- 
gotten in  order  to  i  ecover  its  original  popularity. 

It  chanced  that,  while  his  fame  was  at  the 
highest,  Mr.  Lewis  became  almost  a  yearly  vL'^itor 
to  Scotliuid,  chiefly  fi-om  attachment  to  the  illus- 
trious family  of  Argyle.  The  writer  of  these  re- 
marks had  the  advantage  of  being  made  known 
to  the  most  distinguished  author  of  the  day,  by  a 
lady  who  belongs  by  birth  to  that  family,  and  is 
equally  (Ustinguished  by  her  beauty  and  accom- 
pUshments.^  Out  of  this  accidental  acquaintance, 
which  increased  into  a  sort  of  intimacy,  conse 
quenccs  arose  which  altered  almost  all  the  Scot- 
tish ballad-maker's  futiu-e  prospects  in  life. 

In  early  youth  I  had  been  an  eager  student  of 
Ballad  Poetry,  and  the  tree  is  still  in  my  recol- 
lection, beneath  which  I  lay  and  first  entered  upon 
the  enchanting  perusal  of  Percy's  "Rehques  of 
Ancient  Poetry,""  although  it  has  long  perished  in 
the  "-eneral  bU^ht  which  affected  the  whole  race 
of  Oriental  platanus  to  which  it  belonged.^  The 
taste  of  another  person  had  strongly  encouraged 
my  own  researches  into  this  species  of  legendary 
lore.  But  I  had  never  dreamed  of  an  attempt  to 
imitate  what  gave  me  so  much  pleasm'o. 

I  had,  indeed,  tried  the  metrical  translations 
which  were  occasionally  reconunended  to  us  at  the 
High  School.  I  got  credit  for  attempting  to  do 
what  was  enjoined,  but  very  little  for  the  mode 
in  wliich  the  task  was  performed,  and  I  used  to 
feel  not  a  little  mortified  when  my  versions  were 
placed  in  contrast  with  others  of  admitted  merit. 
At  one  period  of  my  school-boy  days  I  was  so  far 
left  to  my  own  desires  as  to  become  guUty  of 
Verses  on  a  Thunder-storm,*  which  were  much 
approved  of,  until  a  malevolent  critic  sprung  up, 
in  the  shape  of  an  apothecary's  blue-buskined  wife, 
who  affirmed  that  my  most  sweet  poetry  was 
stolen  from  an  old  magazine.  I  never  forgave  the 
imputation,  and  even  now  I  acknowledge  some 
resentment  against  the  poor  woman's  memory. 
She  indeed  accused  me  imjustly,  when  she  said  I 
had  stolen  my  brooms  ready  made ;  but  as  I  had, 
like  most  prematm-e  poets,  copied  all  the  words 
and  ideas  of  which  my  verses  consisted,  she  was 
BO  far  right.  I  made  one  or  two  faint  attempts  at 
verse,  after  I  had  undergone  this  sort  of  daw- 

1  The  Lady  Charlotte  Bury.— Ed. 

2  See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  53. 

s  Tills  tree  gr^.w  in  a  large  garden  attached  to  a  cottage  at 
Kelso,  the  reitfence  of  my  father's  sister,  where  I  spent  many 


plucking  at  the  hands  of  the  apothecary's  wife , 
but  some  friend  or  other  always  advised  me  to 
put  my  verses  in  the  fire,  and,  Hke  Dorax  in  the 
play,  I  submitted,  though  "  with  a  swelling  heart." 
In  short,  excepting  the  usual  tribute  to  a  mis- 
tress's eye-brow,  which  is  the  language  of  passion 
rather  than  poetry,  I  had  not  for  ten  years  in- 
dulged the  wish  to  couple  so  much  as  love  and 
dove,  when,  finding  Lewis  in  possession  of  so  mi".ch 
reputation,  and  conceiving  that,  if  I  fell  behind 
him  in  poetical  powers,  I  considerably  exceeded 
him  in  general  information,  I  suddenly  took  it  into 
my  head  to  attempt  the  style  of  poetry  by  wliich 
he  had  raised  himself  to  fame. 

This  idea  was  hurried  into  execution,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  temptation  which  others,  as  well  aa 
the  author,  found  it  difficult  to  resist.  The  cele- 
brated ballad  of  "  Lenore,"  by  Burger,  was  about 
this  time  introduced  mto  England;  and  it  is  re- 
markable, that,  written  as  far  back  as  1'775,  it  was 
upwards  of  twenty  years  before  it  was  known  in 
Britain,  though  calculated  to  make  so  strong  an 
impression.  The  wild  character  of  the  tale  was 
such  as  struck  the  imagination  of  all  who  read  it, 
although  the  idea  of  the  lady's  ride  behind  the 
spectre  horseman  had  been  long  before  hit  upon 
by  an  English  ballad-maker.  But  this  pretended 
English  original,  if  in  reality  it  be  such,  is  so  dull, 
flat,  and  prosaic,  as  to  leave  the  distinguished  Ger- 
man author  all  that  is  valuable  in  his  story,  by 
clothing  it  with  a  fanciful  wildness  of  expression, 
which  serves  to  set  forth  the  marvellous  tale  in  its 
native  terror.  The  ballad  of  "Lenore"  accord- 
ingly possessed  general  attractions  for  such  of  the 
Euglish  as  understood  the  language  in  which  it  is 
written;  and,  as  if  there  had  been  a  charm  in  the 
ballad,  no  one  seemed  to  cast  his  eyes  upon  it 
without  a  desire  to  make  it  known  by  translation 
to  his  own  coimtrymen,  and  six  or  seven  versions 
were  accordingly  presented  to  the  public.  Al- 
though the  present  author  was  one  of  those  who 
intruded  his  translation  on  the  world  at  this  time, 
he  may  faudy  exculpate  himself  fi-om  the  rashness 
of  entering  the  Usts  against  so  many  rivals.  The 
circumstances  which  threw  him  into  this  competi- 
tion were  quite  accidental,  and  of  a  nature  tend- 
ing to  show  how  much  the  destiny  of  human  fife 
depends  upon  unimportant  occurrences,  to  which 
little  consequence  is  attached  at  the  moment. 

About  the  summer  of  1793  or  1794,  the  cele- 
brated Miss  Lsetitia  Aikin,  better  known  as  Mrs 
Barbauld,  paid  a  visit  to  Edinburgh,  and  was  re- 

of  the  happiest  days  of  my  yonth.  (1831.)  [See  Life,  vol.  I. 
p.  156.— Ed.] 

■*  See  these  Verses  among  the  "  Miscellanies,"  which  follow 
this  "  Essay,"  where  also  many  other  pieces  fiom  the  pen  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott  are  now  for  the  first  time  iacloiled  in  aa 
edition  of  his  Poetical  Works.     (1841.) 


566 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ceived  by  such  literary  society  as  the  place  then 
boasted,  with  the  hospitality  to  which  her  talents 
and  her  worth  entitled  her.  Among  others,  she 
was  kindly  welcomed  by  the  late  excellent  and 
admired  Professor  Dugald  Stewart,  his  lady,  and 
family.  It  was  in  their  evening  society  that  Miss 
Aikin  drew  from  her  pocket-book  a  version  of 
"Lenor6,"  executed  by  WilUam  Taylor,  Esq.,  of 
Norwich,  with  as  much  freedom  as  was  consistent 
with  great  spirit  and  scrupulous  fidelity.  She 
read  this  composition  to  the  company,  who  were 
electrified  by  the  tale.  It  was  the  more  success- 
ful, that  Mr.  Taylor  had  boldly  copied  the  imita- 
tive harmony  of  the  German,  and  described  the 
spectral  journey  in  language  resembling  that  of 
the  original.  Burger  had  thus  painted  the  ghostly 
career : 

"  Und  hurre,  hnrre,  hop,  hop,  hop, 
Gings  fort  in  sausendeiu  Galopp, 
Dass  Ross  und  Reiter  schnoben, 
Und  Kies  und  Funken  stoben." 

The  words  were  rendered  by  the  kindred  soimds 
in  English : 

"  Tramp,  tramp,  across  the  land  they  speede 
Splash,  splash,  across  the  sea; 
Hurra,  the  dead  can  ride  apace  ! 
Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  V 

Wben  Miss  Aikin  had  finished  her  recitation, 
she  replaced  in  her  pocket-book  the  paper  from 
wliich  she  had  read  it,  and  enjoyed  the  satisfaction 
of  having  made  a  strong  impression  on  the  hear- 
ers, whose  bosoms  thrilled  yet  the  deeper,  as  the 
ballad  was  not  to  be  more  closely  introduced  to 
them. 

The  author  was  not  present  upon  this  occasion, 
although  he  had  then  the  distinguished  advantage 
of  being  a  familiar  friend  and  frequent  visitor  of 
Professor  Stewart  and  his  family.  But  he  was 
absent  from  town  while  Miss  Aikin  was  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  it  was  not  until  his  return  that  he 
foimd  aU  his  friends  in  rapture  with  the  intelli- 
gence and  good  sense  of  their  visitor,  but  in  par- 
ticular with  the  wonderful  translation  from  the 
German,  by  means  of  which  she  had  delighted  and 
astonished  them.  The  enthusiastic  description 
given  of  Biirger's  ballad,  and  the  broken  account 
of  the  story,  of  which  only  two  hues  were  recollect- 
ed, inspired  the  author,  who  had  some  acquaint- 
ance, as  has  been  said,  with  the  German  language, 
and  a  strong  taste  for  popular  poetry,  with  a  de- 
siro  to  see  the  original. 

This  was  not  a  wish  easily  gratified ;  German 
works  were  at  that  time  seldom  foimd  in  Loudon 


1  Bom  Countess  Harriet  Bruhl  of  Martinskirclien,  and  mar- 
ried to  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.  of  Harden,  now  Lord  Polwarth,  the 
author's  relative,  and  much  valued  friend  almost  from  infancy. 


for  sale — in  Edinburgh  never.  A  lady  of  noble 
German  descent,'  whose  friendship  I  have  enjoyed 
for  many  years,  foimd  means,  however,  to  procure 
me  a  copy  of  Biirger's  works  from  Hamburgh. 
The  perusal  of  the  original  rather  exceeded  than 
disappointed  the  expectations  wliich  the  report  of 
Mr.  Stewart's  family  had  induced  me  to  form.  At 
length,  when  the  book  had  been  a  few  hours  in 
my  possession,  I  found  myself  giving  an  animated 
account  of  the  poem  to  a  friend,  and  rashly  added 
a  proniLse  to  furnish  a  copy  in  Enghsh  ballad 
verse. 

I  well  recollect  that  I  begSn  my  task  after  sup- 
per, and  finished  it  about  daybreak  the  next 
morning,  by  which  time  the  ideas  which  the  task 
had  a  tendency  to  summon  up  were  rather  of  an 
micomfortable  character.  As  my  object  was  much 
more  to  make  a  good  translation  of  the  poem  for 
those  whom  I  wished  to  please,  than  to  acquire 
any  poetical  fame  for  myself,  I  retained  in  my 
translation  the  two  lines  which  Mr.  Taylor  had 
rendered  with  equal  boldness  and  felicity. 

My  attempt  succeeded  far  beyond  my  expecta- 
tions ;  and  it  may  readily  be  believed,  that  I  was 
induced  to  persevere  in  a  pursuit  which  gratified 
my  own  vanity,  while  it  seemed  to  amuse  others. 
I  accomplished  a  translation  of  "  Der  Wilde  Jager  " 
— a  romantic  ballad  founded  on  a  superstition 
universally  cuiTent  in  Germany,  and  known  also 
in  Scotland  and  France.  In  this  I  took  rather 
more  license  than  in  versifying  "  Lenore ;"  and  I 
balladized  one  or  two  other  poems  of  Biirger  with 
more  or  less  success.  In  the  course  of  a  few 
weeks,  my  own  vanity,  and  the  favorable  opinion 
of  friends,  interested  by  the  temporary  revival  of 
a  species  of  poetry  contauiing  a  germ  of  popularity 
of  which  perhaps  they  were  not  themselves  aware, 
urged  me  to  the  decisive  step  of  sending  a  selec- 
tion, at  least,  of  my  translations  to  the  press,  to 
save  the  numerous  applications  which  were  made 
for  copies.  When  was  there  an  author  deaf  to 
such  a  recommendation?  In  1796,  the  present 
author  was  prevailed  on,  "  by  request  of  friends," 
to  indulge  his  own  vanity  by  publishing  the  trans- 
lation of  "  Lenore,""  with  that  of  "  The  WUd  Hunts- 
man," in  a  thin  quarto.' 

The  fate  of  this,  my  first  publication,  was  by  no 
means  flattering.  I  distributed  so  many  copies 
among  my  friends  as,  according  to  the  booksellers, 
materially  to  interfere  with  the  sale ;  and  the 
nimiber  of  translations  wliich  appeared  in  England 
about  the  same  time,  including  that  of  Mr.  Taylor 
to  which  I  had  been  so  much  indebted,  and  which 
was  pubhshed  in  "  The  Monthly  Magazine,"  were 


2  Under  the  title  of  "  William  and  Helen."— Ed. 

3  This  thin  quarto  was  published  by  Messrs.  Manners  aOu 

Miller  of  Edinburgh.— Ed. 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


567 


sufficient  to  exclude  a  provincial  writer  from  com- 
petition. However  different  my  success  might 
have  been,  had  I  been  fortunate  enough  to  have 
led  the  way  in  the  general  scramble  for  prece- 
den«e,  my  efforts  sunk  unnoticed  when  launclied  at 
the  same  time  with  those  of  Mr.  Taylor  (upon 
whose  property  I  had  committed  the  kind  of  pi- 
racy already  noticed,  and  wlio  generously  forgave 
me  the  invasion  of  his  rights ) ;  of  my  ingenious 
and  amiable  friend  of  many  years,  William  Robert 
Spenser ;  of  ili-.  Pye,  the  laureate  of  the  day,  and 
many  others  besides.  In  a  word,  my  adventure, 
where  so  many  pushed  oft'  to  sea,  proved  a  dead 
loss,  and  a  great  part  of  the  edition  was  con- 
demned to  the  service  of  the  trunk-maker.  Nay, 
60  complete  was  the  failm'e  of  the  unfortunate 
ballads,  that  the  very  existence  of  them  was  soon 
forgotten ;  and,  in  a  newspaper,  in  wliich  I  very 
lately  read,  to  my  no  small  horror,  a  most  appall- 
ing list  of  my  own  various  publications,  I  saw  this, 
my  first  offence,  had  escaped  the  industrious  col- 
lector, for  whose  indefatigable  research  I  may  in 
gratitude  wish  a  better  object.' 

The  failui'e  of  my  first  2:)ublication  did  not  ope- 
rate, in  any  unpleasant  degree,  either  on  my  feel- 
ings or  spirits.  I  was  coldly  received  by  strangers, 
but  my  reputation  began  rather  to  increase  among 
my  own  friends,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  was  more 
bent  to  show  the  world  that  it  had  neglected' 
sometliing  worth  notice,  than  to  be  affronted  by 
its  indifference.  Or  rather,  to  speak  candidly,  I 
found  pleasure  in  the  Uterary  labor  in  wliich  I  had, 
almost  by  accident,  become  engaged,  and  labored, 
less  in  the  hope  of  pleasing  others,  though  certain- 
ly without  despair  of  doing  so,  than  in  the  pursuit 
of  a  new  and  agreeable  amusement  to  myself.  I 
pursued  the  German  language  keenly,  and,  though 
far  from  being  a  correct  scholar,  became  a  bold 
and  daring  reader,  nay,  even  translator,  of  various 
dramatic  pieces  from  that  tongue.'' 

The  want  of  books  at  that  time  (about  1796), 
was  a  great  interruption  to  the  rapidity  of  my 
movements ;  for  the  young  do  not  know,  and  per- 
haps my  own  contemporaries  may  have  forgotten, 
the  difficulty  with  wliich  publications  were  then 
procured  from  the  continent.  The  worthy  and 
excellent  friend,  of  whom  I  gave  a  sketch  many 
years  afterwards  in  the  person  of  Jonathan  Old- 
buck,'  procured  me  Adelung's  Dictionary,  through 
the  mediation  of  Father  Pepper,  a  monk  of  the 
Scotch  Ci  Uege  of  Ratisbon.     Other  wants  of  the 

I  The  Ti  >t  here  referred  to  was  drawn  np  and  inserted  in  the 
Caledonian  Mercury,  by  Mr.  James  Shaw,  for  nearly  forty 
years  past  in  the  house  of  ?ir  Walter  Scott's  publishers, 
Messrs.  Constable  and  Cadell,  of  Edinburgh. — Ed.  (See  it  in 
Life  of  Scott,  \'o\.  x.  pp.  269-276.) 

1  Sir  Walter  Scott's  second  pnblieation  was  a  translation  of 
Goeth6's  drama  of  Goetz  of  Berlichingen  with  tlie  Iron  Hand, 


same  nature  were  supplied  by  Mrs.  Scott  of  Har 
-Jen,  whose  kindness  in  a  similar  instance  I  have 
fiad  already  occa.sion  to  acknowledge.  Tlirougli 
this  lady's  connections  on  the  continent,  I  obtained 
copies  of  BUrger,  Schiller,  Goethe,  and  other  stan- 
dard German  works ;  and  though  tlie  obligation  be 
of  a  distant  date,  it  still  remains  impressed  on  my 
memory,  after  a  life  spent  in  a  constant  inter- 
change of  friendsliip  and  kindness  with  that  family, 
which  is,  accorduig  to  Scottish  ideas,  the  head  of 
my  house. 

Being  thus  furnished  with  the  necessary  origi- 
nals, I  began  to  translate  on  all  sides,  certainly 
without  any  tiling  like  an  accurate  knowledge  of 
the  language ;  and  although  tlie  dramas  of  Goethe, 
Scliiller,  and  others,  powerftdly  attracted  one 
whose  early  attention  to  the  German  had  been 
arrested  by  Mackenzie's  Dissertation,  and  the  play 
of  "  The  Robbers,"  yet  the  ballad  poetry,  in  wliich 
I  had  made  a  bold  essay,  was  still  my  favorite.  I 
was  yet  more  delighted  on  finding,  that  the  old 
English,  and  especially  the  Scottish  language,  were 
so  nearly  similar  to  the  German,  not  in  sovmd 
merely,  but  in  the  turn  of  phrase,  that  they  were 
capable  of  being  rendered  hue  for  line,  with  very 
little  variation.* 

By  degrees,  I  acquired  sufficient  confidence  to 
attempt  the  imitation  of  what  I  admired.  The 
baUad  called  "  Glenfinlas"  was,  I  think,  the  first 
original  poem  which  I  ventured  to  compose.  As 
it  is  supposed  to  be  a  translation  from  the  Gaelic, 
I  considered  myself  as  hberated  from  imitating 
the  antiquated  language  and  rude  rliythm  of  the 
Minstrel  ballad.  A  versification  of  an  Ossi;uiic 
fragment  came  nearer  to  the  idea  I  had  formed  of 
my  task;  for  although  controversy  may  liave 
arisen  concerning  the  authenticity  of  these  poems, 
yet  I  never  heard  it  disputed,  by  those  whom  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  Gaelic  rendered  com- 
petent judges,  that  in  their  spfrit  and  diction  they 
nearly  resemble  fragments  of  poetry  extant  in  that 
language,  to  the  genuine  antiquity  of  which  no 
doubt  can  attach.  Indeed,  the  celebrated  dispute 
on  that  subject  is  something  like  the  more  bloody, 
though  scarce  fiercer  controversy,  about  the  Popish 
Plot  in  Charles  the  Second's  time,  concerning 
which  Dryden  has  said — 

"  Succeeding  times  will  equal  folly  call, 
Believing  nothing,  or  believing  all." 

The  Celtic  people  of  Erin  and  Albyn  had,  in 

which  appeared  in  1799.  He  about  the  same  time  trans- 
lated several  other  German  plays,  which  yet  remain  in  MS. — 
Ed. 

3  Tlie  late  George  Constable,  Esq.  See  Introduction  to  thn 
Antiquary,  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  v.  p.  iv. — Ed. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


568 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


short,  a  style  of  poetry  properly  called  national, 
though  MacPherson  was  rather  an  excellent  poet 
than  a  faithful  editor  and  translator.  This  style 
and  fashion  of  poetry,  existing  in  a  different  lan- 
guage, was  supposed  to  give  the  original  of  "  Glen- 
finlas,"  and  the  author  was  to  pass  for  one  who 
had  used  lais  best  command  of  Enghsh  to  do  the 
Gaelic  model  justice.  In  one^oint,  the  incidents 
of  the  poem  were  ii-recoucilable  with  the  costume 
of  the  times  in  which  they  were  laid.  The  ancient 
Higliland  chieftains,  when  they  had  a  mind  to 
"  hunt  the  dim  deer  down,"  did  not  retreat  into 
solitary  bothies,  or  trust  the  success  of  the  chase 
to  then-  own  unassisted  exertions,  without  a  single 
gilUe  to  help  them;  they  assembled  their  clan, 
and  all  partook  of  the  sport,  forming  a  ring,  or  en- 
closure, called  the  Tinchell,  and  driving  the  prey 
towards  the  most  distinguished  persons  of  the 
hunt.  This  course  would  not  have  suited  me,  so 
Ronald  and  Moy  were  cooped  up  in  their  solitary 
wigwam,  like  two  moorfowl-shooters  of  the  present 
day. 

After  "  Glenfinlas,"  I  undertook  another  ballad, 
called  "  The  Eve  of  St.  John."  The  incidents,  ex- 
cept the  hints  alluded  to  in  the  marginal  notes, 
are  entnely  imaginary,  but  the  scene  was  that  of 
my  early  childliood.  Some  idle  persons  had  of 
late  years,  during  the  proprietor's  absence,  torn 
the  iron-grated  door  of  Smailholm  Tower  from  its 
Ringes,  and  thi-own  it  down  the  rock.  I  was  an 
earnest  suitor  to  my  friend  and  kinsman,  Mr.  Scott 
of  Harden,  already  mentioned,  that  the  dilapida- 
tion might  be  put  a  stop  to,  and  the  mischief  re- 
paired. This  was  readdy  promised,  on  condition 
that  I  should  make  a  ballad,  of  which  the  scene 
should  he  at  SmaUholm  Tower,  and  among  the 
crags  where  it  is  situated.*  The  ballad  was  ap- 
proved of,  as  well  as  its  companion  "  Glenfinlas  ;" 
and  I  remember  that  they  procured  me  many 
marks  of  attention  and  kindness  from  Duke  John 
of  Roxburghe,  who  gave  me  the  unlimited  use  of 
that  celebrated  collection  of  volumes  from  which 
the  Roxburghe  Club  derives  its  name. 

Thus  I  was  set  up  for  a  poet,  like  a  pedlar  who 
has  got  two  ballads  to  begin  the  world  upon,  and 
I  hastened  to  make  the  round  of  all  my  acquaint- 
ances, showing  my  precious  wares,  and  requesting 
criticism — a  boon  wliich  no  author  asks  in  vain. 
For  it  may  be  observed,  that,  in  the  fine  arts, 
those  who  are  in  no  respect  able  to  produce  any 
specimens  themselves,  hold  themselves  not  the 
less  entitled  to  decide  upon  the  works  of  others ; 
and,  no  doubt,  with  justice  to  a  certain  degi-ee ; 


1  This  19  of  little  consequence,  except  in  as  far  as  it  contra- 
dicts a  story  which  I  have  seen  in  print,  averring  that  Mr. 
Scott  of  Harden  was  himself  ahout  to  destroy  this  ancient 
building  ;  than  which  nothing  can  be  more  inaccurate. 


for  the  merits  of  composition  produced  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  pleasing  the  world  at  large,  can 
only  be  judged  of  by  the  opinion  of  individuals, 
and  perhaps,  as  in  the  case  of  Molifere's  old  woman, 
the  less  sophisticated  the  person  consulted  so  much 
the  better.''  But  I  was  ignorant,  at  the  time  I 
speak  of,  that  though  the  applause  of  the  many 
may  justly  appreciate  the  general  merits  of  a  piece, 
it  is  not  so  safe  to  submit  such  a  performance  to 
the  more  minute  criticism  of  the  same  individuals, 
when  each,  in  turn,  having  seated  himself  in  the 
censor's  chair,  has  placed  his  mmd  in  a  critical  at- 
titude, and  deUvers  his  opinion  sententiously  and 
ex  cathcdrd.  General  applause  was  in  ahnost 
every  case  freely  tendered,  but  the  abatements  m 
the  way  of  proposed  alterations  and  corrections, 
were  cruelly  puzzUng.  It  was  in  vain  the  young 
author,  hstening  with  becoming  modesty,  and  with 
a  natural  wish  to  please,  cut  and  carved,  tinkered 
and  coopered,  upon  his  unfortunate  ballads — it  wap 
in  vain  that  he  placed,  displaced,  replaced,  and 
misjJaced ;  every  one  of  his  advisei's  was  displeased 
with  the  concessions  made  to  his  co-assessors,  and 
the  author  was  blamed  by  some  one,  in  almost 
every  case,  for  having  made  two  holes  in  attempt- 
ing to  patch  up  one. 

At  last,  after  thinking  seriously  on  the  subject, 
I  wrote  out  a  fair  copy  (of  Glenfinlas,  I  think),  and 
marked  aU  the  various  corrections  which  had  been 
proposed.  On  the  whole,  I  found  that  I  had  been 
required  to  alter  every  verse,  almost  every  line, 
and  the  only  stanzas  of  the  whole  ballad  which  es- 
caped criticism  were  two  which  could  neither  be 
termed  good  nor  bad,  speaking  of  them  as  poetry, 
but  were  of  a  mere  commonplace  character,  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  conducting  the  business  of  the 
tale.  This  unexpected  result,  after  about  a  fort- 
night's anxiety,  led  me  to  adopt  a  rule  from  which 
I  have  seldom  departed  diu-ing  more  than  tliirty 
years  of  hterary  life.  When  a  friend,  whose  judg 
ment  I  respect,  has  decided,  and  upon  good  ad- 
visement told  me,  that  a  manuscript  was  worth 
nothing,  or  at  least  possessed  no  redeemmg  quah 
ties  sufficient  to  atone  for  its  defects,  I  have  gen- 
erally cast  it  aside  ;  but  I  am  little  in  the  custom 
of  paying  attention  to  minute  criticisms,  or  of 
offering  such  to  any  friend  who  may  do  me  the 
honor  to  constdt  me.  I  am  convinced,  that,  in 
general,  in  removing  even  errors  of  a  trivial  or 
venial  kind,  the  character  of  originality  is  lost, 
which,  upon  the  whole,  may  be  that  which  is  most 
valuable  in  the  production. 

About  the  time  that  I  shook  hands  with  criti- 


2  See  the  account  of  a  conversation  between  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  in  "  Cunningham's  Lives  o 
British  Painters,"  &c.  vol.  vi.  p.  236.— Ed 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


cism,  and  reduced  my  ballads  back  to  the  original 
forna,  stripping  them  ■without  remorse  of  those 
"  landings"  wliich  I  had  adopted  at  the  suggestion 
of  others,  an  opportunity  unexpectedly  offered  of 
introducing  to  the  world  what  had  hitherto  been 
confined  to  a  circle  of  friends.  Lewis  had  an- 
nounced a  collection,  first  intended  to  bear  the 
title  of  "  Tales  of  Terror,"  and  afterwards  pub- 
slied  under  that  of  "  Tales  of  "Wonder."  As  this 
was  to  be  a  collection  of  tales  turning  on  the  pre- 
ternatural, there  were  risks  in  the  pl:m  of  which 
the  ingenious  editor  was  not  aware.  The  super- 
natural, though  appeahug  to  certain  powerful  emo- 
tions very  widely  and  deeply  sown  amongst  the 
human  race,  is,  nevertheless,  a  spring  which  is  pe- 
culiarly apt  to  lose  its  elasticity  by  being  too  much 
pressed  on,  and  a  collection  of  ghost  stories  is  not 
more  likely  to  be  terrible,  than  a  collection  of  jests 
to  be  merry  or  entertaining.  But  although  the 
very  title  of  the  proposed  work  cairied  in  it  an 
obstruction  to  its  effect,  this  was  far  fi-um  being 
suspected  at  the  time,  for  the  popularity  of  the 
editor,  and  of  his  compositions,  seemed  a  -warrant 
for  his  success.  The  distinguished  favor  with 
which  the  "  Castle  Spectre"  was  received  upon  the 
stage,  seemed  an  additional  pledge  for  the  safety 
of  his  new  attempt.  I  readily  agreed  to  con- 
tribute the  ballads  of  "  Glenfinlas"  and  of  "  The 
Eve  of  Saint  John,"  with  one  or  two  others  of  less 
merit ;  and  my  friend  Dr.  Leyden  became  also  a 
contributor.  Mr.  Southey,  a  tower  of  strength, 
added  "The  Old  Woman  of  Berkeley,"  "Lord 
WiUiam,"  and  several  other  interesting  ballads  of 
the  same  class,  to  the  proposed  collection. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  friend  Lewis  found  it  no 
easy  matter  to  discipline  his  northern  recruits. 
He  was  a  martinet,  if  I  may  so  term  him,  in  the 
accuracy  of  rhymes  and  of  numbers  ;  I  may  add, 
he  had  a  right  to  be  so,  for  few  persons  have  ex- 
hibited more  mastery  of  rhyme,  or  greater  com- 
mand over  the  melody  of  verse.  He  was,  there- 
fore, rigid  in  exacting  similai-  accuracy  from  others, 
and  as  I  was  quite  unaccustomed  to  the  me- 
chanical part  of  poetry,  and  used  rhymes  which 
were  merely  permissible,  as  readily  as  those  wliich 
were  legitimate,  contests  often  arose  amongst  us, 
which  were  exasperated  by  the  pertinacity  of  my 
Mentor,  who,  as  all  who  knew  him  can  testify, 
was  no  grantor  of  propositions.  As  an  instance  of 
the  obstmacy  with  which  I  had  so  lately  adopted 
a  tone  of  defiance  to  criticism,  the  reader  will  find 
in  the  Appendix'  a  few  specimens  of  the  Icctm'es 
wliicli  I  underwent  from  my  friend  Lewis,  and 
which  did  not  at  the  time  produce  any  effect  on 
my  mflexibility,  though  I  did  not  forget  them  at  a 
future  period. 


72 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


The  proposed  publication  of  the  "  Tales  of 
"Wonder"  was,  from  one  reason  or  another,  post- 
poned till  the  year  1801,  a  circumstance  by  wliich, 
of  itself,  the  success  of  the  work  was  considerably 
impeded  ;  for  protracted  expectation  always  leads 
to  disappointment.  But  besides,  there  were  cir- 
cumstances of  various  kinds  which  contributec^ 
to  its  depreciation,  some  of  which  were  imputa- 
ble to  the  editor,  or  author,  and  some  to  the 
bookseller. 

The  former  remained  insensible  of  the  passion 
for  ballads  and  ballad-mongers  having  been  for 
some  time  on  the  wane,  and  that  with  such  altera- 
tion in  the  public  taste,  the  chance  of  success  in 
that  hue  was  diminished.  "What  had  been  at  first 
received  as  simple  and  natural,  was  now  sneered 
at  as  puerile  and  extravagant.  Another  objec- 
tion was,  that  my  friend  Lewis  had  a  high  but  mis- 
taken opinion  of  his  own  powers  of  humor.  The 
truth  was,  that  though  he  coidd  throw  some  gayety 
into  his  lighter  pieces,  after  the  mamier  of  the 
French  writers,  his  attempts  at  what  is  called 
pleasantry  in  English  wholly  wanted  the  quality 
of  humor,  and  were  generally  failures.  But  this 
he  would  not  allow  ;  and  the  "  Tales  of  "Wonder'' 
were  filled,  in  a  sense,  with  attempts  at  comedy, 
which  might  be  generally  accounted  abortive. 

Another  objection,  wliich  might  have  been 
more  easily  foreseen,  subjected  the  editor  to  a 
change  of  which  Llat  Lewis  was  entirely  ineapa  • 
ble, — that  of  collusion  with  his  pubUsher  in  an 
imdue  attack  on  the  pockets  of  the  public.  The 
"  Tales  of  "Wonder"  formed  a  work  in  royal 
octavo,  and  were,  by  large  printing,  driven  out,  as 
it  is  technically  termed,  to  two  volumes,  which 
were  sold  at  a  high  price.  Purchasers  murmured 
at  finding  that  this  size  had  been  attained  by  the 
insertion  of  some  of  the  best  known  pieces  of  the 
Enghsh  language,  such  as  Dryden's  "  Theodore 
and  Honoria,"  ParneU's  "Hermit,"  Lisle's  "Por- 
senna  Kmg  of  Russia,"  and  many  other  popular 
poems  of  old  date,  and  generally  known,  which 
ought  not  in  conscience  to  have  made  part  of  a 
set  of  tales,  "  written  and  collected"  by  a  modern 
author.  His  bookseller  was  also  accused  in  the 
public  prints,  whether  truly  or  not  I  am  imcer- 
tain,  of  having  attempted  to  secure  to  himself 
the  entire  profits  of  the  large  sale  which  he  ex- 
pected, by  refusing  to  his  brethren  the  allowan- 
ces usually,  if  not  in  all  cases,  made  to  the  retail 
trade. 

Lewis,  one  of  the  most  liberal  as  well  as  benev- 
olent of  mankmd,  had  not  the  least  participation 
in  these  proceedings  of  his  bibliopolist ;  but  his 
work  sunk  under  the  obloquy  which  was  heaped 
on  it  by  the  offended  parties.  The  book  was 
termed  "Tales  of  Plunder,"  was  censured  by 
reviewers,  and  attacked  in  newspapers  and  maga- 


570 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


zines.  A  very  clever  parody  was  made  on  the 
style  and  the  person  of  the  author,  and  the 
world  laughed  as  ■willingly  as  if  it  had  never  ap- 
plauded. 

Thus,  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  vehicle  I  had 
chosen,  my  efforts  to  present  myself  before  the 
public  as  an  original  wi'iter  proved  as  vain  as 
those  by  which  I  had  previously  endeavored  to 
distinguish  myself  as  •  a  translator.  Like  Lord 
Home,  however,  at  the  battle  of  Flodden,  I  did  so 
far  well,  that  I  was  able  to  stand  and  save  my- 
self ;  and  amidst  the  general  depreciation  of  the 
"  Talcs  of  Wonder,"  my  small  share  of  the  ob- 
noxious publication  was  dismissed  without  much 
censure,  and  in  some  cases  obtained  praise  from' 
the  critics. 

The  consequence  of  my  escape  made  me  nat- 
urally more  daring,  and  I  attempted,  in  my  own 
name,  a  collection  of  ballads  of  various  kinds,  both 
ancient  and  modern,  to  be  connected  by  the  com- 
mon tie  of  relation  to  the  Border  districts  in 
which  I  had  gathered  the  materials.  The  origi- 
nal preface  explains  my  purpose,  and  the  assist- 
ance of  various  kinds  which  I  met  with.  The 
edition  was  curious,  as  being  the  first  work  printed 
by  my  friend  and  school-fellow,  Mr.  James  Bal- 
lantyne,  who,  at  that  period,  was  editor  of  a 
provincial  newspaper,  called  "The  Kelso  MaiL" 


When  the  book  came  out,  in  1802,  the  imprint, 
Kelso,  was  read  with  wonder  by  amateurs  of 
typography,  who  had  never  heard  of  such  a  place, 
and  were  astonished  at  the  example  of  hand- 
some printing  wliich  so  obsciu-e  a  town  produced. 

As  for  the  editorial  part  of  the  task,  my  at- 
tempt to  imitate  the  plan  and  style  of  Bishop 
Percy,  observing  only  more  strict  fideUty  concern- 
ing my  originals,  was  favorably  received  by  the 
public,  and  there  was  a  demand  within  a  short 
space  for  a  second  edition,  to  wliich  I  proposed  to 
add  a  third  volume.  Messrs.  Cadell  and  Davies, 
the  first  publishers  of  the  work,  declined  the  pub- 
hcation  of  this  second  edition,  which  was  under- 
taken, at  a  very  liberal  price,  by  the  well-known 
firm  of  Messrs.  Longman  and  Rees  of  Paternoster 
Row.  My  progress  in  the  hterary  career,  in  which 
I  might  now  be  considered  as  seriously  engaged, 
the  reader  will  find  briefly  traced  in  an  Introduc- 
tion prefixed  to  the  '"  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Editor  has  accomplished 
his  proposed  task  of  acquainting  the  reader  with 
some  particulars  respecting  the  modern  imitations 
of  the  Ancient  Ballad,  and  the  circumstances  wliich 
gradually,  and  almost  insensibly,  engaged  himself 
in  that  species  of  literary  employment. 

W.S. 

Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830. 


APPENDIX  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


571 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A, 

The  prodcction  of  Modern  as  Ancient  Ballads. — 

P.  558. 
This  failure  applies  to  the  repairs  and  rifacimentos  of  old  bal- 
lads, as  well  as  to  complete  imitations,  tn  the  beautiful  and 
simple  ballad  of  Gil  Morris,  some  affected  person  has  stuck  in 
;ne  or  two  factitious  verses,  which,  like  vulgar  persons  in  a 
drawing-room,  betray  themselves  by  their  over  finery.  Thus, 
after  the  simple  and  affrcting  verse  which  prepares  the  readers 
for  the  coming  tragedy, 

"  Gil  Morrice  sat  in  good  green  wood, 
He  whistled  and  he  sang  ; 
'  O,  what  mean  a'  yon  folk  coming. 
My  mother  tarries  lang  V  " 

lOme  such  "  vicious  intromitter"  as  we  have  described  (to  use 
a  barbarous  phrase  for  a  barbarous  proceeding),  has  inserted 
the  following  quintessence  of  affectation  : — 

"  His  locks  were  like  the  threads  of  gold 
Drawn  from  Minerva's  loom  ; 
His  lips  like  roses  drapping  dew, 
His  breath  was  a'  perfume. 

"  His  brow  was  like  the  mountain  snovr. 
Gilt  by  the  morning  beam  ; 
His  cheeks  like  living  roses  blow, 
His  een  like  azure  stream. 

"  The  boy  was  clad  in  robes  of  green. 
Sweet  as  the  infant  spring  ; 
And,  like  the  mavis  on  the  bush, 
He  gart  the  valleys  ring." 


Note  B. 

M.  G.  Lewis.— 564. 

In  justice  to  a  departed  friend,  I  have  subjoined  his  own 
defence  against  an  accusation  so  remorselessly  persisted  in. 
The  following  is  an  extract  of  a  letter  to  his  father  : — 

"  My  dear  Father,  Feb.  23,  1793. 

"  Though  certain  that  the  clamor  raised  against  '  The  Monk' 
cannot  have  given  you  the  smallest  doubt  of  the  rectitude  of 
oiy  intentions,  or  the  purity  of  my  principles,  yet  I  am  con- 
scious that  it  must  have  grieved  you  to  find  any  doubts  on  the 
subject  existing  in  the  minds  of  other  people.  To  express  my 
sorrow  for  having  given  you  pain  is  my  motive  for  now  ad- 
dressing you,  and  also  to  assure  you,  that  you  shall  not  feel 
that  pain  a  second  time  on  my  account.  Having  made  you 
feel  it  at  all,  would  be  a  sufficient  reason,  had  I  no  others,  to 
make  me  regret  having  published  the  first  edition  of  '  The 
Monk  ;'  but  1  have  others,  weaker,  indeed,  than  the  one  men- 
tioned, but  still  sufficiently  strong.  I  perceive  that  I  have  put 
too  much  confidence  in  the  accuracy  of  ray  own  judgment ; 
^hat  convinced  of  my  object  being  naexcepionable,  I  did  not 


sufficiently  examine  whether  the  means  by  which  I  attained 
that  object  were  equally  so  ;  and  tliat,  upon  many  accounfci,  1 
have  to  accuse  myself  of  high  imprudence.  Let  me,  however, 
observe,  that  twenty  is  not  the  age  at  which  prudence  is  most 
to  be  expected.  Inexperience  prevented  my  distinguishing 
what  would  give  offence  ;  bat  as  soon  as  I  found  that  offence 
was  given,  I  made  the  only  reparation  in  my  power — I  care- 
fully revised  the  work,  and  expunged  every  syllable  on  which 
could  be  grounded  the  slightest  construction  of  immorality. 
This,  indeed,  was  no  difficult  task  ;  for  the  objections  rested 
entirely  on  expressions  too  strong,  and  words  carelessly  chosen, 
not  on  the  sentiments,  characters,  or  general  tendency  of  the 
work  ; — that  the  latter  is  undeserving  censure,  Addison  will 
vouch  for  me.  The  moral  and  outline  of  my  story  are  taken 
from  an  allegory  inserted  by  him  in  the  '  Guardian,'  and  which 
he  commends  highly  for  ability  of  invention,  and  ^propriety 
of  object.'  Unluckily,  in  working  it  up,  1  thought  tliat  the 
stronger  my  colors,  the  more  effect  would  my  picture  produce  ; 
and  it  never  struck  me,  that  the  exhibition  of  vice  in  her  tern- 
poranj  triumph,  might  possibly  do  as  much  harm,  as  her  final 
exposure  and  punishment  could  do  good.  To  do  ranch  good, 
indeed,  was  more  than  I  expected  of  my  book  ;  having  always 
believed  that  our  conduct  depends  on  our  own  hearts  and 
characters,  not  on  the  books  we  read,  or  the  sentiments  wt 
hear.  But  though  I  did  not  hope  much  benefit  to  arise  from 
the  perusal  of  a  trifling  romance,  written  by  a  youth  of  twen 
iy,  I  was  in  my  own  mind  convinced,  that  no  harm  could  be 
produced  by  a  work  whose  subject  was  furnished  by  one  o) 
our  best  moralists,  and  in  the  composition  of  w'hich,  I  did  not 
introduce  a  single  incident,  or  a  single  character,  without 
meaning  to  illustrate  some  maxim  universally  allowed.  It  was 
then  with  infinite  surprise,  that  I  heard  the  outcry  raised 
against  the"  ******** 
[I  regret  that  the  letter,  though  once  perfect,  now  only  ex- 
ists in  my  possession  as  a  fragment.] 


Note  0. 

German  Ballads. — P.  567. 

Among  the  popular  Ballads,  or  Volkslieder,  of  the  celebra- 
ted Herder,  is  (take  one  instance  ont  of  many)  a  version  of  the 
old  Scottish  song  of  "  Sir  Patrick  Spence,"  in  which,  but  for 
difference  of  orthogi'aphy,  the  two  languages  can  be  scarcely 
distinguished  from  each  other      For  example — 

"  The  King  sits  in  Dnnfermling  town, 

Drinking  the  blood-red  wine  ; 

'  Where  will  I  get  a  good  skipper 

To  sail  this  ship  of  mine  V  " 

"  Der  Kcenig  sitzt  in  Dnmfermling  Schloss : 
Er  trinkt  blutrothen  VVein  ; 
'  O  wo  triff  ich  einen  Segler  gnt 
Dies  Schiff  zu  seglen  mein  ?'  " 

In  like  manner,  the  opening  stanza  of  "  Child  Waters,"  ana 
many  other  Scottish  ballads,  fall  as  naturally  and  easily  into 


572 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  German  habits  and  forms  of  speech,  as  if  they  had  origi- 
nallr  heen  composed  in  that  language  : 

"  About  Yule,  when  the  wind  was  cnle; 
And  the  round  tables  began, 
O  there  is  come  to  our  king's  court 
Mony  weel  favor'd  man." 

"  In  Christmessfest,  in  winter  kalt, 
Als  Tafel  rund  began, 
Da  kam  zu  Konig's  Hoff  and  Hall 
Manch  wackrer  Ritter  an." 

It  requires  only  a  smattering  of  both  languages,  to  see  at 
what  cheap  expense,  even  of  vocables  and  rhymes,  the  popu- 
lar poetry  of  the  one  may  be  transferred  to  the  other.  Hardly 
any  thing  is  more  flattering  to  a  Scottish  student  of  German  ; 
it  resembles  the  unexpected  discovery  of  an  old  friend  in  a 
foreign  land. 


Note  D. 

EXTRACTS    FROM   THE    CORRESPONDENCE    OF   M.    G.    LEWIS. 

—P.  569. 

My  attention  was  called  to  this  Eubject,  which  is  now  of  an 
old  date,  by  reading  the  following  passage  in  Medwin's  "  Ac- 
count of  Some  Passages  in  Lord  Byron's  later  Years."  Lord 
Byron  is  supposed  to  speak.  "  When  Walter  Scott  began  to 
write  poetry,  which  was  not  at  a  very  early  age.  Monk  Lewis 
corrected  his  verse  :  he  understood  little  then  of  the  mechani- 
cal part  of  the  art.  The  Fire  King,  in  the  '  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,'  was  almost  all  Lewis's.  One  of  the  ballads 
in  that  work,  and,  except  some  of  Leyden's,  perhaps  one  of 
the  best,  was  made  from  a  story  picked  up  in  a  stage-coach  ; 
I  mean  that  of  '  Will  Jones.' 

'  They  boil'd  Will  Jones  within  the  pot, 
And  not  much  fat  had  Will.' 

"  I  hope  Walter  Scott  did  not  write  the  review  on  '  Christa- 
bel ;'  for  he  certainly,  in  common  with  many  of  us,  is  indebted 
to  Coleridge.  But  for  him,  perhaps,  '  The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel'  would  never  have  been  thought  of.     The  line, 

'  Jesu  Maria  shield  thee  well  !' 

is  word  for  word  from  Coleridge." 

There  are  some  parts  of  this  passage  extremely  mistaken 
and  exaggerated,  as  generally  attends  any  attempt  to  record 
what  passes  in  casual  conversation,  which  resembles,  in  diffi- 
culty, the  experiments  of  the  old  chemists  for  fixing  quick- 
silver. 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  my  poor  friend  Lewis's  criti- 
cism on  my  juvenile  attempts  at  ballad  poetry  ;  severe  enough, 
perhaps,  but  for  which  I  was  much  indebted  to  him,  as  forcing 
upon  the  notice  of  a  young  and  careless  author  hints  which 
the  said  author's  vanity  made  him  unwilling  to  attend  to,  but 
which  were  absolutely  necessary  to  any  hope  of  his  ultimate 
success. 

Supposed  1799. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  revised  '  Glenfinlas.'  1  grumble,  but 
say  no  more  on  this  subject,  although  I  hope  yon  will  not  be 
so  inflexible  on  that  of  your  other  Ballads  ;  for  I  do  not  despair 
of  convincing  you  in  time,  that  a  bad  rhyme  is,  in  fact,  no 
rhyme  at  all.  You  desired  me  to  point  out  my  objections, 
leaving  you  at  liberty  to  make  use  of  them  or  not ;  and  so 
have  at  '  Frederic  and  Alice.'  Stanza  1st,  '  hies'  and  'joys' 
are  not  rhymes;  the  1st  stanza  ends  with  'joys ;'  the  2d  be- 
gins with  'joying.'  In  the  4th  there  is  too  sudden  a  change 
of  tenses,  'flows'  and  '  rose.'  6th,  7th,  and  8th,  I  like  much. 
9th,  Does  not  '  ring-  his  ears'  sound  ludicrous  in  yours  1    The 


first  idea  that  presents  itself  is,  that  his  eats  were  pulled  ;  but 
even  the  ringing  oftheears  does  not  please.  12th,  'Shower' 
and  'roar,'  not  rhymes.  '  Soil'  and  'aisle,'  in  the  13th,  are 
not  much  better;  but  'head'  and  'descried'  are  execrable. 
In  the  14th,  '  bar'  and  '  stair'  are  ditto  ;  and  'groping'  is  a 
nasty  word.  Vide  Johnson,  '  He  gropes  his  breeches  with  a 
monarch's  air.'  In  the  15th,  yon  change  yonr  metre,  which 
has  always  an  unpleasant  effect ;  and  '  safe'  and  '  receive' 
rhyme  just  about  as  well  as  Scott  and  Lewis  would.  16th, 
'within'  and  'strain'  are  not  rhymes.  17th,  'hear'  and 
'  air,'  not  rhymes.  18th,  Two  metres  are  mixed  ;  the  same 
objection  to  the  third  line  of  the  19th.  Observe  that,  in  the 
Ballad,  I  do  not  always  object  to  a  variation  of  metre ;  but 
then  it  ought  to  increase  the  melody,  whereas,  in  my  opinion, 
in  these  instances,  it  is  diminished. 

"  The  Chase. — 12th,  The  2d  line  reads  very  harshly  ;  and 
'  choir'  and  '  lore'  are  not  rhymes.  13th,  '  Rides'  and  '  side' 
are  not  rhymes.  30th,  'Pour'  and  'obscure,'  not  rhymes. 
40th,  '  Spreads'  and  '  invades'  are  not  rhymes.  46th,  '  Rends' 
and  '  ascend'  are  not  rhymes. 

"WiLLUM  AND  Helen. — In  order  that  I  may  bring  it 
nearer  the  original  title,  pray  introduce,  in  the  first  stanza,  the 
name  of  El/enora,  instead  of  Ellen.  '  Crusade'  and  'sped,' 
not  rhymes  in  the  2d.  3d,  '  Made'  and  '  shed'  are  not  rhymes  ; 
and  if  they  were,  come  too  close  to  the  rhymes  in  the  2d.  In 
the  4th,  'Joy'  and  'victory'  are  not  rhymes.  7th,  The  first 
line  wants  a  verb,  otherwise  is  not  intelligible.  13th,  '  Orace' 
and  '  bliss'  are  not  rhymes.  14th,  '  Bale'  and  '  hcW  are  not 
rhymes.  18th,  '  Vain'  and  'fruitless'  is  tautology  ;  and  aa 
a  verb  is  wanted,  the  line  will  run  better  thus,  '  And  vain  is 
every  prayer.'  19lh,  Is  not  '  to  her'  absolutely  necessary  in 
the  4th  line?  20ih,  '  Grace'  and  'bliss,'  not  rhymes.  21st, 
'Bale'  and  'hell,'  not  rhymes.  22d,  I  do  not  like  the  word 
'  spent.'  23d,  '  O'er'  and  '  star'  are  vile  rliymes.  26th,  A 
verb  is  wanted  in  the  4th  line  ;  better  thus,  '  Then  whispers 
thus  a  voice.'  28th,  Is  not  '  Is't  thou,  my  love  V  better  tlian 
'  My  love  !  my  love!'  31st,  If  '  wight'  means,  as  I  conjec- 
ture, 'enchanted,'  does  not  this  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag? 
Ought  not  the  spur  to  be  sharp  rather  than  bright  ?  In  the 
4th  line,  '  Stay'  and  '  day'  jingle  together :  would  it  not  be 
better,  '  I  must  be  gone  e'er  day  V  32d,  '  Steed'  and  '  bed' 
are  not  rhymes.  34th,  '  Bride'  and  '  bed,'  not  rhymes.  35th, 
'  Seat'  and  '  await,'  not  rhymes.  39th,  '  Keep  hold'  and  '  sit 
fast'  seem  to  my  ear  vulgar  and  prosaic.  40th,  The  4th  line 
is  defective  in  point  of  English,  and,  indeed,  I  do  not  quite 
understand  the  meaning.  43d,  '  Jlrose'  and  '  pursues'  are 
not  rhymes.  45th,  I  am  not  pleased  w.i..i  lue  epithet  'sav- 
age ;'  and  the  latter  part  of  the  stanza  is,  to  me,  unintelligible. 
49th,  Is  it  not  closer  to  the  original  in  line  3d  to  say,  '  Swift 
ride  the  dead  ■?'  50lh,  Does  the  rain  '  whistle  ?'  55th,  line  3d, 
Docs  it  express,  'Is  Helen  afraid  of  them?'  59th,  'Door' 
and  'flower'  do  not  rhyme  together.  60th,  'Scared'  and 
'  heard' are  not  rhymes.  63d,  'Bone'  and  'skeleton,'  not 
rhymes.  64th,  The  last  line  sounds  ludicrous  ;  one  fancies  the 
heroine  coming  down  with  a  plump,  and  sprawling  upon  her 
bottom.  I  have  now  finished  my  severe  examination,  and 
pointed  out  every  objection  which  I  think  can  be  suggested." 

6th  January,  1799. 

"  Wellwyn,— 99. 
"  Dear  Scott, 

"  Your  last  Ballad  reached  me  just  as  I  was  stejiping  into 
my  chaise  to  go  to  Brocket  Hall  (Lord  Melbourne's),  so  I  took 
it  with  me,  and  exhibited  both  that  and  Olenjinlas  with 
great  success.  I  must  not,  however,  conceal  from  you,  that 
nobody  understood  the  Lady  Flora  of  Glengyle  to  be  a  dis- 
guised demon  till  the  catastrophe  arrived  ;  and  that  the  opin- 
ion was  universal,  that  some  previous  stanzas  ought  to  be  in- 
troduced descriptive  of  the  nature  and  office  of  the  wayward 
Ladies  of  the  IVood.     William  Lambe,' too  (who  writes  good 

1  Now  Lord  Melbourne. — Ed. 


APPENDIX  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


573 


verses  himself,  and,  therefore,  may  be  allowed  to  judge  those 
of  other  people),  was  decidedly  for  the  omission  of  the  last 
(tanza  but  one.  These  were  the  only  objections  started.  I 
thought  it  as  well  that  you  should  know  them,  whether  you 
attend  to  them  or  not.  With  regard  to  St.  John's  Ece,  I  like 
it  ranch,  and,  instead  of  finding  fault  with  its  broken  metre,  I 
approve  of  it  highly.  I  think,  in  this  last  ballad,  you  have 
liit  oft"  the  ancient  manner  better  than  in  your  former  ones. 
Glenfiiilas,  for  example,  is  more  like  a  polished  tale,  than  an 
old  Ballad.  But  why,  in  verse  6th,  is  the  Baron's  helmet 
hacked  and  hewed,  if  (as  we  are  given  to  understand)  he  had 
assassinated  his  enemy  ?  Ought  not  tore  to  be  torn  t  Tore 
seems  to  rae  not  English.  In  verse  16th,  the  last  line  is  word 
for  word  from  Q'd  Murrice.  21st,  '  Floor'  and  '  bower'  are 
not  rhymes,"  &c.  &.c.  &c. 

The  gentleman 'noticed  in  the  following  letter,  as  partaker  in 
the  author's  heresies  resjiecting  rhyme,  had  the  less  occasion 
to  justify  such  license,  as  his  own  liave  been  singularly  accu- 
rate. Mr.  !?raythe  is  now  Professor  of  Modern  History  at  Cam- 
bridge. 

"  London,  January  24,  1799. 
"I  must  not  omit  telling  you,  for  your  own  comfort,  and 
that  of  all  such  persons  as  are  wicked  enough  to  make  bad 
rhymes,  that  Mr.  Smyllie  (a  very  clever  man  at  Cambridge) 
took  great  pains  the  other  day  to  convince  me,  not  merely  that 
a  bad  rhyme  might  pass,  but  that  occasionally  a  bad  rhyme 
was  better  than  a  good  one  !!!!!!  I  need  not  tell  you  that 
he  left  rae  as  great  an  infidel  on  this  subject  as  he  found  me. 
"  Ever  yours, 

"M.  G.  Lewis." 

The  next  letter  respects  the  Ballad  called  the  "  Fire  King," 
stated  by  Captain  Med  win  to  be  almost  all  Lewis's.  This  is 
an  entire  misconception.  Lewis,  who  was  very  fond  of  his 
idea  of  four  elementary  kings,  had  prevailed  on  me  to  supply 
a  Fire  King.  After  being  repeatedly  urged  to  the  task,  I  sat 
down  one  day  after  dinner,  and  wrote  the  "  Fire  King,"  as  it 
was  published  in  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder."  The  next  extract 
gives  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  Lewis  received  it, 
which  was  not  very  favorable  ;  but  instead  of  writing  the  greater 
part,  he  did  not  write  a  single  word  of  it.  Dr.  Leyden,  now 
no  more,  and  another  gentleman  who  still  survives,  were  sit- 
ting at  my  side  while  I  wrote  it ;  nor  did  ray  occupation  pre- 
vent the  circulation  of  the  bottle. 

Leyden  wrote  a  Ballad  for  the  Cloud  King,  which  is  men- 
tioned in  the  ensuing  extract.     But  it  did  not  answer  Mat's 


ideas,  either  in  the  color  of  the  wings,  or  some  point  of  costnnw 
equally  important;  so  Lewis,  who  was  otherwise  fond  ol  the 
Ballad,  converted  it  into  the  Elfin  King,  and  wrote  a  Cloud 
King  himself,  to  finish  the  hierarchy  in  the  way  desired. 

There  is  a  leading  mijtake  in  the  passage  from  Captain  Med- 
win.  "  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Border"  is  spoken  of,  but  what 
is  meant  is  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder."  The  former  work  con- 
tains none  of  the  Ballads  mentioned  by  Mr.  Medwin — the  lat- 
ter has  them  all.  Indeed,  the  dynasty  of  Elemental  Kings 
were  written  entirely  for  Mr.  Lewis's  publication. 

My  intimate  friend,  William  Clerk,  Esq.,  was  the  person  who 
heard  the  legend  of  Bill  Jones  told  in  a  mail-coach  by  a  sea 
captain,  who  imagined  himself  to  have  seen  the  ghost  to  which 
it  relates.  The  tale  was  versified  by  Lewis  himself.  I  forget 
where  it  was  published,  but  certainly  in  no  miscellany  or  publi- 
cation of  mine. 

I  have  only  to  add,  in  allusion  to  the  passage  I  have  quoted, 
that  I  never  wrote  a  word  parodying  either  Mr.  Coleridge  or 
any  one  else,  which,  in  that  distinguished  instance,  it  would 
have  been  most  ungracious  in  me  to  have  done  ;  for  which  the 
reader  will  see  reasons  in  the  Introduction  to  "  The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel." 

"London,  3J  February,  1800. 
"Dear  Scott, 

"I  return  you  many  thanks  for  your  Ballad,  and  the  Ex- 
tract, and  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  your  friend  for  the 
'  Cloud  King.'  I  must,  however,  make  one  criticisra  upon  the 
Stanzas  which  you  sent  me.  The  Sjiirit,  being  a  wicked  one, 
must  not  have  such  delicate  wings  as  jiale  blue  ones.  He  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Heaven  e.Kcept  to  deface  it  with  storms  ; 
and  therefore,  in  '  The  Monk,'  I  have  fitted  him  with  a  pair  of 
sable  pinions,  to  which  I  must  request  your  friend  to  adapt  his 
Stanza.  With  the  others  I  am  much  pleased,  as  I  am  with 
your  Fire  King  ;  but  every  body  makes  the  same  objection  to 
it,  and  expresses  a  wish  that  you  had  conformed  your  .Spirit  to 
the  description  given  of  him  in  '  Tlie  Monk,'  where  his  office 
is  to  play  the  Will  o'  the  Wisp,  and  lead  travellers  into  bogs, 
&c.  It  is  also  objected  to,  his  being  removed  from  his  native 
land,  Denmark,  to  Palestine;  and  that  the  office  assigned  to 
him  in  your  Ballad  has  nothing  peculiar  to  the  '  Fire  King,' 
but  would  have  suited  Arimanes,  Beelzebub,  or  any  other 
evil  spirit,  as  well.  However,  the  Ballad  itself  I  think  very 
pretty.  I  suppose  you  liave  heard  from  Bell  respecting  the 
copies  of  the  Ballads.  I  was  too  much  distressed  at  the  time 
to  write  myself,"  &c.  &o. 

«M.  G.  L" 


574 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO 


MINSTRELSY  OF  THE  SCOTTISH  BORDER. 


Jfmitatiaus  of  tl)c  Ancient  Ballai. 


^Ijomas  tijc  Uljttmcr. 


IN  THREE  PARTS. 


PART  FIKST. ANCIENT. 


Few  personages  are  so  renowned  in  tradition  as 
Tliomas  of  Ercildoiine,  known  by  the  appellation  of 
The  Rhymer.  Uniting,  or  supposing  to  unite,  in 
his  person,  the  powers  of  poetical  composition,  and 
of  vaticination,  his  memory,  even  after  the  lapse  of 
five  hundred  years,  is  regarded  with  veneration  by 
his  countrymen.  To  give  any  thing  like  a  certain 
history  of  tliis  remarkable  man  would  be  indeed 
difficult ;  but  the  curious  may  derive  some  satis- 
faction from  the  particulars  liere  brought  together. 

It  is  agreed  on  all  hands,  that  the  residence,  and 
probably  the  birthplace,  of  this  ancient  bard,  was 
Ercildoune,  a  village  situated  upon  the  Leader, 
two  miles  above  its  junction  with  tlie  Tweed. 
The  ruins  of  an  ancient  tower  are  still  pointed  out 
as  the  Rliymer's  castle.  The  uniform  tradition 
bears,  that  liis  surname  was  Lerniont,  or  Learmont ; 
and  that  the  appellation  of  The  Rhymer  was  con- 
ferred on  him  in  consequence  of  his  poetical  com- 
positions. There  remains,  nevertheless,  some  doubt 
upon  the  subject.  In  a  charter,  which  is  subjoined 
at  length,'  the  son  of  our  poet  designed  himself 
"  Thomas  of  Ercildoun,  son  and  heir  of  Thomas 
Rymour  of  Ercildoun,"  which  seems  to  imply  that 
the  father  did  not  bear  the  hereditary  name  of 
Learmont ;  or,  at  least,  was  better  known  and  dis- 
tinguished by  the  epithet,  wliich  he  had  acquired 
by  liis  personal  accomplislmients.  I  must,  how- 
ever, remark,  that,  down  to  a  very  late  period,  the 

I  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

s  The  lines  alluded  to  are  these : — 


practice  of  distinguishing  the  parties,  even  in  for 
mal  writings,  by  the  epithets  which  had  been  be- 
stowed on  them  from  personal  circumstances,  in- 
stead of  the  proper  surnames  of  their  famiUes,  Avas 
conmion,  and  indeed  necessary,  among  the  Border 
clans.  So  early  as  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, when  surnames  were  hardly  introduced  in 
Scotland,  tliis  custom  must  have  been  universal. 
There  is,  therefore,  nothing  inconsistent  in  suppos- 
ing our  poet's  name  to  have  been  actually  Lear- 
mont, although,  in  tliis  charter,  he  is  distinguished 
by  the  popular  appellation  of  The  Rhymer. 

We  are  better  able  to  ascertain  the  period  at 
which  Tliomas  of  Ercildoune  lived,  being  the  latter 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  I  am  inclined  to 
place  his  death  a  httle  farther  back  than  Mr.  Pink- 
erton,  who  supposes  that  he  was  alive  in  ICOO 
{List  of  Scottish  Poets),  which  is  hardly,  I  think, 
consistent  with  the  charter  already  quoted,  by 
which  his  son,  in  1299,  for  himself  and  his  heu-s, 
conveys  to  the  convent  of  the  Trmity  of  Soltra, 
the  tenement  which  he  possessed  by  inheritance 
(hereditarie)  in  Ercildoune,  with  all  claim  which  lie 
or  liis  predecessors  could  pretend  thereto.  From 
this  we  may  infer,  that  the  Rhymer  was  now  dead, 
since  we  find  the  son  disposing  of  the  family  prop- 
erty. Still,  however,  the  argument  of  the  learned 
historian  will  remain  unimpeached  as  to  the  time 
of  the  poet's  birth.  For  if,  as  we  learn  from  Bar- 
bour, his  prophecies  were  held  in  reputation-  as 
early  as  1306,  when  Bruce  slew  the  Red  Cummin, 
the  sanctity,  and  (let  me  add  to  Mr.  Pinkerton's 
words)  the  uncertainty  of  antiquity,  must  have 
already  involved  his  character  and  writings.  In 
a  charter  of  Peter  de  Haga  de  Bemersyde,  wliich 
imfortimately  wants  a  date,  the  Rhymer,  a  nea/ 

"  1  hope  that  Thomas's  prophecie, 
Of  Erceldoun,  shall  truly  be. 
In  him,"  &.C. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


75 


o  io 


neigbbor,  and,  if  we  may  trust  tradition,  a  friend 
of  the  family,  appears  as  a  "witness. — Chartulary 
of  Melrose. 

It  cannot  be.  doubted,  that  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doune  was  a  remarkable  and  important  person  in 
his  own  time,  since,  very  shortly  after  liis  death. 
We  find  liim  celebrated  as  a  prophet  and  as  a  poet. 
"Whether  he  liimself  made  any  pretensions  to  the 
first  of  these  characters,  or  whether  it  was  gra- 
tuitously conferred  upon  him  by  the  credulity  of 
posterity,  it  seems  difiicult  to  decide.  If  we  may 
beUeve  Mackenzie,  Learmont  only  versified  the 
prophecies  delivered  by  Eliza,  an  inspired  nun  of 
a  convent  at  Haddington.  But  of  this  there  seems 
not  to  be  the  most  distant  proof.  On  the  contra- 
ry, all  ancieut  authors,  who  quote  the  Rhymer's 
prophecies,  uniformly  suppose  them  to  have  been 
emitted  by  liimsel£    Thus,  in  Winton's  Chronicle — 

"  Of  lliis  fycht  quilnm  spak  Thomas 
Of  Ersj'Uloune,  that  sayd  in  derne, 
There  suld  ineit  stalwartly,  starke  and  Sterne. 
He  sayd  it  in  his  prophecy  ; 
But  how  he  wist  it  Wdafcrly." 

Book  viii.  chap.  32. 

There  could  have  been  no  ferly  (marvel)  in 
Winton's  eyes  at  least,  how  Thomas  came  by  liis 
knowledge  of  futm-e  events,  had  he  ever  heard  of 
the  inspired  nun  of  Haddington,  which,  it  cannot 
be  doubted,  would  have  been  a  solution  of  the 
mystery,  much  to  the  taste  of  the  Prior  of  Loch- 
leven.* 

Whatever  doubts,  however,  the  learned  might 
have,  as  to  the  source  of  the  Rhymer's  prophetic 
skill,  the  vulgar  had  no  hesitation  to  ascribe  the 
whole  to  the  intercourse  between  the  bard  and 
the  Queen  of  Faery.  The  popular  tale  bears,  that 
Thomas  was  carried  oft",  at  an  early  age,  to  the 
Fairy  Land,  where  he  acquired  all  the  knowledge, 
which  made  him  afterwards  so  fomous.  After 
seven  years'  residence,  he  was  jjermitted  to  return 
to  the  earth,  to  enlighten  and  astonish  his  coimtry- 
men  by  his  prophetic  powers ;  still,  however,  re- 
maining bound  to  return  to  his  royal  mistress, 
when  she  should  intimate  her  pleasure.'  Accord- 
ingly, while  Thomas  was  making  merry  with  his 

1  Henry  the  Minstrel,  who  introduces  Thomas  into  the  his- 
tory of  Wallace,  expresses  the  same  doubt  as  to  the  source  of 
His  prophetic  knowledge: — 

"  Thomas  Rhymer  into  the  faile  was  than 
With  the  minister,  which  was  a  worthy  man. 
He  used  oft  to  that  religious  place  ; 
The  people  deemed  of  wit  lie  meikle  can, 
And  80  he  told,  though  that  they  bless  or  ban, 
in  rule  of  war  whether  they  tint  or  wan: 


friends  in  the  Tower  of  Ercildoune,  a  person  camt^ 
running  in,  and  told,  with  marks  of  fear  and  aston- 
ishment, that  a  hart  and  hind  had  left  the  neigh- 
bormg  forest,  and  were,  composedly  and  slowly, 
parading  the  street  of  the  village.^  The  propliet 
instantly  arose,  left  his  habitation,  and  followed 
the  wonderful  animals  to  the  forest,  whence  he 
was  never  seen  to  return.  According  to  the  pop- 
ular beUef,  he  still  "drees  liis  weird"  in  Fairy 
Land,  and  is  one  day  expected  to  revisit  earth 
In  the  mean  wliile,  his  memory  is  held  in  the  most 
profoimd  respect.  The  Eildon  Tree,  from  beneath 
the  shade  of  which  he  delivered  his  prophecies, 
now  no  longer  exists ;  but  the  spot  is  marked  by 
a  largo  stone,  called  Eildon  Tree  Stone.  A  neigh- 
boring rivulet  takes  the  name  of  the  Bogle  Bm"n 
(Goblin  Brook)  from  the  Rhymer's  supernatural  vis- 
itants. The  veneration  paid  to  his  dweUing-place 
even  attached  itself  in  some  degree  to  a  person, 
who,  within  the  memory  of  man,  chose  to  set  up 
his  residence  in  the  ruins  of  Learmont's  tower. 
The  name  of  this  man  was  Muiray,  a  kind  of 
herbalist ;  who,  by  dint  of  some  knowledge  in  sim- 
ples, the  possession  of  a  musical  clock,  an  electrical 
machine,  and  a  stuffed  alligator,  added  to  a  sup- 
posed communication  with  Thomas  the  Rhymer, 
lived  for  many  years  in  very  good  credit  as  a 
wizard. 

It  seemed  to  the  Editor  unpardonable  to  dis- 
miss a  person  so  important  in  Border  tradition  as 
the  Rhymer,  without  some  farther  notice  than  a 
simple  commentary  upon  the  following  ballad.  It 
is  given  from  a  copy,  obtained  from  a  lady  residing 
not  far  from  Ercildoune,  corrected  and  enlarged 
by  one  in  Mrs.  Brown's  MSS.  The  former  copy, 
liowever,  as  might  be  expected,  is  far  more  minute 
as  to  local  description.  To  this  old  tale  the  Editor 
has  ventured  to  add  a  Second  Part,  consisting  of  a 
kind  of  cento,  from  the  printed  prophecies  vulgarly 
ascribed  to  the  Rhymer ;  and  a  Tliird  Part,  en- 
tirely modern,  fomuled  upon  the  tradition  of  his 
having  retiyned  with  the  hart  and  hind,  to  the 
Land  of  Faery.  To  make  his  peace  with  the 
more  severe  antiquaries,  the  Editor  lias  prefixed 
to  the  Second  Part  some  remarks  on  Learmont's 
prophecies. 

Which  happened  sooth  in  many  divers  case  • 

I  cannot  say  by  wrong  or  righteousness. 

It  may  be  deemed  by  division  of  grace,"  &c. 

History  of  Wallace,  Book  ii. 

2  See  the  Dissertation  on  Fairies,  prefixed  to  Tamlane,  Bor- 
der Jilinstrelsy,  voi.  ii.  p.  254. 

3  There  is  a  singular  resemblance  betwixt  this  tradition,  and 
an  incident  occurring  in  the  life  of  Merlin  CaledouioB,  wbioJi 
the  reader  will  find  a  few  pages  onwards.  • 


57(5 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sljomas  tljc  Hljumer. 


PART    FIRST. 


ANCIENT. 

True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank ;' 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  ee ; 
And  tliere  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  Tree. 

Her  shu-t  was  o'  the  grass-green  silk, 

Her  mantle  o'  the  yelvet  fyne  ; 
At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane, 

Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

True  Thomas,  he  puU'd  aff  liis  cap, 
And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee, 

"  AU  hail,  thou  mighty  Queen  of  Hearen ! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see." — 

"  0  no,  0  no,  Thomas,"  she  said, 

"  That  name  does  not  belang  to  me ; 

1  am  but  the  Queen  of  fair  Elfland, 
That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 

"  Harp  and  carp,  Thomas,"  she  said ; 

"  Harp  and  carp  along  wi'  me ; 
And  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips. 

Sure  of  yom-  bodie  I  will  be." — 

"  Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 

That  weird  shall  never  daunton  me." — ^ 

Syne  he  has  kiss'd  her  rosy  lips. 
All  imderneath  the  Eildon  Tree. 

"  Now,  ye  maim  go  wi'  me,"  she  said ; 

"  True  Tlionias,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me ; 
And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years. 

Through  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be." 

She  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed; 

She's  ta'en  true  Thomas  up  beliind ; 
And  aye,  whene'er  her  bridle  rung. 

The  steed  flew  swifter  than  the  wind- 

0  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on ; 

Tlio  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind ; 
Until  they  reach'd  a  desert  wide. 

And  living  laud  was  left  behind. 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  now,  true  Thomas, 
And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee  ; 

i  Unntly  Bank,  and  the  adjoining  ravine,  called,  from  imme- 
morial tradUion,  t/ie  Rymcr's  O/cn,  were  ultimately  included 
in  the  domain  of  Abbotsford.  The  scenery  of  this  glen  forms 
the  background  of  Edwin  Landseer's  portrait  of  Sir  Walter 
IScott,  painted  in  1833.— Ed. 

"  That  iccird,  ij-c. — That  destiny  shall  never  frighten  me. 


Abide  and  rest  a  little  space, 

And  I  will  shew  you  ferlies  three. 

"  0  see  ye  not  yon  narrow  road. 

So  thick  beset  with  thorns  and  briers  ? 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness. 
Though  after  it  but  few  enquires. 

"  And  see  ye  not  that  braid  braid  road, 

That  lies  across  that  Uly  leven  ? 
That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 

Though  some  call  it  the  road  to  heavea 

"  And  see  not  ye  that  bonny  road, 
That  winds  about  the  fernie  brae  ? 

That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maim  gae. 

"  But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue. 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see  ; 
For,  if  ye  speak  word  in  Elflyn  land, 

Ye'll  ne'er  get  back  to  your  iiin  countrie." 

0  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on. 

And  they  waded  thro'  rivers  aboon  the  kneo 
And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon. 
But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk  mirk  night,  and  there  was  nae  stem 
light. 

And  they  waded  thro'  red  blude  to  the  knee ; 
For  a'  the  blude  that's  shed  on  eartli 

Rins  thro'  the  springs  o'  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  on  to  a  garden  green, 
And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree — ' 

"  Take  this  for  thy  wages,  true  Thomas ; 

It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never 
lie."— 

"  My  tongue  is  mine  ain,"  True  Thomaj  iiaid ; 

"  A  gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me  1 

1  neither  dought  to  buy  nor  sell. 

At  fair  or  tryst  where  I  may  be. 

"  I  dought  neither  spealc  to  prince  or  peer, 
Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye." — 

"  Now  hold  thy  peace !"  the  lady  said, 
"  For  as  I  say,  so  must  it  be.'" — 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 
And  a  pair  of  shoes  of  velvet  green ; 

And  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past, 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen.* 

5  The  traditional  commentary  upon  this  ballad  informs  ns, 
that  the  apple  was  the  produce  of  the  fatal  Tree  of  Know  ledge, 
and  that  tlie  garden  was  the  terrestrial  paradise.  The  repug- 
nance of  Thomas  to  be  debarred  the  use  of  falsehood  when  ha 
might  find  it  convenient,  has  a  comic  effect. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


BIT 


^iljomag  tlje  Hljjimcr. 


PART   SECOND. 


ALTERED  FROM  ANCIENT  PROPHECIES. 

The  prophecies,  ascribed  to  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doune,  have  been  the  principal  means  of  securing 
to  him  remembrance  "amongst  the  sons  of  his 
people."  The  author  of  Sir  Trisfrem  would  long 
ago  have  joined,  in  the  vale  of  oblivion,  "  Clerk  of 
Tranent,  who  wrote  the  adventure  of  Schir  Ga- 
wain,"  if,  by  good  hap,  the  same  current  of  ideas 
respecting  antiquity,  which  causes  Virgil  to  be 
regarded  as  a  magician  by  the  Lazzaroni  of  Na- 
ples, had  not  exalted  tlie  bard  of  Ereildoune  to  the 
proplietic  character.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he  himself 
affected  it  during  liis  life.  We  know,  at  least,  for 
certain,  that  a  behef  in  his  supernatural  Imowledge 
was  current  soon  after  his  death.  His  prophecies 
are  alluded  to  by  Barbour,  by  Winton,  and  by 
Henry  the  Minstrel,  or  Blind  Harry,  as  he  is  usu- 
ally termed.  None  of  these  authors,  however,  give 
the  words  of  any  of  the  Rhymer's  vaticinations, 
but  merely  narrate,  historically,  his  having  pre- 
dicted the  events  of  which  they  speak.  The  ear- 
liest of  the  prophecies  ascribed  to  liim,  wliich  is 
now  extant,  is  quoted  by  Mr.  Pinkerton  from  a 
MS.  It  is  supposed  to  be  a  response  from  Thomas 
of  Ereildoune  to  a  question  from  the  heroic  Count- 
ess of  March,  renowned  for  the  defence  of  the 
Castle  of  Dunbar  against  the  English,  and  termed, 
in  the  fiimiliar  dialect  of  her  time.  Black  Agnes  of 
Dunbar.  This  prophecy  is  remarkable,  in  so  far 
as  it  bears  very  httle  resemblance  to  any  verses 
published  in  the  printed  copy  of  the  Rhymer's 
supposed  prophecies.    The  verses  are  as  follows : — 

"  La.  Countesse  de  Donbar  demande  a  Thomas  de  Esse- 
doune  quant  la  guerre  d^  Escoce  prcndrcit  fyn.  E  yl  t'a 
rcpoundy  et  dyt. 

When  man  is  mad  a  kyng  of  a  capped  man  ; 

When  man  is  levere  other  mones  thyng  than  his  owen  ; 

When  londe  thouys  forest,  ant  forest  is  felde  ; 

When  hares  kendles  o'  the  her'stane  ; 

Wlieii  Wyt  and  Wille  werres  togedere ; 

AViien  mon  makes  stables  of  kyrkes,  and  steles  castels  with 
stye  ; 

When  Rokesboroughe  nys  no  burgh  ant  market  is  at  Forwy- 
leye ; 

When  Bambourne  is  donged  with  dede  men  ; 

When  men  ledes  men  in  ropes  to  buyen  and  to  sellen  ; 

When  a  quarter  of  whaty  whete  is  chaanged  for  a  colt  of  ten 
markes  ; 

When  prude  (pride)  prikes  and  pees  is  leyd  in  prisonn ; 

When  a  Scot  ne  me  hym  liiule  ase  hare  in  forme  that  the  En- 
glish ne  shall  hym  fynde  ; 

When  rycht  ant  wronge  astente  the  togedere  ; 

When  laddcs  weddeth  lovedies  ; 

When  Scottes  flen  so  faste,  that,  for  faute  of  shep,  hy  drowa- 
eth  hemselve  ; 

When  shal  this  be  ? 

Noathei  in  tliine  tyme  ne  in  mine  ; 
73 


Ah  comen  ant  gone 

Withinne  twenty  winter  ant  one." 

Pinkerton's  Poems, /romMAiTLAND'a  MSS.  guotiitg 
from  Harl.  Lib.  2253,  F.  127. 

As  I  have  never  seen  the  MS.  from  wliich  Mr. 
Pinkerton  makes  this  extract,  and  as  the  date  of 
it  is  fixed  by  liim  (certainly  one  of  the  most  able 
antiquaries  of  our  age)  to  the  reign  of  Edward  L 
or  II.,  it  is  with  great  diffidence  that  I  hazard  a 
contrary  opinion.  There  can,  however,  I  belieTa,. 
be  little  doubt,  that  these  proplietic  verses  are  * 
forgery,  and  not  the  production  of  our  Thomas  the 
Rhymer.  But  I  am  iucUned  to  beheve  them  of  a 
later  date  than  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  or  II. 

The  gallant  defence  of  the  castle  of  Dimbar,  by 
Black  Agnes,  took  place  in  the  year  1337.  The 
Rhymer  died  previous  to  the  year  1299  (see  the 
charter,  by  his  son,  in  the  Appendix).  It  seems, 
therefore,  very  improbable,  that  the  Countess  of 
Dimbar  could  ever  have  an  opportimity  of  consult- 
ing Thomas  the  Rhymer,  singe  that  would  uifer 
that  she  was  married,  or  at  least  engaged  in  state 
matters,  previous  to  1299 ;  whereas  she  is  de- 
scribed as  a  young,  or  a  middle-aged  woman,  at 
the  period  of  her  being  besieged  in  the  fortress, 
which  she  so  well  defended.  If  the  editor  might 
indulge  a  conjecture,  he  would  suppose,  that  the 
prophecy  was  contrived  for  the  encouragement  of 
the  EngUsh  invaders,  dm-ing  the  Scottish  wars ; 
and  that  the  names  of  the  Countess  of  Dunbar, 
and  of  Thomas  of  Ereildoune,  wez'e  used  for  the 
greater  credit  of  the  forgery.  According  to  tliis 
hypothesis,  it  seems  likely  to  have  been  composed 
after  the  siege  of  Dunbar,  which  had  made  the 
name  of  the  Countess  weU.  known,  and  consequently 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  The  whole  tendency 
of  the  prophecy  is  to  aver,  that  there  shall  be  no 
end  of  the  Scottish  war  (concerning  which  the 
question  was  proposed),  till  a  final  conquest  of  the 
country  by  England,  attended  by  all  the  usual  se- 
verities of  war.  "  When  the  cultivated  country 
shall  become  forest,"  says  the  prophecy ; — "  when 
the  wild  animals  shall  inhabit  the  abode  of  men ; — 
when  Scots  shaU  not  be  able  to  escape  the  English, 
should  they  crouch  as  hares  in  their  form" — all 
these  denunciations  seem  to  refer  to  the  time  of 
Edward  HI.,  upon  whose  victories  the  prediction 
was  probably  founded.  The  mention  of  the  ex- 
change betwixt  a  colt  worth  ten  marks,  and  a 
quarter  of  "  whaty  [indifferent]  wheat,"  seems  to 
allude  to  the  dreadful  famine,  about  the  year  1388. 
The  independence  of  Scotland  was,  howevei,  :ts 
impregnable  to  the  mines  of  superstition,  as  to  tlic 
steel  of  our  more  powerful  and  more  wealthy  neigh- 
bors. The  war  of  Scotland  is,  thank  God,  at  au 
end ;  but  it  is  ended  without  her  people  having 
either  crouched  like  hares  in  their  form,  or  being 
drowned  in  their  flight, "  for  faute  of  ships,"' — thank 


578 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


God  for  that  too. — Tlie  prophecy,  quoted  in  the 
preccdJiig  page,  is  probably  of  the  same  date,  and 
intended  for  the  same  purpose. 

A  minute  search  of  the  records  of  the  time 
•would,  probably,  throw  additional  light  upon  the 
allu.sions  contained  in  these  ancient  legends. 
Among  various  rhymes  of  prophetic  import,  which 
ore  at  this  day  current  amongst  the  people  of 
Teviotdale,  is  one,  supposed  to  be  pronounced  by 
Thomas  the  Rhymer,  presaging  the  destruction  of 
hia  habitation  and  family : 

"  The  Iiare  sail  kittle  [litter]  on  my  hearth  stane, 
And  there  will  never  be  a  Laird  Learmont  again." 

The  first  of  these  lines  is  obviously  borrowed  from 
that  in  the  MS.  of  the  Harl.  Library. — "When 
hares  kendles  o'  the  her'stane" — an  emphatic  im- 
age of  desolation.  It  is  also  inaccurately  quoted 
in  the  prophecy  of  Waldhave,  published  by  Andro 
Hart,  1613: 

"  This  is  a  trne  talking  that  Thomas  of  tell-s, 
The  hare  shall  hirple  on  the  hard  [hearth]  stane." 

Spottiswoode,  an  honest,  but  credulous  historian, 
Beems  to  have  been  a  firm  believer  in  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  prophetic  wares,  vended  in  the  name 
of  Thomas  of  Ercildoime.  "  The  proj)hecies,  yet 
extant  in  Scottish  rhymes,  whereupon  he  was  com 
mouly  called  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  may  justly  be 
admired  ;  havmg  foretold,  so  many  ages  before  the 
union  of  England  and  Scotland  in  the  ninth  degree 
of  the  Bruce's  blood,  with  the  succession  of  Bruce 
himself  to  the  crown,  being  yet  a  cliild,  and  other 
divers  particulars,  wliich  the  event  hath  ratified 
and  made  good.  Boethius,  in  his  story,  relate th 
his  prediction  of  King  Alexander's  death,  and  that 
he  did  foretel  the  same  to  the  Earl  of  March,  the 
day  before  it  fell  out;  saying,  'That  before  the 
next  day  at  noon,  such  a  tempest  should  blow,  as 
Scotland  had  not  felt  for  many  years  before.'  Tlie 
next  morning,  the  day  being  clear,  and  no  change 
appearing  in  the  air,  the  nobleman  did  challenge 
Thomas  of  his  saying,  calling  him  an  impostor.  He 
replied,  that  noon  was  not  yet  passed.  About 
wliich  time  a  post  came  to  advertise  the  earl  of 
the  king  liis  sudden  death.  '  Then,'  said  Thomas, 
•this  is  the  tempest  I  foretold;  and  so  it  shall 
prove  to  Scotland.'  "Wlience,  or  how,  he  had  this 
knowledge,  can  hardly  be  afiirmed ;  but  sure  it  is, 
that  he  did  divine  and  answer  truly  of  many  things 
to  come." — Spottiswoode,  p.  47.  Besides  that  no- 
table voucher,  Master  Hector  Boece,  the  good 
archbishop  might,  had  he  been  so  minded,  have 
referred  to  Fordun  for  the  prophecy  of  King  Alex- 
ander's death.  That  historian  calls  our  bard  "  ru- 
ralis  ille  vates." — Fordun,  lib.  x.  cap.  40. 

What  Spottiswoode  calls  "the  prophecies  ex- 
Vuit  in  Scottish  rhyme,"  are  the  metrical  produc- 


tions ascribed  to  the  seer  of  Ercildoune,  which, 
with  many  other  compositions  of  the  same  nature, 
bearing  the  names  of  Bede  Merlin,  Gildas,  and 
other  approved  soothsayers,  are  contained  in  one 
small  volume,  published  by  Andro  Hart,  at  Edin- 
burgh, 1615.  Nisbet  the  herald  (who  claims  the 
prophet  of  Ercildoune  as  a  brother-professor  of  liig 
art,  founding  upon  the  various  allegorical  and  em- 
blematical allusions  to  heraldry )  intimates  the  ex- 
istence of  some  earlier  copy  of  his  prophecies  than 
that  of  Andro  Hai-t,  which,  however,  he  does  not 
pretend  to  have  seen.'  The  late  excellent  Lord 
Hailes  made  these  compositions  the  subject  of  a 
dissertation,  published  in  his  Remarks  on  the  His- 
tory of  Scotland.  His  attention  is  chiefly  directed 
to  the  celebrated  prophecy  of  our  bard,  mentioned 
by  Bishop  Spottiswoode,  bearing  that  the  crowns 
of  England  and  Scotland  should  be  united  in  the 
person  of  a  King,  son  of  a  French  Queen,  and  re- 
lated to  the  Bruce  in  the  ninth  degree.  Lord 
Hailes  plainly  proves,  that  this  prophecy  is  per- 
verted from  its  original  purpose,  in  order  to  apply 
it  to  the  succession  of  James  VL  The  groundwork 
of  the  forgery  is  to  be  found  in  the  prophecies  of 
Berhngton,  contained  in  the  same  collection,  and 
runs  thus : 

"  Of  Bmce's  left  side  shall  spring  ont  a  leafe, 
As  neere  as  the  ninth  degree  ; 
And  shall  be  fleemed  of  faire  Scotland, 
In  France  farre  beyond  the  sea. 
And  then  shall  come  again  ryding, 
With  eyes  that  many  men  may  see. 
At  Aberladie  he  shall  light. 
With  hempen  helteres  and  horse  of  tre. 


However  it  happen  for  to  fall, 

The  lyon  shall  be  lord  of  all  ; 

The  F'rench  Quen  shall  bearre  the  sonne, 

Shall  rule  all  Britainne  to  the  sea  ; 

Ane  from  the  Bruce's  blood  sbal  come  also, 

As  neer  as  the  ninth  degree. 

Yet  shal  there  come  a  keene  knight  over  the  salt  sea, 
A  keene  man  of  conrage  and  bold  man  of  armes  ; 
A  duke's  son  dowbled  [j.  f.  dubbed],  a  born  man  in  France 
That  shall  our  mirths  angment,  and  mend  all  our  harmes  ; 
After  the  date  of  our  Lord  1513,  and  thrice  three  thereafter; 
Which  shall  brooke  all  the  broad  isle  to  himself, 
Between  thirteen  and  thrice  three  the  threip  shall  be  ended, 
The  Saxons  shall  never  recover  after." 

There  cannot  be  any  doubt  that  this  piophecy 
was  intended  to  excite  the  confidence  of  the  Scot- 
tish nation  in  the  Duke  of  Albany,  regent  of  Scot- 
land, who  arrived  fi-om  France  in  1515,  two  years 
after  the  death  of  James  IV.  in  the  fetal  field  of 
Flodden.  The  Regent  was  descended  of  Bruce  by 
the  left,  i.  e.  by  the  female  side,  within  the  ninth 
degree.  His  mother  was  daught-er  of  the  Earl  of 
Boulogne,  his  father  banished  from  his  coimtry — 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


579 


"  fleemit  of  fair  Scotland."  His  arrival  must  ne- 
cessarily be  by  sea,  and  his  landing  was  expected 
at  Aberlady,  in  the  Frith  of  Forth.  He  was  a 
duke's  son,  dubbed  knight ;  and  nine  years,  from 
1513,  are  allowed  him  by  the  pretended  prophet 
for  the  accomplishment  of  the  salvation  of  liis  coun- 
try, and  the  exaltation  of  Scotland  over  her  sister 
and  rival.  All  this  was  a  pious  fraud,  to  excite 
the  confidence  and  spirit  of  the  country. 

The  prophecy,  put  in  the  name  of  our  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  as  it  stands  in  Hart's  book,  refers  to 
a  later  period.  The  narrator  meets  the  Rhymer 
upon  a  land  beside  a  lee,  who  shows  him  many  em- 
blematical visions,  described  in  no  mean  strain  of 
poetry.  They  chiefly  relate  to  the  fields  of  Flod- 
den  and  Pinkie,  to  the  national  distress  which 
foUowed  these  defeats,  and  to  future  halcyon  days, 
which  are  promised  to  Scotland.  One  quotation 
ny  two  will  be  sufficient  to  estabUsh  this  fully : — 

"  Onr  Scottish  King  sal  come  fnl  keene, 

The  red  lyon  beareth  he  ; 

A  tedilered  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 

Shall  make  him  winke  and  warre  to  see. 

Out  of  the  field  lie  shall  be  led, 

When  he  is  bludie  and  woe  for  blood  ; 

Yet  to  his  men  shall  he  say, 

'  For  God's  love  turn  you  againe, 

And  give  yon  sutherne  folk  a  frey  ! 

Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine? 

My  date  is  not  to  die  this  day.'  " 

Who  can  doubt,  for  a  moment,  that  this  refers 
to  the  battle  of  Flodden,  and  to  the  popular  re- 
ports concerning  the  doubtful  fate  of  James  IV.  ? 
Allusion  is  immediately  afterwards  made  to  the 
death  of  George  Douglas,  hen-  apparent  of  Angus, 
who  fought  and  fell  with  his  sovereign : — 

"  The  stemes  three  that  day  shall  die, 
That  bears  the  harte  in  silver  sheen." 

The  well-known  arms  of  the  Douglas  family  are 
the  heart  and  three  stars.  In  another  place,  the 
battle  of  Pinkie  is  expressly  mentioned  by  name : — 

"  At  Pinken  Clneh  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentle  blood  that  day  ; 
There  shall  the  bear  lose  the  guilt, 
And  the  eagill  bear  it  away." 

To  the  end  of  all  this  allegorical  and  mystical 
rhapsody,  is  interpolated,  in  the  later  edition  by 
Antlro  Hart,  a  new  edition  of  Berlington's  verses, 
before  quoted,  altered  and  manufactured,  so  as  to 
bear  reference  to  the  accession  of  James  VI.,  which 
had  just  then  taken  place.  The  insertion  is  made 
with  a  pecuUar  degree  of  awkwardness,  betwixt  a 
question,  put  by  the  narrator,  concerning  the  name 
and  abode  of  the  person  who  showed  him  these 
strange  matters,  and  the  answer  of  the  prophet  to 
that  question : — 

"  Then  to  the  Beirne  could  I  say, 

Where  dwells  thou,  or  in  what  conntrie  ? 

[Or  who  shall  rule  the  isle  of  Britane, 


From  the  north  u  the  pouth  sey  1 

A  French  queene  shall  bear  the  sonne, 

Shall  rule  all  Britaine  to  the  sea  ; 

Which  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 

As  neere  as  the  nint  degree  : 

I  Trained  fast  what  was  his  name, 

Where  that  he  came,  from  what  country.] 

In  Ersllngtoun  1  dwell  at  hame, 

Thomas  Rymour  men  cals  rae." 

There  is  surely  no  one,  who  will  not  conclude, 
with  Lord  Hailes,  that  the  eight  lines,  enclosed  in 
brackets,  are  a  clumsy  interpolation,  borrowed 
from  Berhngton,  with  such  alterations  as  might 
render  the  supposed  prophecy  apphcable  to  the 
union  of  the  crowns. 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  it  may  be  proper 
briefly  to  notice  the  scope  of  some  of  the  other 
predictions,  in  Hart's  Collection.  As  the  prophecy 
of  Berlington  was  intended  to  raise  the  spirits  of 
the  nation,  during  the  regency  of  Albany,  so  those 
of  Sybilla  and  Eltraine  refer  to  that  of  the  Earl  of 
Arran,  afterwards  Duke  of  Chatelherault,  during 
the  minority  of  Mary,  a  period  of  similar  calamity 
This  is  obvious  from  the  following  verses : — 

"  Take  a  thousand  in  calculation, 
And  the  longest  of  the  lyon, 
Four  crescents  under  one  crowne. 
With  Saint  Andrew's  croce  thrise. 
Then  threescore  and  thrise  three  : 
Take  tent  to  Merling  truely, 
Then  shall  the  wars  ended  be. 
And  never  again  rise. 
In  that  yere  there  shall  a  king, 
A  duke,  and  no  crown'd  king  : 
Becaus  the  prince  shall  be  yong. 
And  tender  of  yeares." 

The  date,  above  hinted  at,  seems  to  be  1549, 
when  the  Scottish  Regent,  by  means  of  some  suc- 
cors derived  from  France,  Avas  endeavoring  to  re- 
pan-  the  consequences  of  the  fatal  battle  of  Pinkie. 
Allusion  is  made  to  the  supply  given  to  the  "  Mold- 
warte  [England]  by  the  fained  hart"  (the  Earl  of 
Angus).  The  Regent  is  described  by  his  bearmg 
the  antelope;  large  suppUes  are  promised  from 
France,  and  complete  conquest  predicted  to  Scot- 
land and  her  allies.  Thus  was  the  same  hack- 
neyed stratagem  repeated,  whenever  the  interest 
of  the  rulers  appeared  to  stand  in  need  of  it.  The 
Regent  was  not,  indeed,  till  after  this  period,  cre- 
ated Duke  of  Chatelherault ;  but  that  honor  was 
tlie  object  of  his  hopes  and  expectations. 

The  name  of  our  renowned  soothsayer  is  hber- 
aUy  used  as  an  authority,  tlu-oughout  all  the 
prophecies  published  by  Andro  Hart.  Besides 
those  expressly  put  in  his  name,  Gildas,  another 
assumed  personage,  is  supposed  to  derive  his 
knowledge  from  him ;  for  he  concludes  thus  : — 
"  True  Thomas  me  told  in  a  troublesome  time, 
la  a  harvest  morn  at  Eldoun  hills." 

The  Prophecy  of  Oilda* 


580 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


In  the  prophecy  of  Berlington,  already  quoted, 
we  are  told, 

"  Marvellous  Merlin,  that  many  men  of  tells, 
And  Thomas's  sayings  comes  all  at  once." 

While  I  am  upon  the  subject  of  these  prophe- 
cies, may  I  be  permitted  to  call  the  attention  of 
antiquaries  to  Merdwynn  WyUt,  or  Merlin  the 
Wild,  in  whose  name,  and  by  no  means  in  that  of 
Ambrose  MerUn,  the  friend  of  Arthur,  tlie  Scot- 
tish prophecies  are  issued  ?  That  this  personage 
resided  at  Drunmielziar,  and  roamed,  like  a  second 
Nebuchadnezzar,  the  woods  of  Tweeddale,  in  re- 
morse for  the  death  of  liis  nephew,  we  learn  from 
Fordun.  In  the  Scotichronicoii,  hb.  3.  cap.  81,  is 
an  account  of  an  interview  betwixt  St.  Kentigern 
and  Merlin,  then  in  this  distracted  and  miserable 
state.  He  is  said  to  have  been  called  Lailoken, 
from  his  mode  of  life.  On  being  commanded  by 
the  saint  to  give  an  account  of  himself,  he  says, 
that  the  penance  wliich  he  performs  was  imposed 
on  him  by  a  voice  from  heaven,  during  a  bloody 
contest  betwixt  Lidel  and  Carwauolow,  of  which 
battle  he  had  been  the  cause.  According  to  his 
own  prediction,  lie  perished  at  once  by  wood,  earth, 
and  water ;  for,  being  pursued  with  stones  by  the 
rustics,  he  fell  from  a  rock  into  the  river  Tweed, 
and  was  transfixed  by  a  sharp  stake,  fixed  there 
for  tlie  purpose  of  extending  a  fishing-net : — 

"  Sude  perfossus,  lapide  percussus,  et  unda, 
Hmc  tria  J\Ierl in  urn  fertur  iiiirc  neccm. 
Sicque  ruit,  mcrsusque  fuit  tignoque  prehensus, 
Et  fecit  vatem  per  ternapericiUa  veruvi." 

But,  in  the  metrical  history  of  Merlin  of  Cale- 
donia, compiled  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  from 
the  traditions  of  the  Welsh  bards,  tliis  mode  of 
death  is  attributed  to  a  page,  whom  Merlin's  sis- 
ter, desirous  to  convict  tlie  prophet  of  falsehood, 
because  he  had  betrayed  her  intrigues,  introduced 
to  him,  under  three  various  disguises,  inquiring 
each  time  in  what  manner  the  person  should  die. 
To  the  first  demand  Merlin  answered,  the  party 
should  perish  by  a  fall  from  a  rock ;  to  the  second, 
that  lie  should  die  by  a  tree  ;  and  to  the  tliird,  that 
lie  should  be  drowned.  The  youth  perislied,  while 
hunting,  in  the  mode  imputed  by  Fordim  to  Mer- 
lin himself 

Fordun,  contrary  to  the  French  authorities,  con- 
founds this  person  with  the  Merhn  of  Arthur ;  but 
■includes  by  informing  us,  tliat  many  believed 
him  to  be  a  different  person.  The  grave  of  Mer- 
lin is  pointed  out  at  Drummelziar,  in  Tweeddale, 
beneath  an  aged  thorn-tree.  On  the  east  side  of 
the  churcliyard,  the  brook,  called  Pausayl,  falls 
into  the  Tweed;  and  the  following  propliecy 
ia  said  to  have  been  current  concerning  their 
lu^on : — 


"  When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  join  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  monarch  have." 

On  the  day  of  the  coronation  of  James  VI.,  the 
Tweed  accordingly  overflowed,  and  joined  the 
Pausayl  at  the  prophet's  grave. — Penntcuick's 
History  of  Tweeddale,  p.  26.  These  circumstances 
would  seem  to  infer  a  communication  betwixt  the 
southwest  of  Scotland  and  Wales,  of  a  nature  pe- 
cuharly  mtimate ;  for  I  presume  that  Merlin  would 
retain  sense  enough  to  choose  for  the  scene  of  his 
wanderings,  a  country  having  a  language  and  man 
ners  similar  to  liis  own. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  memory  of  Merlin  Sylves- 
ter, or  the  Wild,  was  fresh  among  the  Scots  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  James  V.  Waldhave,'  under 
whose  name  a  set  of  prophecies  was  published, 
describes  himself  as  lying  upon  Lomond  Law ;  he 
hears  a  voice,  which  bids  him  stg,nd  to  his  defence  • 
he  looks  around,  and  beholds  a  flock  of  hares  and 
foxes'"  pursued  over  the  mountain  by  a  savage 
figure,  to  whom  he  can  hardly  give  the  name  of 
man.  At  the  sight  of  Waldhave,  the  apparition 
leaves  the  objects  of  his  pursuit,  and  assaults  him 
with  a  club.  Waldhave  defends  himself  with  his 
sword,  throws  the  savage  to  the  earth,  and  refuses 
to  let  liim  arise  till  he  swear,  by  the  law  and  lead 
he  lives  upon,  "  to  do  him  no  harm."  This  done, 
he  permits  him  to  arise,  and  marvels  at  his  strange 
appearance : — 

"  He  was  formed  like  a  freike  [man]  all  his  four  quarters  ; 
And  then  liis  chin  and  his  face  haired  so  thick, 
With  haire  growing  so  grime,  fearful  to  see." 

He  answers  briefly  to  Waldhave's  inquiry  con- 
cerning his  name  and  nature,  that  he  "  drees  his 
weird,"  i.  e.  does  penance  in  that  wood ;  and,  hav- 
ing hinted  that  questions  as  to  his  own  state  are 
offen.'^ive,  he  pours  forth  an  obscure  rhapsody  con- 
cerning futurity,  and  concludes. — 

"  Go  musing  upon  Merlin  if  thou  wilt : 
For  I  mean  no  more,  man,  at  this  time." 

Tills  is  exactly  similar  to  the  meeting  betwixt 
Merhn  and  Kentigern  in  Fordun.  These  prophe- 
cies of  Merhn  seem  to  have  been  in  request  in  the 
minority  of  James  V. ;  for,  among  the  amusements 
with  which  Sir  David  Lindsay  diverted  that  prince 
dm-ing  his  infancy,  are, 

"  The  prophecies  of  Rymer,  Bede,  and  Merlin." 

Sir  David  Lindsay's  Epistle  to  the  King. 

And  we  find,  in  Waldhave,  at  least  one  allusion 

'  I  do  not  know  whether  the  person  here  meant  be  Wald- 
have, an  abbot  of  Melrose,  whe  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity 
about  1160. 

"  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


obi 


lo  the  very  ancient  prophecy,  addressed  to  the 
Countess  of  Dunbar : — 

"  This  is  a  true  token  that  Thomas  of  tells, 
Wlien  a  lailde  with  a  ladye  shall  go  over  the  fields." 

The  original  stands  thus : — 

"  When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies." 

Another  prophecy  of  Merlin  seems  to  have  been 
current  about  the  time  of  the  Regent  Morton's 
execution.  When  that  nobleman  was  committed 
to  the  charge  of  his  accuser,  Captain  James  Stew- 
art, newly  created  Earl  of  Arran,  to  be  conducted 
to  his  trial  at  Edinburgh,  Spottiswoode  says,  that 
he  asked,  " '  Who  was  Earl  of  Arran  V  and  being 
answered  that  Captain  James  was  the  man,  after 
a  short  pause,  he  said,  '  And  is  it  so  ?  I  know  then 
what  I  may  look  for?'  meaning,  as  was  thought, 
that  the  old  prophecy  of  the  '  Falling  of  the  heart' 
by  the  mouth  of  ^rran,'  should  then  be  fuMUed. 
Whether  this  was  his  mind  or  not,  it  is  not  known ; 
but  some  spared  not,  at  the  time  when  the  Ham- 
iltons  were  banished,  in  which  business  he  was 
held  too  earnest,  to  say  that  he  stood  in  fear  of 
that  prediction,  and  went  that  course  only  to  dis- 
appoint it.  But  if  so  it  was,  he  did  find  himself 
now  deluded ;  for  he  fell  by  the  mouth  of  another 
Arran  than  he  imagined." — Spottiswoode,  313. 
The  fatal  words  alluded  to  seem  to  be  these  in 
the  prophecy  of  Merlin : — 

"  In  the  mouthe  of  Arrane  a  selcouth  shall  fall, 
Two  bloodie  hearts  shall  be  taken  with  a  false  traine, 
And  derfly  dung  down  without  any  dome." 

To  return  from  these  desultory  remarks,  into 
which  I  have  been  led  by  the  celebrated  name  of 
Merlin,  the  style  of  all  these  projjhecies,  published 
by  Hart,  is  very  much  the  same.  The  measure 
is  alliterative,  and  somewhat  similar  to  that  of 
Pierce  Ploimnan's  Visions  ;  a  circumstance  which 
might  entitle  us  to  ascribe  to  some  of  them  an 
earher  date  than  the  reign  of  James  V.,  did  we 
not  know  that  Sir  Galloran  of  Galloway  and  Ga- 
waine  and  Gologras,  two  romances  rendered  al- 
most unintelligible  by  the  extremity  of  affected 
alhteration,  are  perhaps  not  prior  to  that  period. 
Indeed,  although  we  may  allow  that,  during  much 
earlier  times,  prophecies,  under  the  names  of  those 
celebrated  soothsayers,  have  been  current  in  Scot- 
land, yet  those  published  by  Hart  have  obviously 
been  so  often  vamped  and  re-vamped,  to  serve  the 
pohtical  purposes  of  different  periods,  that  it  may 
be  shrewdly  suspected,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir 
John  Cutler's  transmigrated  stockings,  very  little 
of  the  original  materials  now  remains.  I  cannot 
refrain  from  indulging  my  readers  with  the  pub- 

1  The  heart  was  the  cognizance  of  Morton. 
3  Tlie  Rev.  R.  Fleming,  pastor  of  a  Scotch  congregation  in 
London,  published  in  1701,  "  Discourses  on  the  Rise  and  Fall 


lisher's  title  to  the  last  prophecy,  as  it  contains 
certain  cmious  information  concerning  the  Queen 
of  Sheba,  who  is  identified  with  the  Cmnsean 
Sibyl:  "Here  foUoweth  a  prophecie,  pronounced 
by  a  noble  queene  imd  matron,  called  Sybilla, 
Regina  Austri,  that  came  to  Solomon.  Through 
the  which  she  compiled  four  bookes,  at  the  in- 
stance of  the  said  King  Sol,  and  others  divers: 
and  the  fourth  book  was  directed  to  a  noble  king, 
called  Baldwine,  King  of  the  broad  isle  of  Britain ; 
in  the  which  she  maketh  mention  of  two  noble 
princes  and  emperours,  the  which  is  called  Leones. 
How  these  two  shall  subdue  and  overcome  aU 
earthlie  princes  to  their  diademe  and  crowne,  and 
also  be  glorified  and  crowned  in  the  heaven  among 
saints.  The  first  of  these  two  is  Constantinus 
Magnus ;  that  was  Leprosus,  the  son  of  Saint  He- 
lena, that  foimd  the  croce.  The  second  is  the  sixt 
king  of  the  name  of  Steward  of  Scotland,  the 
which  is  our  most  noble  king."  With  such  editors 
and  commentators,  what  wonder  that  the  text  be- 
came unintelUgible,  even  beyond  the  usual  oracu 
lar  obscurity  of  prediction  ? 

If  there  still  remain,  therefore,  among  these  pre 
dictions,  any  verses  having  a  claim  to  real  antiqui- 
ty, it  seems  now  impossible  to  discover  them  from 
those  which  are  comparatively  modem.  K'ever- 
theless,  as  there  are  to  be  foimd,  in  these  composi- 
tions, some  uncommonly  wild  and  masculine  ex 
pressions,  the  Editor  has  been  induced  to  throw  a 
few  passages  together,  into  the  sort  of  ballad  to 
which  this  disquisition  is  prefixed.  It  would, 'in- 
deed, have  been  no  difEcidt  matter  for  him,  by  a 
judicious  selection,  to  have  excited,  in  favor  ot 
Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  a  share  of  the  admiration 
bestowed  by  sundry  wise  persons  upon  Mass  Rob- 
ert Fleming.''     For  example : — 

*'  But  then  the  lilye  shal  be  loused  when  they  least  think  ; 
Then  clear  king's  blood  shal  quake  for  fear  of  death  ; 
For  churls  shall  chop  olf  heads  of  their  chief  beirns, 
And  carfe  of  the  crowns  that  Christ  hath  appointed. 

Thereafter,  on  every  side,  sorrow  shal  arise  ; 
The  barges  of  clear  barons  down  shal  be  sunken  ; 
Seculars  shall  sit  in  spiritual  seats, 
Occupying  offices  anointed  as  they  were." 

Taking  the  lUy  for  the  emblem  of  France,  can 
there  be  a  more  plain  prophecy  of  the  murder  of 
her  monarch,  the  destruction  of  her  nobihty,  and 
the  desolation  of  her  hierarchy  ? 

But,  without  looldng  farther  into  the  signs  ot 
the  times,  the  Editor,  though  the  least  of  all  the 
prophets,  caimot  help  thinking,  that  every  true 
Briton  will  approve  of  liis  appUcation  of  the  last 
prophecy  quoted  in  the  ballad. 

of  Papacy,"  in  which  he  expressed  his  belief,  founded  on  a 
text  in  the  Apocalypse,  that  the  French  Monarchy  would  nn- 
dergo  some  remarkable  humiliation  about  1794. — Ed. 


>82 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Hart's  collection  of  prophecies  was  frequently 
reprin  ted  dui-ing  the  last  century,  probably  to  fa- 
vor the  pretensions  of  the  unfortunate  family  of 
Stuart.  For  the  prophetic  renown  of  Gildas  and 
Bede,  see  Fordun,  lib.  iii. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Thomas's  predic- 
tions, it  may  be  noticed,  that  simdry  rhymes, 
passing  for  his  prophetic  effusions,  are  still  cm-rent 
among  the  vulgar.  Tlius,  he  is  said  to  have 
prophesied  of  the  very  ancient  family  of  Haig  of 
Bemerside, 

"Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Beraerside." 

The  grandfather  of  the  present  proprietor  of 
Bemerside  had  twelve  daughters,  before  his  lady 
brought  liim  a  male  heir.  The  common  people 
trembled  for  the  credit  of  their  favorite  soothsayer. 
The  late  Mr.  Haig  was  at  length  bom,  and  their 
belief  in  the  prophecy  confirmed  beyond  a  shadow 
of  doubt. 

Another  memorable  prophecy  bore,  that  the  Old 
Kirk  at  Kelso,  constructed  out  of  the  ruins  of  the 
Abbey,  should  "  fall  when  at  the  fullest."  At  a 
very  crowded  sermon,  about  thirty  years  ago,  a 
piece  of  hme  fell  from  the  roof  of  the  church.  The 
alarm,  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  words  of  the  seer, 
became  universal ;  and  happy  were  they  who 
were  nearest  the  door  of  the  predestined  edifice. 
The  church  was  in  consequence  deserted,  and  has 
never  since  had  an  opportunity  of  tumbliog  upon 
a  'full  congregation.  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  a 
beautiful  specimen  of  Saxo-Gotliic  architectiu-e, 
that  the  accomplishment  of  this  prophecy  is  far 
distant. 

Another  prediction,  ascribed  to  the  Rhymer, 
seems  to  have  been  founded  on  that  sort  of  insight 
into  futurity,  possessed  by  most  men  of  a  sound 
and  combining  judgment.     It  runs  thus : — 

"  At  Eldon  Tree  if  you  shall  be, 
A  brigg  ower  Tweed  you  there  may  see." 

The  spot  in  question  commands  an  extensive 
prospect  of  the  course  of  the  river ;  and  it  was 
easy  to  foresee,  that  when  the  country  should  be- 
come in  the  least  degree  improved,  a  bridge  woidd 
be  somewhere  thrown  over  the  stream.  In  fact, 
you  now  see  no  less  than  three  bridges  from  that 
elevated  situation. 

Corspatrick  (Comes  Patrick),  Earl  of  March,  but 
more  commonly  taking  his  title  from  his  castle  of 
Dunbar,  acted  a  noted  part  during  the  wars  of 
Edward  L  in  Scotland.  As  Thomas  of  ErcUdoune 
is  said  to  have  delivered  to  him  his  famous  proph- 

1  An  exact  reprint  of  these  prophecies,  from  the  edition  of 
W'aldegrave,  in  1603,  collated  with  Hart's,  of  1615,  from  the 
eopy  iii  the  Abbotsford  Library,  was  completed  for  the  Ban- 


ecy  of  King  Alexander's  death,  the  Editor  has 
chosen  to  introduce  him  into  the  following  ballad 
All  the  prophetic  verses  are  selected  from  Hart's 
publication.' 


^Ijomas  tl)c  Hljumcr. 


PART    SECOND. 


"When  seven  years  were  come  and  gane, 
The  sun  blink'd  fair  on  pool  and  stream  ; 

And  Thomas  lay  on  Hunthe  bank. 
Like  one  awaken'd  from  a  dream. 

He  heard  the  trampUng  of  a  steed. 

He  saw  the  flash  of  armor  flee, 
And  he  beheld  a  gallant  knight 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon-tree. 

He  was  a  stalwart  knight,  and  strong ; 

Of  giant  make  he  'pear'd  to  be : 
He  stirr'd  his  horse,  as  he  were  wode, 

Wi'  gilded  spurs,  of  faushion  free. 

Says — "  Well  met,  well  met,  true  Thomas  1 
Some  uncouth  ferlies  show  to  me." — 

Says — "  Christ  thee  save,  Corspatrick  brave  ! 
Thrice  welcimie,  good  Dunbar,  to  me  ! 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  Corspatrick  brave  I 
And  I  will  show  thee  cm-ses  three, 

Shall  gar  fair  Scotland  greet  and  grane. 
And  change  the  green  to  the  black  livery. 

"  A  storm  shall  roar  this  very  hour, 
From  Ross's  hills  to  Sol  way  sea." — 

"  Ye  lied,  ye  lied,  ye  warlock  hoar  ! 

For  the  sun  shines  sweet  on  fauld  and  lee."— 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  Earlie's  head  ; 

He  show'd  him  a  rock  beside  the  sea, 
Where  a  king  lay  stiff  beneath  his  steed,* 

And  steel-dight  nobles  wiped  their  ee. 

"  The  neist  curse  lights  on  Branxton  hiUs ; 

By  Flodden's  high  and  heathery  side. 
Shall  wave  a  banner  red  as  blude. 

And  chieftains  throng  wi'  meikle  prido 

"  A  Scottish  King  shaU  come  fiiU  keen. 
The  ruddy  lion  beareth  he ; 

natyne   Club,   under  the  care  of  the  learned  antiquary,  Mi 
David  Laingof  Edinburgh.— Ed.  1833. 

2  King  Alexander,  killed  by   a   fall   from  his    horse,  neai 
Kinghorn. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


583 


A  feather'd  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 

Shall  make  him  wmk  and  warre  to  see. 

*  When  he  is  bloody,  and  all  to  bledde, 
Thus  to  his  men  he  still  shall  say — • 

'  For  God's  sake,  turn  ye  back  again. 
And  give  yon  southern  folk  a  fray  ! 

\VTiy  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine  ? 
My  doom  is  not  to  die  this  day." 

'  Yet  turn  ye  to  the  eastern  hand. 
And  woe  and  wonder  yc  sail  see  ; 

How  forty  thousand  spearmen  stand, 
Where  yon  rank  river  meets  the  sea. 

"  There  shall  the  lion  lose  the  gylte. 
And  the  hbbards  bear  it  clean  away ; 

At  Pinkyn  Cleuch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentil  bluid  that  day." — 

"  Enough,  enough,  of  curse  and  ban ; 

Some  blessings  show  thou  now  to  me. 
Or,  by  the  faith  o'  my  bodie,"  Corspatrick  said, 

"  Ye  shall  rue  the  day  ye  e'er  saw  me  !" — 

"  The  first  of  blessings  I  shall  thee  show, 
Is  by  a  burn,  that's  call'd  of  bread  ;' 

Where  Saxon  men  shall  tine  the  bow, 
And  find  their  arrows  lack  the  head. 

"  Beside  that  brigg,  out  ower  that  bunj, 

Where  the  water  bickereth  bright  and  sheen. 

Shall  many  a  fallen  courser  spurn, 
And  knights  shall  die  in  battle  keen. 

"  Beside  a  headless  cross  of  stone, 

The  Hbbards  there  shall  lose  the  gree  ; 

The  raven  shall  come,  the  erne  shall  go, 
And  drink  the  Saxon  bluid  sae  free. 

The  cross  of  stone  they  shall  not  know, 
So  thick  the  corses  there  shall  be." — 

"  But  tell  me  now,"  said  brave  Dunbar, 
"  True  Thomas,  tell  now  unto  me. 

What  man  shall  rule  the  isle  Britain, 

Even  from  the  north  to  the  southern  sea  ?" — 

"  A  French  Queen  shall  bear  the  son, 

Shall  rule  all  Britain  to  the  sea  ; 
He  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 

As  near  as  in  the  ninth  degree. 

"  The  waters  worship  shall  his  race  ; 

Likewise  the  waves  of  the  fai'thest  sea ; 
For  they  shall  ride  over  ocean  wide. 

With  hempen  bridles,  and  horse  of  tree." 

1  The  uncertainty  which  long  prevailed  in  Scotland  con- 
cerning the  fate  of  James  IV.,  is  well  known. 

2  One   of  Thomas's   rhymes,  preserved    by  tradition,  rnnJ 


©Ijomas  tlje  HIjijmcr. 


PART  THIRD. MODEEX. 


BY  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer  was  renowned  among  his 
contemporaries,  as  the  author  of  the  celebrated 
romance  of  Sir  Tristrem.  Of  tliis  once-admired 
poem  only  one  copy  is  now  known  to  exist,  which 
is  in  the  Advocates'  Library.  The  Editor,  in  1 804, 
published  a  small  edition  of  tliis  curious  work ; 
wliich,  if  it  does  not  revive  the  reputation  of  the 
bard  of  Ercildoune,  is  at  least  the  earliest  speci- 
men of  Scottish  poetry  hitherto  published.  Some 
account  of  tliis  romance  has  already  been  given  to 
the  world  in  Mr.  Ellis's  Specimens  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  165,  iii.  p.  410;  a  work  to  wliich 
our  predecessors  and  our  posterity  are  alike  obli- 
ged ;  the  former,  for  the  preservation  of  the  best- 
selected  examples  of  their  poetical  taste ;  and  the 
latter,  for  a  history  of  the  English  language,  wliich 
win  only  cease  to  be  interesting  with  the  exist- 
ence of  our  mother-tongue,  and  all  that  genius 
and  learning  have  recorded  hi  it.  It  is  sufEcient 
here  to  mention,  that  so  great  was  the  reputation 
of  the  romance  of  Sir  Tristrem,  that  few  were 
thought  capable  of  reciting  it  after  the  manner  of 
the  author — a  circumstance  alluded  to  by  Robert 
de  Brunne,  the  annalist : — 

"  I  see  in  song,  in  sedgeyng  tale, 
Of  Erceldoun,  and  of  Kendale, 
Now  thame  says  as  they  thame  %vroght, 
And  in  thare  saj'ing  it  semes  noeht. 
That  thou  may  here  in  Sir  Tristrem, 
Over  gestes  it  has  the  steme, 
Over  all  that  is  or  was  ; 
If  men  it  said  as  made  Thomas,"  &c. 

It  appears,  fi-om  a  very  curious  MS.  of  th« 
tliu'teenth  century,  penes  Mr.  Douce  of  London, 
containing  a  French  metrical  romance  of  Sir  Tris- 
trem, that  the  work  of  oiu*  Thomas  the  Rhymer 
was  known,  and  referred  to,  by  the  minstrels  of 
Normandy  and  Bretagne.  Having  arrived  at  a 
part  of  the  romance  where  reciters  were  wont  '.o 
diflcr  in  the  mode  of  telling  the  story,  the  French 
bard  expressly  cites  the  authority  of  the  poet  of 
Ercildoune : 

"  Plusurs  de  nos  granter  ne  volent, 
Co  que  del  naim  dire  se  solent, 
Kifemme  Kahcrdin  dat  aimer, 
Li  naim  redut  Tristram  narrer, 


"  The  bnm  of  breid 
Shall  run  fow  reid." 
Bannock-bnm  is  the  brook  liere  meant.     The  Scots  give  th« 
name  o{  bannock  to  a  thick  round  cake  of  unleavened  bread. 


584 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


E  entusche  par  grant  engin. 
Quant  il  afole  Kaherdin  ; 
Pur  cest  plai  e  pur  cost  mat, 
Envciad  Tristram  Guvernal, 
En  Engleterre  pur  Ysolt : 
Thomas  ico  granter  ne  volt, 
Et  si  volt  par  raisun  mostrer, 
Qu'  ico  ne  put  pas  esteer,"  &c. 

'JTie  tale  of  Sir  Tristrem,  as  naiTated  in  the 
Edinburgh  MS.,  is  totally  diiferent  from  the  volu- 
minous romance  in  prose,  originally  compiled  on 
the  same  subject  by  Rusticien  de  Puise,  and 
analyzed  by  M.  de  Tressan ;  but  agi-ees  in  every 
essential  particular  with  the  metrical  performance 
just  quoted,  which  is  a  work  of  much  higher  an- 
tiquity. 

The  following  attempt  to  commemorate  the 
Rhymer's  poetical  fame,  and  the  traditional  ac- 
count of  his  marvellpus  return  to  Fairy  Land, 
being  entirely  modern,  would  have  been  placed 
with  gi-eater  propriety  among  the  class  of  Modern 
Ballads,  had  it  not  been  for  its  immediate  con- 
nection with  the  first  and  second  pai-ts  of  the 
same  story. 


^Ijomas  tlje  Blj^mcr. 


PART  THIRD. 


When  seven  years  more  were  come  and  gone, 
Was  war  through  Scotland  spread, 

And  RuberslaAV  show'd  high  Dunyon' 
His  beacon  blazing  red. 

Then  all  by  bonny  Coldingknow," 

Pitch'd  paUiouns  took  their  room. 
And  crested  helms,  and  spears  a-rowe, 

Glanced  gayly  through  the  broom. 

The  Leader,  rolling  to  the  Tweed, 

Resounds  the  ensenzie  f 
They  roused  the  deer  from  Caddenhead, 

To  distant  Torwoodlee.* 

1  Ruberslaw  and  Dnnyon,  are  two  hills  near  Jedburgh. 

a  An  ancient  tower  near  Ercildonne,  belonging  to  a  family 
of  the  name  of  Home.  One  of  Thomas's  prophecies  is  said 
to  have  run  thus  : — 

"  Vengeance  !  vengeance  !  when  and  where  ? 
On  the  bouse  of  Coldingknow,  now  and  ever  mair !" 

The  spot  is  rendered  classical  by  its  having  given  name 
to  the  beautiful  melody  called  the  Broom  o'  the  Cowden- 
knows. 

3  Ensenzie — War-cry,  or  gathering  word. 


The  feast  was  spread  in  Ercildoune, 
In  Learmont's  high  and  ancient  hall : 

And  there  were  knights  of  great  renown, 
And  ladies,  laced  in  pall. 

Nor  lacked  they,  while  they  sat  at  dine, 

The  music  nor  the  tale. 
Nor  goblets  of  the  blood-red  wine, 

Nor  mantling  quaighs^  of  ale. 

True  Thomas  rose,  with  harp  in  hand, 

^Tien  as  the  feast  was  done : 
(In  minstrel  strife,  in  Fairy  Land, 

The  elfin  harp  he  won.) 

Hush'd  were  the  throng,  both  limb  and  tongue, 

And  harpers  for  envy  pale ; 
And  armed  lords  lean'd  on  their  swords. 

And  hearken'd  to  the  tale. 

In  munbers  high,  the  witching  tale 

The  prophet  pom-'d  along; 
No  after  bard  might  e'er  avail^ 

Those  numbers  to  prolong. 

Yet  fragments  of  the  lofty  strain 

Float  down  the  tide  of  years, 
As,  buoyant  on  the  stormy  main, 

A  parted  wreck  appears.' 

He  sung  King  Arthur's  Table  Rovmd : 

The  Warrior  of  the  Lake ; 
How  courteous  Gawaine  met  the  woirnd,* 

And  bled  for  ladies'  sake. 

But  chief,  in  gentle  Ti-istrem's  praise. 

The  notes  melodious  swell ; 
Was  none  excell'd  in  Ai-thur's  days, 

The  knight  of  LioneUe. 

For  Marke,  his  cowardly  imcle's  right, 

A  venom'd  wound  he  bore ; 
"VMien  fierce  Morholde  he  slew  in  fight. 

Upon  the  Irish  shore. 

No  art  the  poison  might  withstand ; 

No  medicine  could  be  foimd, 
Till  lovely  Isolde's  lUy  hand 

Had  probed  the  rankling  wound. 

*  Torwoodlee  and  Caddenhead  are  places  in  Selkirkshire ; 
both  the  property  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Torwoodlee. 

6  Quaighs — Wooden  cups,  composed  of  staves  hooped  to- 
gether. 

6  See  Introduction  to  this  bsdlad. 

''  This  stanza  was  quoted  by  the  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  of 
1804,  as  a  noble  contrast  to  the  ordinary  humility  of  the  gen- 
uine ballad  diction. — Ed. 

8  See,  in  the  Fabliaux  of  Monsieur  le  Grand,  elegantlv  trans- 
lated by  the  late  Gregory  Way,  Esq.,  the  tale  of  the  Knight 
and  the  Sword.     [Vol.  ii.  p.  3.] 


COXTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY.                              586 

"With  gentle  hand  and  soothing  tongue 

She  bore  the  leech's  part ; 
And,  wliile  she  o'er  his  sick-bed  hung, 

He  paid  her  with  his  heart. 

On  Leader's  stream,  and  Learmont'a  tower, 

The  mists  of  evening  close ; 
In  camp,  in  castle,  or  in  bower, 

Each  warrior  sought  repose. 

0  fatal  was  the  gift,  I  ween ! 

For,  doom'd  in  evil  tide, 
The  maid  must  be  rude  Cornwall's  queen, 

His  cowardly  imcle's  bride. 

Lord  Douglas,  in  his  lofty  tent, 
Dream'd  o'er  the  woeful  tale ; 

When  footsteps  light,  across  the  bent, 
The  waiTior's  cars  assail 

Their  loves,  their  woes,  the  gifted  bard 

In  fairy  tissue  wove ; 
Wliere  lords,  and  knights,  and  ladies  bright, 

In  gay  confusion  strove. 

He  starts,  he  wakes ; — "  What,  Richard,  ho  I 

Arise,  my  page,  arise  ! 
VV  hat  venturous  wight,  at  dead  of  night, 

Dare  step  where  Douglas  lies !" — 

The  Garde  Joyeuse,  amid  the  tale, 
High  rear'd  its  glittering  head ; 

And  Avalon's  enchanted  vale 
In  all  its  wonders  spread. 

Then  forth  they  rush'd :  by  Leader's  tide, 

A  selcouth'  sight  they  see — 
A  hart  and  hind  pace  side  by  side. 

As  white  as  snow  on  FjiirnaUe.'' 

Brangwain  was  there,  and  Segramore, 
And  fiend-born  Merlin's  gramarye  ; 

Of  that  famed  wizard's  mighty  lore, 
0  who  could  sing  but  he  ? 

Beneath  the  moon,  with  gesture  proud. 
They  stately  move  and  slow ; 

Nor  scare  they  at  the  gathermg  crowd. 
Who  marvel  as  they  go. 

Through  many  a  maze  the  winning  song 

In  changeful  passion  led, 
Till  bent  at  length  the  Ustening  throng 

O'er  Tristrem's  dying  bed. 

To  Learmont's  tower  a  message  sped, 
As  fast  as  page  might  run  ; 

And  Thomas  started  from  his  bed. 
And  soon  his  clothes  did  on. 

His  ancient  wounds  their  scars  expand, 
With  agony  his  heart  is  wrung : 

0  where  is  Isolde's  lilye  hand, 
And  where  her  soothing  tongue  ? 

First  he  woxe  pale,  and  then  woxe  red ; 

Never  a  word  he  spake  but  tlu-ee  ; — 
"  My  sand  is  run  ;  my  thread  is  spun ; 

This  sign  regardeth  me." 

She  comes !  she  comes ! — like  flash  of  flame 

Can  lovers'  footsteps  fly  : 
She  comes !  she  comes  ! — she  only  came 

To  see  her  Tristrem  die. 

The  elfin  harp  his  neck  around. 
In  minstrel  guise,  he  hung ; 

And  on  the  wiud,  in  dolefid  sound, 
Its  dying  accents  rung. 

She  saw  him  die  ;  her  latest  sigh 
Jom'd  in  a  kiss  his  parting  breath ; 

The  gentlest  pair,  that  Britain  bare. 
United  are  in  death. 

Then  forth  he  went ;  yet  turn'd  him  oft 

To  view  his  ancient  hall : 
On  the  gray  tower,  in  lustre  soft. 

The  autumn  moonbeams  fall ; 

There  paused  the  harp :  its  lingering  sound 

Died  slowly  on  the  ear ; 
The  silent  guests  still  bent  around, 

For  still  they  seem'd  to  hear. 

And  Leader's  waves,  like  silver  sheen. 
Danced  shimmering  in  the  ray  ; 

In  deepening  mass,  at  distance  seen. 
Broad  Soltra's  mountains  lay. 

Then  woe  broke  forth  in  murmurs  weak : 
Nor  ladies  heaved  alone  the  sigh ; 

But,  half  ashamed,  the  rugged  cheek 
Did  many  a  gauntlet  dry. 

"  Farewell,  my  fathers'  ancient  tower ! 

A  long  farewell,"  said  he : 
"  The  scene  of  pleasure,  pomp,  or  power, 

Thou  never  more  shalt  be. 

1  Sclcouth — Wondrous. 

2  An  anoient  seat  upon  the  Tweed,  in  Selkirkshire.     In  a 
popular  edition  of  the  first  part  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  the 
Fairy  dueen  thus  addresses  him  : — 

74 

"  Gin  ye  wad  meet  wi'  rae  again, 
Gang  to  the  bonny  banks  of  Fairnalie." 
Fairnalie  is  now  one  oftlie  seats  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Clifton 
M.  P.  for  Selkirkshire.     1833. 

r 


)86 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  To  Learmont's  name  no  foot  of  earth 

And  there,  before  Lord  Douglas'  face, 

Shall  here  again  belong, 

"With  them  he  cross'd  the  flood. 

And,  on  thy  hospitable  hearth, 

The  hare  shall  leave  her  young. 

Lord  Douglas  leap'd  on  his  berry-brown  steed. 

And  spurr"d  him  the  Leader  o'er  ; 

"  Adieu !  adieu !"  again  he  cried, 

But,  though  he  rode  with  lightning  speed, 

All  as  he  turn'd  him  roun' — 

He  never  saw  them  more. 

"  Fare-well  to  Leader's  silver  tide ! 

Farewell  to  Ercildoune !" 

Some  said  to  hill,  and  some  to  glen. 

Their  wondrous  course  had  been ; 

The  hart  and  hind  approach'd  the  place, 

But  ne'er  in  haunts  of  living  men 

As  lingering  yet  he  stood ; 

Again  was  Thomas  seen. 

APPENDIX. 


Note  A.— P.  574. 

JFVom  tAe  ChartvZwry  of  the  Trinity  House  of  Soltra. 

Advocates'  Library,  W.  4.  14. 

ERSYLTON. 

Omnibus  has  literas  visnris  vel  anditnris  Thomas  de  Ercil- 
donn  filius  et  heres  Thoma2  Ryinour  de  EreiUloun  salulem  in 
Domino.  Noveritis  me  per  f'ustem  et  baculum  in  pleno  judi- 
cio  resignasse  ac  per  presentes  quietem  clamasse  pro  me  et  here- 
dibns  meis  Magistro  domus  Saiieta;  Trinitatis  de  goitre  et  fra- 
tribns  ejusdem  domns  totam  terram  raeam  cum  omnibus  per- 
tinentibus  suis  quam  in  tenemento  de  Ercildoun  hereditaria 
tenui  renunciando  de  toto  pro  me  et  lieredibus  meis  omni  jure 
et  clameo  qnas  ego  sen  antecessores  raei  in  eadem  terra  alioque 
tempore  de  perpetuo  habuimus  sive  de  futuro  habere  possumus. 
In  cujus  rei  testimonio  presentibus  his  sigillum  meum  apposni 
data  apud  Ercildoun  die  Martis  proximo  post  festura  Sanctorum 
Apostoloram  Symonis  et  Jude  Anno  Domini  Millesimo  cc. 
Nonagesimo  Kono. 


Note  B.— P.  576. 


The  reader  is  here  presented,  from  an  old,  and  nnfortunately 
an  imperfect  MS  ,  with  the  undoubted  original  of  Thomas  the 
Rhymer's  intrigue  with  the  Q.ueen  of  Faery.  It  will  afford 
great  amusement  to  those  who  would  study  the  nature  of  tra- 
ditional poetry,  and  the  changes  effected  by  oral  tradition,  to 
compare  this  ancient  romance  with  the  foregoing  ballad.  The 
same  incidents  are  narrated,  even  the  expression  is  often  the 
game  ;  yet  the  poems  are  as  different  in  appearance,  as  if  the 
older  tale  had  been  regularly  and  systematically  modernized  by 
a  poet  of  the  present  day. 

Incipit  Prophesia  Thom<B  de  Erseldoun. 

In  a  lande  as  I  was  lent, 
In  the  gryking  of  the  day. 
Ay  alone  as  I  went, 
In  Huntle  bankys  me  for  to  play  ; 
I  saw  the  throstyl,  and  the  jay. 
Ye  mawes  movyde  of  her  song. 
Ye  wodwale  sange  notes  gay, 
That  al  the  wod  abont  range. 
In  that  longyng  as  I  lay. 


Undir  nethe  a  dem  tre, 

I  was  war  of  a  lady  gay. 

Come  rydyng  ouyr  a  fairle  : 

Zogh  I  suld  sitt  to  domysday. 

With  my  long  to  wrabbe  and  wrj 

Certenly  all  hyr  aray, 

It  beth  neuyer  discrynyd  for  me. 

Hyr  palfra  was  dappyll  gray, 

Sycke  on  say  neuer  none  ; 

As  the  son  in  somers  day, 

All  abowte  that  lady  schone. 

Hyr  sadel  was  of  a  rewel  bone, 

A  semly  syght  it  was  to  se, 

Bryht  with  mony  a  precyons  stone 

And  compasyd  all  with  crapste  ; 

Stones  of  oryens,  gret  plente, 

Her  hair  about  her  hede  it  hang. 

She  rode  ouer  the  farnyle, 

A  while  she  blew,  a  while  she  <ang, 

Her  girths  of  nobil  silke  they  were. 

Her  boculs  were  of  beryl  stone, 

Sadyll  and  brydil  war  -  - ; 

With  sylk  and  sendel  about  bedone, 

Hyr  patyrel  was  of  a  pall  fyne. 

And  hyr  croper  of  the  arase. 

Her  brydil  was  of  gold  fine, 

On  euery  syde  forsothe  hang  bells  thr 

Her  brydil  reynes   -   -   - 

A  semly  syzt   -  -   -   - 

Crop  and  patyrel   -   -   -   - 

In  every  joynt    -    -    -   - 

She  led  tbre  grew  houndes  in  a  leash, 

And  ralches  cow  pled  by  her  ran  ; 

She  bar  an  horn  about  her  halse. 

And  undir  her  gyrdil  mene  flene. 

Thomas  lay  and  sa   -   -  - 

In  the  bankes  of   -   -   -   - 

He  sayd  Yonder  is  Mary  of  Might, 

That  bar  the  child  that  died  for  me, 

Certes  hot  I  may  speke  with  that  lady  brigm, 

Myd  my  hert  will  brake  in  three  ; 

I  schal  me  hye  with  all  my  might, 

Hyr  to  mete  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

Thomas  rathly  up  her  rase. 

And  ran  ouer  mountayn  hye. 

If  it  he  sothe  the  story  says, 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 

587 

He  met  her  enyn  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

The  figge  and  als  fy.'bert  tre ; 

Thomas  knelyd  down  on  his  kne 

The  nyghtyngale  bredyng  in  her  neste, 

Unilir  ncthe  the  grenewood  spray, 

The  papigaye  about  gan  fle. 

And  sayd,  Lovely  lady,  thou  rue  on  me, 

The  throstylcock  sang  wald  hafe  no  rest. 

Queen  of  Heaven  as  you  may  well  be. 

He  pressed  to  pulle  fruyt  with  his  hand. 

But  I  am  a  lady  of  another  countrie, 

As  man  for  faute  that  was  faynt ; 

If  I  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

She  seyd,  Thomas,  lat  al  stand, 

I  ride  after  the  wild  fee, 

Or  els  the  deuyl  wil  the  ataynt. 

My  ratches  rinnen  at  my  devyg. 

Sche  seyd,  Thomas,  I  the  hyzt, 

If  thou  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

To  lay  thi  hede  upon  my  kne. 

And  rides  a  lady  in  Strang  fo\f. 

And  thou  shall  see  fayrer  syght. 

Lovely  lady,  as  thou  art  wise. 

Than  euyr  sawe  man  in  their  kintre. 

Giue  you  me  leue  to  lige  ye  by. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  fayr  way. 

Do  way,  Thomas,  that  were  foly, 

That  lyggs  onyr  yone  fayr  playn  1 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  late  me  be. 

Yonder  is  the  way  to  heuyn  for  ay. 

That  sin  will  fordo  all  my  bewtie. 

Whan  synful  sawles  haf  derayed  their  payne. 

Lovely  ladye,  rewe  on  me, 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  secund  way, 

And  euer  more  I  shall  with  ye  dwell, 

That  lygges  lawe  undir  the  ryse? 

Here  my  trowth  I  plyght  to  thee. 

Streight  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say. 

Where  you  belieues  in  heuin  or  hell. 

To  the  joyes  of  paradyce. 

Thomas,  and  you  myght  lyge  me  by, 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  thyrd  way. 

Undir  nethe  tliis  grene  wode  spray, 

That  lygges  ouyr  yone  how  ? 

Thou  would  tell  full  hastely. 

Wide  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say, 

That  thou  had  layn  by  a  lady  gay. 

To  the  brynyng  fyres  of  belle. 

Lady,  mote  I  lyge  by  the. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yone  fayr  castell. 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  tre, 

That  standes  ouyr  yone  fair  hill  ■? 

For  all  the  gold  in  chrystenty. 

Of  town  and  tower  it  beereth  the  belle, 

Suld  you  neuer  be  wryede  for  me. 

In  middell  erth  is  none  like  theretill. 

Man  on  molde  you  will  me  marre. 

Whan  thou  comyst  in  yone  castell  gaye, 

And  yet  bot  you  may  haf  your  will. 

I  pray  thee  curteis  man  to  be  ; 

Trow  you  well,  Thomas,  you  cheuyst  ye  warre 

What  so  any  man  to  you  say, 

For  all  my  bewtie  wilt  yon  spill. 

Loke  thu  answer  none  but  me. 

Down  lyghted  that  lady  bryzt. 

My  lord  is  servyd  at  yche  messe, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray, 

With  XXX  kniztes  feir  and  fre  ; 

And  as  ye  story  sayth  full  ryzt. 

I  shall  say  syttyng  on  the  dese, 

Seuyn  tymes  by  her  he  lay. 

I  toke  thy  speche  beyone  the  le. 

She  sayd,  Man,  yon  lyst  thi  play. 

Thomas  stode  as  still  as  stone. 

What  berde  in  bouyr  may  dele  with  thee. 

And  behelde  that  ladye  gaye  ; 

That  raaries  me  all  tliis  long  day  ; 

Than  was  sche  fayr,  and  ryche  anone, 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  let  me  be. 

And  also  ryal  on  hir  palfreye. 

Thomas  stode  up  in  the  stede, 

The  grewhoundes  had  fylde  thaim  on  the  den, 

And  behelde  the  lady  gay. 

The  raches  coupled,  by  my  fay, 

Her  heyre  hang  down  about  hyr  hede, 

She  blewe  her  home  Thomas  to  chere. 

The  tane  was  blak,  the  other  gray. 

To  the  castell  she  went  her  way. 

Her  eyn  semyt  onte  before  was  gray, 

The  ladye  into  the  hall  went. 

Her  gay  clethyng  was  all  away. 

Thomas  folowyd  at  her  hand  ; 

That  he  before  had  sene  in  that  stede 

Thar  kept  her  mony  a  lady  gent. 

Hyr  body  as  blow  as  ony  bede. 

With  curtasy  and  lawe. 

Thomas  sighede,  and  sayd.  Alias, 

Harp  and  fedyl  both  he  fande. 

Me  thynke  this  a  dullful!  syght, 

The  getern  and  the  sawtry, 

That  thou  art  fadyd  in  the  face, 

Lnt  and  rybid  ther  gon  gan. 

3efore  you  shone  as  son  so  bryzt. 

Thair  was  al  maner  of  mynstralsy, 

Tak  thy  leue,  Thomas,  at  son  and  mone 

The  most  fertly  that  Thomas  thoght, 

At  gresse,  and  at  euery  tre. 

When  he  com  emyddes  the  flore. 

This  twelmonth  sail  you  with  me  gone 

Fourty  hertes  to  quarry  were  broght, 

Medyl  erth  you  sail  not  se. 

That  had  been  befor  both  long  and  store. 

Alas,  he  seyd,  ful  wo  is  me. 

Lymors  lay  lappyng  blode, 

I  trow  my  dedes  will  werke  me  care. 

And  kokes  standyng  with  dressyng  knyfe, 

Jesu,  my  sole  tak  to  ye. 

And  dressyd  dere  as  thai  wer  wode, 

Whedir  so  euyr  my  body  sal  fare. 

And  rewell  was  thair  wonder. 

She  rode  furth  with  all  her  myzt, 

Knyghtes  dansyd  by  two  and  thre. 

Undir  nethe  the  derne  lee. 

All  that  leue  long  day. 

It  was  as  derke  as  at  midnizt. 

Ladyes  that  were  gret  of  gre. 

And  euyr  in  water  unto  the  kne  ; 

Sat  and  sang  of  rych  array. 

Through  the  space  of  days  thre. 

Thomas  sawe  much  more  in  that  plac*, 

He  herde  but  swowyng  of  a  flode  ; 

Than  I  can  descryve. 

Thomas  sayd,  Ful  wo  is  me, 

Til  on  a  day,  alas,  alas. 

Now  I  spyll  for  fawte  of  fode  ; 

My  lovelye  ladye  sayd  to  me. 

To  a  garden  she  lede  him  tyte. 

Busk  ye,  Thomas,  yon  must  agayn. 

There  was  frnyte  in  grete  plente, 

Here  you  may  no  longer  be  : 

Peyrea  and  appless  ther  were  rype. 

Hy  then  zerne  that  you  were  at  hame, 

The  date  and  the  damese. 

I  sal  ye  bryng  to  Eldyn  Tre. 

583 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thomas  answerd  with  heuy 

And  said,  Lowely  ladye,  lat  ma  be, 

For  I  say  ye  certenly  here 

Haf  I  be  hot  the  space  of  dayes  threes 

Sothly,  Thomas,  as  I  telle  ye. 

You  hath  ben  here  thre  yeres, 

And  here  you  may  no  longer  be  ; 

And  I  sal  tele  ye  a  skele. 

To-morrow  of  helle  ye  foule  fende 

Amang  our  folke  shall  chuse  his  fee  ; 

For  you  art  alarg  man  and  an  hende, 

Trowe  you  wele  be  will  chuse  thee. 

Fore  all  the  golde  that  may  be, 

Fro  bens  unto  the  worldes  ende, 

Sail  yon  not  be  betrayed  by  me, 

And  thairfor  sjU  you  hens  wende. 

She  broght  hym  euyn  to  Eldyn  Tre, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray. 

In  Huntle  bankes  was  fayr  to  be, 

Ther  breddes  syng  both  nyzt  and  day. 

Ferre  ouyr  yon  montayns  gray, 

Ther  bathe  my  facon  ; 

Fare  wele,  Thomas,  I  wende  my  way. 


The  Elfin  Queen,  after  restoring  Thomas  to  earth,  pours 
forth  a  string  of  prophecies,  in  which  we  distinguish  references 
to  the  events  and  personages  of  the  Scottish  wars  of  Edward 
III.  The  battles  of  Dupplin  and  Halidon  are  mentioned,  and 
also  Black  Agnes,  Countess  of  Dunbar.  There  is  a  copy  of 
this  poem  in  the  Museum  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln,  an- 
other in  the  collection  in  Peterborough,  but  unfortunately  they 
are  all  in  an  imperfect  state.  Mr.  Jamieson,  in  his  curious 
Collection  of  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs,  has  an  entire  copy 
of  this  ancient  poem,  with  all  the  collations.  The  lacunm  of 
the  former  editions  have  been  supplied  from  hb  copy. 


HOTE  C. 


ALLTTSIONS    TO   HERALDRY.— P.  578. 

"The  muscle  is  a  square  figure  like  a  lozenge,  but  it  is  al- 
ways voided  of  the_^c/<£.  They  are  carried  as  principal  figures 
by  the  name  of  Learmont.  Learmont  of  Earlstoun,  in  the 
Merss,  carried  or  on  a  bend  azure  three  muscles ;  of  which 
family  was  Sir  Thomas  Learmont,  who  is  well  known  by  the 
name  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  because  he  wrote  his  prophecies 
in  rhime.  This  prophetick  herauld  lived  in  the  days  of  King 
Alexander  the  Third,  and  prophesied  of  his  death,  and  of  many 
other  remarkable  occurrences  ;  particularly  of  the  union  of 
Scotland  with  England,  which  was  not  accomplished  until  the 
reign  of  James  the  Sixth,  some  hundred  years  after  it  was  fore- 
told by  this  gentleman,  whose  prophecies  are  much  esteemed 
by  many  of  the  vulgar  even  at  this  day.  I  was  promised  by  a 
friend  a  sight  of  his  prophecies,  of  which  there  is  everywhere 
to  be  had  an  epitome,  which,  I  suppose,  is  erroneous,  and  dif- 
fers in  many  things  from  the  original,  it  having  been  oft  re- 
printed by  some  unskilful  persons.  Thus  many  things  are 
amissing  in  the  small  book  which  are  to  be  met  with  in  the 
original,  particularly  these  two  lines  concerning  his  neighbour, 
Bemetside : — 

'  Tyde  what  may  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  laird  of  Bemerside.' 

And  indeed  his  prophecies  concerning  that  ancient  family  have 
hitherto  been  true  ;  for,  since  that  time  to  this  day,  the  Haigs 
have  been  lairds  of  that  place.  They  carrie,  Azure  a  saltier 
cantoned  with  two  stars  in  chief  and  in  base  argent,  as  many 
crescents  in  the  flanqnes  or  ;  and  for  crest  a  rock  proper, 
with  tills  motto,  taken  from  the  above  written  rhyme — '  Tide 
*'hat  may.'  " — Nisbet  on  Marks  of  Cadency,  p.  158. — He 


adds,  "  that  Thomas'  meaning  maybe  understood  by  heranlds 
when  he  speaks  of  kingdoms  whose  insignia  seldom  vary,  but 
that  individual  families  cannot  be  discovered,  either  becansa 
they  have  altered  their  bearings,  or  because  they  are  poirted 
out  by  their  crests  and  exterior  ornaments,  which  are  charged 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  bearer."  Mr.  Nisbet,  however,  com- 
forts himself  for  this  obscurity,  by  reflecting,  that  "we  may 
certainly  conclude,  from  his  writings,  that  herauldry  was  in 
good  esteem  in  his  days,  and  well  known  to  the  vulgar." — 
Jbid.  p.  160. — It  may  be  added,  that  the  publication  of  pre- 
dictions, either  printed  or  liieroglyphical,  in  which  noble  fami- 
lies were  pointed  out  by  their  armorial  bearings,  was,  in  the 
timeoflueen  Elizabeth,  extremely  common  ;  and  the  influ- 
ence of  such  predictions  on  the  minds  of  the  common  people 
was  so  great  as  to  occasion  a  prohibition,  by  statute,  of  proph- 
ecy by  reference  to  heraldic  emblems.  Lord  Henry  Howard 
also  (afterwards  Earl  of  Northampton)  directs  against  this 
practice  much  of  the  reasoning  in  his  learned  treatise,  entitled, 
"  A  Defensation  against  the  Poyson  of  pretended  Prophecies." 


Note  D.— P.  580. 


The  strange  occupation  in  which  Waldhave  beholds  Merlin 
engaged,  derives  some  illustration  from  a  curious  passage  in 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  life  of  Merlin,  above  quoted.  The 
poem,  after  narrating  that  the  prophet  had  fled  to  the  forest 
in  a  state  of  distraction,  proceeds  to  mention,  that,  looking 
upon  the  stars  one  clear  evening,  he  discerned  from  his  astro- 
logical knowledge,  that  his  wife,  Guendolen,  had  resolved, 
upon  the  next  morning,  to  take  another  husband.  As  he  had 
presaged  to  her  that  this  would  happen,  and  had  promised 
her  a  nuptial  gift  (cautioning  her,  however,  to  keep  the  bride- 
groom out  of  his  sight),  he  now  resolved  to  make  good  his 
word.  Accordingly,  he  collected  all  the  stags  and  lesser 
game  in  his  neighborhood  ;  and,  having  seated  himself  upon  a 
buck,  drove  the  herd  before  him  to  the  capital  of  Cumberiand, 
where  Guendolen  resided.  But  her  lover's  curiosity  leading 
him  to  inspect  too  nearly  this  extraordinary  cavalcade  Mer- 
lin's rage  was  awakened,  and  he  slew  him  with  the  stroke  ot 
an  antler  of  the  stag.     The  original  runs  thus  : — 

"  Dizerat :  et  silvas  et  saJtits  circuit  omnes, 
Cervorumque greges  agmen  collegitin  unum, 
Et  damas,  capreasque  simul ;  cervoque  resedit, 
Et,  veniente  die,  compellens  agmina  prw  se, 
Festinans  vadit  quo  nubit  Gueudolicna, 
Posiquam  vcnit  eo,  paricnter  ipse  coegit 
Cervos  ante  fores,  proclamans,  '  Ouendolmna, 
Ouendolcena,  veni,  te  talia  muncra  spcctant. 
Ocius  ergo  vcnit  subridens  Guendolcena, 
Oestarique  virvm  cerco  miratur,  ct  ilium 
Sic  parere  viro,  tantum  quoque  posse  ferarum 
Uniri  numerum  quas  prie  se  solus  agebat, 
Sicut  pastor  oves,  quas  ducere  suevit  ad  herbas. 
Stabat  ab  excelsa  sponsus  spectando  fenestra, 
[n  solio  mirans  cquitem,  risumque  movebat. 
.Ist  ubi  vidit  eum  vates,  animoque  quis  esset 
Calluit,  eitemplo  divulsit  cornua  cervo 
Quo  gcstabalur,  vibrataquejecit  in  ilium, 
Et  caput  illius  penitus  contrivit,  eum^ue 
Reddidit  exanimem.  vitamquefugavitinauras; 
Ocius  inde  suum,  talorum  verbere,  cervum 
Diffugiens  egit,  siivasque  redire  paravit.'^ 

For  a  perusal  of  this  curious  poem,  accurately  copied  from 
a  MS.  in  the  Cotton  Library,  nearly  coeval  with  the  author,  I 
was  indebted  to  my  learned  friend,  the  late  Mr.  Ritson.  There 
is  an  excellent  paraphrase  of  it  in  the  curious  and  entertain- 
ing Specimens  of  Early  English  Romances,  published  bs 
Mr.  EUis. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


589 


®  I  c  u  f  i  n  I  a  6  ; 


OB, 


LORD   RONALD'S   CORONACH  ' 


The  simple  tradition,  upon  ■which  the  following 
stanzas  are  founded,  runs  thus  :  While  two  High- 
land hunters  were  passing  the  night  in  a  soUtary 
bothy  (a  hut,  built  for  the  purpose  of  huntmg),  and 
making  merry  over  their  venison  and  wliisky,  one 
of  them  expressed  a  wish  that  they  had  pretty 
lasses  to  complete  their  part}^  The  words  were 
scarcely  uttered,  when  two  beautiful  young  wo- 
men, habited  in  green,  entered  the  hut,  dancing 
and  singuig.  One  of  the  hunters  was  seduced  by 
the  siren  who  attached  herself  particularly  to  him, 
to  leave  the  hut :  the  other  remained,  and,  suspi- 
cious of  the  fair  seducers,  continued  to  play  upon 
a  trump,  or  Jew's-harp,  some  strain,  consecrated 
to  the  Virgin  Mary.  Day  at  length  came,  and  the 
temptress  vanished.  Searching  in  the  forest,  he 
found  the  bones  of  his  unfortunate  friend,  who  had 
been  torn  to  pieces  and  devoured  by  the  fiend  into 
whose  toils  he  had  fallen.  The  place  was  from 
thence  called  the  Glen  of  the  Green  Women. 

Glenfinlas  is  a  tract  of  forest-ground,  lymg  in  the 
Highlands  of  Perthshire,  not  far  from  Callender  in 
Menteith.  It  was  formerly  a  royal  forest,  and  now 
belongs  to  the  Earl  of  Moray.  This  country,  as 
well  as  the  adjacent  district  of  Balquidder,  was, 
in  times  of  yore,  chiefly  inhabited  by  the  Mac- 
gregors.  To  the  west  of  the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas 
lies  Loch  Katrine,  and  its  romantic  avenue,  called 
the  Troshachs.  Benledi,  Benmore,  and  Benvoir- 
lich,  are  mountains  in  the  same  district,  and  at  no 
great  distance  from  Glenfinlas.  The  river  Teith 
passes  Callender  and  the  Castle  of  Doune,  and 
joins  the  Forth  near  StuUng.  The  Pass  of  Lenny 
ia  immediately  above  Callender,  and  is  the  princi- 
pal access  to  the  Higiilands,  from  that  town. 
Glenartney  is  a  forest,  near  Benvoirlich.  The 
whole  forms  a  sublime  tract  of  Alpme  scenery. 

This  ballad  first  appeared  in  the  Tales  of  Won- 
der? 

1  Coronach  is  the  lamentation  for  a  deceased  warrior,  sung 
by  the  aged  of  the  clan. 

3  la  1801.  See  ante,  p.  567. — The  scenery  of  this,  the  au- 
thor's first  serions  attempt  in  poetry,  reappears  in  the  Lady  of 
be  Lake,  in  Waverley,  and  in  Rob  Roy. — Ed. 


(Sl£nfinla0; 


OR, 


LORD  RONALD'S  CORONACH. 


"  For  them  the  viewless  forms  of  air  ohey. 

Their  bidding  heed,  and  at  their  beck  repair  ", 
Tliey  know  wliat  spirit  brews  the  stormful  day, 
And  lieartless  oft,  like  moody  madness  stare. 
To  see  the  phantom-train  their  secret  work  prepare." 

Collins 


"  0  noNE  a  rie' !  0  hone  a  rie' !' 

Tlie  pride  of  Albin's  line  is  o'er, 
And  fall'n  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree  ; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more  1" — 

0,  sprung  from  great  Macgillianore, 
The  chief  that  never  fear'd  a  foe. 

How  matchless  was  thy  broad  claymore, 
How  deadly  thine  unerring  bow ! 

Well  can  the  Saxon  widows  tell,^ 

How,  on  the  Teith's  resounding  shore. 

The  boldest  Lowland  warriors  fell. 
As  down  from  Lenny's  pass  you  bore. 

But  o'er  his  hills,  in  festal  day, 

How  blazed  Lord  Ronald's  beltane-tree,' 
While  youths  and  maids  the  light  strathspey 

So  nimbly  danced  with  Highland  glee  i 

Cheer'd  by  the  strength  of  Ronald's  shell. 

E'en  age  forgot  his  tresses  hoar ; 
But  now  the  loud  lament  we  swell, 

O  ne'er  to  see  Lord  Ronald  more ! 

3  O  hone  a  rie'  signifies  — "  Alas  for  the  prince  oi 
chief." 

■i  The  term  Sassenach,  or  Saxon,  is  applied  by  the  Highland- 
ers  to  their  Low-Country  neighbors. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A 


590                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

From  distant  isles  a  chieftain  came, 
The  joys  of  Ronald's  balls  to  find, 

And  chase  -with  him  the  dark-brown  game, 
That  bounds  o'er  Albin's  hills  of  wind. 

"  Wliat  lack  we  here  to  crown  our  bliss. 
While  thus  tlie  pulse  of  joy  beats  high? 

What,  but  fair  woman's  yielding  kiss, 
Her  panting  breath  and  melting  eye  ? 

'Twas  Moy ;  whom  in  Columba's  isle 
The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found,* 

As,  with  a  minstrel's  fire  the  while, 
He  waked  his  harp's  harmonious  sound. 

"  To  chase  the  deer  of  yonder  shades. 
This  morning  left  their  father's  pile 

The  fairest  of  our  mountain  maids. 
The  daughters  of  the  proud  Glengyle. 

Full  many  a  spell  to  him  was  known. 
Which  wandering  spirits  shruik  to  hear ; 

And  many  a  lay  of  potent  tone, 
Was  never  meant  for  mortal  ear. 

"  Long  have  I  sought  sweet  Mary's  heart, 
And  dropp'd  the  tear,  and  heaved  the  sigh 

But  vain  the  lover's  wily  art. 
Beneath  a  sister's  watchful  eye. 

For  there,  'tis  said,  in  mystic  mood, 

High  converse  with  the  dead  they  hold, 

And  oft  espy  the  fated  shroud. 
That  shall  the  future  corpse  enfold. 

"  But  thou  mayst  teach  that  guardian  fair, 
While  far  with  Mary  I  am  flown, 

Of  other  hearts  to  cease  her  care, 
And  find  it  hard  to  guard  her  own. 

0  so  it  fell,  that  on  a  day. 

To  rouse  the  red  deer  from  their  den. 
The  Chiefs  have  ta'en  their  distant  way. 

And  scour'd  the  deep  Glenfinlas  glen. 

"  Touch  but  thy  harp,  thou  soon  shalt  see 

The  lovely  Flora  of  Glengyle, 
Unmindful  of  her  charge  and  me, 

Hang  on  thy  notes,  'twixt  tear  and  smile. 

No  vassals  wait  their  sports  to  aid. 

To  watch  their  safety,  deck  theu-  board ; 

Their  simple  dress,  the  Highland  pliiid, 
Their  trusty  guard,  the  Highland  sword. 

"  Or,  if  she  choose  a  melting  tale, 

All  underneath  the  greenwood  bough, 

Will  good  St.  Gran's  rule  prevail," 

Stern  huntsman  of  the  rigid  brow  ?" — 

Three  summer  days,  through  brake  and  dell, 
Their  wliistling  shafts  successful  flew ; 

And  still,  when  dewy  evemng  fell. 
The  quarry  to  their  hut  they  drew. 

"  Since  Enrick's  fight,  since  Morna's  death. 
No  more  on  me  shall  rapture  rise. 

Responsive  to  the  panting  breath. 
Or  yielding  kiss,  or  melting  eyes. 

In  gray  Glenfinlas'  deepest  nook 

The  solitary  cabin  stood. 
Fast  by  Moneira's  sullen  brook. 

Which  murmurs  through  that  lonely  wood. 

"  E'en  then,  when  o'er  the  heath  of  woe. 
Where  sunk  my  hopes  of  love  and  fame, 

I  bade  my  harp's  wild  wailings  flow, 
On  me  the  Seer's  sad  spirit  came. 

Soft  fell  the  night,  the  sky  was  calm, 
When  three  successive  days  had  flown ; 

And  smnmer  mist  in  dewy  balm 

Steep'd  heathy  bank,  and  mossy  stone. 

"  The  last  dread  curse  of  angry  heaven. 
With  ghastly  sights  and  sounds  of  woe, 

To  dash  each  glimpse  of  joy  was  given — 
Tlie  gift,  the  future  ill  to  know. 

The  moon,  half-hid  in  silvery  flakes. 
Afar  her  dubious  radiance  shed, 

Quivering  on  Katrine's  distant  lakes. 
And  restmg  on  Benledi's  head. 

"  The  bark  thou  saw'st,  yon  summer  mom. 
So  gayly  part  from  Oban's  bay, 

My  eye  beheld  her  dash'd  and  torn. 
Far  on  the  rocky  Colonsay. 

Now  in  their  hut,  in  social  guise, 
Their  silvan  fare  the  Chiefs  enjoy ; 

^d  pleasure  laughs  in  Ronald's  eyes, 
As  many  a  pledge  he  quaifs  to  Moy 

"  Tliy  Fergus  too — thy  sister's  son, 

Thou  saw'st,  with  pride,  the  gallant's  power 

As  marching  'gainst  the  Lord  of  Downe, 
He  left  the  skirts  of  huge  Benmore. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


591 


"  Thou  only  saw'st  their  tartans*  wave, 
As  down  Benvoirlich's  side  they  wound, 

Heai'd'st  but  the  pibroch,"  answering  brave 
To  many  a  target  clanking  round. 

'  I  heard  the  gi'oans,  I  mark'd  the  tears, 

I  saw  the  wound  his  bosom  bore, 
When  on  the  serried  Saxon  spears 

lie  pour'd  his  clan's  resistless  roar. 

"  And  thou,  who  bidst  me  think  of  bliss, 
And  bidst  my  heart  awake  to  glee, 

And  court,  hke  thee,  the  wanton  kiss — 
That  heart,  0  Ronald,  bleeds  for  thee ! 

"  I  see  the  death-damps  chiU  thy  brow ; 

I  hear  thy  Warning  Spiiit  cry ;  [now . . . 

The    corpse-lights    dance  —  they're    gone,   and 

No  more  is  given  to  gifted  eye  1" 

"  Alone  enjoy  thy  dreary  dreams, 

Sad  prophet  of  the  evil  hour  ! 
Say,  should  we  scorn  joy's  transient  beams, 

Because  to-morrow's  storm  may  lour  ? 

"  Or  false,  or  sooth,  thy  words  of  woe, 
ClangilUan's  Cliieftain  ne'er  shall  fear ; 

His  blood  shall  bound  at  rapture's  glow. 
Though  doom'd  to  stain  the  Saxon  spear. 

"  E'en  now,  to  meet  me  in  yon  dell, 
My  Mary's  buskins  brush  the  dew." 

He  spoke,  nor  bade  the  Chief  farewell. 
But  call'd  his  dogs,  and  gay  withdrew. 

Within  an  hour  return'd  each  hound ; 

In  rush'd  the  rousers  of  the  deer ; 
Tliey  howl'd  in  melancholy  sound. 

Then  closely  couch'd  beside  the  Seer. 

Fo  Ronald  yet ;  though  midnight  came, 
And  sad  were  Moy's  prophetic  dreams. 

As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  flame. 

He  fed  the  watch-fire's  quivering  gleams. 

Sudden  the  hounds  erect  their  ears. 
And  sudden  cease  their  moaning  howl ; 

Close  press'd  to  Moy,  they  mark  their  fears 
By  shivering  limbs  and  stifled  gi'owL 

Untouch'd,  the  harp  began  to  ring, 
As  softly,  slowly,  oped  the  door; 

And  shook  responsive  every  strmg, 
As  hght  a  footstep  press'd  the  floor. 

1  Tartans — The  full  Highland  dress,  made  of  the  checkered 
AaSso  termed. 


And  by  the  watch-fire's  glimmering  light. 
Close  by  the  minstrel's  side  was  seen 

A  huntress  maid,  in  beauty  bright, 
All  dropping  wet  her  robes  of  green. 

All  dropping  wet  her  garments  seem ; 

Chill' d  was  her  cheek,  her  bosom  bare, 
As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  gleam. 

She  wrung  the  moisture  fi'om  her  hair. 

With  maiden  blush,  she  softly  said, 
"  0  gentle  huntsman,  hast  thou  seen. 

In  deep  Gleufinlas'  moonlight  glade, 
A  lovely  maid  in  vest  of  green : 

"  With  her  a  Chief  in  Highland  pride ; 

His  shoulders  bear  the  hunter's  bow, 
The  mountain  dirk  adorns  his  side. 

Far  on  the  wind  his  tartans  flow  ?'' — 

"  And  who  art  thou  ?  and  who  are  they  ?" 

All  ghastly  gazing,  Moy  replied : 
"  And  why,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray, 

Dare  ye  thus  roam  Glenfinlas'  side  ?" — 

"  Where  wild  Loch  Katrine  pours  her  tide. 
Blue,  dark,  and  deep,  round  many  an  isle. 

Our  father's  towers  o'erhang  her  side. 
The  castle  of  the  bold  Glengyle. 

"  To  chase  the  dun  Glenfinlas  deer, 

Our  woodland  course  tliis  mom  we  bore. 

And  haply  met,  while  wandering  here. 
The  son  of  great  MacgiUiauore. 

"  0  aid  me,  then,  to  seek  the  pair, 
Whom,  loitering  in  the  woods,  I  lost ; 

Alone,  I  dare  not  venture  there. 

Where  walks,  they  say,  the  shrieking  ghost."— 

"  Yes,  many  a  shi-ieking  ghost  walks  there ; 

Then,  first,  my  own  sad  vow  to  keep, 
Here  will  I  pour  my  midnight  prayer, 

Which  still  must  rise  when  mortals  sleep." — 

"  0  first,  for  pity's  gentle  sake, 

Guide  a  lone  wanderer  on  her  way ! 

For  I  must  cross  the  haunted  brake, 

And  reach  my  father's  towers  ere  day." — 

"  First,  three  times  teU  each  Ave-bead, 

And  thrice  a  Pater-noster  say ; 
Then  kiss  with  me  the  holy  rede ; 

So  shall  we  safely  wend  oiu"  way."— 

2  Pibroch — A  piece  of  martial  masic,  adapted  to  the  High* 
land  bagpipe. 


592 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


«  0  shame  to  knighthood,  strange  and  foul 
Go,  doff  the  bonnet  from  thy  brow, 

And  shroud  thee  in  the  monkish  cowl, 
Which  best  befits  thy  sullen  vow. 

"  Not  so,  by  high  Dunlathmon's  fire, 
Thy  heart  was  froze  to  love  and  joy, 

When  gayly  rung  thy  raptur'd  lyre 
To  wanton  Morna's  meltmg  eye." 

WUd  stared  the  minstrel's  eyes  of  flame, 

And  high  his  sable  locks  arose. 
And  quick  his  color  went  and  came, 

As  fear  and  rage  alternate  rose. 

"  And  thou !  when  by  the  blazing  oak 

I  lay,  to  her  and  love  resign'd, 
Say,  rode  ye  on  the  eddymg  smoke, 

Or  sail'd  ye  on  the  midnight  wind  ? 

"  Not  thine  a  race  of  mortal  blood, 
Nor  old  Glengyle's  pretended  line ; 

Thy  dame,  the  Lady  of  the  Flood — 
Thy  sire,  the  Monarch  of  the  Mine." 

He  mutter'd  thrice  St.  Oran's  rhyme, 
And  thricb  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer ; 

Then  turn'd  him  to  the  eastern  clhne. 
And  sternly  shook  his  coal-black  hair. 

And,  bending  o'er  his  harp,  he  flung 
His  wildest  witch-notes  on  the  wind ; 

And  loud,  and  Iiigh,  and  strange,  they  rung, 
As  many  a  magic  change  they  find. 

Tall  wax'd  the  Spirit's  altering  form, 
TiU  to  the  roof  her  stature  grew ; 

Then,  mingling  with  the  rising  storm, 
With  one  wUd  yell  away  she  flew. 

Rain  beats,  hail  rattles,  whirlwinds  tear : 
The  slender  hut  in  fragments  flew ; 

I  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

"  Lewis's  collection  prodnced  also  what  Scott  jnstly  caUs 
his  '  first  serious  attempts  in  verse  ;'  and  of  these  the  earliest 
appears  to  have  been  the  Glenfinlas.  Here  the  scene  is  laid  in 
the  most  favorite  district  of  his  favorite  Perthshire  Highlands  ; 
and  the  Gaelic  tradition  on  which  it  was  foanded  was  far  more 
likely  to  draw  out  the  secret  strength  of  his  genins,  as  well  as 
to  arrest  the  feelings  of  his  countrymen,  than  any  subject  with 
woich  the  stores  of  German  diablerie  could  have  supplied 


But  not  a  lock  of  Moy's  loose  hair 
Was  waved  by  wind,  or  wet  by  dew. 

WUd  mingling  with  the  howling  gale, 
Loud  bursts  of  ghastly  laughter  rise ; 

High  o'er  the  minstrel's  head  they  sail, 
And  die  amid  the  northern  skies. 

The  voice  of  thunder  shook  the  wood. 
As  ceased  the  more  than  mortal  yell ; 

And,  spattering  foul,  a  shower  of  blood 
Upon  the  hissing  firebrands  fell. 

Next  dropp'd  from  high  a  mangled  arm ; 

The  fingers  strain'd  a  half-drawn  blade : 
And  last,  the  life-blood  streaming  warm, 

Torn  from  the  trunk,  a  gasping  head. 

Oft  o'er  that  head,  in  battling  field, 

Stream'd  the  proud  crest  of  high  Benmore ; 

That  arm  the  broad  claymore  could  wield, 
"^liich  dyed  the  Teith  with  Saxon  gore. 

Woe  to  Moneira's  sullen  rOls ! 

Woe  to  Glenfinlas'  dreary  glen ! 
Tliere  never  son  of  Albin's  hills 

Shall  di-aw  the  himter's  shaft  a^jen ! 

E'en  the  tired  pilgrim's  btu-ning  feot 
At  noon  shall  shun  that  sheltering  den, 

Lest,  journeying  in  their  rage,  he  meet 
The  wayward  Ladies  of  the  Glen. 

And  we — behind  the  Chieftain's  shield. 
No  more  shall  we  in  safety  dwell ; 

None  leads  the  people  to  the  field — 
And  we  the  loud  lament  must  swelL 

0  hone  a  rie' !  0  hone  a  rie' ! 

The  pride  of  Albm's  line  is  o'er ! 
And  falln  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree ; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more ! 

him.  It  has  been  alleged,  however,  that  the  poet  makes  a 
German  use  of  his  Scottish  materials  ;  that  the  legend,  aa 
briefly  told  in  the  simple  prose  of  his  preface,  is  more  affcctivg 
than  the  lofty  and  sonorous  stanzas  themselves ;  that  the 
vague  terror  of  the  original  dream  loses,  instead  of  gaining,  by 
the  expanded  elaboration  of  the  detail  There  may  be  some- 
thing in  these  objections  :  but  no  mas  can  pretend  to  be  ar 
impartial  critic  of  the  piece  which  first  awoke  his  own  childish 
ear  to  the  power  of  poetry  and  the  melody  of  verse.  '—Ltj'e  oj 
Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  25. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


593 


APPENDIX. 


JfoTE  A. 

How  blazed  Lord  Ronald's  beltane-tree. — P.  589. 

The  fires  lighted  by  the  Highlanders,  on  the  first  of  May,  in 
compliance  with  a  custom  derived  from  the  Pagan  times,  are 
termed  The  Beltanc-tree.  It  is  a  festival  celebrated  with  va- 
rious superstitious  rites,  both  in  the  north  of  Scotland  and 
in  Wales. 


Note  B. 


The  seer^ s  prophetic  spirit  found. — P.  590. 

I  can  only  describe  the  second  sight,  by  adopting  Dr.  John- 
son's definition,  who  calls  it  "  An  impression,  either  by  the 
miad  upon  the  eye,  or  by  the  eye  upon  the  mind,  by  which 
things  distant  and  future  are  perceived  and  seen  as  if  they  were 
present."  To  which  I  would  only  add,  that  the  spectral  ap- 
pearances, thus  presented,  usually  presage  misfortune  ;  that  the 
faculty  is  painful  to  those  who  suppose  they  possess  it ;  and 
that  they  usually  acquire  it  while  themselves  under  the  pres- 
sure of  melancholy. 


Note  C. 


Will  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail  ? — P.  591. 

St.  Oran  was  a  friend  and  follower  of  St.  Columba,  and  was 
buried  at  Icolmkill.  His  pretensions  to  be  a  saint  were  rather 
dubious.  According  to  the  legend,  he  consented  to  be  buried 
alive,  in  order  to  propitiate  certain  demons  of  the  soil,  who  ob- 
Btrncted  the  attempts  of  Columba  to  build  a  chapel.  Colnmba 
caused  the  body  of  his  friend  to  be  dug  up,  after  three  days 
had  elapso^l  ;  when  Oran,  to  the  horror  and  scandal  of  the  as- 
sistants, declared,  that  there  was  neither  a  God,  a  judgment, 
nor  a  future  state  !  He  had  no  time  to  make  further  discov- 
eries, for  Columba  caused  the  earth  once  more  to  be  shovelled 
over  him  with  the  utmost  despatch.  The  chapel,  however,  and 
the  cemetery,  was  called  Relig  Oiiran  ;  and,  in  memory  of  his 
rigid  celibacy,  no  female  was  permitted  to  pay  her  devotions, 
or  be  buried  in  that  place.  This  is  the  rule  alluded  to  in  the 
poera. 

75 


Note  D. 
And  thrice  St.  FUlan's  powerful  prayer. — P.  592. 

St.  Fillan  has  given  his  name  to  many  chapels,  holy  fonn- 
tains,  &e.,  in  Scotland.  He  was,  according  to  Camerarius,  an 
Abbot  of  Pittenweem,  in  Fife;  from  which  situation  he  re- 
tired,  and  died  a  hermit  in  the  wilds  of  Glenurchy,  A.  D.  049. 
While  engaged  in  transcribing  the  Scriptures,  his  left  hand 
was  observed  to  send  forth  such  a  splendor,  as  to  afford  light 
to  that  with  which  he  wrote  ;  a  miracle  which  saved  many 
candles  to  the  convent,  as  St.  Fillan  used  to  spend  whole  nights 
in  that  exercise.  The  9th  of  January  was  dedicated  to  this 
saint,  who  gave  his  name  to  Kilfillan,  in  Renfrew,  and  St. 
Phillans,  or  Forgend,  in  Fife.  I^esley,  Ub.  7,  tells  us,  that 
Robert  the  Bruce  was  possessed  of  Fillan's  miraculous  and 
luminous  arm,  which  he  enclosed  in  a  silver  shrine,  and  had  it 
carried  at  the  head  of  his  army.  Previous  to  the  Battle  of 
Bannockburn,  the  king's  chaplain,  a  man  of  little  faith,  ab- 
stracted the  relic,  and  deposited  it  in  a  place  of  security,  lest  it 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  English.  But,  lo  I  while  Rob- 
ert was  addressing  his  prayers  to  the  empty  casket,  it  was  ob- 
served to  open  and  shut  suddenly  ;  and,  on  inspection,  tha 
saint  was  found  to  have  himself  deposited  his  arm  in  the  shrin» 
as  an  assurance  of  victory.  Such  is  the  tale  of  Lesley.  But 
though  Bruce  little  needed  that  the  arm  of  St.  Fillan  should 
assist  his  own,  he  dedicated  to  him,  in  gratitude,  a  priory  at 
Killin,  npon  Loch  Tay. 

In  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1802,  there  is  a  copy  of  a 
very  curious  crown  grant,  dated  11th  July,  1467,  by  which 
James  III.  confirms,  to  Malice  Doire,  an  inhabitant  of  Strath- 
fiUan,  in  Perthshire,  the  peaceable  exercise  and  enjoyment  of  a 
relic  of  St.  Fillan,  being  apparently  the  head  of  a  pastoral 
staff  called  the  Quegrich,  which  he  and  his  predecessors  ara 
said  to  have  possessed  since  the  days  of  Robert  Brace.  As  the 
Quegrich  was  used  to  cure  diseases,  this  document  is  probably 
the  most  ancient  patent  ever  granted  for  a  quack  medicine. 
The  ingenious  correspondent,  by  whom  it  is  famished,  farther 
observes,  that  additional  particulars,  concerning  St.  Fillan,  are 
to  be  found  in  Bellenden's  Boece,  Book  4,  folio  ccxiii.,  and 
in  Pennant's  Tour  in  Scotland,  1772,  pp.  11,  15. 

See  a  note  on  the  lines  in  the  first  canto  of  Marmion.      .  , 

"  Thence  to  St.  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  phrensied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore, ' '  &c. — Ed 


694 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1 


®l)e  (Bvt  of  St  Jcl)n» 


Smatlho'me,  or  Smallholm  Tower,  the  scene  of 
the  following  ballad,  is  situated  on  the  northern 
boundary  of  Roxburghshire,  among  a  cluster  of 
■wild  rocks,  called  Sandiknow '-Crags,  the  property 
of  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden  [now  Lord  Pol- 
warth].  Tlie  tower  is  a  high  square  building,  sur- 
rounded by  an  outer  wall,  now  ruinous.  The  cir- 
cuit of  the  outer  court,  being  defended  on  three 
sides,  by  a  precipice  and  morass,  is  accessible  only 
fi-oni  the  west,  by  a  steep  and  rocky  path,  llie 
apartments,  as  is  usual  in  a  Border  keep,  or  for- 
tress, are  placed  one  above  another,  and  commu- 
nicate by  a  narrow  stair ;  on  the  roof  are  two  bar- 
tizans, or  platforms,  for  defence  or  pleasure.  The 
inner  door  of  the  tower  is  wood,  the  outer  an  iron 
gate ;  the  distance  between  them  being  nine  feet, 
the  thickness,  namely,  of  the  wall.  From  the  ele- 
Tated  situation  of  Smayliio'me  Tower,  it  is  seen 
many  miles  in  every  dii-ection.  Among  the  crags 
by  which  it  is  surrounded,  one,  more  eminent,  is 
called  the  Watchfold,  and  is  said  to  have  been  the 
station  of  a  beacon,  in  the  times  of  war  with  Eng- 
land. "Without  the  tower-court  is  a  ruined  chapel. 
Brotherst(jne  is  a  heath,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Smayliio'me  Tower. 

This  ballad  was  first  printed  in  Mr.  Lewis's 
Tales  of  Wonder.  It  is  here  published,  with  some 
additional  illustrations,  pai'ticularly  an  account  of 
the  battle  of  Ancram  Moor ;  which  seemed  proper 
in  a  work  upon  Border  antiquities.  The  catastro- 
phe of  the  tale  is  founded  upon  a  well-known  L"ish 
tradition.'^  Tliis  ancient  fortress  and  its  vicinity 
formed  the  scene  of  the  Editor's  infancy,  and 
seemed  to  claim  from  him  this  attempt  to  cele- 
brate them  in  a  Border  tale.' 


'  "  This  place'  is  rendered  interesting  to  poetical  readers, 
by  its  having  been  the  residence,  in  early  life,  of  Mr.  Walter 
Scott,  who  has  celebrated  it  in  his  '  Eve  of  St.  John.'  To  it 
he  probably  alludes  in  the  introduction  to  the  third  cajito  of 
Marmion. 

'  Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
Which  charmed  my  fancy's  wakening  liour.'  " 

Scots  Mag.  Marcli,  1809. 

2  The  following  passage,  in  Dr.  Henry  T/ore's  JJppcndix 
to  the  JIntidote  against  .^theism,  relates  to  a  similar  phenom- 
enon : — "  I  confess,  that  the  bodies  of  devils  may  not  be  only 
■warm,  hut  sind^ingly  hot,  as  it  was  in  him  that  took  one  of 
Melancthon's  relations  by  the  hand,  and  so  scorched  her,  that 

1  The  farm-houfiO  in  the  Immediate  vicinity  of  Smailliolm. 


^t  aFt)e  of  0t.  lol)n. 

The  Baron  of  Smaylho'me  rose  with  day, 

He  spurr'd  his  courser  on, 
Without  stop  or  stay,  down  the  rocky  way. 

That  leads  to  Brotherstone. 

He  went  not  with  the  bold  Buccleuch, 

His  banner  broad  to  rear ; 
He  went  not  'gainst  the  English  yew, 

To  lift  the  Scottish  spear. 

Yet  his  plate-jack*  was  braced,  and  his  helmet 
was  laced, 

And  hie  vaimt-brace  of  proof  he  wore ; 
At  his  saddle-gertlie  was  a  good  steel  sperthe, 

Full  ten  pound  weight  and  more. 

The  Baron  return'd  in  three  days  space, 

And  his  looks  were  sad  and  sour ; 
And  weary  was  his  courser's  paco. 

As  he  reach'd  his  rocky  tower. 

He  came  not  from  where  Ancram  Moor* 

Ran  red  with  Enghsh  blood ; 
Where  tlie  Douglas  true,  and  the  bold  Buccleuch, 

'Gauist  keen  Lord  Evers  stood. 

Yet  was  his  helmet  hack'd  and  hew'd, 

His  acton  pierced  and  tore, 
His  axe  and  his  dagger  with  blood  imbrued, — 

But  it  was  not  English  gore. 

He  lighted  at  the  Chapellage, 
He  held  him  close  and  still ; 


she  bare  the  mark  of  it  to  her  dying  day.     Bnt  the  examprea 
of  cold  are  more  frequent  ;  as  in  that  famous  story  ofCuntius, 
when  he  touched  the  arm  of  a  certain  woman  of  Pentoeh,  as 
she  lay  in  her  bed,  lie  felt  as  cold  as  ice  ;  and  so  did  the  spirit' 
claw  to  Anne  Styles."— £rf.  1662,  p.  135. 
3  See  the  Introduction  to  the  third  canto  of  Marmion.  .  . 

"  It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild. 
Where  naked  clifls  were  rudely  piled  ; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  softest  greei. ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wallflower  grew,"  &c. — to. 

<  The  plate-jack  is  coat-armor;  the  vaunt- brace,  or  warn- 
brace,  armor  for  the  body  ;  the  sperthe,  a  battle-axe. 
^  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


f 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


595 


Aiid  he  whistled  thrice  for  his  little  foot-page 


His  name  was  English  Will. 


"  Come  thou  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 

Come  liither  to  my  knee  ; 
Though  thou  art  young,  and  tender  of  age, 

I  think  thou  art  true  to  me. 

"  Come,  tell  me  all  that  thou  hast  seen. 

And  look  thou  tell  me  true  ! 
Since  I  from  Smaylho'me  tower  have  been, 

What  did  thy  lady  dof— 

"  My  lady,  each  night,  sought  the  lonely  light, 
That  burns  on  the  wild  Watchfold  ; 

For,  from  hciglit  to  height,  the  beacons  bright 
Of  the  Euglish  foemen  told. 

"  The  Intern  clamor'd  from  the  moss, 

The  wind  blew  loud  and  shrill ; 
Yet  the  craggy  pathway  she  did  cross 

To  the  eu-y  Beacon  Hill. 

"  I  watch'd  her  steps,  and  silent  came 

Where  she  sat  lier  on  a  stone  ; 
No  watchman  stood  by  the  dreary  flame, 

It  burned  all  alone. 

"  The  second  night  I  kept  her  in  sight. 

Till  to  the  fire  she  came, 
And,  by  Mary's  might !  an  Armed  BJiigM; 

Stood  by  the  lonely  flame. 

**  And  many  a  word  that  wtirhke  l^rd 

Did  speak  to  my  lady  there ; 
But  the  ni'ip.  fell  fast,  and  loud  blew  the  blast, 

And  I  heard  not  what  they  were. 

"  Tlie  third  night  there  the  sky  was  feir, 

And  the  mount;iin-bIast  was  still. 
As  again  I  watch'd  the  secret  pair, 

On  the  lonesome  Beacon  Hili 

* 

"  And  I  heard  her  name  the  midnighl  hour, 

And  name  this  holy  eve  ; 
And  say,  '  Come  tliis  night  to  thy  lady's  bower ; 

Ask  no  bold  Baron's  leave. 

" '  He  lifts  liis  spear  vith  the  bold  Buccleuch ; 

His  lady  is  all  alone  ; 
The  door  she'll  undo,  to  her  knight  so  true, 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John.' — 


1  The  b'ick-rcod  of  Melrose  was  a  crucifix  of  black  marble, 
and  of  superior  sn.ictity. 

s  Dr;  jorgl-  AbKy  L,  beautifully  si'.oated  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tweed.  After  its  jisfjluli'jn,  it  became  the  property  of  the 
Ualliburtons  of  Mewiu^uis,  and  i»  now  the  seat  of  the  Right 


" '  I  cannot  come ;  I  must  not  come ; 

I  dare  not  come  to  thee  ; 
On  the  eve  of  St.  John  I  must  wander  alone : 

In  thy  bower  I  may  not  be.' — 

" '  Now,  out  on  thee,  faint-hearted  knight  1 

Thou  shouldst  not  say  me  nay ; 
For  the  eve  is  sweet,  and  when  lovers  meet. 

Is  worth  the  whole  sunmier's  day. 

" '  And  I'll  cliain  the  blood-hound,  and  the  warder 
shall  not  sound. 
And  rushes  shall  be  strew'd  on  the  stair ; 
So,    by  the  black    rood-stone,'   and  by  holy  St. 
John, 
I  conjure  thee,  my  love,  to  be  there  !' — 

" '  Though  the  blood-hound  be  mute,  and  the  rush 
beneath  my  foot, 
And  the  warder  liis  bugle  should  not  blow, 
Yet  there  sleepeth  a  priest  in  the  chamber  to  the 
east. 
And  my  footstep  he  would  know.' — 

" '  O  fear  not  the  priest,  who  sleepeth  to  the  east ; 

For  to  Dryburgh^  the  way  he  has  ta'en ; 
And  there  to  say  mass,  tiU  three  days  do  pass. 

For  the  soul  of  a  knight  that  is  slayne.' — 

"  He  turn'd  him  arotmd,  and  grimly  he  frown'd ; 

Tlien  he  laugh'd  right  scornfully — 
'  He  who  says  the  mass-rite  for  the  soul  of  that 
knightj 

May  as  well  say  mass  for  me  : 

" '  At  the  lone  midnight   hoiu",  when  bad  spirits 
have  power, 

In  thy  chamber  will  I  be.' — 
With  that  he  was  gone,  and  my  lady  left  alone. 

And  no  more  did  I  see." 

Then  changed,  I  trow,  was  that  bold  Baron's  brow, 
From  the  dark  to  the  blood-red  high. 

"  Now,  tell  me  the  mien  of  the  knight  thou  hast 
seen, 
For,  by  Mary,  he  shall  die  !" — 

"  His  arms  shone  fidl  bright,  in  the  beacon's  red 
light; 

His  plume  it  was  scarlet  and  blue  ; 
On  Ills  sliield  was  a  hound,  in  a  silver  leash  bound, 

And  his  crest  was  a  branch  of  the  yew." — 


Honorable  the  Earl  of  Bnchan.  It  belonged  to  the  order  ol 
Premonstratenses. — [Tlie  ancient  Barons  of  Newinains  wer« 
ultimately  represented  by  .>-'ir  Walter  Scott,  whose  remainsoow 
repose  in  tlie  cemetery  at  Dryburgli.— Ed.j 


S9G                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

"  Thou  liest,  thou  liest,  thou  little  foot-page, 

And  oft  to  himself  he  said, — 

Loud  dost  thou  lie  to  me  ! 

"The  worms  around  him  creep,  and  lus  bloody 

For  that  knight  is  cold,  and  low  laid  in  the  mould. 

grave  is  deep 

All  under  the  Eildon-tree."— ' 

It  cannot  give  up  the  dead !" — 

"  Yet  liear  but  my  word,  my  noble  lord  ! 

It  was  near  the  ringmg  of  matin-beU, 

For  I  heard  her  name  his  name  ; 

The  night  was  wellnigh  done. 

And  tliat  lady  bright,  she  called  the  knight 

When  a  lieavy  sleep  on  that  Baron  fell, 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame." — 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John. 

The  bold  Baron's  brow  then  changed,  I  trow. 

The  lady  look'd  through  the  chamber  fair, 

From  high  blood-red  to  pale — 

By  the  light  of  a  dying  flame ; 

"  The  grave  is  deep  and  dark — and  the  corpse  is 

And  she  was  aware  of  a  knight  stood  there — 

stiff  and  stark — 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame ! 

So  I  may  not  trust  thy  tale. 

"  Alas !  away,  away  !"  she  cried. 

"  Where  fair  Tweed  flows  round  holy  Melrose, 

"  For  tlie  holy  Vu-gin's  sake  !"— 

And  Eildon  slopes  to  the  plain, 

"  Lady,  I  know  who  sleeps  by  thy  side ; 

Full  three  nights  ago,  by  some  secret  foe, 

But,  lady,  he  wUl  not  awake.                 ^ 

That  gay  gallant  was  slain. 

"  By  Eildon-tree,  for  long  nights  three, 

"The  varying  light  deceived  thy  sight, 

In  bloody  grave  have  I  lain ; 

And  the  wild  winds  drown'd  the  name ; 

Tlie  mass  and  the  death-prayer  are  said  for  me. 

For  the  Dryburgh  bells  ring,  and  the  wliite  monks 
do  sing, 
For  Su-  Richard  of  Coldmghame !" 

But,  lady,  they  are  said  in  vain. 

"  By  tlie  Baron's  brand,  near  Tweed's  fair  strand, 

Most  foully  slain,  I  fell ; 

He  pass'd  the  court-gate,  and  he  oped  the  tower- 

And  my  restless  sprite  on  the  beacon's  height, 

And  he  moxmted  the  narrow  stair,              [gate. 

For  a  space  is  doom'd  to  dwell. 

To  the  bartizan-seat,  where,  with  maids  that  on 

her  wait. 

"  At  oiu-  trysting-place,^  for  a  certain  space, 

He  found  his  lady  fan-. 

I  must  wander  to  and  fro ; 

But  I  had  not  had  power  to  come  to  thy 

That  lady  sat  in  mournful  mood ; 

bower. 

Look'd  over  hill  and  vale ; 

Had'st  thou  not  conjured  me  so." — 

Over  Tweed's  fair  flood,  and  Mertoun's'  wood, 

And  all  down  Teviotdale. 

Love  master'd  fear — her  brow  she  cross'd ; 

"  How,  Richard,  hast  thou  sped  ? 

"  Now  hail,  now  hail,  thou  lady  bright !" — 

And  art  thou  saved,  or  art  thou  lost  ?" — 

"  Kow  liail,  thou  Baron  true  ! 

The  vision  shook  liis  head ! 

What  news,  what  news,  from  Ancram  fight  ? 

What  news  from  the  bold  Buccleuch  ?" — 

"  Who  spilleth  life,  sliall  forfeit  life  ; 

So  bid  thy  lord  believe  : 

"  The  Ancram  Moor  is  red  with  gore, 

That  lawless  love  is  guilt  above. 

For  many  a  southron  fell ; 

This  awful  sign  receive." 

And  Buccleuch  has  charged  us,  evermore, 

To  watch  our  beacons  well." — 

He  laid  his  left  palm  on  an  oaken  beam  ; 

His  right  upon  her  hand  ; 

llie  lady  blush'd  red,  but  nothing  she  said : 

The  lady  shrunk,  and  fainting  sunk. 

Nor  added  the  Baron  a  word  : 

For  it  scorch'd  like  a  fiery  brand 

'llien  she  stepp'd  down  the  stah  to  her  chamber  fair, 

And  so  did  her  moody  lord. 

The  sable  score,  of  fingers  four. 

Remains  on  that  board  impress'd ; 

In  sleep  the  lady  moiu:n'd,  and  the  Baron  toss'd 

And  for  evermore  that  lady  wore 

and  turn'd. 

A  covering  on  her  wrist. 

>  Eildon  is  a  high  hill,  terminating  in  three  conical  summits. 

where  Thomas  the  Rhymer  uttered  his  prophecies.    See  p.  57V 

directly  ahove  the  town  of  Melrose,  where  are  the  admired  ruins 

'^  Mertoun  is  the  beautiful  seat  of  Lord  Polwarth. 

■       of  a  magnificent  monastery.     Eildon-tree  13  said  to  be  the  spot 

'  Try  sting-place — Place  of  rendezvous. 

CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


597 


ITiere  is  a  nun  in  Dryburgh  bower, 

Ne'er  looks  upon  the  sun ; 
There  is  a  monk  in  Mekose  tower, 

He  speaketh  word  to  none. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

"  Tile  next  of  tliese  compositions  was,  1  believe,  the  Eve  of 
St  John,  in  which  Scott  re-peoples  the  tower  of  Smailliolm, 
the  awe-inspiring  haunt  of  his  infancy  ;  and  here  he  touches, 
for  the  first  time,  the  one  superstition  which  can  still  be  ap- 
pealed 10  with  full  and  perfect  effect  ;  the  only  one  which  lin- 
gers in  minds  long  since  weaned  from  all  sympathy  with  the 
jiachinery  of  witches  and  goblins.  And  surely  this  mystery 
was  never  touched  with  more  thrilling  skill  than  in  that  noble 


That  nun,  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day,' 

That  monk,  who  speaks  to  none — 
That  nun  was  Smaylho'me's  Lady  gay, 

lliat  monk  tlie  bold  Baron. 

ballad.  It  is  the  first  of  his  original  pieces,  too,  in  which  ha 
uses  the  measure  of  his  own  favorite  Minstrels  ;  a  measure 
wliich  the  monotony  of  mediocrity  had  long  and  successfully 
been  laboring  to  degrade,  but  in  itself  adequate  to  the  expres- 
sion of  tke  highest  thoughts,  as  well  as  the  gentlest  emotions ; 
and  capable,  in  fit  hands,  of  as  rich  a  variety  of  music  as  any 
other  of  modem  times.  This  was  written  at  Medoun-housa 
in  the  autumn  of  1199."— Life  of  Scott,  vol.  li.  p.  26.  Sea 
ante,  p.  568. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

BATTLE  OF  ANCRA.M  MOOR. — P.  594. 

Lord  Evers,  and  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  during  the  year  1544, 
committed  the  most  dreadful  ravages  upon  tlie  Scottish  fron- 
tiers, compelling  most  of  the  inhabitants,  and  especially  the 
men  of  Liddesdale,  to  take  assurance  under  the  King  of  Eng- 
land. Upon  the  17th  November,  in  that  year,  the  sum  total 
of  their  depredations  stood  thus,  in  the  bloody  ledger  of  Lord 
Evers : — 

Towns,  towers,  barnekynes,  paryshe  churches,  bastill 

houses,  burned  and  destroyed,     .  .  .  192 

Scots  slain,  .....  403 

Prisoners  taken,  .....         816 

Nolt  (cattle),         .....  10,386 

Shape, 12,492 

Nags  and  geldings,  ....  1,296 

Gayt, 200 

Boils  of  com,         .....  850 

Insight  gear,  &c.  (furniture)  an  incalculable  quantity. 

Murdin's  State  Papers,  vol.  i.  p.  51. 

For  these  services  Sir  Ralph  Evers  was  made  a  Lord  of  Par- 
liament. See  a  strain  of  exulting  congratulation  upon  his  pro- 
motion poured  forth  by  some  contemporary  minstrel,  in  vol.  i. 
p.  417. 

The  King  of  England  had  promised  to  these  two  barons  a 
feudal  grant  of  the  country,  which  they  had  thus  reduced  to  a 
desert ;  upon  hearing  which,  Archibald  Douglas,  the  seventh 
Earl  of  Angus,  is  said  to  have  sworn  to  write  the  deed  of  in- 
vestiture upon  their  skins,  with  sharp  pens  and  bloody  ink,  in 
TMentment  for  their  having  defaced  the  tombs  of  his  ancestors 
at  Melrose. — Oodscroft.  In  1545,  Lord  Evers  and  Latoun 
again  entered  Scotland,  with  an  army  consisting  of  3000  mei^ 
eenaries,  1500  English  Borderers,  and  700  assured  Scottish 
men,  chiefly  Armstrongs,  Turnbulls,  and  other  broken  clans. 
In  this  second  incursion,  the  English  generals  even  exceeded 
their  former  cruelty.  Evers  burned  the  tower  of  Broomhouse, 
with  its  lady  (a  noble  and  aged  woman,  says  Lesley),  and  her 

1  The  editor  has  found  no  instance  npon  record,  of  this  family  having 
taken  assurance  with  England.  Hence  they  usually  suflered  dreadfully 
from  the  English  forays.  In  August,  1544  (the  year  preceding  the  haitle), 
the  whole  lands  belonging  to  Buccleuch,  in  West  Teviotdale,  were  harried 
by  Evers ;  the  outworks,  or  bamikin,  of  the  tower  of  Branxhohn  burned  ; 
t'i^ht  Scotts  Blain,  thirty  made  prifioners,  and  an  immense  prey  of  horses. 


whole  family.  The  English  penetrated  as  far  as  Melrose, 
which  they  had  destroyed  last  year,  and  which  they  now  again 
pillaged.  As  they  returned  towards  Jedburgh,  they  were  fol- 
lowed by  Angus  at  the  head  of  1009  horse,  who  was  shortly 
after  joined  by  the  famous  Norman  Lesley,  with  a  body  of 
Fife-men.  The  English,  being  probably  unwilling  to  cross  the 
Teviot  while  the  Scots  hurtg  upon  their  rear,  halted  npon  An- 
cram  Moor,  above  the  village  of  that  name ;  and  the  Scottish 
general  was  deliberating  whether  to  advance  or  retire,  when 
Sir  Walter  Scott, i  of  Buccleuch,  came  up  at  full  speed  with  a 
small  but  chosen  body  of  his  retainers,  the  rest  of  whom  were 
near  at  hand.  By  the  advice  of  this  experienced  warrior  (tc 
whose  conduct  Pitscottie  and  Buchanan  ascrfoe  the  success  of 
the  engagement),  Angus  withdrew  from  the  height  which  he 
occupied,  and  drew  up  his  forces  behind  it,  upon  a  piece  of 
low  fiat  ground,  called  Panier-heugh,  or  Paniel-heugh.  The 
spare  horses  being  sent  to  an  eminence  in  their  rear,  appeared 
to  the  English  to  be  the  main  body  of  the  Scots  in  the  act  of 
flight.  Under  this  persuasion,  Evers  and  Latoun  hurried  pro 
cipitately  forward,  and  having  ascended  the  hill,  which  their 
foes  had  abandoned,  were  no  less  dismayed  than  astonished  to 
find  the  phalanx  of  Scottish  spearmen  drawn  up,  in  firm  array, 
npon  the  flat  ground  below.  The  Scots  in  their  turn  became 
the  assailants.  A  heron,  roused  from  the  marshes  by  the  tu- 
mult, soared  away  betwixt  the  encountering  armies:  "O!" 
exclaimed  Angus,  "  that  I  had  here  my  white  goss-hawk,  that 
we  might  all  yoke  at  once!" — Oodscroft.  The  English, 
breathless  and  fatigued,  having  the  setting  sun  and  wind  full 
in  their  faces,  were  unable  to  withstand  the  resolute  and  des- 
perate charge  of  the  Scottish  lances.  No  sooner  had  they  be- 
gun to  waver,  than  their  own  allies,  the  assured  Borderers, 
who  had  been  waiting  the  event,  threw  aside  their  red  crosses, 
and,  joining  their  countrymen,  made  a  most  merciless  slaughter 
among  the  English  fugitives,  the  pursuers  calling  npon  each 
other  to  "  remember  Broomhouse  !" — Lesley,  p.  478. 

In  the  battle  fell  Lord  Evers,  and  his  son,  together  with  Sir 
Brian  Latoun,  and  800  Englishmen,  many  of  whom  were  per- 
sons of  rank.  A  thousand  prisoners  were  taken.  Among 
these  was  a  patriotic  alderman  of  London,  Read  by  name, 
who,  having  contumaciously  refused  to  pay  his  portion  of  a 

cattle,  and  sheep,  carried  off.  The  lands  upon  KtUe  Water,  belonging  to 
the  same  chieftain,  were  also  plundered,  and  much  spoil  obtained  ;  thirty 
Scotts  slain,  and  the  Moss  Tower  (a  fortress  near  Eckford)  smoked  mrj 
sore.  Thus  Buccleuch  had  a  long  account  to  settle  at  Aucram  Moor. — 
Murdin's  State  Papers,  pp.  45,46. 


598 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


benevolence,  demanded  from  the  city  by  Henry  VIII.,  was 
sent  by  royal  authority  to  serve  against  the  Scots.  These,  at 
settling  liis  ransom,  he  found  still  more  exorbitant  in  their 
exaclions  than  the  monarch. — Rkdpath's  Border  History, 
p.  563. 

Ever?  was  much  regretted  by  King  Henry,  who  swore  to 
avenge  his  death  upon  Angus,  against  whom  he  conceived 
himself  to  have  particular  grounds  of  resentment,  on  account 
of  favors  received  by  the  earl  at  his  hands.  The  .answer  of 
Anffus  was  worthy  of  a  Uonglas  :  "  Is  our  brother-in-law  of- 
fended,"' said  he,  "  that  I,  as  a  good  Scotsman,  have  avenged 
my  ravaged  country,  and  the  defaced  tombs  of  my  ancestors, 
upon  Ralph  Evers  ?  They  were  better  men  than  he,  and  I 
was  hound  to  do  no  less — and  will  he  take  my  life  for  that  1 
Little  knows  King  Henry  the  skirts  of  Kirnetable  :2  I  can  keep 
myself  there  against  all  his  English  host." — Godscroft. 

Such  was  the  noted  battle  of  Ancram  Moor.  The  spot,  on 
which  it  was  fought,  is  called  Lilyard's  Edge,  from  an  Ama- 
zonian Scottish  woman  of  that  name,  who  is  reported,  by  tra- 
dition, to  have  distinguished  herself  in  the  same  manner  as 
Squire  Witherington.3  The  old  people  ])oint  out  her  monu- 
ment, now  broken  and  defaced.  The  inscription  is  said  to  have 
been  legible  within  this  century,  and  to  have  run  thus  : 

"  Fair  maiden  Lytliard  lies  under  this  stane. 
Little  was  her  stature,  but  great  was  her  fame  ; 
Upon  the  English  louns  she  laid  mony  thumps. 
And,  when  her  legs  were  cutted  off,  she  fought  upon  her 
bxumps. " 

Vide  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Melrose. 

It  appears,  from  a  passage  in  Stowe,  that  an  ancestor  of 
Lord  Evers  held  also  a  grant  of  Scottish  lands  from  an  English 
monarch.  "I  have  seen,"  says  the  historian,  "under  the 
broad-seale  of  the  said  King  Edward  I.,  a  manor,  called  Ket- 
nes,  in  the  county  of  Forfare,  in  Scotland,  and  neere  the  fur^ 
tliest  part  of  the  same  nation  northward,  given  to  John  Ure 
anti  his  heires,  ancestor  to  the  Lord  Ure,  that  now  is,  for  his 
ee'vice  done  in  these  partes,  with  market,  &c.,  dated  at  Laner- 

1  Angus  had   married  the  widow  of  James  IV.,  sister  to  King  Heurj' 

vrii. 

2  Kirnetable,  now  called  Cftimtable,  is  a  mountainous  tract  at  the  head 


cost,  the  20th  day  of  October,  anno  regis,  34." — Stowe's 
Jlnnals,  p.  210.  This  grant,  like  that  of  Henry,  must  have 
been  dangerous  to  the  receiver. 


Note  B. 
That  nun  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day. — P.  597. 

The  circumstance  of  the  nun,  "  who  never  saw  the  day,"  is 
not  entirely  imaginary.  About  fifty  years  ago,  an  unfortunate 
female  wanderer  took  up  her  residence  in  a  dark  vault,  among 
the  ruins  of  Dryburgh  Abbey,  which,  during  the  day,  she 
never  quitted.  When  night  fell,  she  issued  from  this  miserable 
habitation,  and  went  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Ilaliburton  of  New- 
mains,  the  Editor's  great-grandfather,  or  to  that  of  Mr.  Ers- 
kine  of  Sheilfield,  two  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood.  From 
their  charity,  she  obtained  such  necessaries  as  she  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  accept.  At  twelve,  each  night,  she  lighted 
her  candle,  and  returned  to  her  vault,  assuring  her  friendly 
neighbors,  that,  during  her  absence,  her  habitation  was  ar- 
ranged by  a  spirit,  to  whom  she  gave  the  uncouth  name  of 
Fatlips  ;  describing  him  as  a  little  man,  wearing  heavy  iron 
shoes,  with  which  he  trampled  the  clay  floor  of  the  vault,  to 
dispel  the  damps.  This  circumstance  caused  her  to  be  regard- 
ed, by  the  well-informed,  with  compassion,  as  deranged  in  her 
understanding  ;  and  by  the  vulgar,  with  some  degree  of  terror. 
The  cause  of  lier  adopting  this  extraordinary  mode  of  life  she 
would  never  explain.  It  was,  however,  believed  to  have  been 
occasioned  by  a  vow,  that,  during  the  absence  of  a  man  to 
whom  she  was  attached,  she  would  never  look  upon  the  sun. 
Her  lover  never  returned.  He  fell  during  the  civil  war  of 
1745-6,  and  she  never  more  wonld  behold  the  light  of  day. 

The  vault,  or  rather  dungeon,  in  which  this  unfortunate  wo- 
man lived  and  died,  passes  still  by  the  name  of  the  supernatu- 
ral being,  with  which  its  gloom  was  tenanted  by  her  disturbed 
imagination,  and  few  of  the  uei'ghboring  peasants  dare  enter  it 
by  night.— 1803. 

of  Douglasdale.    [See  notes  to  Castle  DangeroDS,  Waverley  Novel*,  toU 
xlvii,} 
3  See  Chevy  Chase, 


€abii0ui    Castle. 


The  ruins  of  Cadyow,  or  Catlzow  Castle,  the  an- 
cient baronial  residence  of  the  family  of  Hamilton, 
are  situated  upon  the  precipitous  banks  of  the 
river  Evan,  about  two  miles  above  its  junction 
■with  tlie  Clyde.  It  was  di.smantlcd,  in  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  Civil  Vt'^ars,  during  the  reign  of  the  un- 
fortunate Mary,  to  whose  cause  the  house  of  Ham- 
ilton devoted  themselves  with  a  generous  zeal, 
wliich  occasioned  their  temporary  obscurity,  and, 
very  nearly,  tlieir  total  ruin.  The  situation  of  the 
ruins,  embosomed  in  wood,  darkened  by  ivy  and 
creeping  shrubs,  and  ovorhanguig  the  brawling 
torrent,  is  romantic  in  the  liighest  degree.  In  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  Cadyow  is  a  grove  of  im- 
mense oaks,  tlie  rcmams  of  the  Caledonian  Forest, 


which  anciently  extended  through  the  south  of 
Scotland,  from  the  eastern  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
Some  of  these  trees  meivsure  twenty-five  feet,  and 
upwards,  in  cucumference ;  and  the  state  of  decay, 
in  wliich  they  now  appear,  shows  that  they  have 
witnessed  the  rites  of  the  Druids.  The  whole 
scenery  is  included  in  the  magnificent  and  exten- 
sive park  of  the  Duke  of  Hamilton.  There  was 
long  preserved  in  this  forest  the  breed  of  the  Scot- 
tish wild  cattle,  until  their  ferocity  occasioned  their 
being  extirpated,  about  forty  years  ago.'  Their 
appeai'ance  was  beautiful,  being  milk-white,  with 

1  The  breed  had  not  been  entirely  extirpated.  There  re- 
mained certainly  a  magnificent  herd  of  these  ca»<'^  in  Cadyow 
Forest  withm  these  few  years.     1833. — Ej». 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


599 


black  muzzles,  horns,  and  hoofs.  The  bulls  are  dc- 
Bcribod  by  ancient  authors  as  having  wliite  manes ; 
but  those  of  latter  days  had  lost  that  j^eculiarity, 
perhaps  by  mtermixture  with  the  tame  breed.* 

In  detailing  the  death  of  the  Regent  Murray, 
which  is  maile  the  subject  of  the  following  ballad, 
it  would  be  injustice  to  my  reader  to  use  other 
words  than  those  of  Dr.  Robertson,  whose  account 
of  that  memorable  event  forms  a  beautiful  piece 
of  historical  painting. 

"Hamilton  of  Bothwcllhangh  was  the  person 
who  committed  this  barbarous  action.  He  had 
been  condemned  to  death  soon  after  the  battle  of 
Langside,  as  we  have  already  related,  and  owed 
liis  hfe  to  the  Regent's  clemency.  But  part  of  his 
estate  had  been  bestowed  upon  one  of  the  Re- 
gent's favorites,'  who  seized  his  house,  and  turned 
out  his  wife,  naked,  m  a  cold  night,  into  the  open 
fields,  where,  before  next  morning,  she  became 
furiously  mad.  This  injury  made  a  deeper  im- 
pression on  him  than  the  benefit  he  had  received, 
and  from  that  moment  he  vowed  to  be  revenged 
of  the  Regent.  Party  rage  strengthened  and  in- 
flamed bis  private  resentment.  His  kinsmen,  the 
Hamilton?,  applauded  the  enterprise.  The  max- 
ims of  that  age  justified  the  most  desperate  Course 
he  could  take  to  obtain  vengeance.  He  followed 
the  Regent  for  some  time,  and  watched  for  an  op- 
portimity  to  strike  the  blow.  He  resolved  at  last 
to  wait  till  liis  enemy  should  arrive  at  Linlithgow, 
through  which  he  was  to  pass  in  his  way  from  Stir- 
ling to  Edinburgh.  He  took  his  stand  in  a  wooden 
gallery,'  which  had  a  window  towards  the  street ; 
spread  a  feather-bed  on  the  floor  to  hinder  the  noise 
of  his  feet  from  being  heard ;  hung  up  a  black  cloth 
behind  him,  that  liis  shadow  might  not  be  observed 
from  without ;  and,  after  all  this  preparation, 
calmly  expected  the  Regent's  approach,  who  had 
lodged,  dm-ing  the  night,  in  a  house  not  far  distant. 
Some  mdistinct  mformatiou  of  the  danger  which 
threatened  him  had  been  conveyed  to  the  Regent, 
and  he  paid  so  much  regard  to  it,  that  he  resolved 
to  return  by  the  same  gate  through  which  he  had 
entered,  and  to  fetch  a  compass  round  the  town. 
But,  as  the  crowd  about  the  gate  was  great,  and 
he  himself  unacquainted  with  fear,  he  proceeded 
directly  along  the  street ;  and  the  thrtmg  of  peo- 
ple obliging  him  to  move  very  slowly,  gave  the 
assassin  time  to  take  so  true  an  aim,  that  he  shot 
him,  with  a  single  bullet,  through  the  lower  part 
of  his  belly,  and  killed  the  horse  of  a  gentleman 

1  They  were  formerly  kept  in  the  park  at  Drumlanrig,  and 
are  still  to  be  seen  at  Cliillingham  Castle,  in  Northumberland. 
For  their  nature  and  ferocity,  see  Notes. 

2  This  was  Sir  James  Bellenden,  Lord  Justice-Clerk,  whose 
•hameful  and  inhuman  rapacity  occasioned  tlie  catastrophe  in 
ibe  text. — SpoTTlswooDE. 

This  projecting  gallery  is  still  shown.     The  house  to  which 


who  rode  on  his  other  side.  His  followers  in 
stantly  endeavored  to  break  mto  the  hou«e  whence 
the  blow  had  come ;  but  they  found  the  door 
strongly  banicadoed,  and,  before  it  could  be  forced 
open,  Hamilton  liad  mounted  a  fleet  horse,*  which 
stood  ready  for  liim  at  a  back  passage,  and  was  got 
far  beyond  their  reach.  The  Regent  died  the  samo 
night  of  his  woimd." — History  of  Scotland,  book  v 

Bothwellhaugh  rode  straight  to  Hamilton,  wher« 
he  was  received  in  triumph  ;  for  the  ashes  of  the 
houses  in  Clydesdale,  wliich  had  been  burned  by 
Murray's  army,  were  yet  smoldng ;  and  party  pre- 
judice, the  habits  of  the  age,  and  tlie  enormity  of 
the  provocation,  seemed  to  his  kinsmen  to  justify 
the  deed.  After  a  short  abode  at  Hamilton,  this 
fierce  and  determined  man  left  Scotland,  and 
served  in  France,  imder  the  patronage  of  the  fam- 
ily of  Guise,  to  whom  he  was  doubtless  recom- 
mended by  having  avenged  the  cause  of  their 
niece,  Queen  Mary,  upon  her  ungrateful  brother. 
De  ThoA  has  recorded,  that  an  attempt  was  made 
to  engage  him  to  assassinate  Gaspar  de  Coligni, 
the  famous  Admiral  of  France,  and  the  buckler  ot 
the  Huguenot  cause.  But  the  character  of  Both- 
welUiaugh  was  mistaken.  He  was  no  mercenary 
trader  in  blood,  and  rejected  the  offer  with  con- 
tempt and  indignation.  He  had  no  authority,  he 
said,  from  Scotland  to  commit  murders  in  France ; 
he  had  avenged  his  own  just  quarrel,  but  he  would 
neither,  for  price  nor  prayer,  avenge  that  of  an- 
other num. — Thuanus,  cap.  46. 

The  Regent's  death  happened  23d  January, 
1569.  It  is  applauded  or  stigmatized,  by  contem- 
porary historians,  according  to  their  rehgious  or 
party  prejudices.  The  triumph  of  Blackwood  la 
unbounded.  He  not  only  extols  the  pious  feat  of 
Bothwellhaugh,  "  who,"  he  observes,  "  satisfied, 
with  a  single  ounce  of  lead,  him  whose  sacrilegious 
avarice  had  stripped  the  metropolitan  church  of 
St.  Andrews  of  its  covering  ;"  but  he  ascribes  it  to 
immediate  divine  inspiration,  and  the  escape  of 
Hamilton  to  httle  less  than  the  miraculous  inter- 
ference of  the  Deity. — Jebb,  vol.  ii.  p.  263.  "With 
equal  injustice,  it  was,  by  others,  made  the  ground 
of  a  general  national  reflection ;  for,  when  Mather 
urged  Berney  to  assassinate  Burleigh,  and  quoted 
the  examples  of  Poltrot  and  Bothwellhaugh,  the 
other  conspirator  answered,  "that  neyther  Poltrot" 
nor  Hambleton  did  attempt  their  enterpryse,  with- 
out some  reason  or  consideration  to  lead  them  to 
it ;  as  the  one,  by  hyre,  and  promise  of  preferment 


it  was  attached  was  the  property  of  the  Archbishop  of  St.  An- 
drews, a  natural  brother  to  the  Duke  of  Chatelherault,  and 
uncle  to  Bothwellhaugh.  This,  among  other  circumstances, 
seems  to  evince  the  aid  which  Bothwellhaugh  received  'ronj 
his  clan  in  effecting  his  purpose. 

■1  The  gift  of  Lord  John  Hamilton,  Commendator  of  A*, 
broath 


600 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


or  rewarde ;  the  other,  upon  desperate  mind  of  re- 
venge, for  a  lyttle  wrong  done  unto  him,  as  the 
report  goethe,  according  to  the  vyle  trayterous 
iysposysyon  of  the  hoole  natyon  of  the  Scottes." 
— Mukdin's  State  Papers,  vol.  L  p.  197. 


ADDRESSED  TO 
THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 

LADY    ANNE    HAMILTON.! 

When  princely  Hamilton's  abode 
Ennobled  Cadyow's  Gothic  towers. 

The  song  went  round,  the  goblet  flow'd, 
And  revel  sped  the  laughing  hours. 

Then,  thriUing  to  the  harp's  gay  sound, 
So  sweetly  rung  each  vaulted  wall. 

And  echoed  light  the  dancer's  bound. 
As  mirth  and  music  chcer'd  the  hall. 

But  Cadyow's  towers,  in  ruins  laid, 

And  vaults,  by  ivy  mantled  o'er, 
Thrill  to  the  music  of  the  shade. 

Or  echo  Evan's  hoarser  roar. 

Yet  still,  of  Cadyow's  faded  fame. 

You  bid  me  tell  a  minstrel  tale, 
And  tune  my  liai'p,  of  Border  frame, 

On  the  wUd  banks  of  Evandale. 

For  thou,  from  scenes  of  courtly  pride, 
From  pleasure's  lighter  scenes,  canst  turn, 

To  draw  oblivion's  paU  aside, 

And  mark  the  long-forgotten  m'n. 

Then,  noble  maid  !  at  thy  conmiand, 
Again  the  crumbled  halls  shall  rise ; 

Lo !  as  on  Evan's  banks  we  stand. 
The  past  returns — the  present  flies. 

WTiere,  with  the  rock's  wood-cover'd  side, 
Were  blended  late  the  ruins  green, 

iise  turrets  in  fantastic  pride, 
And  feudal  banners  flaimt  between : 

Where  the  rude  torrent's  brawling  course 
Was  shagg'd  with  thorn  and  tangling  sloe, 

The  ashler  buttress  braves  its  force, 
And  ramparts  frown  in  battled  row. 

1  Eldest  (laughter  of  Archibald,  ninth  Duke  of  Hamilton. 
-Ed. 

2  The  head  of  the  family  of  Hamilton,  at  this  period,  was 
/ames,  Earl  of  Arran,  Duke  of  Chatelherault,  in  France,  and 


'Tis  night — the  shade  of  keep  and  spire 
Obscurely  dance  on  Evan's  stream ; 

And  on  the  wave  the  warder's  fire 
Is  checkering  the  moonlight  beam. 

Fades  slow  their  light ;  the  east  is  gray ; 

The  weary  warder  leaves  his  tower ; 
Steeds  snort ;  uncoupled  stag-hounds  bay, 

And  merry  hunters  quit  the  bower. 

The  drawbridge  falls — they  hurry  out — 
Clatters  each  plank  and  swinging  chain, 
'    As,  dashing  o'er,  the  jovial  rout 

Urge  the  shy  steed,  and  slack  the  rein 

First  of  his  troop,  the  Chief  rode  on  -^ 
1^  ■     His  shouting  merry -men  throng  behind ; 
The  steed  of  princely  Hamilton 

Was  fleeter  than  the  mountain  wind. 

From  the  thick  copse  the  roebucks  bound, 
The  startled  red-deer  scuds  the  plain. 

For  the  hoarse  bugle's  warrior-sound 
Has  roused  their  mountain  haunts  again. 

Through  the  huge  oaks  of  Evandale, 

Whose  limbs  a  thousand  years  have  worn, 
'    What  suUen  roar  comes  down  the  gale. 
And  drowns  the  hunter's  pealing  horn  ? 

Mightiest  of  all  the  beasts  of  chase. 

That  roam  in  woody  Caledon, 
Crashing  the  forest  in  his  race, 

The  Mountain  Bull  comes  thundering  on. 

Fierce,  on  the  hunter's  quiver'd  band, 
He  rolls  his  eyes  of  swarthy  glow, 

Spm-ns,  with  black  hoof  and  horn,  the  sand. 
And  tosses  high  his  mane  of  snow. 

Aim'd  well,  the  Cliieftain's  lance  has  flown ; 

Struggling  in  blood  the  savage  lies ; 
His  roar  is  sunk  in  hollow  groan — 

Sound,  merry  huntsmen !  sound  the  pryse  P 

'Tis  noon — -against  the  knotted  oak 

The  hunters  rest  the  idle  spear  ; 
Curls  through  the  trees  the  slender  smoke, 

'\^^^ere  yeomen  dight  the  woodland  cheer. 

Proudly  the  Cliieftain  mark'd  his  clan. 
On  greenwood  lap  all  careless  thrown. 

Yet  miss'd  his  eye  the  boldest  man 
That  bore  the  name  of  Hamilton. 

first  peer  of  the  Scottish  realm.     In  1569,  he  was  appoinlea 
by  Queen  Mary  her  lieutenant-general  in  Scotland,  under  tha 
singular  title  of  her  adopted  f'^.ther. 
3  See  Appendix  Note  a 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


COl 


V 


"  Why  fills  not  Both-wellhaugh  his  place, 
Still  wont  our  -weal  and  woe  to  share  ? 

Wliy  comes  he  not  our  sport  to  gi-ace  ? 
Why  shares  he  not  our  hunter's  fare  ?" — ■ 

Stern  Claud  replied/  with  darkening  iace 
(Gray  Paisley's  haughty  lord  was  he), 

"  At  merry  feast,  or  buxom  chase, 
^o  more  the  warrior  wilt  thou  see. 

"  Few  suns  have  set  since  Woodhouselee^ 
Saw  Bothwellhaugh"s  bright  goblets  foam. 

When  to  his  liearths,  in  social  glee. 

The  war-worn  soldier  turn'd  him  home, 

"  lliere,  wan  from  her  maternal  throes, 
His  Margaret,  beautiful  and  mild. 

Sate  in  her  bower,  a  pallid  rose, 

And  peaceful  nursed  her  new-bom  child. 

"  O  change  accursed !  past  are  those  days 
False  Mm-ray's  ruthless  spoilers  came, 

And,  for  the  hearth's  domestic  blaze. 
Ascends  destructions  volumed  flame. 

"  What  sheeted  phantom  wanders  wild. 

Where  mountain  Eske  through  woodland  flows, 

Her  arms  enfold  a  shadowy  cliild — 
Oh !  is  it  she,  the  pallid  rose  ? 

"  The  wilder"d  traveller  sees  her  glide,  - 
And  hears  her  feeble  voice  with  awe — 

'  Revenge,'  she  cries,  '  on  Mm-ray's  pride  ! 
And  woe  for  mjured  BothweUhaugh !' " 

He  ceased — and  cries  of  rage  and  grief 
Burst  mingling  from  the  kindred  band. 

And  half  arose  the  kindling  Chief, 

And  half  unsheathed  his  Arran  brand. 

But  who,  o'er  bush,  o'er  stream  and  rock. 
Rides  headlong,  with  resistless  speed, 

Wliose  bloody  poniard's  frantic  stroke 
Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed ;' 

Whose  cheek  is  pale,  whose  eyeballs  glare, 
As  one  some  vision'd  sight  that  saw, 

WHiose  hands  are  bloody,  loose  his  hair  ? — 
'Tis  he !  'tis  he  !  'tis  BothweUhaugh. 

From  gory  selle,*  and  reeling  steed. 

Sprung  the  fierce  horseman  with  a  bound, 

1  gee  Appendix,  Note  B.  s  Ibid.  Note  C. 

s  Ibid.  Note  D. 

i  Sclle — Saddle.     A  word  used  by  Spenser,  and  other  an- 
cient autliors. 

'Soe  Apppndix,  Note  E. 
"Ibiil   NoteF. 
76 


And,  reeking  from  the  recent  deed. 
He  dash'd  his  carbine  on  the  ground. 

Sternly  he  spoke — "  'Tis  sweet  to  hear 
In  good  greenwood  tlie  bugle  blo^vn, 

But  sweeter  to  Revenge's  ear. 
To  drink  a  tyrant's  dying  groan. 

"  Tour  slaughter'd  quarry  proudly  trode. 
At  dawning  morn,  o'er  d;de  and  do-wn. 

But  prouder  base-born  Murray  rode 

Thioush  old  Liulithijow's  crowded  to-sra. 

"  From  the  wild  Border's  humbled  side,* 

In  haughty  triumph  marched  he,  "^   . 

TVTiile  Knox  relax'd  his  bigot  pride. 
And  smiled,  the  traitorous  pomp  to  soe 

"  But  can  stem  Power,  with  aU  his  vaunt, 
Or  Pomp,  with  all  her  comtly  glare, 

The  settled  heai-t  of  Vengeance  daimt. 
Or  change  the  purpose  of  Despair  ? 

"  With  hackbut  bent,^  my  secret  stand, 
Dai-k  as  the  purposed  deed,  I  chose. 

And  mark'd,  where,  mingling  in  his  band, 
Ti-oop'd  Scottish  pikes  and  English  bows, 

"Dark  Morton,''  girt  -svith  many  a  spear. 
Murder's  foul  minion,  led  the  van; 

And  clash'd  their  broadswords  in  the  rear 
The  wild  Macfarlanes'  plaided  clan.* 

"  Gleucaun  and  stout  Parkhead^  were  nigh, 
Obsequious  at  their  Regent's  rein. 

And  haggard  Lindesay's  u-on  eye. 
That  saw  fair  Maiy  weep  in  vain.^" 

"  'Mid  pennon'd  spears,  a  steely  grove, 
Proud  Mmray's  plumage  floated  high ; 

Scai-ce  could  his  trampling  charger  move. 
So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh." 

"  From  the  raised  vizor's  shade,  his  eye, 
Dark-rolling,  glanced  the  ranks  along. 

And  his  steel  trmicheon,  waved  on  high, 
Seem'd  marshalling  the  ii-on  tlirong. 

"  But  yet  his  sadden'd  brow  confess'd 
A  passing  shade  of  doubt  and  awe  ; 

Some  fiend  was  whispering  in  his  breast ; 
'  Beware  of  injured  BothweUhaugh  I' 

'  Of  this  noted  person,  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  he  was  ac- 
tive in  the  murder  of  David  Rizzio,  and  at  least  privy  to  that 
of  Darnley. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

3  Ibid.  Note  H. 

lo  Ibid.  Note  I.  "  Ibid.  Note  K. 


602 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  Tlie  death-shot  parts — the  diarger  springs — 
Wild  '•ises  tumult's  startling  roar ! 

And  Murray's  plumy  hchnet  ruigs — 
— Rings  on  the  ground,  to  rise  no  more. 

"  What  joy  the  raptured  youth  can  feel, 
To  hear  bi;r  love  the  loved  one  tell — 

Or  he,  ■w):o  broaches  on  his  steel 
The  wolf,  by  whom  his  infant  fell ! 

"  i3ut  dearer  to  my  injured  eye 
To  see  in  dust  proud  Mm-ray  roU ; 

And  mine  was  ten  times  trebled  joy, 
To  hear  him  gi-oan  his  felon  soul. 

"  My  Margaret's  spectre  glided  near ; 

With  pride  her  bleeding  victim  saw ; 
And  shriek'd  in  liis  death-deafen'd  ear, 

'  Remember  injured  Bothwellhaugh !' 

"  Then  speed  thee,  noble  Chatlerault ! 

Spread  to  the  wind  thy  baimer'd  tree  !' 
Each  warrior  bend  his  Clydesdale  bow ! — 

Murray  is  falFn,  and  Scotland  free !" 

1  An  oak,  half-sawn,  with  the  motto  through,  is  an  ancient 
cognizance  of  the  family  of  Hamilton. 

"  Scott  spent  thejChristmas  of  1801  at  Hamilton  Palace,  in 
L.?narkshire.  To  Lady  Anne  Hamilton  he  had  been  intro- 
luced  by  her  friend,  Lady  Charlotte  Campbell,  and  both  the 
late  and  the  present  Dukes  of  Hamilton  appear  to  have  par- 
taken of  Lady  Anne's  admiration  for  Gler.finlas,  and  the  Eve 
of  St.  Jolm.  A  morning's  ramble  to  the  majestic  ruins  of  the 
old  baronial  castle  on  the  precipitous  banks  of  the  Evan,  and 
among  the  adjoining  remains  of  the  primeval  Caledonian  foi^ 
est,  suggested  to  him  a  ballad,  not  inferior  in  execution  to  any 
that  he  had  hitherto  produced,  and  especially  interesting  as  the 
first  in  which  he  grapples  with  the  world  of  picturesque  inci- 
creut  unfolded  in  the  authentic  annals  of  Scotland.  With  the 
magnificent  localities  before  hi.ii,  he  skilfully  interwove  the 
daring  assassination  of  the  Regent  Murray  by  one  of  the  clans- 
men of  'the  princely  Hamilton.'  Had  the  subject  been  ta- 
ken up  in  after  years,  we  might  have  had  another  Marmion  or 
Heart  of  Mid-Lothian  ;  for  in  Cadyow  Castle  we  have  the  ma- 
terials and  outline  of  more  than  one  of  the  noblest  ballads. 

"  About  two  years  before  this  piece  began  to  be  handed  about 
m  Edinburgh,  Thomas  Campbell  had  made  his  appearance 


Vaults  every  warrior  to  his  eteed ; 

Loud  bugles  join  their  wild  acclaim — 
"Murray  is  faU'n,  and  Scotland  freed  ! 

Couch,  Arran !  couch  thy  spsar  of  flame  !" 

But,  see  !  the  minstrel  vision  fails — 

The  glimmering  spears  are  seen  nc  snore ; 

The  shouts  of  war  die  on  the  gales, 
Or  sink  in  Evan's  lonely  roar. 

For  the  loud  bugle,  pealing  liigh. 

The  blackbird  whistles  down  the  vale, 

And  sunk  in  ivied  ruins  he 

The  banner'd  towers  of  Evandale. 

For  Cliiefs,  intent  on  bloody  deed. 

And  Vengeance  shouting  o'er  the  slain, 

Lo !  high-born  Beauty  rules  the  steed. 
Or  graceful  gtiides  the  silken  rein. 

And  long  may  Peace  and  Pleasm-e  own 
The  maids  who  list  the  minstrel's  tale ; 

Nor  e'er  a  ruder  guest  be  known 
On  the  fair  banks  of  Evandale  ! 

there,  and  at  once  seized  a  high  place  in  the  literary  world  by 
his  '  Pleasures  of  Hope.'  Among  the  most  eager  to  welcome 
him  had  been  Scott ;  and  I  find  the  brothei^bard  thus  express- 
ing himself  concerning  the  MS.  of  Cadyow  : — 

"  '  The  verses  of  Cadyow  Castle  are  perpetually  ringing  in 
my  imagination — 

'  Where,  mightiest  of  the  beasts  of  chase 

That  roam  in  woody  Caledon, 
Crashing  the  forest  in  his  race, 

The  mountain  bull  comes  thundering  on' — 

and  the  arrival  of  Hamilton,  when 

'  Reeking  from  the  recent  deed. 

He  dash'd  his  carbine  on  tlie  ground.' 

I  have  repeated  these  lines  so  often  on  the  North  Bridge,  that 
the  whole  fraternity  of  coachmen  know  me  by  tongue  as  I  pass. 
To  be  sure,  to  a  mind  in  sober,  serious  street-walking  humor,  it 
must  bear  an  appearance  of  lunacy  when  one  stamps  with  tho 
hurried  pace  and  fervent  shake  of  the  head,  which  strong,  pith 
poetry  excites.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  77. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

■  sound  thepryse! — P.  600. 


Fryse — The  note  blown  at  the  death  of  the  game. — In  Ca- 
ledonia olim  frequens  erat  sylvestris  quidam,  bos,  nunc  vera 
rarior,qui,  colore  candidissimo,  juham  densamet  demissam 
instar  Iconis  gestat,  iruculentus  at  ferns  ab  huraano  gcncre 
abkorrens.  ut  quivcunquc  homines  vd  manibus  contrcct&rint, 
tiel  halitu  ptrflavcrint,  ab  iis  multos  post  dies  omnino  absti- 
uuerunt.    ^-Id  hoc  tanta  audacia  hnic  bovi  indita  crat,  ut 


non  solum  irritatus  equites  furenter  prostcmeret,  sed  ne 
tantillum  lacessitus  omncs  promiscuc  homines  corr^us  ac 
ungulis  pe'.crit  ;  ac  canum,  qui  apud  nos  ferocissimi  sunt, 
impetus  plane  contemneret.  Ejus  carncs  cartilaginoscc,  sed 
saporis  suavissimi.  Erat  is  olim  per  illam  vastissimam 
Caledonia;  sylvam  frequens,  sed  humana  ingluvie  jam  as- 
sumptus  tribus  tantum  locis  est  reliquus,  Strivilingii,  Cum- 
bcrnaldiw,  et  Kincarni(E.--liV:shMVS,  Scotiae  Descriptio,  p. 
13. — [See  a  note  on  Castle  Da.ngerous,  Waverley  Novels, 
vol.  xlvii. — Ed  ] 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


603 


Note  B. 

Stern  Claud  replied. — P.  601. 

Lord  Cland  Hamilton,  second  son  of  the  Duke  of  Chatel- 
beranlt,  and  commendator  of  the  Abbey  of  Paisley,  acted  a 
distinguished  part  during  tlie  troubles  of  (iueen  IMarj's  reign, 
and  remained  unalterably  attached  to  the  cause  of  that  un- 
fortunate princess.  He  led  tlie  van  of  lier  army  at  the  fatal 
battle  of  Langside,  and  was  one  of  the  commanders  at  the 
Raid  of  Stirling,  which  had  so  nearly  given  comjdete  success 
to  the  Queen's  faction.  He  was  ancestor  of  the  present  Mar- 
iiniB  of  Abercoru 


Note  C. 


Woodhouselee. — P.  601. 
This  barony,  stretching  along  the  banks  of  the  Esk,  near 
Auchendinny,  belonged  to  Bothwellhaugh,  in  right  of  his 
wife.  The  ruins  of  the  mansion,  from  whence  she  was  expel- 
led in  the  brutal  manner  which  occasioned  her  death,  are  still 
to  be  seen  in  a  hollow  glen  beside  the  river.  Popular  report 
tenants  them  with  the  restless  ghost  of  the  Lady  Bothwell- 
haugh ;  whom,  however,  it  confounds  with  Lady  Anne  Both- 
well,  whose  Lament  is  so  popular.  This  si)ectre  is  so  tenacious 
of  her  rights,  that  a  part  of  the  stones  of  the  ancient  edifice 
having  been  employed  in  building  or  repairing  the  present 
Woodhouselee,  she  has  deemed  it  a  part  of  her  privilege  to 
haunt  that  house  also  ;  and,  even  of  very  late  years,  has  e.t- 
eited  considerable  disturbance  and  terror  among  the  domestics. 
This  is  a  more  remarkable  vindication  of  \he  rights  of  ghosts, 
as  the  present  VVoodhouslee,  which  gives  his  title  to  the  Hon- 
orable Alexander  Fraser  Tytler,  a  seijator  of  the  College  of 
Justice,  is  situated  on  the  slope  of  the  Pentland  hills,  distant 
at  least  four  miles  from  her  proper  abode.  She  always  ap- 
pears in  white,  and  with  her  child  in  her  arms. 


Note  D. 
Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed. — P.  601. 
Birrel  informs  ns,  that  Bothwellhaugh,  being  closely  pur- 
Bned,  "  after  that  spur  and  wand  had  failed  him,  he  drew  forth 
his  dagger,  and  strocke  his  horse  behind,  wliilk  caused  the 
horse  to  leap  a  very  brode  stanke  [i.  e.  ditch],  fcy  whilk  means 
he  escapit,  and  gat  away  from  all  the  rest  of  the  horses." — 
Birrel's  Diary,  p.  18. 


Note  E. 
From  the  wild  Border's  humbled  side. — P.  601. 
P.Iurray's  death  took  place  shortly  after  an  expedition  to  the 
Borders;  which  is  thus  commemorated  by  the  author  of  his 
Elegy  :— 

"  So  having  stablischt  all  things  in  this  sort. 
To  Liddisdaill  agane  he  did  resort, 
Throw  Ewisdail,  Eskdail,  and  all  the  daills  rode  he, 
And  also  lay  three  nights  in  Cannabie, 
Whair  na  prince  lay  tliir  hundred  yeiris  before. 
Nae  thief  durst  stir,  they  did  him  feir  sa  sair  ; 
And,  that  thay  suld  na  mair  thair  thift  allege, 
Threescore  and  twelf  he  broclit  of  ihame  in  pledge, 
Syne  wardit  thame,  whilk  maid  the  rest  keep  ordour  ; 
Than  mycht  the  rasch-bus  keep  ky  on  the  Border." 

Scottish  Poems,  16th  century,  p.  232. 


Note  F. 

With  hackbut  bent.—F.  601. 
Hackbut  bent — Gun  cock'd.     The  carbine,  with  which  the 
Regent  was  shot,  is  preserved  at  Hamilton  Palace.     It  is  a 


brass  piece,  of  a  middling  length,  very  small  in  the  bore,  and, 
what  is  rather  extraordinary,  appears  to  have  been  nfled  oi 
indented  iu  the  barrel.  It  had  a  matchlock,  for  which  a  mod- 
ern firelock  has  been  injudiciouslv  substituted. 


Note  G. 


The  wild  Macfarlanes'  plaided  clan. — P.  601 . 

This  clan  of  Lennox  Highlanders  were  attached  to  the  Re- 
gent Murray.  Hollinshed,  speaking  of  the  battle  of  Laugside, 
says,  "  In  this  batayle  the  valiancie  of  an  Heiland  gentleman, 
named  Macfarlane,  stoo  1  the  Regent's  part  in  great  steede ; 
for,  in  the  hottest  brunte  of  the  fighte,  he  came  up  with  two 
hundred  of  his  friendes  and  countrymen,  and  so  manfully  gave 
in  upon  the  flankes  of  the  dueen's  people,  that  he  was  a  great 
cause  of  the  disordering  of  them.  This  Macfarlane  had  been 
lately  before,  as  I  have  heard,  condemned  to  die,  for  some  out- 
rage by  him  committed,  and  obtayning  pardon  through  suyte 
of  the  Countess  of  Murray,  he  recompensed  that  clemencie  by 
this  piece  of  service  now  at  this  batayle."  Calderwood's  ac- 
count is  less  favorable  to  the  Macfarlanes.  He  states  that 
"  Macfarlane,  with  his  Highlandmen,  fled  from  the  wing 
where  they  were  set.  The  Lord  Lindsay,  who  stood  nearest 
to  them  in  the  Regent's  battle,  said,  '  Let  them  go  !  1  shall  fill 
their  place  better :'  and  so,  stepping  forward,  with  a  company 
of  fresh  men,  charged  the  enemy,  whose  spears  were  now 
spent,  with  long  weapons,  so  that  they  were  driven  back  by 
force,  being  before  almost  overthrown  by  the  avaunt-gnard  and 
harquebu>iers,  and  so  were  turned  to  flight." — Calderwood's 
MS.  apud  Keith,  p.  480.  Melville  mentions  the  flight  of  the 
vanguard,  but  states  it  to  have  been  commanded  by  Morton, 
and  composed  chiefly  of  commoners  of  the  barony  of  Renfrew. 


Note  H. 
Glencairn  and  stout  Parkhead  were  nigh. — P.  601. 

The  Earl  of  Glencairn  was  a  steady  adherent  of  the  Regent. 

George  Douglas  of  Parkhead  was  a  natural  brother  of  the  Earl 
of  Morton,  whose  horse  was  killed  by  the  same  ball  by  which 
Murray  fell. 


Note  I. 


haggard  Lindesaif  s  iron  eye. 

That  saw  fair  Mary  weep  in  vain. — P.  601. 

Lord  Linds.ay,  of  the  Byres,  was  the  most  ferocious  and 
brutal  of  the  Regent's  faction,  and,  as  such,  was  employed  to 
extort  Mary's  signature  to  the  deed  of  resignation  presented  to 
her  in  Lochleven  castle.  He  discharged  his  commission  with 
the  most  savage  rigor  ;  and  it  is  even  said,  that  when  the 
weej)ing  captive,  in  the  act  of  signing,  averted  her  eyes  from 
the  fatal  deed,  he  pinched  her  arm  >vith  the  grasp  of  his  iron 
glove. 


Note  K. 


So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh. — P.  601. 

Not  only  had  the  Regent  notice  of  the  intended  attempt 
upon  his  life,  but  even  of  the  very  house  from  which  it  was 
threatened.  With  that  infatuation  at  which  men  wonder, 
after  such  events  have  happened,  he  deemed  it  would  be  a 
sufficient  precaution  to  ride  briskly  past  the  dangerous  spot. 
But  even  this  was  prevented  by  the  crowd  :  so  that  Bothwell- 
haugh had  time  to  take  a  deliberate  aim. — Spottiswoodk 

p.  233.      BUCBANAK. 


604 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


®l)e  ®raij  Brotl)cr. 


A    FRAGMEKT. 


The  imperfect  state  of  tliis  ballad,  wliich  -was 
written  several  years  ago,  is  not  a  circumstance 
affected  for  the  purpose  of  giving  it  that  peculiar 
interest  which  is  often  found  to  arise  from  imgrati- 
fied  curiosity.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  the  Editor's 
intention  to  have  completed  the  tale,  if  he  had 
found  himself  able  to  succeed  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion. Yielding  to  the  opinion  of  persons,  whose 
judgment,  if  not  biassed  by  the  partiality  of  fi-iend- 
ship,  is  entitled  to  deference,  he  has  preferred 
aiserting  these  verses  as  a  fragment,  to  his  inten- 
tion of  entirely  suppressing  them. 

The  tradition,  upon  which  the  tale  is  founded, 
regards  a  house  upon  the  barony  of  Gilmerton, 
near  Lasswade,  in  Md-Lothian.  This  building, 
now  called  Gilmerton  Grange,  was  originally 
named  Burndale,  from  the  following  ti;agic  adven- 
ture. The  barony  of  Gilmerton  belonged,  of  yore, 
to  a  gentleman  named  Heron,  who  had  one  beau- 
tiful daughter.  Tliis  young  lady  was  seduced  by 
the  Abbot  of  Newbattle,  a  richly  endowed  abbey, 
upon  the  banks  of  the  South  Esk,  now  a  seat  of  the 
Marquis  of  Lothian.  Heron  came  to  the  knowledge 
of  this  cuTumstance,  and  learned  also,  that  the 
lovers  carried  on  their  guilty  intercourse  by  the 
connivance  of  the  lady's  nurse,  who  lived  at  this 
house  of  Gilmerton  Grange,  or  Biu-ndale.  He 
formed  a  resolution  of  bloody  vengeance,  unde- 
terred by  the  supposed  sanctity  of  the  clerical 
character,  or  by  the  stronger  claims  of  natural 
affection.  Choosing,  therefore,  a  dark  and  windy 
night,  when  the  objects  of  his  vengeance  were 
engaged  in  a  stolen  interview,  he  set  fire  to  a 
stack  of  dried  thorns,  and  other  combustibles, 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  piled  against  the  house, 
and  reduced  to  a  pile  of  glowing  ashes  the  dwell- 
ing, with  all  its  inmates.^ 

The  scene  with  which  the  ballad  opens,  was 
suggested  by  the  following  curious  passage,  ex- 
tracted from  the  Life  of  Alexander  Peden,  one  of 
the  wandering  and  persecuted  teachers  of  the  sect 
of  Cameronians,  during  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  and 
his  successor,  James.  This  person  was  supposed 
by  his  followers,  and,  perhaps,  really  believed  him- 

1  Tills  tradition  was  communicated  to  me  by  Jolm  Clerk, 
Esq.,  of  Eldin,  author  of  an  Essay  upon  M'aval  Tactics,  who 
will  be  remembered  by  posterity,  as  having  taught  the  Genius 


self,  to  be  possessed  of  supernatural  gifts ;  for  thn 
wild  scenes  which  they  frequented,  and  the  con- 
stant dangers  which  were  incurred  tkrough  their 
proscription,  deepened  upon  their  minds  the  gloom 
of  superstition,  so  general  in  that  age. 

"  About  the  same  time  he  [Peden]  came  to  An- 
drew Normand's  house,  in  the  parish  of  AUoway, 
in  the  sliire  of  Ayr,  being  to  preach  at  night  in  his 
barn.  After  he  came  in,  he  halted  a  Uttle,  leaning 
upon  a  chair-back,  with  his  face  covered ;  when  he 
lifted  up  his  head,  he  said,  '  They  are  in  this  house 
that  I  have  not  one  word  of  salvation  xmto ;'  he 
halted  a  little  again,  saying,  '  This  is  strange,  that 
the  devil  will  not  go  out,  that  we  may  begin  our 
work !'  Then  there  was  a  woman  went  out,  Ul- 
looked  upon  almost  all  her  life,  and  to  her  dying 
hour,  for  a  witch,  with  many  presumptions  of  the 
same.  It  escaped  me,  in  the  former  passages, 
what  John  Muirhead  (whom  I  have  often  men- 
tioned) told  me,  that  when  he  came  from  Ireland 
to  Galloway,  he  was  at  family-worship,  and  giving 
some  notes  upon  the  Scripture  read,  when  a  very 
ill-looking  man  came,  and  sat  down  within  the 
door,  at  the  back  of  the  hallan  [partition  of  the 
cottage]  :  immediately  lie  halted  and  said,  '  There 
is  some  unliappy  body  just  now  come  mto  this 
house.  I  charge  him  to  go  out,  and  not  stop  my 
mouth!'  This  person  went  out,  and  he  insisted 
[went  on],  yet  he  saw  him  neither  come  in  nor  go 
out." — Tlie  Lift  and  Prophecies  of  Mr.  Alexander 
Peden,  late  Alinister  of  the  Gospel  at  A^eio  Glenluce, 
in  Galloway,  part  iL  §  26. 

A  friendly  correspondent  remarks,  "that  the 
incapacity  of  proceeding  in  the  performance  of  a 
religious  duty,  when  a  contaminated  person  is 
present,  is  of  much  higher  antiquity  than  the  era 
of  the  Reverend  Mi'.  Alexander  Peden." — Vide 
Hi/r/ini  Fabidas,  cap.  26.  "  Medea  Corintho  exid, 
Athenas,  ad  uEgeum  Pandionis  filium  devenit  in 
hospitium,  eigne  nupsit. 

"  Postea  sacerdos  Diance  Medeam  exagi- 

tare  ccepit,  regique  negabat  sacra  caste  facere  posse, 
eo  quod  in  ea  civifate  essct  mulier  venefca  et  scele- 
rata  ;  tunc  exulatur." 

of  Britain  to  concentrate  her  thunders,  and  to  launch  thein 
against  her  foes  with  an  nuerring  aim. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


605 


(Jlje  Cn-ag  Brotljcr. 

The  Pope  lie  was  saying  the  high,  high  mass, 

All  on  Saint  Peter's  day, 
With  the  power  to  hhn  given,  by  the  saints  in 
heaven. 

To  wash  men's  sins  away. 

The  Pope  he  was  sajnng  the  blessed  mass, 

And  the  people  kneel'd  around, 
And  from  each  man's  soul  his  sins  did  pass, 

As  he  kiss'd  the  holy  ground. 

And  all,  among  the  crowded  tlirong, 

Was  still,  both  limb  and  tongue. 
While,  through  vaulted  roof  and  aisles  aloof, 

The  holy  accents  rung. 

At  the  holiest  word  he  quiver'd  for  fear, 

And  falter'd  in  the  sound — 
And,  when  he  would  the  chalice  rear, 

He  diopp'd  it  to  the  ground. 

"  The  breath  of  one  of  evil  deed 

Pollutes  our  sacred  day ; 
He  has  no  portion  in  our  creed. 

No  part  in  what  I  say. 

"  A  being,  whom  no  blessed  word 

To  ghostly  peace  can  bring ; 
A  wretch,  at  whose  approach  abhorr'd, 

Recoils  each  holy  thing. 

"  Up,  up,  unhappy !  haste,  arise ! 

My  adjuration  fear  1 
I  charge  thee  not  to  stop  my  voice. 

Nor  longer  tarry  here  !" — 

Amid  them  all  a  pilgrim  kneel'd. 

In  gown  of  sackcloth  gray ; 
Far  journeying  from  his  native  field. 

He  first  saw  Rome  that  day. 

For  forty  days  and  nights  so  drear, 

I  ween  he  had  not  spoke. 
And,  save  with  bread  and  water  clear. 

His  fast  he  ne'er  had  broke. 

Amid  the  penitential  flock, 

Seem'd  none  more  bent  to  pray ; 
But,  when  the  Holy  Father  spoke. 

He  rose  and  went  his  way. 

Again  unto  his  native  land 

His  weary  course  he  drew, 
To  Lothian's  fair  and  fertile  strand. 

And  Pentland's  mountains  blue. 


His  unblest  feet  his  native  seat, 

'Mid  Eskc's  fair  woods,  regain ; 
Thro'  woods  more  fair  no  stream  more  sweet 

Rolls  to  the  eastern  main. 

And  lords  to  meet  the  pilgrim  came, 

And  vassals  bent  the  knee  ; 
For  all  'mid  Scotland's  chiefs  of  fame. 

Was  none  more  famed  than  he. 

And  boldly  for  his  country,  still, 

In  battle  he  had  stood. 
Ay,  even  when  on  the  banks  of  TiU 

Her  noblest  pour'd  their  blood. 

Sweet  are  the  paths,  0  passing  sweet  I 

By  Eske's  fair  streams  that  run, 
O'er  airy  steep,  tlirough  copsewood  deep, 

Lnpervious  to  the  sun. 

There  the  rapt  poet's  step  may  rove, 

And  yield  the  muse  the  day ; 
Tliere  Beauty,  led  by  tunid  Love, 

May  shun  the  tell-tale  ray ; 

From  that  fair  dome,  where  suit  is  paid 

By  blast  of  bugle  free,' 
To  Auchendmny's  hazel  glade," 

And  haunted  Woodhouselee.^ 

Who  knows  not  Melville's  beechy  grove/ 

And  Roshn's  rocky  glen,° 
Dalkeith,  which  all  the  virtues  love,* 

And  classic  Hawthornden  ?' 

Yet  never  a  path,  from  day  to  day, 

The  pilgrim's  footsteps  range, 
Save  but  the  solitary  way 

To  Burndale's  ruin'd  grange. 

A  woeful  place  was  that,  I  ween. 

As  sorrow  could  desire ; 
For  nodding  to  the  fall  was  each  crumbling 
wall. 

And  the  roof  was  scathed  with  fire. 

It  fell  upon  a  summer's  eve, 

While,  on  Carnethy's  head, 
The  last  faint  gleams  of  the  sun's  low  beams 

Had  streak'd  the  gray  with  red ; 

And  the  convent  beU  did  vespers  tell, 

Newbattle's  oaks  among, 
And  mingled  with  the  solemn  knell 

Our  Ladye's  evening  song : 

»  See  Appendix,  Notes  1  to  7 


606 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  heairy  knell,  the  choir's  faint  swell, 

Came  slowly  down  the  wind, 
And  on  the  pilgrim's  ear  they  fell, 

As  liis  wonted  path  he  did  find. 

Deep  sunk  in  thought,  I  ween,  he  was, 

Nor  ever  raised  his  eye. 
Until  lie  came  to  that  dreary  place. 

Which  did  aU  in  ruins  lie. 

lie  gazed  on  the  walls,  so  scathed  with  tire, 

With  many  a  bitter  groan — 
And  there  was  aware  of  a  Gray  Friar, 

Resting  him  on  a  stone. 

"  Now,  Christ  thee  save !"   said  the  Gray  Bro- 
ther; 

"  Some  pilgrim  thou  seemest  to  be." 
But  in  sore  amaze  did  Lord  Albert  gaze, 

Nor  answer  again  made  he. 

"  0  come  ye  from  east,  or  come  ye  from  west. 
Or  bring  rehques  from  over  the  sea ; 

Or  come  ye  from  the  shiine  of  St.  James  the 
divine, 
Or  St.  .John  of  Beverley  ?"— 

'  Tlie  contemporary  criticism  on  this  noble  ballad  was  all 
feeble,  but  laudatory,  with  the  exception  of  tlie  following  re- 
mark : — "  The  painter  is  justly  blamed,  whose  figures  do  not 
correspond  with  his  landscape — who  assembles  banditti  in  an 
Elysium,  or  bathing  loves  in  a  lake  of  storm.  The  same  adap- 
tation of  parts  is  expedient  in  the  poet.     The  stanzas — 


to 


'  Sweet  are  thy  paths,  O  passing  sweet!' 
'  And  classic  Hawthornden,' 


disagreeably  contrast  with  the  mysterious,  gloomy  character 
of  the  ballad.  Were  these  omitted,  it  would  merit  high  rank 
for  the  terrific  expectation  it  excites  by  the  majestic  intro- 
duction, and  the  awful  close." — Critical  Rcvieia,  November, 
1803.— Ed. 


"  I  come  not  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the 
divine. 

Nor  bring  reliques  from  over  the  sea ; 
I  bring  but  a  curse  from  our  father,  the  Pope, 

Wliich  for  ever  will  cling  to  me." — 

"  Now,  woeful  pilgi-im,  say  not  so ! 

But  kneel  thee  down  to  me, 
And  shrive  thee  so  clean  of  thy  deadly  sin, 

That  absolved  thou  mayst  be." — 

"  And  who  art  thou,  thou  Gray  Brother, 

Tliat  I  should  shrive  to  thee,        [and  lieaven 

When  He,  to  whom  are  given  the  keys  of  eartl 
Has  no  power  to  pardon  me  ?" — 

"01  am  sent  from  a  distant  clime, 

Five  thousand  miles  away, 
And  all  to  absolve  a  foul,  foul  crime. 

Done  here  'twLst  night  and  day." 

The  pilgrim  kneel'd  him  on  the  sand, 

And  thus  began  his  saye — 
When  on  his  neck  an  ice-cold  hand 

Did  that  Gray  Brother  laye.* 


"  Then  came  The  Gray  Brother,  founded  on  another  s^^)e^ 
stition,  which  seems  to  have  been  almost  as  ancient  as  the  be- 
lief in  ghosts ;  namely,  that  the  holiest  service  of  the  alta» 
cannot  go  on  in  the  presence  of  an  unclean  person — a  heinous 
sinner  unconfessed  and  unabsolved.  The  fragmentary  form  ol 
this  poem  greatly  heightens  the  awfulness  of  its  impression  ; 
and  in  construction  and  metre,  the  verses  which  really  belong 
to  the  story  appear  to  me  the  happiest  that  have  ever  been 
produced  expressly  in  imitation  of  the  ballad  of  the  middle 
age.  In  the  stanzas,  previously  quoted,  on  the  scenery  of  the 
Esk,  however  beautiful  in  themselves,  and  however  interest- 
ing now  as  marking  the  locality  of  the  composition,  he  must 
be  allowed  to  have  lapsed  into  another  strain,  and  produced  a 
panviis  purpurcus  which  interferes  with  and  mars  the  genera) 
texture." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  26. 


APPENDIX. 


Notes  1  to  1. 

SCE.VERY  OF  THE  ESK. — P.  C05. 

1  The  barony  of  Pennycuik,  the  property  of  Sir  George  Clerk, 
Bart.,  is  held  by  a  singular  tenure  ;  the  proprietor  being  bound 
to  sit  upon  a  large  rocky  fragment  called  the  Buckstane,  and 
wind  three  blasts  of  a  horn,  when  the  King  shall  come  to  hunt 
on  the  Borough  Muir,  near  Edinburgh.  Hence  the  family 
Itave  adopted  aa  their  crest  a  demi-forester  proper,  winding  a 


horn,  Willi  the  motto.  Free  for  a  Blast.  The  beautiful  man 
sion-house  of  Pennycuik  is  much  admired,  both  on  account  ol 
the  architecture  and  surrounding  scenery. 

2  Auchendinny,  situated  upon  the  Eske,  beIo\.  Pennycuik, 
the  present  residence  of  the  ingenious  H.  Mackenzie,  Esq. 
author  of  the  Man  of  Feeling,  c$-c. — Edition  1S03. 

3  "  Haunted  Woodhonselee."~For  the  traditions  connected 
with  this  ruinous  mansion,  see  Ballad  of  Cadyow  Castle,  Note^ 
p.  603. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


G07 


4  Melville  Castle,  the  seat  of  the  Riglit  Honorable  Lord 
Melville,  to  whom  it  gives  the  title  of  Viscount,  J3  delightfully 
situated  upon  the  Eske,  near  Lasswade. 

6  The  ruins  of  Roslin  Castle,  the  baronial  residence  of  the 
ancient  family  of  t^t.  Clair.  The  Gothic  chajiel,  which  is  still 
in  beautiful  preservation,  with  the  romantic  and  woody  dell 
in  which  they  arc  situated,  belong  to  tlie  Right  Honorable 
the  Earl  of  Rosslyn,  the  representative  of  the  former  Lords  of 
Roslin. 

6  The  village  and  castle  of  Dalkeith  belonged  of  old  to  the 
famous  Earl  of  .Morton,  but  is  now  the  residence  of  the  noble 
family  of  Buccleuch.  The  park  e.vtends  along  the  Eske, 
which  is  there  joined  by  its  sister  stream  of  the  same  name. 

'  Hawthornden,  the  residence  of  the  poet  Drummond.  A 
house  of  more  modern  date  is  enclosed,  as  it  were,  by  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  castle,  and  overhangs  a  tremendous  preci- 


pice upon  the  banks  of  the  Eske,  perforated  by  winding  caves, 
which  in  former  times  were  a  refuge  to  the  oppressed  patriots 
of  Scotland.  Here  Drummond  received  Ben  Jonson,  who 
journeyed  from  London  on  foot  in  order  to  visit  him.  The 
beauty  of  this  striking  scene  has  been  much  injured  of  late 
years  by  the  indiscriminate  use  of  the  axe.  The  traveller  now 
looks  in  vain  for  the  leafy  bower, 

"  Where  Jonson  sat  in  Drummond's  social  shade." 

Upon  the  whole,  tracing  the  Eske  from  its  source  till  it  joins 
the  sea  at  Musselburgh,  no  stream  in  Scotland  can  boast  such 
a  varied  succession  of  the  most  interesting  objects,  as  well  as 

of  the  most  romantic  and  beautiful  scenery.     1803 

— The  beautiful  scenery  of  Hawthornden  has,  since  the  above 
note  was  written,  recovered  all  its  proper  ornament  of  wood 
1831. 


toar-Song 


OF  THE 


ROYAL   EDINBURGH   LIGHT   DRAGOONS. 


"  J^ennius.  Is  not  peace  the  end  of  arms  ? 

"  Caratttch.  Not  where  the  cause  implies  a  general  conquest. 
Had  we  a  difference  with  some  jietty  isle, 
Or  with  our  neighbors,  Britons,  for  our  landmarks, 
The  taking  in  of  some  rebellious  lord, 
Or  making  head  against  a  slight  coniniotion. 
After  a  day  of  blood,  peace  might  be  argued  : 
But  where  we  grapple  for  the  land  we  live  on. 
The  liberty  we  hold  more  dear  than  life. 
The  gods  we  worship,  and,  next  these,  our  honors. 
And,  with  those,  swords  that  know  no  end  of  battle — 
Those  men,  beside  themselves,  allow  no  neighbor. 
Those  minds,  that,  where  the  day  is,  claim  inheritance. 
And,  where  the  sun  makes  ripe  the  fruit,  their  harvest. 
And,  where  they  march,  but  measure  out  more  ground 

To  add  to  Rome 

It  must  not  be — No  !   as  they  are  onr  foes. 

Let's  use  the  peace  of  honor — that's  fair  dealing  ; 

But  in  our  hands  our  swords.     The  hardy  Roman, 

That  thinks  to  graft  himself  into  my  stock, 

Must  first  begin  his  kindred  under  ground, 

And  be  allied  in  ashes." Bonduea. 


The  followmg  "War-Song  was  written  during  the 
apprehension  of  an  invasion.'  The  corps  of  volun- 
teers to  which  it  was  addressed,  was  raised  in 
1797,  consisting  of  gentlemen,  mounted  and  armed 
at  their  own  expense.  It  stiU  subsists,  as  the 
Eight  Troop  of  the  Royal  Mid-Lothian  Light  Cav- 
alry, commanded  by  the  Honorable  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Dundas.''     The  noble  and  constitutional 

J  The  song  originally  appeared  in  the  Scots  Magazine  for 
1802.— Ed 


measure  of  arming  freemen  in  defence  of  their  own 
rights,  was  nowhere  more  successful  than  in  Edin- 
burgh, wliich  furni.shed  a  force  of  3000  armed  and 
disciplined  volunteers,  includhig  a  regiment  of 
cavalry,  from  the  city  and  county,  and  two  corps 
of  artillery,  each  capable  of  servmg  twelve  guna. 
To  such  a  force,  above  all  others,  might,  m  sunilar 
circumstances,  be  applied  the  exliortation  of  our 
ancient  Galgacus  :  "  Proinde  ituri  in  acieni,  et  ma- 
jores  vestros  et  posteros  cogitate!'     1812. 


Ill  a  r  -  5  0  n  g 


OF  THE 

ROYAL  EDINBURGH  LIGHT  DRAGOONS. 

To  horse  !  to  horse !  the  standard  flies, 

The  bugles  sound  the  call ; 
The  Gallic  navy  stems  the  seas, 
The  voice  of  battle's  on  the  breeze, 

Arouse  ye,  one  and  all ! 

From  high  Dunedin's  towers  we  come, 

A  band  of  brothers  true  ; 
Our  casques  the  leopard's  spoils  surround, 
"With  Scotland's  hardy  thistle  crowu'd ; 

We  boast  the  red  and  blue.* 

2  Now  Viscount  Melville. — 1831. 

3  The  royal  colors. 


608 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Tliough  tamely  crouch  to  Gallia's  frown 

Dull  Holland's  tardy  train ; 
Their  ravish'd  toys  though  Romans  mourn ; 
Though  gallant  Switzers  vainly  spurn, 

And,  foaming,  gnaw  the  chain ; 

Oh  !  had  they  xnark'd  the  avenging  call* 

Their  brethren's  murder  gave, 
Disimion  ne'er  their  ranks  had  mown, 
IvTor  patriot  valor,  desperate  grown, 

Sought  freedom  in  the  grave ! 

Shall  we,  too,  bend  the  stubborn  head. 

In  Freedom's  temple  born. 
Dress  om-  pale  cheek  in  timid  smile, 
To  liail  a  master  in  o\w  isle. 

Or  brook  a  victor's  scorn  ? 

No !  though  destruction  o'er  the  land 

Come  pom-ing  as  a  flood. 
The  sun,  that  sees  our  falling  day. 
Shall  mark  om*  sabres'  deadly  sway, 

And  set  that  night  in  blood. 

1  The  allnsion  is  to  the  massacre  of  the  Swiss  Guards,  on  the 
fatal  10th  Angnst,  1792.  It  is  painful,  but  not  useless,  to  re- 
mark, that  the  passive  temper  with  which  the  Swiss  regarded 
the  death  of  their  bravest  countrymen,  mercilessly  slaughtered 
in  discharge  of  their  duty,  encouraged  and  authorized  the 
progressive  injustice,  by  which  the  Alps,  once  the  seat  of  the 


For  gold  let  Gallia's  legions  fight, 

Or  plunder's  bloody  gain ; 
Unbribed,  unbought,  oiu-  swords  we  draw, 
To  guard  our  king,  to  fence  om-  law, 

Nor  shall  theh  edge  be  vain. 

If  ever  breath  of  British  gale 

Shall  fan  the  tri-color. 
Or  footstep  of  invader  rude, 
With  rapine  foul,  and  red  with  blood, 

Pollute  oiu:  happy  shore, — 

Then  farewell  home  !  and  farewell  fi-ienda! 

Adieu  each  tender  tie  ! 
Resolved,  we  mingle  in  the  tide. 
Where  charging  squadrons  furious  ride, 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

To  horse !  to  horse  !  the  sabres  gleam ; 

High  sounds  om*  bugle-call ; 
Combined  by  honor's  sacred  tie. 
Our  word  is  Laws  and  Liberty ! 

March  forward,  one  and  all !" 

most  virtuous  and  free  people  upon  the  Continent,  have,  at 
length,  been  converted  into  the  citadel  of  a  foreign  and  military 
despot.     A  state  degraded  is  half  enslaved. — 1612. 

2  Sir  Walter  Scott  was,  at  the  time  when  he  wrote  this 
song,  Quartermaster  of  the  Edinburgh  Light  Cavalry.  See 
one  of  the  Epistles  Introductory  to  Marmion. — Ed. 


END  OF  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY  OF  THE  SCOTTISH  BOEDER. 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN". 


G09 


BalUtrs, 


TRANSLATED,  OR  IMITATED,  FROM  THE  GERMAN,  &c. 


iHilliam  a\\b  Qclcn. 

[1*796.'] 

IMITATED    FIIOM   THE    "  LENOEE "    OF   BUKGEE. 


The  Author  had  resolved  to  omit  the  following 
version  of  a  weU-known  Poem,  in  any  collection 
\rluch  he  might  make  of  his  poetical  trifles.  But 
the  publishers  having  pleaded  for  its  admission, 
the  Author  has  consented,  though  not  unaware  of 
the  disadvantage  at  which  this  youthful  essay  (for 
it  was  written  in  1795)  must  appear  with  those 
which  have  been  executed  by  much  more  able 
hands,  in  particular  that  of  Sir.  Taylor  of  I^orwich, 
and  that  of  Mr.  Spencer. 

The  following  Translation  was  written  long  be- 
fore  the  Author  saw  any  other,  and  originated  in 
the  following  circumstances : — A  lady  of  high  rank 
iu  the  hterary  world  read  this  romantic  tale,  as 
translated  by  Mr.  Taylor,  in  the  house  of  the  cele- 
brated Professor  Dugald  Stewart  of  Edinburgh. 
The  Author  was  not  present,  nor  indeed  in  Edin- 
burgh at  the  time ;  but  a  gentleman  who  had  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  the  ballad,  afterwards  told 
him  the  story,  and  repeated  the  remarkable  cho- 
rus— 

"  Tramp  !  tramp  !  across  the  land  they  speede. 
Splash  !  splash  !  across  the  sea  ; 
Hurrah  !  The  dead  can  ride  apace  I 
Dost  fear  to  ride  with  rae  V 

In  attempting  a  translation,  then  intended  only 
to  circulate  among  friends,  the  present  Author  did 
not  hesitate  to  make  use  of  this  impressive  stanza ; 
for  which  freedom  he  has  since  obtained  the  for- 
giveness of  the  ingenious  gentleman  to  whom  it 
properly  belongs. 

1  The  Chase  and  William  akd  Helen  ;  Two  Ballads, 

from  the  German  of  Gottfried  Angnstas  Biirger.     Edinburgh: 

Printeil  by  Mundell  and  ?on,  Royal  Bank  Close,  for  Manners 

kad  Miller,  Parliament  Square;  and  sold  by  T.  Cadell,  jun., 

77 


WILLIAM  AND  HELEN 


From  heavy  dreams  fair  Helen  rose, 

And  eyed  the  dawning  red : 
"  Alas,  my  love,  thou  tarriest  long  I 

0  art  thou  false  or  dead  ?" — 

IL 

"With  gallant  Fred'rick's  princely  powe3 

He  sought  the  bold  Crusade ; 
But  not  a  word  from  Judah's  wars 

Told  Helen  how  he  sped. 

HL 
With  Paynim  and  with  Saracen 

At  length  a  truce  was  made, 
And  every  knight  return'd  to  dry 

The  teai's  his  love  had  shed. 

IV. 
Our  gallant  host  was  homeward  bound 

With  many  a  song  of  joy; 
Green  waved  the  laurel  in  each  plume, 

The  badge  of  victory. 

V. 
And  old  and  young,  and  su-e  and  son. 

To  meet  them  crowd  the  way, 
With  shouts,  and  mirth,  and  melody. 

The  debt  of  love  to  pay. 

VL 

Full  many  a  maid  her  true-love  met, 

And  sobb'd  in  his  embrace. 
And  flutt'ring  joy  in  tears  and  smiles 

Array'd  fuU  many  a  face. 

and  W.  Davies,  in  the  Strand,  London.    1796.    4to.— Se« 
"  Essay  on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad,"  ante,  p.  5G6 
and  J^ife  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  chapters  7  and  8. 


610 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


VII. 

Nor  joy  nor  smile  for  Helen  sad ; 

She  sought  the  host  in  vain ; 
For  none  could  teU  her  William's  fate, 

If  faithless,  or  if  slain. 

VIII. 

Tlie  martial  band  is  past  and  gone  ; 

She  rends  her  raven  liair. 
And  in  distraction's  bitter  mood 

She  -weeps  with  wild  despair. 

IX. 

"  0  rise,  my  cliild,"  her  mother  said, 

"  Nor  sorrow  thus  in  vain ; 
A  perjured  lover's  fleeting  heart 

No  tears  recall  again." — 

X. 

"  0  mother,  what  is  gone,  is  gone, 

"What's  lost  for  ever  lorn : 
Death,  death  alone  can  comfort  me ; 

0  had  I  ne'er  been  born ! 

XL 

"  0  break,  my  heart, — 0  break  at  once  ! 

Drink  my  life-blood,  Despair ! 
No  joy  remains  on  earth  for  mc, 

For  me  in  heaven  no  share." — 

XII. 

"  0  enter  not  in  judgment.  Lord  !" 

The  pious  mother  prays ; 
"  Lnpute  not  guilt  to  thy  frail  child  1 

She  knows  not  what  she  says. 

XIIL 

"  0  say  thy  pater  noster,  child ! 

0  turn  to  God  and  grace ! 
His  will,  that  turn'd  thy  bhss  to  bale. 

Can  change  thy  bale  to  bliss." — 

XIV. 
"  0  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss  ? 

0  mother,  what  is  bale  ? 
My  William's  love  was  heaven  on  earth, 

Without  it  earth  is  bell. 

XV. 
"  Wliy  should  I  pray  to  ruthless  Heaven, 

Since  my  loved  WUliam's  slain  ? 
I  only  pray'd  for  William's  sake. 

And  all  my  prayers  were  vain." — 

XVL 
"  0  take  the  sacrament,  ray  child. 

And  check  these  tears  that  flow ; 
By  resignation's  humble  prayer, 

0  haUow'd  be  thy  woe  !"— 


XVIL 

"No  sacrament  can  quench  this  fire. 

Or  slake  this  scorching  pain  ; 
No  sacrament  can  bid  the  dead 

Arise  and  live  again. 

XVIIL 

"  0  break,  my  heart, — 0  break  a.t  once ! 

Be  thou  my  god,  Despair ! 
Heaven's  lieaviest  blow  has  fallen  on  me, 

And  vain  each  fruitless  prayer." — 

XIX. 

"  0  enter  not  in  judgment.  Lord, 

With  thy  frail  cliild  of  clay ! 
She  knows  not  what  her  tongue  has  spoke ; 

Impute  it  not,  I  pray ! 

XX. 

"  Forbear,  my  child,  this  desperate  woe. 

And  tm-n  to  God  and  grace ; 
Well  can  devotion's  heavenly  glow 

Convert  thy  bale  to  bliss." — 

XXL 

"  0  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss  ? 

0  mother,  what  is  bale  ? 
Without  my  William  what  were  heaven, 

Or  with  him  what  were  hell  ?" — 

XXIL 

Wild  she  arraigns  the  eternal  doom. 

Upbraids  each  sacred  power, 
TiU,  spent,  she  sought  her  silent  room. 

All  in  the  lonely  tower. 

XXIIL 

She  beat  her  breast,  she  -nTung  her  hands. 

Till  Sim  and  day  were  o'er. 
And  through  the  glimmering  lattice  shone 

The  twinkling  of  the  star. 

XXIV. 

Then,  crash !  the  heavy  drawbridge  fell 

That  o'er  the  moat  was  hung ; 
And,  clatter  !  clatter  !  on  its  boards 

The  hoof  of  courser  rung. 

XXV. 
The  clank  of  echoing  steel  was  heard 

As  off  the  rider  bounded ; 
And  slowly  on  the  winding  stair 

A  heavy  footstep  sounded. 

XXVL 
And  hark !  and  hark !  a  knock — Tap  !  tap  1 

A  rustling,  stifled  noise ; — 
Door-latch  and  tinkling  staples  ring ; — 

At  length  a  whispering  voice. 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


6U 


XXVII. 

Awake,  awake,  arise,  my  love ! 

How,  Helen,  dost  thou  fare  ?  [weep'st  ? 

"Wak'st   thou,   or   sleep'st  ?   laugh'st  thou,   or 

Hast  thought  on  me,  my  fau-  ?" — 

XXVIII. 

"  My  love  !  my  love  ! — so  late  by  night ! — 

I  waked,  I  wept  for  thee : 
Much  have  I  borne  since  dawn  of  mom ; 

Where,  WiUiam,  couldst  thou  be  ?" — 

XXIX. 

"We  saddle  late — from  Hungary 

I  rode  since  darkness  feU ; 
And  to  its  bourne  we  both  return 

Before  the  matin-bell." — 

XXX. 

"  0  rest  this  night  within  my  arms, 

And  warm  tliee  in  their  fold  ! 
Chill  howls  thi-ough  hawthorn  bush  the  wind : — 

My  love  is  deadly  cold." — 

XXXI. 

"  Let  the  wind  howl  through  hawthorn  bush ! 

This  night  we  must  away ; 
The  steed  is  wight,  the  spm-  is  bright ; 

I  cannot  stay  till  day. 

XXXII. 

"  Busk,  busk,  and  boune !  Thou  moimt'st  behind 

Upon  my  black  barb  steed : 
O'er  stock  and  stile,  a  hundred  miles, 

We  haste  to  bridal  bed." — 

XXXIII. 

"  To-night — to-night  a  hundred  miles ! — 

0  dearest  William,  stay ! 
The  beU  strikes  twelve — dark,  dismal  hour  I 

0  wait,  my  love,  till  day  !" — 

XXXIV. 

"  Look  here,  look  here — the  moon  shines  clear — 

Full  fast  I  ween  we  ride  ; 
Mount  and  away !  for  ere  the  day 

We  reach  our  bridal  bed. 

XXXV. 
"  The  black  barb  snorts,  the  bridle  rings ; 

Haste,  busk,  and  boune,  and  seat  thee ! 
The  feast  is  made,  the  chamber  spread, 

The  bridal  guests  await  thee." — 

XXXVI 

Strong  love  prevail'd :  She  busks,  she  bounes, 

She  mounts  the  barb  behind. 
And  round  her  darling  WiUiam's  waist 

Her  lily  arms  she  twined. 


XXXVIL 

And,  hurry !  hurry !  off  they  rode. 

As  fast  as  fast  might  be ; 
Spurn'd  from  the  courser's  thundering  heels 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

XXXVIIL 

And  on  the  right,  and  on  the  left. 

Ere  they  could  snatch  a  view, 
Fast,  fast  each  moimtain,  mead,  and  plain, 

And  cot,  and  castle,  flew. 

XXXIX. 

"  Sit  fiist — dost  fear  ?— The  moon  shines  clear- 
Fleet  goes  my  barb — keep  hold  1 

Fear'st  thou  ?"— "  0  no !"  she  faintly  said  ; 
"  But  why  so  stern  and  cold  ? 

XL. 

"  What  yonder  rings  ?  what  yonder  sings  ? 

Why  shi-ieks  the  owlet  gray  'f — 
"  'Tis  death-bells'  clang,  'tis  funeral  song, 

The  body  to  the  clay. 

Ill 

"  With  song  and  clang,  at  morrow's  dawn, 

Ye  may  inter  the  dead : 
To-night  I  ride,  with  my  young  bride. 

To  deck  our  bridal  bed. 

XLIL 

"  Come  with  thy  choir,  thou  coffin'd  guest, 

To  swell  our  nuptial  song ! 
Come,  priest,  to  bless  our  marriage  feast  I 

Come  all,  come  all  along !" — 

XLIIL 

Ceased  clang  and  song ;  down  sunk  the  bier ; 

The  shrouded  corpse  arose : 
And,  hurry !  hurry  I  all  the  train 

The  thundering  steed  pursues. 

XLIV. 

And,  forward !  forward  !  on  they  go ; 

High  snorts  the  straining  steed ; 
Thick  pants  the  rider's  laboring  breath. 

As  headlong  on  they  speed. 

XLV. 

"  0  William,  why  tliis  savage  haste  ? 

And  where  thy  bridal  bed  T — 
"  'Tis  distant  far,  low,  damp,  and  chiU, 

And  narrow,  trustless  maid." — 

XLVI. 

"  No  room  for  me  ?" — "  Enough  for  both ; — 
Speed,  speed,  my  barb,  thy  course  !" — 

O'er  thundering  bridge,  through  boiling  surge, 
He  drove  the  furious  horse. 


1    612                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

XLVII. 

Tramp  !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 
Splash !  splash !  along  the  sea ; 

The  scourge  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright, 
The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LVII. 

Tramp !  tramp  I  along  the  land  they  rode, 
Splash !  splash  !  along  the  sea ; 

Tlie  scourge  is  red,  the  spur  di'ops  blood. 
The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

XLVIIL 

Fled  past  on  right  and  left  how  fast 
Each  forest,  grove,  and  bower  ! 

On  right  and  left  fled  past  how  fast 
F,ach  city,  town,  and  tower ! 

LVIIL 
"  Hurrah !   hurrah !   well  ride  the  dead ; 

The  bride,  the  bride  is  come ; 
And  soon  we  reach  the  bridal  bed. 

For,  Helen,  here's  my  home." — 

XLIX. 

"  Dost  fear  ?  dost  fear  ?     The  moon  shines  clear, 

Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  ? — 
HmTah !  hurrah  !  the  dead  can  ride  I" — 

"  0  William,  let  them  be  !— 

LIX. 

Reluctant  on  its  rusty  hinge 

Revolved  an  iron  door. 
And  by  the  pale  moon's  setting  beam 

Were  seen  a  chuixh  and  tower. 

L. 
«  See  there,  see  there  !     Vfhat  yonder  swings 

And  creaks  'mid  whistling  rain  ?" — 
"  Gibbet  and  steel,  th'  accursed  wheel ; 

A  murderer  in  liis  chain. — 

LX. 

With  many  a  shriek  and  cry  whiz  round 
The  birds  of  midnight,  scared ; 

And  rustling  like  autumnal  leaves 
Unhallow'd  ghosts  were  heard. 

LI. 
"  Hollo !  thou  felon,  follow  here  : 

To  bridal  bed  we  ride  ; 
And  thou  shalt  prance  a  fetter  dance 

Before  me  and  my  bride." — 

LXL 

O'er  many  a  tomb  and  tombstone  pale 
He  spurr'd  the  fiery  horse, 

Till  sudden  at  an  open  grave 
He  check'd  the  wondrous  course. 

LII. 

And,  hurry !  hurry  !  clash,  clash,  clash  I 
The  wasted  form  descends  ; 

And  fleet  as  wind  through  hazel  bush 
The  wild  career  attends. 

LXIL 
The  falling  gauntlet  quits  the  rein, 

Down  drops  the  casque  of  steel, 
T}}e  cuirass  leaves  his  slirinking  side. 

The  spur  his  gory  heel. 

LIU. 

Tramp !  tramp  !  along  the  land  they  rode, 
Splash  !  splash !  along  the  sea ; 

The  scourge  is  red,  the  spur  drops  blood, 
The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LXIIL 
Tlie  eyes  desert  the  naked  skull. 

The  mould'ring  flesh  the  bone, 
Till  Helen's  lily  arms  entwine 

A  gliastly  skeleton. 

LIV. 

How  fled  what  moonshine  faintly  show'd  1 
How  fled  what  darkness  hid  ! 

How  fled  the  earth  beneath  their  feet, 
The  heaven  above  their  head  1 

LXIV. 
The  furious  barb  snorts  fire  and  foam. 

And,  with  a  fearful  bound. 
Dissolves  at  once  in  empty  air. 

And  leaves  her  on  the  groimd. 

LV. 

"  Dost  fear  ?  dost  fear  ?     The  moon  shines  clear, 

A.nd  well  the  dead  can  ride ; 
Does  faithful  Helen  fear  for  them  ?" — 

"  0  leave  in  peace  the  dead !" — 

LXV. 

Half  seen  by  fits,  by  fits  half  heard. 

Pale  spectres  flit  along. 
Wheel  round  tlie  maid  in  dismal  dance. 

And  howl  the  funeral  song ; 

LVL 
"  Barb !  Barb !  methlnks  I  hear  the  cock 

The  sand  will  soon  be  run : 
Barb !  Barb !  I  smell  the  morning  air  ; 

The  race  is  welluigh  done." — 

'                                    LXVL 

"  E'en  when  the  heart's  with  anguish  clett, 

Revere  the  doom  of  Heaven, 
Her  soul  is  from  her  body  reft ; 

Her  spirit  be  forgiven  1" 

BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


613 


(Hlje  lUillr  i5«»tsman. 


Tms  is  a  translation,  or  rather  an  imitation,  of 
the  W/ldc  Jagcr  of  the  German  poet  Biirger.  Tlie 
tradition  upon  which  it  is  founded  bears,  that  for- 
merly a  "VVildgrave,  or  keeper  of  a  royal  forest, 
named  Faulkenburg,  was  so  much  addicted  to  the 
pleasui-es  of  the  chase,  and  otherwise  so  extremely 
profligate  and  cruel,  that  he  not  only  followed  this 
unhallowed  amusement  on  the  Sabbath,  and  other 
days  consecrated  to  religious  duty,  but  accompa- 
nied it  with  the  most  unheard-of  oppression  upon 
the  poor  peasants,  who  were  under  his  vassalage. 
When  this  second  Nimrod  died,  the  people  adopted 
a  superstition,  founded  probably  on  the  many  va- 
rious imcouth  sounds  heard  in  the  depth  of  a  Ger- 
man forest,  dm'ing  the  silence  of  the  night.  They 
conceived  they  still  heard  the  cry  of  the  Wild- 
grave's  hounds ;  and  the  well-known  cheer  of  the 
deceased  hunter,  the  sounds  of  his  horses'  feet,  and 
ihe  rustling  of  the  branches  before  the  game,  the 
pack,  and  the  sportsmen,  are  also  distinctly  dis- 
criminated ;  but  the  phantoms  are  rai-ely,  if  ever, 
visible.  Once,  as  a  benighted  Chasseur  heard  this 
infernal  chase  pass  by  him,  at  the  sound  of  the 
halloo,  with  which  the  Spectre  Huntsman  cheered 
his  hounds,  he  could  not  refrain  from  ciying, 
"  Gluck  zu  Falkenburgh  !"  [Good  sport  to  ye, 
Falkenburgh !]  "  Dost  thou  wish  me  good  sport  ?" 
answered  a  hoarse  voice ;  "  thou  shalt  share  the 
game ;"  and  there  was  thrown  at  him  what  seemed 
to  be  a  huge  piece  of  foul  carrion.  The  daring 
Chasseur  lost  two  of  liis  best  horses  soon  after,  and 
never  perfectly  recovered  the  personal  effects  of 
this  ghostly  greeting.  Tliis  tale,  though  told  with 
eome  variations,  is  universally  believed  all  over 
Germany. 

The  French  had  a  similar  tradition  concerning 
an  aerial  hunter,  who  infested  the  forest  of  Foun- 
tainbleau.  He  was  sometimes  visible ;  when  he 
appeared  as  a  huntsman,  surrounded  with  dogs,  a 
tall  grisly  figure.  Some  account  of  him  may  be 
found  in  "  Sully's  Memoirs,"  who  says  he  was  called 
Ze  G-rarid  Vencur.  At  one  time  he  chose  to  hunt 
so  near  the  palace,  that  the  attendants,  and,  if  I 
mistake  not.  Sully  liimself,  came  out  into  the 
court,  supposing  it  was  the  sound  of  the  king  re- 
turning from  the  chase.  This  phantom  is  else- 
where called  Saint  Hubert. 

The  superstition  seems  to  have  been  very  gen- 
eral, as  appears  from  the  following  fine  poetical 
description  of  this  phantom  chase,  as  it  was  heard 
in  the  wUds  of  Ross-shire. 

"  Ere  since  of  old,  the  liaaglity  thanes  of  Ross, — 
So  to  the  simple  swain  tradition  tells, — 
Were  wont  with  clans,  aud  ready  vassals  throng'd, 
To  wake  the  bounding  stag,  or  gailty  wolf, 


There  oft  is  heard,  at  midnight,  or  at  noon, 

Beginning  faint,  but  rising  still  more  loud. 

And  nearer,  voice  of  hunters,  and  of  hounds, 

And  horns,  hoarse  winded,  blowing  far  and  keen : — 

Forthwith  the  hubbub  multiplies  ;  the  gale 

Labors  with  wilder  shrieks,  and  rifer  din 

Of  hot  pursuit  ;  the  broken  cry  of  deer 

Mangled  by  throttling  dogs  ;  the  shouts  of  men, 

And  lioofs,  thick  beating  (m  the  hollow  hill. 

Sudden  the  grazing  heifer  in  the  vale 

Starts  at  the  noise,  and  both  the  herdsman's  eats 

Tingle  with  inward  dread.     Aghast,  he  eyes 

The  mountain's  height,  and  all  the  ridges  ronnd. 

Yet  not  one  trace  of  living  wight  discerns, 

Nor  knows,  o'erawed,  aud  trembling  as  he  stands, 

To  what,  or  whom,  he  owes  his  idle  fear, 

To  ghost,  to  witch,  to  fairy,  or  to  fiend  ; 

But  wonders,  and  no  end  of  wondering  finds." 

jS/ianza— reprinted  in  Scottish  Descriptive  Poems, 
pp.  167,  168. 


A  posthumous  miracle  of  Father  Lesley,  a  Scot- 
tish capuchin,  related  to  his  being  buried  on  a  hiU 
haunted  by  these  unearthly  cries  of  hounds  and 
huntsmen.  After  his  sainted  reUcs  had  been  de 
posited  there,  the  noise  was  never  heard  more. 
The  reader  will  find  this,  and  other  miracles,  re- 
corded in  the  life  of  Father  Bonaventura,  which  i» 
written  in  the  choicest  Itahan. 


THE  WILD  HUNTSMAIf. 
[1796.'] 

The  Wildgrave  winds  his  bugle-horn. 
To  horse,  to  horse  !  halloo,  halloo ! 

His  fiery  courser  snuffs  the  morn, 

And  thi-onging  serfs  their  lord  pursue. 

The  eager  pack,  from  couples  freed, 

Dash  through  the  bush,  the  brier,  the  brake ; 

Wliile  answering  hoimd,  and  horn,  and  steed. 
The  mountain  echoes  startling  wake. 

The  beams  of  God's  own  hallow'd  day 
Had  painted  yonder  spire  with  gold, 

And,  calling  sinful  man  to  pray. 

Loud,  long,  and  deep  the  bell  had  tril'd- 

But  still  the  Wildgrave  onward  rides ; 

Halloo,  halloo !  and,  hai'k  again ' 
When,  spirrring  from  opposing  sides, 

Two  Stranger  Horsemen  join  the  train. 

Wlio  was  each  Stranger,  left  and  right. 
Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell ; 

The  right-hand  steed  was  silver  white, 
The  left,  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 

1  Published  (1796)  with  William  and  Helen,  and  entitloa 
'The  Chacb." 


6M 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Tlie  rigJit-liand  horseman,  young  and  fair, 
His  smile  was  like  the  morn  of  May ; 

The  left,  from  eye  of  tawny  glare, 
Shot  midnight  lightning's  lurid  ray. 

He  waved  his  huntsman's  cap  on  high. 
Cried,  "  Welcome,  welcome,  noble  lord  ! 

AY  hat  sport  can  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky, 
To  match  the  princely  chase,  afford  ?"' — 

"  Cease  thy  loud  bugle's  changing  knell," 
Cried  the  fair  youth,  witli  silver  voice ; 

"  And  for  devotion's  choral  swell, 
Exchange  the  rude  mihallow'd  noise. 

"  To-day,  the  ill-omen'd  chase  forbear, 
Yon  bell  yet  summons  to  the  fane ; 

To-day  the  Warning  Sphit  hear. 

To-morrow  thou  mayst  mourn  in  vain." — 

"  Away,  and  sweep  the  glades  along  !" 

The  Sable  Hujiter  hoarse  replies ; 
"  To  muttering  monks  leave  matin-song. 

And  bells,  and  books,  and  mysteries." 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  liis  ardent  steed, 
And,  launching  fonvard  with  a  bound, 

"  Who,  for  thy  drowsy  priestlike  rede, 
Would  leave  the  jovial  horn  and  hound  ? 

"  Hence,  if  our  manly  sport  offend ! 

With  pious  fools  go  chant  and  prav : — 
Well  hast  thou  spoke,  my  dark-brow"d  friend  ; 

Halloo,  halloo !  and,  hark  away !" 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  his  courser  %ht. 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  o'er  holt  and  liill ; 

And  on  the  left  and  on  the  right, 
Each  Stranger  Horseman  followed  stUl. 

Up  springs,  from  yonder  tangled  thorn, 
.  A  stag  more  wliite  than  mountain  snow ; 
And  louder  rung  the  Wildgrave's  horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forward  !  holla,  ho  !" 

A  heedless  wretch  has  cross'd  the  way ; 

He  gasps  the  thundermg  hoofs  below  ; 
But,  Uve  who  can,  or  die  who  may, 

StUl,  "Forward,  forward !"  on  they  go. 

See,  where  yon  simple  fences  meet, 

A  field  with  Autumn's  blessings  crown'd ; 

See,  prostrate  at  the  Wildgrave's  feet, 
A  husbandman  with  toil  embrown'd  :   * 

"  0  mercy,  mercy,  noble  lord ! 

Spare  the  poor's  pittance,"  was  his  cry, 
"  Earn'd  by  the  sweat  these  brows  ha'e  pour'd. 

In  scorching  hour  of  fierce  July." 


Earnest  the  right-hand  Stranger  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey ; 

The  impetuous  Earl  no  warning  heeds, 
But  fm-ious  holds  the  onward  way. 

"  Away,  thou  hound  1  so  basely  born, 
Or  dread  the  scourge's  echoing  blow !" — 

Then  loudly  rung  his  bugle-horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forwai'd,  holla,  ho  1" 

So  said,  so  done : — A  single  bound 

Clears  the  poor  laborer's  humble  pale ; 

Wild  follows  man,  and  horse,  and  hoimd. 
Like  dark  December's  stormy  gale. 

And  man  and  horse,  and  hound  and  horn. 

Destructive  sweep  the  field  along; 
While,  joying  o'er  the  wasted  corn, 

Fell  Famine  mai'ks  the  maddening  throng 

Again  uproused,  the  timorous  prey 

Scours  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill 

Hard  run,  he  feels  liis  strength  decay, 
And  trusts  for  life  his  simple  skill. 

Too  dangerous  solitude  appear'd ; 

He  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  crowd ; 
Amid  the  flock's  domestic  herd 

His  harmless  head  he  hopes  to  shroud. 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill, 
His  track  the  steady  blood-hounds  trace ; 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  unwearied  stUl, 
The  furious  Earl  pursues  the  chase. 

Full  lowly  did  the  herdsman  fall ; — 
"  0  spare,  thou  noble  Baron,  spare 

These  herds,  a  widow's  httle  all ; 

These  flocks,  an  orphan's  fleecy  care  !" — 

Earnest  the  right-hand  Stranger  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  pifey ; 

Tlie  Earl  nor  prayer  nor  pity  heeds. 
But  fm-ious  kee^Js  the  onward  way. 

"  Unmanner'd  dog !     To  stop  my  sport 
Vain  were  thy  cant  and  beggar  whine, 

Though  hmnan  spirits,  of  thy  sort. 

Were  tenants  of  these  camon  kine  1" — 

Again  he  winds  his  bugle-horn, 

"  Hark  forward,  forward,  hoUa,  ho !' 

And  tlorough  the  herd,  in  ruthless  scorn. 
He  cheers  liis  furious  hounds  to  gc. 

In  heaps  the  throttled  victims  fall ; 

Do^vn  smks  their  mangled  herdsman  near , 
Tlie  murderous  cries  the  stag  appal, — 

Again  he  starts,  new-nerved  by  fear. 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


615 


With  blood  besmear'd,  and  white  with  foam, 
While  big  the  tears  of  anguish  poiir, 

He  seeks,  amid  the  forest's  gloom. 
The  humble  hermit's  haUow'd  bower. 

But  man  and  horse,  and  horn  and  hound. 

Fast  rattling  on  his  traces  go ; 
The  sacred  chapel  rung  aiound 

Witli,  "  Hark  away  !  and,  holla,  ho  1" 

All  mild,  amid  the  rout  profane. 
The  holy  hermit  pour'd  his  prayer ; 

"  Forbeai"  with  blood  God's  house  to  stain ; 
Revere  his  altar,  and  forbear ! 

''  The  meanest  brute  has  rights  to  plead, 
Which,  wrong'd  by  cruelty,  or  pride. 

Draw  vengeance  on  the  ruthless  head : — 
Be  wai'n'd  at  length,  and  tm-n  aside." 

StiU  the  Fair  Horseman  anxious  pleads ; 

The  Black,  wild  whooping,  points  the  prey : 
Alas !  the  Earl  no  warning  heeds, 

But  fi-autic  keeps  the  forward  way. 

"  Holy  or  not,  or  right  or  wrong, 
Thy  altar,  and  its  rites,  I  spurn ; 

Not  sainted  martyrs'  sacred  song, 

Not  God  himself,  shall  make  me  tm'n !" 

He  spurs  his  horse,  he  winds  his  horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho !" — 

But  off,  on  wliuiwind's  pinions  borne, 
The  stag,  the  hut,  the  hermit,  go. 

And  horse  and  man,  and  horn  and  hound. 
And  clamor  of  the  chase,  was  gone  ; 

For  hoofs,  and  howls,  and  bugle-sound, 
A  deadly  silence  reign'd  alone. 

Wild  gazed  the  affrighted  Earl  around ; 

He  strove  in  vain  to  wake  liis  horn, 
In  vain  to  call :  for  not  a  sound 

Could  from  his  anxious  Hps  be  borne. 

He  hstens  for  his  trusty  hounds ; 

No  distant  baying  reach'd  his  ears : 
His  courser,  rooted  to  the  ground. 

The  quickening  spm'  unmindful  bears. 

Still  dark  and  dai-ker  frown  the  shades, 
Dark  as  the  darkness  of  the  grave ; 

And  not  a  sound  the  still  invades, 
Save  what  a  distant  torrent  gave. 

nigh  o'er  the  sinner's  humbled  head 
At  length  the  solemn  silence  broke 


And,  from  a  cloud  of  swarthy  red. 
The  awful  voice  of  thunder  spoke. 

"  Oppressor  of  creation  fair ! 

Apostate  Spirits'  harden'd  tool ! 
Scorner  of  God !     Scourge  of  the  poor  1 

The  measure  of  thy  cup  is  fulL 

"  Be  chased  for  ever  through  the  wood ; 

For  ever  roam  the  affrighted  wild ; 
And  let  thy  fate  instruct  the  proud, 

God's  meanest  creatm'e  is  his  cliild." 

'Twas  hush'd : — One  flash,  of  sombre  glare, 
With  yellow  tinged  the  forests  brown ; 

Uprose  the  WUdgrave's  bristhng  hair, 
And  horror  chill'd  each  nerve  and  bono. 

Cold  pour'd  the  sweat  in  freezing  rill ; 

A  rising  wind  began  to  sing  ; 
And  louder,  louder,  louder  still, 

Brought  storm  and  tempest  on  its  wing 

Earth  heard  the  call; — her  entrails  rend; 

From  yawning  rifts,  with  many  a  yell, 
Mix'd  with  sulphm-eous  flames,  ascend 

The  misbegotten  dogs  of  hell. 

Wliat  ghastly  Huntsman  next  arose. 
Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell  •, 

His  eye  like  midnight  hglitnLng  glows. 
Hi  a  steed  the  swarthy  hue  of  helL 

The  Wildgrave  flies  o'er  bush  and  thorn, 
With  many  a  shi-iek  of  helpless  woe ; 

Behind  him  hound,  and  liorse,  and  horn, 
And,  "  Hark  away,  and  holla,  ho  1" 

With  wild  despair's  reverted  eye, 

Close,  close  behind,  he  marks  the  throng, 

With  bloody  fangs  and  eager  cry ; 
In  frantic  fear  he  scoiirs  along. — 

Still,  still  shall  last  the  dreadful  chase, 
Till  time  itself  shall  have  an  end  ; 

By  day,  they  scour  earth's  cavern'd  space, 
At  midnight's  witching  hour,  ascend. 

This  is  the  horn,  and  hound,  and  horse, 
That  oft  the  lated  peasant  hears ; 

AppaU'd,  he  signs  the  frequent  cross. 
When  the  wild  din  invades  his  eai's. 

The  wakeful  priest  oft  drops  a  tear 
For  human  pride,  for  human  woe, 

When,  at  his  midnight  mass,  he  hears 
The  infei-nal  cry  of,  "  Holla,  ho  I" 


616 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Srjjc  iFfre=ltina. 


'  The  blessings  of  the  evil  Genii,  which  are  curses,  were 
upon  him." — Eastern  Tale. 

[1801.] 


TJiis  ballad  was  written  at  the  request  o/Me.  LI^v\^s, 
to  be  inserted  in  his  "  Tales  of  "Wonder."^  It  is 
the  third  in  a  series  of  four  ballads,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Elementary  Spirits.  The  story  is,  how- 
ever, partly  historical ;  for  it  is  recorded,  that, 
during  the  struggles  of  the  Latin  Mngdmn  of 
.Jerusalem,  a  Knight-Templar,  called  Saint- Alban, 
deserted  to  the  Saracens,  and  defeated  the  Chris- 
tians in  many  combats,  till  he  was  finally  routed 
and  slain,  in  a  conflict  with  King  Baldwin,  un- 
«r  the  walls  of  Jerusalem. 


Bold  knights  and  fair  dames,  to  my  harp  give  an 

ear, 
Of  love,  and  of  war,  and  of  wonder  to  hear ; 
And  you  haply  may  sigh,  in  the  midst  of  yoiir 

glee, 
At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert,  and  fair  Rosalie. 

0  see  you  that  castle,  so  strong  and  so  high  ? 
And  see  you  that  lady,  the  tear  in  her  eye  ? 
And  see  you  that  palmer,  from  Palestine's  land. 
The  shell  on  his  hat,  and  the  staff  in  liis  hand  ? — 

"  Now  palmer,  gray  palmer,  0  teU  unto  me. 
What  news  bring  you  home  from  the  Holy  Coun- 

trie  ? 
And  how  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  strand  ? 
And    how  fare   our   nobles,   the   flower   of  the 

land?"— 

"  0  well  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  wave, 
For  Gilead,  and  Nablous,  and  Ramah  we  have ; 
And  well  fare  our  nobles  hj  Mount  Lebanon, 
For  the  Heathen  have  lost,  and  the  Clu'istians  have 
won." 

A  fair  chain  of  gold  'mid  her  ringlets  there  hung ; 
O'er  the  palmer's  gray  locks  the  fair  chain  has  she 

flung : 
"  0  palmer,  gray  palmer,  this  chain  be  thy  fee. 
For  the  news  thou  hast  brought  from  the  Holy 

Countrie. 

**  And,  palmer,  good  pahner,  by  Galilee's  wave, 
O  Raw  ye  Count  Albert,  the  gentle  and  brave  i 

1  Published  in  1801.     See  ante,  p.  573. 


"Wlien  the  Crescent  went  back,  and  the  Red-cros8 

rush'd  on, 
0  saw  ye  him  foremost  on  Mount  Lebanon  ?" — 

"  0  lady,  fair  lady,  the  tree  green  it  grows ; 
0  lady,  fair  lady,  the  stream  pure  it  flows ; 
Tour  castle  stands  strong,  and  your  hopes  soar  oa 

high; 
But,  lady,  fair  lady,  all  blossoms  to  die. 

"  The  green  boughs  they  wither,  the  thunderbolt 

fiOls, 
It  leaves  of  yom-  castle  but  levin-scorch'd  walls ; 
The  pure  stream  runs  muddy ;  the  gay  hope  is 

gone; 
Count  Albert  is  prisoner  on  Moimt  Lebanon." 

0  she's  ta'en  a  horse,  should  be  fleet  at  her  speed ; 
And  she's  ta'en  a  sword,  should  be  sharp  at  her 

need ; 
And  she  lias  ta'en  shipping  for  Palestine's  land. 
To  ransom  Count  Albert  from  Soldanrie's  hand. 

Small  thought  had  Coimt  Albert  on  fair  Rosalie, 
Small  thought   on  his  faith,  or  his  knighthood, 

had  he  ; 
A  heathenish  damsel  his  light  heart  had  won, 
The  Soldan's  fan-  daughter  of  Mount  Lebanon. 

"  0  Chi-istian,  brave  Christian,  my  love  wouldst 

thou  be ; 
Three  tilings  must  thou  do  ere  I  hearken  to  thee : 
Our  laws  and  our  worship   on   thee  shalt  thou 

take ; 
And  this  thou  shalt  fii'st  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"  And,  next,  in  the  cavern,  where  bums  evermore 
The  mystical  flame  which  the  Curdmans  adore, 
Alone,   and  in   silence,   thi-ee   nights  shalt   thou 

wake ; 
And  this  thou  shalt  next  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"And,  last,  thou  shalt  aid  us  with  counsel  and 

hand. 
To  drive  the  Franli  robber  from  Palestine's  land ; 
For  my  lord  and  my  love  then  Coimt  Albert  I'll 

take. 
When  all  this  is  accomplish'd  for  Zxdema's  sake." 

He  has  thi-own  by  his  helmet,  and  cross-handled 

sword. 
Renouncing  his  knighthood,  denying  his  Lord ; 
He  has  ta'en  the  green  caftan,  and  turban  put  on, 
For  the  love  of  the  maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 

And    in    the    dread    cavern,  deep,  deep   under 

ground, 
Which  fifty  steel  gates  and  steel  portals  surround, 


J 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


017 


He  has  watch'd  until  daybreak,  but  sight  saw  he 

none, 
Save  the  flame  burning  bright  on  its  altar  of  stone. 

Amazed  was  the  Princiss,  the  Soldan  amazed, 
Sore  mm'mur'd  tlie  priests  as  on  Albert  they  gazed ; 
They  searcli'd   all  his  garments,  and,  under  his 

weeds. 
They  found,  and  took  from  him,  his  rosary  beads. 

Again  in  the  cavern,  deep,  deep  under  ground, 
He  watch"d  the  lone  night,  while  the  winds  whis- 
tled round ; 
Far  off  was  their  murmur,  it  came  not  more  nigh. 
The  flame  burn'd  unmoved,  and  naught  else  did 
he  spy. 

Loud  murmm-'d  the  priests,  and  amazed  was  the 

King, 
Wliile  many  dark  spells  of  their  witchcraft  they 

smg; 
They  search'd  Albert's  body,  and,  lo !  on  his  breast 
Was  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  by  his  father  impress'd. 

The  priests  they  erase  it  with  care  and  with  pain. 
And  the  recreant  return'd  to  the  cavern  again ; 
But,  as  he  descended,  a  whisper  there  fell : 
It  was  his  good  angel,  who  bade  him  farewell ! 

High  bristled  his  hair,  liis  heart  fluttered  and  beat. 
And  he  turn'd  him  five  steps,  half  resolved  to 

retreat ; 
But  liis  heart  it  was  harden'd,  his  purpose  was 

gone, 
When  he  thought  of  the  Maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 

Scarce  pass'd  he  the  archway,  the  threshold  scarce 
trode. 

When  the  winds  from  the  four  points  of  heaven 
were  abroad, 

They  made  each  steel  portal  to  rattle  and  ring. 

And,  borne  on  the  blast,  came  the  di-ead  Fire- 
King. 

Full  sore  rock'd  the  cavern  whene'er  he  drew  nigh, 
The  fire  on  the  altar  blazed  bickering  and  high ; 
In  volcanic  explosions  the  mountains  proclaim 
The  di-cadful  approach  of  the  Monarch  of  Flame. 

Unmeasured  in  height,  undistinguish'd  in  form. 
His  breath  it  was  hghtning,  liis  voice  it  was  stomi ; 
I  ween  the  stout  heart  of  Count  Albert  was  tame, 
When  he  saw  in  his  terrors  the  Monarch  of  Flame. 

In  his  hand  a  broad  falchion  blue-glimmer' d  thi-ough 

smoke, 
And  Mount  Lebanon  shook  as  the   monarch  he 

spoke : 

7« 


"  With  this  brand  shalt  thou  conquer,  thus  long 

and  no  more, 
Till  thou  bend  to  the  Cross,  and  the  Virgin  adore." 

The  cloud-slu'ouded  Arm  gives  the  weapon ;  and 

sec ! 
The  recreant  receives  tlie  charmed  gift  on  liis  knee : 
The  thunders  growl  distant,  and  faint  gleam  the 

fires. 
As,  borne  on  the  whirlwind,  the  phantom  retires. 

Count  Albert  has  arm'd  him  the  Paynim  among. 
Though  his  heart  it  was  false,  yet  his  arm  it  was 

strong ; 
And  the  Rod-cross  wax'd  faint,  and  the  Crescent 

came  on. 
From  the  day  he  commanded  on  Mount  Lebanon. 

From  Lebanon's  forests  to  Galilee's  wave, 

Tlie  sands  of  Samaar  drank  the  bipod  of  the  brave- 

TiU  the  Kniglits  of  the  Temple,  and  Knights  of 

Saint  John, 
With  Salem's  King  Baldwin,  against  liim  came  on 

The  war-cymbals  clatter'd,  the  trumpets  replied. 
The  lances  were  couch'd,  and  they  closed  on  each 

side; 
And  horsemen  and  horses  Count  Albert  o'ertlirew 
Till  he  pierced  the  thick  tumult  King  Baldwir 

unto. 

Against  the  charm'd  blade  which  Count  Albert  did 

wield. 
The  fence  had  been  vain  of  the  King's  Red-cros.» 

sliield ; 
But  a  Page  thrust  him  forward  the  monarch  before. 
And  cleft  the  proud  turban  the  renegade  wore. 

So  fell  was  the  dint,  that  Count  Albert  stoojj'd 

low 
Before  the  cross'd  shield,  to  his  steel  saddlebow ; 
And  scarce  had  he  bent  to  the  Red-cross  liis  head, — 
"  Bonne  Grace,  Notre  Dame  !"  he  unwittingly  said. 

Sore  sigh'd  the  charm'd  sword,  for  its  vhtue  was 

o'er, 
It  sprung  from  Ms  grasp,  and  was  never  seen  more ; 
But  true  men  have  said,  that  the  hghtning's  red 

wing 
Did  waft  back  the  brand  to  the  dread  Fire-King. 

He  clench'd  his  set  teeth,  and  his  gaunt'eted  hand ; 
He  stretch'd,  with  one  buffet,  that  Page  on  the 

strand  ; 
As  back  from  the   stripling  the   broken  casque 

roll'd, 
You  might  see  the  blue  eyes,  and  the  ringlets  of 

gold. 


618 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Short  time  had  Count  Albert  in  horror  to  stare 
On   those    death-swimming   eyeballs,  and  blood- 
clotted  hair ; 
For  down  came  the  Templars,  like  Cedi-on  in  flood, 
And  dyed  their  long  lances  in  Saracen  blood. 

The  Saracens,  Curdmans,  and  Islimaelites  yield 
To  the  scalloj^,  the  saltier,  and  crossleted  sliield ; 
And  the  eagles  were  gorged  Avith  the  infidel  dead, 
From  Bethsaida's  fountains  to  Waphthali's  head. 

The  battle  is  over  on  Bethsaida's  plain. — 

Oh,  who  is  yoQ  Paynim  lies  stretch'd  'mid  the 

slain  j 
And  who  is  yon  Page  lying  cold  at  his  knee  ? — 
Oh,  who  but  Count  Albert  and  fair  Kosalie  1 

The  Lady  was  buried  in  Salem's  bless'd  bound. 
The  Count  he  was  left  to  the  vulture  and  hound : 
Her  soul  to  high  mercy  Om-  Lady  did  bring ; 
His  went  on  the  blast  to  the  dread  Fire-Kins:. 

Yet  many  a  minstrel,  in  harping,  can  tell, 

How  the  Eed-cross  it  conquered,  the  Crescent  it 

feU: 
And  lords  and  gay  ladies  have  sigh'd,  'mid  their 

At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie. 


JFrcticrtcft   anU    Sllice. 


[1801.] 


This  tale  is  imitated,  rather  than  translated,  from 
a  fragment  introduced  in  Goethe's  "  Claudina  von 
Villa  Bella,"  where  it  is  suyi(j  by  a  member  of  a 
gang  of  banditti,  to  engage  the  attention  of  the  fam- 
ily, while  his  companions  break  into  the  castle.  It 
owes  any  little  merit  it  may  possess  to  my  friend 
Mr.  Lewis,  to  whom  it  was  sent  in  an  extremely 
rude  state ;  and  who,  after  some  material  improve- 
ments, published  it  in  his  "  Tales  of  "Wonder." 


Frederick  leaves  the  land  of  France, 
Homeward  hastes  his  steps  to  measure, 

Careless  casts  the  parting  glance 
On  the  scene  of  former  pleasure. 

Joying  in  his  prancing  steed, 

Keen  to  prove  his  untried  blade, 

Hope's  gay  dreams  the  soldier  lead 
Over  mountain,  moor,  and  glade. 


Helpless,  ruiu'd,  left  forlorn, 

Lovely  Alice  wept  alone ; 
Moum'd  o'er  love's  fond  contract  torn, 

Hope,  and  peace,  and  honor  flown. 

Mai-k  her  breast's  convulsive  throbs ! 

See,  the  tear  of  anguish  flows ! — 
MingUng  soon  with  bm-stiug  sobs, 

Loud  the  laugh  of  phi-ensy  rose. 

"Wild  she  cursed,  and  wild  she  pray'd ; 

Seven  long  days  and  nights  are  o'er ; 
Death  in  pity  brought  his  aid, 

As  the  village  bell  struck  four. 

Fai-  from  her,  and  far  from  France, 
Faitliless  Frederick  onward  rides ; 

Marking,  blithe,  the  mornmg's  glance 
Mantling  o'er  the  mountain's  sides. 

Heard  ye  not  the  boding  sound, 
As  the  tongue  of  yonder  tower, 

Slowly,  to  the  hills  around. 

Told  the  fom-th,  the  fated  hour  ? 

Starts  the  steed,  and  snuffs  the  air, 
Yet  no  cause  of  dread  appeal's ; 

Bristles  high  the  rider's  hah-, 

Struck  with  strange  mysterious  fears. 

Desjjerate,  as  his  terrors  rise. 
In  tlie  steed  the  spur  he  hides ; 

From  himself  in  vain  he  flies ; 
Anxious,  restless,  on  he  rides. 

Seven  long  days,  and  seven  long  nights, 
Wnd  he  wander'd,  woe  the  while  1 

Ceaseless  care,  and  causeless  fright, 
Urge  his  footsteps  many  a  mile. 

Dark  the  seventh  sad  night  descends ; 

Rivers  swell,  and  rain-streams  pour ; 
"Wliile  the  deafening  thunder  lends 

All  the  terrors  of  its  roar. 

"Weary,  wet,  and  spent  with  toil, 

Where  his  head  shall  Frederick  hide  I 

"Where,  but  in  yon  ruin'd  aisle, 
By  the  lightning's  flash  descried  ? 

To  the  portal,  dank  and  low, 

Fast  his  steed  the  wanderer  bound. 

Down  a  ruin'd  staiixase  slow, 

Next  liis  darkling  way  he  wound. 

Long  drear  vaults  before  him  lie  I 

GUmmering  hghts  are  seen  to  glide  !— 

"  Blessed  Mary,  hear  my  cry  ! 
Deign  a  sinner's  steps  to  guide  1" 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


— i 


619 


Often  lost  their  quivering  beam, 
Still  the  lights  move  slow  before, 

Till  they  rest  theh-  ghastly  gleam 
Right  against  an  iron  door. 

Thundering  voices  from  "within, 

Mix'd  with  peals  of  laughter,  rose  ; 

As  they  fell,  a  solemn  strain 
Lent  its  wUd  and  wondrous  close  1 

Midst  the  din,  he  seem'd  to  hear 

Voice  of  friends,  by  death  removed  ; — 

Well  he  knew  that  solemn  air, 
'Twas  the  lay  that  Alice  loved. — 

Hark  !  for  now  a  solemn  knell 

Four  times  on  the  still  night  broke  *, 

Four  times,  at  its  deaden'd  swell. 
Echoes  from  the  ruins  spoke. 

As  the  lengthen'd  clangors  die. 

Slowly  opes  the  u-on  door  ! 
Straight  a  banquet  met  his  eye, 

But  a  funeral's  form  it  wore  ! 

Coffins  for  the  seats  extend  ; 

All  with  black  the  board  was  spread ; 
Girt  by  parent,  brother,  friend. 

Long  since  number'd  with  the  dead  ! 

Alice,  in  her  grave-clothes  bound, 
Ghastly  smiling,  points  a  seat ; 

All  arose,  with  thundering  soirnd  ; 
AU  the  expected  stranger  greet. 

High  their  meagre  arms  they  wave, 
Wild  their  notes  of  welcome  swell : — 

"  Welcome,  traitor,  to  the  grave  ! 
Perjured,  bid  the  light  farewell !" 


(5I)c  I3attle  of  6cmpacl). 


[1818.] 


These  verses  are  a  hteral  translation  of  an  an- 
cient Swiss  ballad  upon  the  battle  of  Sempach, 
fought  9th  July,  1386,  being  the  victory  by  which 
the  Swiss  cantons  establislied  their  independence  ; 
the  author,  Albert  Tchudi,  denominated  the  Sou- 
ter,  from  his  profession  of  a  shoemaker.  He  was 
a  citizen  of  Lucerne,  esteemed  highly  among  his 
countrymen,  both  for  liis  powers  as  a  Meister- 
Singer,  or  minstrel,  and  his  courage  as  a  soldier ; 
BO  that  he  might  share  the  praise  conferred  by 
Collins  on  .^Eschylus,  that — 


" Not  alone  he  nnrsed  the  poet's  flame, 

But  reach'd  from  Virtue's  hand  the  patriot  steel. 

The  circumstanco  of  their  being  written  by  a 
poet  returning  from  the  well-fought  field  he  de- 
scribes, and  in  wliich  his  country's  fortime  was 
secured,  may  confer  on  Tchudi's  verses  an  interest 
which  they  are  not  entitled  to  claun  from  their 
poetical  merit.  But  ballad  poetry,  the  more  lit- 
erally it  is  translated,  the  more  it  loses  its  simpli- 
city, without  acquiring  either  grace  or  strength ; 
and,  therefore,  some  of  the  faults  of  the  verses 
must  bo  imputed  to  the  translator's  feeling  it  a 
duty  to  keep  as  closely  as  possible  to  his  original. 
Tlie  various  puns,  rude  attempts  at  pleasantry, 
and  disproportioned  episodes,  must  be  set  down 
to  Tchudi's  account,  or  to  the  taste  of  liis  a?e. 

The  military  antiquary  will  derive  some  amuse- 
ment from  the  minute  particidars  which  the  mar- 
tial poet  has  recorded.  The  mode  in  which  the 
Austrian  men-at-arms  received  the  charge  of  the 
Swiss,  was  by  formuig  a  phalanx,  wliich  they  de- 
fended with  then-  long  lances.  The  gallant  Wink- 
elreid,  who  sacrificed  his  own  life  by  rusliing  among 
the  spears,  claspmg  in  his  arms  as  many  as  he 
could  grasp,  and  thus  opening  a  gap  in  those  iron 
battalions,  is  celebrated  in  Swiss  history.  When 
fairly  mingled  together,  the  unwieldy  length  of 
their  weapons,  and  cumbrous  weight  of  then'  de- 
fensive armor,  rendered  the  Austrian  men-at-arms 
a  very  unequal  match  for  the  light-armed  moun- 
taineers. The  victories  obtained  by  the  Swiss  over 
the  German  chivalry,  hitherto  deemed  as  formi- 
dable on  foot  as  on  horseback,  led  to  important 
changes  in  the  art  of  war.  The  poet  describes  the 
Austrian  knights  and  squires  as  cutting  the  peaks 
from  their  boots  ere  they  could  act  upon  foot,  in 
allusion  to  an  inconvenient  piece  of  foppery,  often 
mentioned  in  the  middle  ages.  Leopold  III., 
Archduke  of  Austria,  called  "  The  handsome  man- 
at-arms,"  was  slain  in  the  Battle  of  Sempach,  with 
the  flower  of  his  chivalry. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH.' 

'TwAS  when  among  om*  linden-trees 

The  bees  had  housed  in  swarms 
(And  gray-hair'd  peasants  say  that' these 

Betoken  foreign  arms). 

Then  look'd  we  down  to  Willisow, 

The  land  was  all  in  flame  ; 
We  knew  the  Archduke  Leopold 

With  all  his  army  came. 

1  This  translatioa  first  appeared  ia  Blackwood's  Edinburgh 
Magazine  for  February,  1818. — Ed, 


020                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  Austrian  nobles  made  theii-  vow, 

Tlie  peaks  they  hew'd  from  their  boot-poiiita 

So  hot  their  heart  and  bold, 

Might  wellnigh  load  a  wain.^ 

'  On  Switzer  carles  we'll  trample  no-w, 

A  nd  slay  both  yoimg  and  old." 

And  thus  they  to  each  other  said. 

"  Yon  handful  down  to  hew 

With  clarion  loud,  and  banner  proud, 

WUl  be  no  boastful  tale  to  tell. 

From  Zurich  on  the  lake, 

The  peasants  are  so  few." — 

In  martial  pomp  and  fair  array, 

Their  onward  march  they  make. 

The  gaUant  Swiss  Confederates  there 

They  pray'd  to  God  aloud. 

"  Now  list,  ye  lowland  nobles  all — 

And  he  display'd  liis  rainbow  fair 

Ye  seek  the  mountam  strand. 

Against  a  swarthy  cloud. 

Nor  wot  ye  what  shall  be  yom-  lot 

In  such  a  dangerous  la.nd. 

Then  heart  and  pulse  throbb'd  more  and  more 

With  courage  firm  and  high, 

"  I  rede  ye,  shrive  ye  of  your  sins, 

And  down  the  good  Confederates  bore 

Before  ye  farther  go  : 

On  the  Austrian  chivalry. 

A  skirmish  in  Helvetian  hills 

May  send  your  souls  to  woe." — 

The  Austrian  Lion*  'gan  to  growl, 

And  toss  liis  mane  and  tail ; 

"  But  where  now  shall  we  find  a  priest 

And  ball,  and  shaft,  and  crossbow  bolt, 

Om-  shrift  that  he  may  hear  ?" — 

Went  whistling  forth  like  hail. 

"  The  Switzer  priest'  has  ta'en  the  field. 

He  deals  a  penance  drear. 

Lance,  pike,  and  halbert,  mingled  there, 

The  game  was  nothing  sweet ; 

"  Right  heavily  upon  your  head 

The  boughs  of  many  a  stately  tree 

He'll  lay  his  hand  of  steel ; 

Lay  shiver'd  at  their  feet. 

And  with  his  trusty  partisan 

Your  absolution  deal." — 

The  Austrian  men-at-arms  stood  fast. 

So  close  their  spears  they  laid  ; 

'Twas  on  a  Monday  morning  then, 

It  chafed  the  gallant  Winkelreid, 

The  com  was  steep'd  in  dew, 

VV  ho  to  his  comrades  said — 

And  merry  maids  had  sickles  ta'en. 

VV  hen  the  host  to  Sempach  drew. 

"  I  have  a  virtuous  wife  at  homo, 

A  wife  and  mfant  son ; 

The  stalwart  men  of  fair  Lucerne 

I  leave  them  to  my  country's  care, — 

Together  have  they  joki'd ; 

This  field  shall  soon  be  won. 

The  pith  and  core  of  manhood  stern. 

Was  none  cast  looks  behind. 

"  Tliese  nobles  lay  their  spears  right  thick. 

And  keep  full  firm  array. 

It  was  the  Lord  of  Hare-castle, 

Yet  shall  my  charge  their  order  break, 

And  to  the  Duke  he  said. 

And  make  my  brethi-en  way." 

"  Yon  little  band  of  brethren  true 

Will  meet  us  undismay'd." — 

He  rush'd  against  the  Austrian  band. 

In  desperate  career. 

"  0  Hare-castle,"  thou  heart  of  hare  !" 

And  with  lais  body,  breast,  and  hand, 

Fierce  Oxenstern  rephed. — 

Bore  down  each  hostile  spear. 

"  Shalt  see  then  how  the  game  wiU  fare," 

The  taunted  loiight  repUed. 

Foiu-  lances  splinter'd  on  his  crest. 

Six  shiver'd  in  his  side ; 

There  was  lacing  then  of  helmets  bright, 

Still  on  the  serried  files  he  press'd — 

And  closing  ranks  amain ; 

He  broke  their  ranks,  and  died. 

1  All  the  Swiss  clergy  who  were  able  to  bear  arms  fought  in 

turned  upwards,  and  so  long,  that  in  some  cases  they  were 

.Ills  patriotic  war. 

fastened  to  the  knees  of  the  wearer  with  small  chains.    When 

they  alighted  to  fi^ht  upon   foot,  it  would  seem  that  the  Aus- 
trian gentlemen  found  it  necessary  to  cut  off  these  peaks,  tliat 

In  the  original,  Haascnstein,  or  Hare-stone. 

s  This  seems  to  allude   to  the  preposterous  fashion,  during 

they  might  move  with  the  necessary  activity. 

the  middle  age*    of  wearing  boots  with  the  points  or  peaks 

4  A  pun  on  the  Archduke's  name,  Leo^iold. 

BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN.                                  621     \ 

1 

This  patriot's  self-devoted  deed 
First  tamed  the  Lion's  mood, 

And  the  four  forest  cantons  freed 
From  thraldom  by  his  blood. 

The  fisher's  back  was  to  them  turn'd. 
The  squire  liis  dagger  drew, 

Hans  saw  his  shadow  in  the  lake, 
The  boat  he  overthrew. 

Eight  where  his  charge  had  made  a  lane. 

His  valiant  comrades  burst, 
With  sword,  and  axe,  and  jjartisan, 

A  nd  hack,  and  stab,  and  thrust. 

He  'whelm'd  the  boat,  and  as  they  strova, 
He  stunn'd  them  with  his  oar, 

"  Now,  drink  ye  deep,  my  gentle  sirs, 
You'U  ne'er  stab  boatman  more. 

Tlie  daunted  Lion  'gan  to  wliiue, 
And  granted  ground  amain. 

The  Mountain  Bull'  he  bent  bis  brows, 
And  gored  his  sides  again. 

"  Two  gilded  fishes  in  the  lake 
This  morning  liave  I  caught, 

Tlieir  silver  scales  may  much  avail, 
Their  carrion  flesh  is  naught." 

Then  lost  was  banner,  spear,  and  shield, 

At  Sempach  in  the  flight, 
Tlie  cloister  vaults  at  Konig's-field 

Hold  many  an  Austrian  knight. 

It  was  a  messenger  of  woe 

Has  sought  the  Austrian  land : 

"  Ah !  gracious  lady,  evil  news ! 
My  lord  lies  on  the  strand. 

It  was  the  Archduke  Leopold 

So  lordly  would  he  ride. 
But  he  came  against  the  Switzer  churls. 

And  they  slew  him  in  his  pride. 

"  At  Sempach,  on  the  battle-field. 
His  bloody  corpse  lies  there." — 

"  Ah,  gracious  God !"  the  lady  cried, 
"  What  tidings  of  despair  !" 

Tlie  beifer  said  unto  the  bull, 
"  And  shall  I  not  complain  ? 

There  came  a  foreign  nobleman 
To  milk  me  on  the  plain. 

Now  would  you  know  the  minstrel  wight 

Who  sings  of  strife  so  stern, 
Albert  the  Souter  is  he  hight^ 

A  biu-gher  of  Lucerne. 

"  One  tlirust  of  thine  outrageous  horn 
Has  gaU'd  the  knight  so  sore, 

That  to  the  churchyard  he  is  borne, 
To  range  our  glens  no  more." 

A  meiTy  man  was  he,  I  wot. 
The  night  he  made  the  lay. 

Returning  from  tlie  bloody  spot. 
Where  God  had  judged  the  day. 

An  Austrian  noble  left  the  stour, 
And  fast  the  flight  'gan  take ; 

A.nd  he  arrived  in  luckless  hour 
At  Sempach  on  the  lake. 

fle  and  his  squire  a  fisher  call'd 
(His  name  was  Hans  Von  Rot), 

"  For  love,  or  meed,  or  charity, 
Receive  us  in  thy  boat  1" 

tJljc  ^oblc  ilToringcr. 

AN  ANCIENT   BALLAD. 

TEANSLATED  FROM  THE   GERMAN. 

Tlieir  anxious  call  the  fisher  heard. 
And,  glad  the  meed  to  win, 

His  shallop  to  the  shore  he  steer'd. 
And  took  the  flyers  in. 

And  while  against  the  tide  and  wind 
Hans  stoutly  row'd  liis  way, 

The  noble  to  his  follower  sign'd 
He  should  the  boatman  slay. 

[1819.^] 

The  original  of  these  verses  occiu-s  iu  a  collection 
of  German  popular  songs,  entitled,  Sammlung 
Deutschen  Volkslieder,  Berlin,  1807,  published  by 
Messrs.  Busching  and  Von  der  Hagen,  both,  and 
more  especial!}-  the  last,  distinguished  for  theit 
acquamtance  with  tlie  ancient  popular  poetry  and 
legendary  histoiy  of  Germany. 

In  the  German  Editor's  notice  of  the  ballad,  it  ia 

'  A  pnn  on  the  Urus,  or  wild-bull,  wbich  gives  name  to 
the  Canton  of  Uri. 

3  The  translation  of  the  Noble  ]VIorinj,'cr  appeared  originally 
in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  1816  (published  in 

1819).     It  was  composed  during  Sir  Walter  Scott's  severe  anfl 
alarming  illness  of  April,  1819,  and  dictated,  in  the  interval* 
of  exquisite  pain,  to  his  dauglitrr  Sophia,  and  his  friend  Wi. 
liam  Laidlaw.— Ed.     See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vi.  p.  71. 

622 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


stated  to  have  oeen  extracted  from  a  manuscript 
Cliroiiiele  of  Xicolaus  Tliomann,  chaplain  to  Saint 
Leonard  iu  Weisenhom,  which  bears  the  date  153-3  ; 
and  the  song  is  stated  by  the  author  to  have  been 
generally  sung  in  the  neighborhood  at  that  early 
period.  Thomann,  as  quoted  by  the  German  Ed- 
itor, seems  faithfullv  to  have  believed  the  event 
he  narrates.  He  quotes  tombstones  and  obituaries 
to  prove  the  existence  of  the  personages  of  the 
ballad,  and  discovers  that  there  actually  died,  on 
the  nth  May,  1349,  a  Lady  Von  JS^'euffen,  Count- 
ess of  Maistetten,  who  was,  by  birth,  of  the  house 
of  Moringer.  This  lady  he  supposes  to  have  been 
Moringer's  daughter,  mentioned  in  the  ballad.  He 
quotes  the  same  authority  for  the  death  of  Berck- 
hold  Von  ]Jfeuffen,  in  the  same  year.  The  editors, 
on  the  whole,  seem  to  embrace  the  opinion  of  Pro- 
fessor Smith  of  Ulm,  who,  from  the  language  of 
the  ballad,  ascribes  its  date  to  the  15th  century. 

Tlie  legend  itself  turns  on  an  incident  not  pecu- 
liar to  Germany,  and  which,  perhaps,  was  not  un- 
likely to  happen  in  more  instances  than  one,  when 
crusaders  abode  long  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  their 
disconsolate  dames  received  no  tidings  of  their 
fate.  A  story,  very  similar  in  circumstances,  but 
without  the  miraculous  machinery  of  Saint  Thom- 
as, is  told  of  one  of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Haigh-hall 
in  Lancashire,  the  patrimonial  inheritance  of  the 
late  Countess  of  Balcarras ;  and  the  particulars  are 
represented  on  stained  glass  upon  a  window  in 
that  ancient  manor-house.' 


THE  NOBLE  MORDv"GER. 


0,  WILL  you  hear  a  knightly  tale  of  old  Bohemian 

day, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  in  wedlock  bed  he 

lay; 
He  halscd  and  kiss'd  his  dearest  dame,  that  was 

as  sweet  as  May, 
And  said,  "Now,  lady  of  my  heart,  attend  the 

words  I  say. 

II. 

"Tis  I  have  vow'd  a  pilgrimage  imto  a  distant 
shrine. 

And  I  must  seek  Saint  Thomas-land,  and  leave 
the  land  that's  nxine  ; 

Here  shalt  thou  dwell  the  while  in  state,  so  thou 
wilt  pledge  thy  fay, 

Tliat  thou  for  my  return  wUt  wait  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day." 


1  See  Introduction  to  "  The  Betrothed,"  Waverley  Novels, 
^al.  XXX vii. 


in. 

Then  out  and  spoke  that  Lady  bright,  sore  troub- 
led in  her  cheer, 

"  Now  tell  me  true,  thou  noble  knight,  what  order 
takest  thou  here ; 

And  who  shall  lead  thy  vassal  band,  and  hold  thy 
lordly  sway, 

And  be  thy  lady's  guardian  true  when  thou  art  far 


away  i 


IV. 


Out  spoke  the  noble  Moringer,  "  Of  that  have  thou 

no  care. 
There's  many  a  valiant  gentleman  of  me  holds 

living  fair ;  [my  state. 

The  trustiest  shaU  rule  my  land,  my  vassals  and 
And  be  a  guardian  tried  and  true  to  thee,  my 

lovely  mate. 

V. 

"As  Christian-man,  I  needs  must  keep  the  vow 

which  I  have  plight, 
"When  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  remember  thy  true 

knight ; 
And  cease,  my  dearest  dame,  to  grieve,  for  vain 

were  sorrow  now, 
But  grant  thy  Moringer  his  leave,  since  God  hath 

heard  his  vow." 

VL 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  from  bed  he  made  him 

boime. 
And  met  him  there  his  Chamberlain,  with  ewer 

and  with  gown : 
He  flung  the  mantle  on  his  back,  'twas  furr'd  with 

miniver. 
He  dipp'd  his  hand  in  water  cold,  and  bathed  his 

forehead  fair. 

VIL 

"  Now  hear,"  he  said,  "  Sir  Chamberlain,  true  vas- 
sal art  thou  mine. 

And  such  the  trust  thiit  I  repose  in  that  proved 
worth  of  thine, 

For  seven  years  shalt  thou  rule  my  towers,  and 
lead  my  vassal  train. 

And  pledge  thee  for  my  Lady's  faith  till  I  return 
again." 

VIIL 

The  Chamberlain  was  blunt  and  true,  and  sturdily 

said  he, 
"  Abide,  mv  lord,  and  rule  vour  own,  and  take 

this  rede  from  me  ; 
That   woman's    faith's    a    brittle    trust  —  Seven 

twelve-months  didst  thou  say  ? 
rU  pledge  me  for  no  lady's  truth   beyond  the 

seventh  fair  dav." 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN". 


623 


IX. 

The  uoble  Bavon  turn'd  him  round,  his  heart  was 

full  of  care, 
His  gallant  Esquire  stood  him  nigh,  he  was  Mars- 

tetten's  heir, 
To  whom  he  spoke  right  anxiously,  "  Thou  trusty 

squire  to  me, 
Wilt  thou  receive  this  weighty  trust  when  I  am 

o'er  the  sea  ? 

X. 
"To  watch  and  ward  my  castle  strong,  and  to 

protect  my  laud, 
And  to  the  hunting  or  the  host  to  lead  my  vassal 

band  ; 
Aaid  pledge  thee  for  my  lady's  faith  till  seven 

long  yeai's  are  gone. 
And  guard  her  as  Our  Lady  dear  was  guarded  by 


Samt  John  ?" 


XI. 


Marstetten's  heir  was  kind  and  true,  but  fiery,  hot, 
and  young. 

And  readily  he  answer  made  with  too  presump- 
tuous tongue ; 

'  My  noble  lord,  cast  care  away,  and  on  your  jour- 
ney wend,  [have  end. 

And  trust  this  charge  to  me  until  your  pilgrimage 

XII. 

Rely  upon  my  plighted  faith,  which  shall  be  truly 

tried. 
To  guard  your  lands,  and  ward  your  towers,  and 

with  your  vassals  ride  ; 
And  for  your  lovely  Lady's  faith,  so  virtuous  and 

so  dear, 
m  gage  my  head  it  knows  no  change,  be  absent 

thirty  year." 

XIII 

rhe  noble  Moringer  took  cheer  when  thus  he 
heard  liim  speak, 

And  doubt  forsook  his  troubled  brow,  and  sorrow 
left  liis  cheek ; 

A  long  adieu  he  bids  to  all — hoists  topsails,  and 
away. 

And  wanders  in  Saint  Thomas-land  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day. 

XIV. 
It  was   the  noble  Moringer  within   an    orchard 

slept. 
When  on  the  Baron's  slumbering  sense  a  boding 

vision  crept ; 
And  whisper'd  in  his  ear  a  voice,  "  'Tis  time,  Sir 

Knight,  to  wake, 
Tliy  lady  and  thy  heritage  another  master  take. 


XV. 

"Tliy  tower  another  banner  knows,  thy  steeds 
another  rein. 

And  stoop  them  to  another's  wiU  thy  gallant  vas- 
sal train ; 

And  she,  the  Lady  of  thy  love,  so  faithful  once 
and  fair. 

This  night  within  thy  fathers'  hall  she  weds  Mars 
tetten's  heir." 

XVL 
It  is  the  noble  Moringer  starts  up  and  tears  his 

beard, 
"  Oh  would  that  I  had  ne'er  been  born !  what 

tidings  have  I  heard ! 
To  lose  my  lordship  and  my  lands  the  less  would 

be  my  care. 
But,  God !  that  e'er  a  squire  untrue  should  wed 

my  Lady  fan*. 

xvn. 

"  0  good  Saint  Thomas,  hear,"  he  pra/d,  "  my 

patron  Saint  art  thou, 
A  traitor  robs  me  of  my  land  even  wliile  I  pay  my 

vow !  [name, 

My  wife  he  brings  to  infamy  that  was  so  pm-e  of 
And  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  and  must  endure  the 

shame." 

XVIIL 

It  was  the  good  Saint  Thomas,  then,  who  heard 
his  pdgrim's  prayer. 

And  sent  a  sleep  so  deep  and  dead  that  it  o'er- 
power'd  his  care  ; 

He  waked  in  fair  Bohemian  land  outstretch'd  be- 
side a  rill, 

High  on  the  right  a  castle  stood,  low  on  the  left  a 


mill. 


XIX. 


Tlie  Moringer  he  started  up  as  one  from  speU  un- 
bound. 

And  dizzy  with  surprise  and  joy  gazed  wildly  all 
around  ; 

"  I  know  my  fathers'  ancient  towers,  the  mill,  the 
stream  I  know, 

N'ow  blessed  be  my  patron  Saint  who  cheer'd  his 
pilgrim's  woe  1" 

XX. 

He  leant  upon  his  pilgrim  staff,  and  to  the  miU  he 

drew. 
So  alter'd  was  his  goodly  form  that  none  their 

master  knew ;  [charity, 

The  Baron  to  the  miller  said,  "  Good  friend,  for 
Tell  a  poor  palmer  in  your  land  what  tidings  may 

there  be  ?" 


624 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXI. 

The  miller  answered  him  again,  "  He  knew  of  little 
news, 

Save  that  the  Lady  of  the  land  did  a  new  bride- 
groom choose ; 

Her  husband  died  in  distant  land,  such  is  the  con- 
stant word, 

His  death  sits  heavy  on  our  souls,  he  was  a  worthy 
Lord. 

XXIL 
'•■  Of  liim  I  held  the  little  mill  which  wins  me  living 

free, 
God  rest  the  Baron  in  his  grave,  he  still  was  kind 

to  me  ! 
And  when  Saint  Martin's  tide  comes  round,  and 

millers  take  their  toll. 
The  priest  that  prays  for  Moringer  shall  have  both 

cope  and  stole." 

XXIII 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  to  climb  the  hiU  began, 
And  stood   before   the  bolted  gate   a  woe  and 

weary  man ; 
"  Now  help  me,  every  saint  in  heaven  that  can 

compassion  take, 
To  gain  the  entrance  of  my  hall  this  woeful  match 

to  break." 

XXIV. 
His  very  knock  it  sounded  sad,  his  call  was  sad 

and  slow, 
For  heart  and  head,  and  voice  and  hand,  were 

heavy  all  with  woe  ; 
And  to  the  warder  thus  he  spoke :  "  Friend,  to  thy 

Lady  say, 
A  pilgrim  from  Saint  Thomas-land  craves  harbor 

for  a  day. 

XXV. 

"  Tve  wander'd  many  a  weary  step,  my  strength 
is  weUnigh  done. 

And  if  she  turn  me  from  her  gate  I'll  see  no  mor- 
row's sun ; 

I  pray,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  a  pilgrim's 
bed  and  dole, 

And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer's,  her  once-loved 
husband's  souL" 

XXVL 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  he  came  his  dame 
before, 

"  A  pilgrim,  worn  and  travel-toil'd,  stands  at  the 
castlc-door ; 

And  prays,  for  sweet  Sakit  Thomas'  sake,  for  har- 
bor and  for  dole. 

And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer,  thy  noble  husband's 
soul." 


XXVIL 

The  Lady's  gentle  heart  was  moved,  "  Do  up  the 
gate,"  she  said, 

"  And  bid  the  wanderer  welcome  be  to  banquet 
and  to  bed ; 

And  since  he  names  my  husband's  name,  so  that 
he  Usts  to  stay, 

These  towers  shall  be  liis  harborage  a  twelve- 
month and  a  day." 

XXVIIL 
It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  undid  the  portal 

broad. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  o'er  the  threshold 

strode ; 
"And  have  thou  thanks,  kind  heaven,"  he  said, 

"  though  from  a  man  of  sin. 
That  the   true  lord  stands  here   once  more   his 

castle-gate  within." 

XXIX. 

Then  up  the  halls  paced  Moringer,  his  step  was  sad 
and  slow ;  [Lord  to  know ; 

It  sat  fuU  heavy  on  his  heart,  none  seem'd  their 

He  sat  him  on  a  lowly  bench,  oppress'd  with  woe 
and  wrong. 

Short  space  he  sat,  but  ne'er  to  him  seem'd  little 
space  so  long. 

XXX. 

Now  spent  was  day,  and  feasting  o'er,  and  come 

was  evening  hour. 
The  time  was  nigh  when  new-made  brides  retire 

to  nuptial  bower ; 
"Our  castle's  wont,"  a  brides-man  said,  "hath  been 

both  firm  and  long. 
No  guest  to  harbor  in  om-  halls  tiU  he  shall  chant 


XXXL 

Then  spoke  the  youthful  bridegroom  there  as  he 

sat  by  the  bride, 
"  My  merry  minstrel  folk,"  quoth  he,  "  lay  shalm 

and  hai'p  aside ; 
Om-  pilgrim  guest  must  sing  a  lay,  the  castle's  rule 

to  hold. 
And  well  his  guerdon  wiU  I  pay  with  garment  and 

with  gold."— 

xxxn. 

"  Chill  flows  the  lay  of  frozen  age,"  'twas  thus  the 

pQgrim  simg, 
"  Nor  golden  meed  nor  garment  gay,  unlocks  lua 

heavy  tongue ; 
Once  did  I  sit,  thou  bridegroom  gay,  at  board  as 

rich  as  thine, 
And  by  my  side  as  fair  a  bride  with  all  her  charmi 

was  mine. 


^ 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


G2c 


XXXIII. 

"  But  time  traced  furrows  on  my  face,  and  I  grew 
silver-hair'd, 

For  locks  of  brown,  and  cheeks  of  youth,  she  left 
this  brow  and  beard ; 

Once  rich,  but  now  a  palmer  poor,  I  tread  life's 
latest  stage, 

And  mingle  with  yom-  bridal  mirth  the  lay  of  fro- 
zen age." 

XXXIV. 

It  was  the  noble  Lady  there  this  woeful  lay  that 

hears. 
And  for  the  aged   pilgrim's  grief  her   eye  was 

dimm'd  with  tears ; 
She  bade  her  gallant  cupbearer  a  golden  beaker 

take. 
And  bear  it  to  the  palmer  poor  to  quaff  it  for  her 

sake. 

XXXV. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  dropp'd  amid  the 

wine 
A  bridal  ring  of  burning  gold  so  costly  and  so 

fine: 
Now  listen,  gentles,  to  my  song,  it  tells  you  but 

the  sooth, 
'Twas  with  that  very  ring  of  gold  he  pledged  liis 

bridal  truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then  to  the  cupbearer  he  said,  "  Do  me  one  kindly 

deed, 
And  should  my  better  days  return,  full  rich  shall 

be  thy  meed ; 
Bear  back  the  golden  cup  again  to  yonder  bride  so 

gay, 

And  crave  her  of  her  courtesy  to  pledge  the  palm- 
er gray." 

XXXVII. 

The  cupbearer  was  courtly  bred,  nor  was  the  boon 
denied. 

The  golden  cup  he  took  again,  and  bore  it  to  the 
bride ; 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  your  reverend  guest  sends  tlus, 
and  bids  me  pray, 

That,  in  thy  noble  courtesy,  thou  pledge  the  palm- 
er gray." 

XXXVIIL 

The  ring  hath  caught  the  Lady's  eye,  she  views  it 
close  and  near, 

Then  you  might  hear  her  shiiek  aloud, "  The  Mor- 
inger is  here !" 
79 


Then  might  you  see  hfer  start  from  seat,  while  tears 

in  torrents  fell. 
But  wliether  'twas  for  joy  or  woe,  the  ladies  best 

can  tell. 

XXXIX. 

But  loud  she  utter'd  thanks  to  Heaven,  and  every 
saintly  power, 

That  had  return'd  the  Moringer  before  the  mid- 
night hour ; 

And  loud  she  utter'd  vow  on  vow,  that  never  waa 
there  bride, 

That  had  hke  her  preserved  her  troth,  or  been  so 
sorely  tried. 


XL. 

"  Yes,  here  I  claim  the  praise,"  she  said,  "  to  con 

stant  matrons  due. 
Who  keep  the  troth  that  they  have  plight,  so  stead 

fastly  and  true ; 
For  coimt  the  term  howe'er  you  will,  so  that  you 

count  aright. 
Seven  twelve-mouths  and  a  day  are  out  when  bells 

toU  twelve  to-night." 


XLL 

It  was  Marstetten  then  rose  up,  his  falchion  tliere 
he  drew. 

He  kneel'd  before  the  Moringer,  and  down  his  wea- 
pon threw ; 

"  My  oath  and  knightly  faith  are  broke,"  these  were 
the  words  he  said, 

"  Then  take,  my  liege,  thy  vassal's  sword,  and  take 
thy  vassal's  head." 


XLIL 

The  noble  Moringer  he  smiled,  and  then  aloud  did 
say, 

"  He  gathers  wisdom  that  hath  roam'd  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day ; 

My  daugliter  now  hath  fifteen  years,  fame  speaks 
her  sweet  and  fair, 

I  give  her  for  the  bride  you  lose,  and  name  her  foi 
my  heir. 

XLIIL 

"  The  young  bridegroom  hath  youthful  bride,  the 

old  bridegroom  the  old, 
Whose  faith  was  kept  tUl  term  and  tide  so  pimo- 

tually  were  told ; 
But  blessings  on  the  warder  kind  that  oped  my 

castle  gate. 
For  had  I  come  at  morrow  tide,  I  came  a  dav  too 

late." 


626 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


FEOM  THE  GERMAN  OF  GOETHE. 

{The  Erl-King  is  a  gohlin  that  haunts  the  Black 
Forest  in  Thuringia. — To  be  read  by  a  candle 
particularly  long  in  the  snuff".) 

0,  WHO  rides  by  night  thro'  the  woodland  so  wild  ? 
It  is  the  fond  father  embracing  his  child ; 
And  close  the  boy  nestles  within  his  loved  arm, 
To  hold  himself  fast,  and  to  keep  himself  warm. 

"  0  fother,  see  yonder !  see  yonder  !"  he  says ; 
"  ily  boy,  upon  what  dost  thou  fearfully  gaze  ?" — 
"  0,  'tis  the  Erl-King  with  his  crown  and  his  shroud." 
"  No,  my  son,  it  is  but  a  dark  wreath  of  the  cloud." 

{The  Erl-King  speaks.) 
"  0  come  and  go  with  me,  thou  loveliest  child ; 
By  many  a  gay  sport  shall  thy  time  be  beguiled ; 
My  mother  keeps  for  thee  full  many  a  fair  toy, 
And  many  a  fine  flower  shall  she  pluck  for  my  boy." 

"  0,  father,  my  father,  and  did  you  not  hear 
The  Erl-King  whisper  so  low  in  my  ear  ?" — 

1  1797.  "  To  Miss  Christian  Rutherford. — I  send  a  gob- 
lin story.  Yon  see  I  have  not  altogether  lost  the  faculty  of 
rhyming.    I  assure  you  there  is  no  small  impadence  in  attempt- 


"  Be  still,  my  heart's  darUng — my  child,  be  at  easc ; 
It  was  but  the  wUd  blast  as  it  sung  thro'  the  trees." 

Erl-King. 
"  0  wilt  thou  go  with  me,  thou  lovehest  boy  ? 
My  daughter  shall  tend  thee  with  care  and  with  joy ; 
She  shall  bear  thee  so  lightly  thro'  wet  and  thro' 

wild. 
And  jjress  thee,  and  kiss  thee,  and  sing  to  my  chUd  ' 

"  0  father,  my  father,  and  saw  you  not  plain. 
The  Erl-King's  pale  daughter  ghde  past  thro  the 

rain?"— 
"  0  yes,  my  loved  treasure,  I  knew  it  fuU  soon ; 
It  was  the  gray  wUlow  that  danced  to  the  moon." 

Erl-King. 
"  0  come  and  go  with  me,  no  longer  delay, 
Or  else,  silly  child,  I  will  drag  thee  away." — 
"  O  father !  0  father  !  now,  now  keep  your  hold, 
Tlie  Erl-King  has  seized  me — ^his  gi-asp  is  so  cold  !" 

Sore  trembled  the  father ;  he  spiur'd  thro'  the  wild 
Clasping  close  to  his  bosom  liis  shuddering  cluld ; 
He  reaches  his  dwelling  in  doubt  and  in  dread. 
But,  clasp'd  to  his  bosom,  the  infant  was  dead  I" 

ing  a  version  of  that  ballad,  as  it  has  been  translated  by  Lewii 
.    .    .    .    W.  S."—Life,  vol.  i.  p  378. 


EHD  OF  BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN 


Cijrical    anh   iVHsttiiantoxxB  pieces, 

IN  THE  ORDER  OF  THEIR  COMPOSITION  OR  PUBLICATION. 


Subcnile   Sltnes. 

FEOM  VIBQIL. 


1'782.— ^TAT.  11. 


"  Scott's  autobiography  tells  us  that  his  transla- 
tions in  verse  from  Horace  and  Virgil  were  often 
approved  by  Dr.  Adams  [Rector  of  the  High  School, 
Edinburgh].  One  of  these  little  pieces,  written  in 
a  weak  boyish  scrawl,  within  pencilled  marks  stiU 
visible,  had  been  carefully  preserved  by  his  moth- 
er ;  it  was  found  folded  up  in  a  cover,  inscribed 
by  the  old  lady— '  J/y  Walter's  first  lines,  1782.'" 
— LocKHAfiT,  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  129. 

In  awful  ruins  iEtna  thimders  nigh, 
And  sends  in  pitchy  whirlwinds  to  the  sky 
Black  clouds  of  smoke,  which,  still  as  they  aspire, 
From  their  dark  sides  there  bursts  the  glowing 

fire ; 
At  other  times  huge  balls  of  fire  are  toss'd, 
That  lick  the  stars,  and  in  the  smoke  are  lost : 
Sometimes  the  mount,  with  vast  convulsions  torn. 
Emits  huge  rocks,  wliich  instantly  are  borne 
With  loud  explosions  to  the  starry  skies, 
The  stones  made  hquid  as  the  huge  mass  flies, 
Then  back  again  witli  greater  weight  recoils, 
While  ^tna  thundering  from  the  bottom  boils. 


®n  a  aijuntret  Storm. 


1*783.— ^T.  12. 


"  In  Scott's  Introduction  to  the  Lay,  he  alludes 
to  an  original  effusion  of  these  '  schoolboy  days,' 
prompted  by  a  thimder-storm,  which  he  says, '  was 
much  approved  of,  until  a  malevolent  critic  sprung 


1  "  It  must,  I  think,  be  allowed  that  these  lines,  thongh 
of  the  class  to  which  the  poet  himself  modestly  ascribes 
them,  and  not  to  be  compared  with  the  efforts  of  Pope,  still 


up  in  the  shape  of  an  apothecary's  blue-buskined 
wife,'  (fee.  (fee.  These  lines,  and  anotlier  short  piece 
'  On  the  Setting  Sun,'  were  lately  found  wrappei! 
up  in  a  cover,  inscribed  by  Dr.  Adam, '  Walter 
Scott,  July,  1183,'" 

Loud  o'er  my  head  though  awful  thunders  roll, 
And  vivid  hghtnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole. 
Yet  'tis  thy  voice,  my  God,  that  bids  them  fly, 
Thy  arm  directs  those  hghtnings  through  the  sky. 
Then  let  the  good  thy  mighty  name  revere. 
And  harden'd  sinners  thy  just  vengeance  fear. 


®n  tlje  Settiufl  Sun, 


1783. 


Those  evening  clouds,  that  setting  ray, 
And  beauteous  tints,  serve  to  display 

Their  great  Creator's  praise  ; 
Then  let  the  short-lived  thing  call'd  man, 
Whose  hfe's  comprised  within  a  span, 

To  Him  his  homage  raise. 

We  often  praise  the  evening  clouds. 

And  tints,  so  gay  and  bold, 
But  seldom  tliink  upon  our  God, 

Who  tinged  these  clouds  with  gold  1' 


Slie  Vfolet. 


1797. 


It  appears  from  the  Life  of  Scott,  vol  L  p.  S33, 
that  these  Hues,  first  pubUshed  in  the  English 


less  of  Cowley  at  the  same  period,  show,  nevertheless,  praise- 
worthy dexterity  for  a  boy  of  twelve." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i. 
p.  131. 


i ._ 


628 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Minstrelsy,  1810,  were  written  in  1*797,  on  occa- 
sion of  the  Poet's  disappointment  in  love. 

The  violet  in  her  green-wood  bower, 

Where  birchen  boughs  witli  hazels  mingle, 

May  boast  itself  the  fairest  flower 
In  glen,  or  copse,  or  forest  dingle. 

Though  fair  her  gems  of  azure  hue, 

Beneath  the  dew-di-op's  weight  reclining ; 

I've  seen  an  eye  of  lovelier  blue. 

More  sweet  through  wat'ry  lustre  shining. 

The  summer  sun  that  dew  shall  dry, 
Ere  yet  the  day  be  past  its  morrow ; 

Ifor  longer  in  my  false  love's  eye 
Remain'd  the  tear  of  partmg  sorrow. 


WITH  FLOWERS  FROM  A  ROMAN  WALL. 


1*797. 


"Written  in  1797,  on  an  excursion  from  Gillsland, 
in  Cumberland.     See  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  365. 

Take  these  flowers  which,  purple  waving, 

On  the  ruin'd  rampart  grew. 
Where,  the  sons  of  freedom  braving, 

Rome's  imj^erial  standards  flew. 

Warriors  from  the  breach  of  danger 

Pluck  no  longer  laurels  there ; 
They  but  yield  the  passing  stranger 

Wild-flower  wreaths  for  Beauty's  hair. 


fragments. 


(1.)  BOTHWELL  CASTLE. 


1799. 


The  following  fragment  of  a  ballad  written  at 
Bothwell  Castle,  m  the  autumn  of  1799,  was  first 
printed  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  28. 

When  fruitful  Clydesdale's  apple-bowers 

Ai"e  mellowing  in  the  noon ; 
When  sighs  round  Pembroke's  ruin'd  towers 

The  sultry  breath  of  June ; 

>  Sir  Aylmer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  Edward  the 
First's  Governor  of  Scotland,  usually  reskleil  at  Bothwell  Cas- 


Wben  Clyde,  despite  his  sheltering  wood, 

Must  leave  his  channel  dry  ; 
And  vainly  o'er  the  limpid  flood 

The  angler  guides  his  fly  ; 

If  chance  by  Bothwell's  lovely  braes 

A  wanderer  thou  hast  been, 
Or  hid  thee  from  the  summer's  blaze 

In  Blantyre's  bowers  of  green. 

Full  where  the  copsewood  opens  wild 

Thy  pilgrim  step  hath  staid, 
Wbere  Bothwell's  towers,  in  ruin  piled, 

O'erlook  the  verdant  glade ; 

And  many  a  tale  of  love  and  fear 
Hath  mingled  with  the  scene — 

Of  Bothwell's  banks  that  bloom'd  so  doar, 
And  Bothwell's  bonny  Jean, 

0,  if  with  rugged  minstrel  lays 

Unsated  be  thy  ear. 
And  thou  of  deeds  of  other  days 

Another  tale  wilt  hear, — 

Then  all  beneath  the  spreading  beech, 

Flimg  careless  on  the  lea. 
The  Gotliic  muse  the  tale  shall  teach 

Of  Bothwell's  sisters  three. 

Wight  Wallace  stood  on  Deckmont  head. 

He  blew  his  bugle  round, 
Till  the  wild  bull  in  Cadyow  wood 

Has  started  at  the  sound. 

St.  George's  cross,  o'er  Bothwell  hung, 

Was  waving  far  and  wide, 
And  from  the  lofty  turret  flung 

Its  crimson  blaze  on  Clyde  ; 

And  rising  at  the  bugle  blast 
That  marked  the  Scottish  foe. 

Old  England's  yeomen  muster'd  fast, 
And  bent  the  Norman  bow. 

TaU  in  the  midst  Sir  Aylmer'  rose. 

Proud  Pembroke's  Earl  was  he — 
Whde" 


(2.)  THE  SHEPHERD'S  TALE.' 


1799. 


"Another  imperfect  ballad,  in  which  he  had 
meant  to  blend  together  two  legends  familiar  to 

tie,  the  ruins  of  which  attest  the  magnificence  of  the  invader 
—Ed.  2  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  31. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


629 


every  reader  of  Scottish  history  and  romance,  has 
been  found  in  the  same  portfolio,  and  the  hand- 
writing proves  it  to  be  of  the  same  early  date." — 
LocKUAiiT,  vol.  u.  p.  30. 


*     *     *     * 


And  ne'er  but  once,  my  son,  he  says, 

Was  yon  sad  cavern  trod. 
In  persecution's  iron  days, 

When  the  land  was  left  by  God. 

From  Bewlie  bog,  with  slaughter  red, 

A  wanderer  hither  drew, 
And  oft  he  stopt  and  turn'd  his  head, 

As  by  fits  the  night  wind  blew ; 

For  trampling  roimd  by  Cheviot  edge 

Were  heard  the  troopers  keen. 
And  frequent  from  the  Whitelaw  ridge 

The  death-shot  flash'd  betweea 

The  moonbeams  through  the  misty  shower 
On  yon  dark  cavern  fell ;  [white, 

Through  the   cloudy  night  the  snow  gleam'd 
Which  sunbeam  ne'er  coiild  queU. 

"  Yon  cavern  dark  is  rough  and  rude, 

And  cold  its  jaws  of  snow  ; 
But  more  rough  and  rude  are  the  men  of  blood, 

That  hunt  my  hfe  below  ! 

"  Yon  spell-bound  den,  as  the  aged  tell, 

Was  hewn  by  demon's  hands ; 
But  I  had  lourd'  melle  with  the  fiends  of  hell. 

Than  with  Clavers  and  his  band." 

He  heard  the  deep-mouth'd  bloodhoiond  bark. 

He  heard  the  horses  neigh. 
He  plunged  him  in  the  cavern  dark. 

And  downward  sped  his  way. 

Now  faintly  down  the  winding  path 
Came  the  cry  of  the  faultmg  hound. 

And  the  mutter'd  oath  of  baulked  wrath 
Was  lost  in  hollow  sound. 

He  threw  him  on  the  flinted  floor, 

And  held  his  breath  for  fear ; 
He  rose  and  bitter  cursed  his  foes, 

As  the  soimds  died  on  his  ear. 

"  0  bare  thine  arm,  thou  battling  Lord, 

For  Scotland's  wandering  band ; 
T)ash  from  the  oppressor's  grasp  the  sword, 

And  sweep  him  from  the  land  ! 

1  Lourd  ;  i.  e.  liefer — rather. 


"  Forget  not  thou  thy  people's  groans 
From  dark  Dunnotter's  tower, 

Mix'd  with  the  seafowl's  slirilly  moans, 
And  ocean's  bursting  roar ! 

"  0;  in  feU  Clavers'  hour  of  pride. 

Even  in  his  mightiest  day. 
As  bold  he  strides  through  conquest's  tide, 

0  stretch  him  on  the  clay  ! 

"  His  widow  and  his  httle  ones, 

0  may  their  tower  of  trust 
Remove  its  strong  foundation  stones, 

And  crush  them  in  the  dust !" — 

"  Sweet  prayers  to  me,"  a  voice  replied, 
"  Tlirice  welcome,  guest  of  mine  !" 

And  glimmering  on  the  cavern  side, 
A  light  was  seen  to  shine. 

An  aged  man,  in  amice  brown. 
Stood  by  the  wanderer's  side. 

By  powerful  charm,  a  dead  man's  arm 
The  torch's  light  supphed. 

From  each  stiff  finger,  stretch'd  upright. 

Arose  a  ghastly  flame. 
That  waved  not  in  the  blast  of  night 

Which  through  the  cavern  came. 

0,  deadly  blue  was  that  taper's  hue, 

That  flamed  the  cavern  o'er, 
But  more  deadly  blue  was  the  ghastly  hue 

Of  his  eyes  who  the  taper  bore. 

He  laid  on  his  head  a  hand  hke  lead, 

As  heavy,  pale,  and  cold — 
"  Vengeance  be  thine,  thou  guest  of  nune, 

K  thy  heart  be  firm  and  bold. 

"  But  if  faint  thy  heart,  and  caitiff  fear 

Thy  recreant  sinews  know. 
The  mountain  erne  thy  heart  shall  tear, 

Thy  nerves  the  hooded  crow." 

The  wanderer  raised  him  undismay'd : 

"  My  soul,  by  dangers  steel'd. 
Is  stubborn  as  my  border  blade, 

Which  never  knew  to  yield. 

"  And  if  thy  power  can  speed  the  hour 

Of  vengeance  on  my  foes. 
Theirs  be  the  fate,  from  bridge  and  gate 

To  feed  the  hooded  crows." 

The  Brownie  look'd  him  in  the  face, 
And  his  color  fled  witli  speed — 

"  I  fear  me,"  quoth  he,  "  uneath  it  will  be 
To  match  thy  word  and  deed. 


030 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  In  ancient  days  wlien  English  bands 

The  casque  hung  near  each  cavaher ; 

Sore  ravaged  Scotland  fair, 

The  plumes  waved  mom-nfully 

Tlie  sword  and  sliield  of  Scottish  land 

At  every  tread  which  the  wanderer  made 

Was  valiant  Halbert  Kerr. 

Thi-ough  the  hall  of  gramarye. 

"  A  warlock  loved  the  warrior  well, 

The  ruddy  beam  of  the  torches'  gleam 

Sii-  Mchael  Scott  by  name, 

That  glared  the  warriors  on. 

And  he  sought  for  his  sake  a  spell  to  make, 

Reflected  light  from  armor  bright, 

Should  the  Southern  foemeu  tame. 

In  noontide  splendor  shone. 

" '  Look  thou,'  he  said, '  from  Cessford  head. 

And  onward  seen  in  lustre  sheen. 

As  the  July  sun  smks  low, 

Still  lengthening  on  the  sight. 

And  when  ghmmering  wliite  on  Cheviot's  height 

Thi-ough  the  boundless  hall  stood  steeds  in  staU. 

Thou  shalt  spy  a  wreath  of  snow, 

And  by  each  lay  a  sable  knight. 

The  speU  is  complete  which  shall  bring  to  thy 

feet 

Still  as  the  dead  lay  each  horseman  dread, 

The  haughty  Saxon  foe.' 

And  moved  nor  limb  nor  tongue  ; 

Each  steed  stood  stiff  as  an  earthfast  cliff, 

"  For  many  a  year  wrought  the  wizard  here, 

Nor  hoof  nor  bridle  rung. 

In  Cheviot's  bosom  low, 

Till  the  spell  was  comijlete,  and  in  July's  heat 

No  sounds  through  all  the  spacious  haU 

Appear'd  December's  snow : 

The  deacUy  stiU  divide. 

But  Cessford's  Halbert  never  came 

Save  where  echoes  aloof  from  the  vaulted  roof 

The  wondrous  cause  to  know. 

To  the  wanderer's  step  replied. 

"  For  years  before  in  Bowden  aisle 

At  length  before  his  wondering  eyes. 

The  warrior's  bones  had  lain. 

On  an  iron  column  borne, 

And  after  short  wliile,  by  female  guile, 

Of  antique  shape,  and  giant  size, 

S/r  Michael  Scott  was  slain. 

Appear'd  a  sword  and  horn. 

"  But  me  and  my  brethren  in  this  cell 

"  Now  choose  thee  here,"  quoth  his  leader, 

His  mighty  charms  retain, — 

"  Thy  venturous  fortune  try ; 

And  he  that  can  quell  the  powerful  speU 

Thy  woe  and  weal,  thy  boot  and  bale. 

Shall  o'er  broad  Scotland  reign." 

In  yon  brand  and  bugle  lie." 

He  led  him  through  an  iron  door 

To  the  fatal  brand  he  mounted  his  hand. 

And  up  a  winding  stair. 

But  his  soul  did  quiver  and  quail ; 

And  in  wild  amaze  did  the  wanderer  gaze 

The  Ufe-blood  did  start  to  his  shuddering  heart 

On  the  sight  which  open'd  there. 

And  left  liim  wan  and  pale. 

Tlu'ough  the  gloomy  night  flash'd  ruddy  light, — 

Tlie  brand  he  forsook,  and  the  horn  he  took 

A  thousand  torches  glow ; 

To  'say  a  gentle  sound ; 

The  cave  rose  high,  like  the  vaulted  sky, 

But  so  wild  a  blast  from  the  bugle  brast, 

O'er  stalls  in  double  row. 

That  the  Cheviot  rock'd  around. 

In  every  stall  of  that  endless  hall 

From  Forth  to  Tees,  from  seas  to  seas. 

Stood  a  steed  in  barbing  bright ; 

The  awful  bugle  rung ; 

At  the  foot  of  each  steed,  all  arm'd  save  the  head, 

On  Carlisle  wall,  and  Berwick  withal, 

Lay  stretch'd  a  stalwart  knight. 

To  arms  the  warders  sprung. 

In  each  mail'd  hand  was  a  naked  brand  ; 

With  clank  and  clang  the  cavern  rang, 

As  they  lay  on  the  black  bull's  liide, 

The  steeds  did  stamp  and  neigh ; 

Each  visage  stern  did  upwards  turn, 

And  loud  was  the  yell  as  each  warrior  feU 

With  eyeballs  fix'd  and  wide. 

Sterte  up  with  hoop  and  cry. 

A  launcegay  strong,  fuU  twelve  ells  long. 

"  Woe,  woe,"  they  cried,  "  thou  caitiff  coward, 

By  every  warrior  hung ; 

That  ever  thou  wert  born ! 

At  each  pommel  there,  for  battle  yare. 

Why  drew  ye  not  the  kniglitly  sword 

A  Jedwood  axe  was  »^ung. 

Before  ye  blew  the  horn  ?' 

^. . 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


63 1 


The  morning  on  the  naountain  shone, 

And  on  the  bloody  ground 
Hurl'd  from  the  cave  with  shiver'd  bone, 
The  mangled  wretch  was  found. 

And  still  beneath  the  cavern  dread. 

Among  the  glidders  gray, 
A  shapeless  stone  with  hchens  spread 

Marks  where  the  wanderer  lay.* 


(3.)  CHEVIOT. 


1799. 


Go  sit  old  Cheviot's  crest  below, 
And  pensive  mark  the  lingering  snow 

In  all  his  scaiu-s  abide, 
And  slow  dissolving  from  the  hill 
In  many  a  sightless,  soundless  riU, 

Feed  sparkling  Bowmont's  tide. 

Fair  shines  the  stream  by  bank  and  lea, 
As  wimpling  to  the  eastern  sea 

She  seeks  Till's  sullen  bed, 
Indenting  deep  the  fatal  plain, 
Where  Scotland's  noblest,  brave  in  vain, 

Around  their  monarch  bled. 

And  westward  hills  on  hills  you  see, 
Even  as  old  Ocean's  mightiest  sea 

Heaves  higli  her  waves  of  foam, 
Dark  and  snow-ridged  from  Cutsfeld's  wold 
To  the  proud  foot  of  Cheviot  roll'd, 

Earth's  mountain  billows  come. 


'  "The  reader  may  be  interested  by  comparing  with  this 
ballad  the  author's  prose  version  of  part  of  its  legend,  as  given 
in  one  of  the  last  works  of  liis  pen.  He  says,  in  the  Letters 
on  Deraonology  and  Witchcraft,  1830  : — '  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
downe,  during  his  retirement,  has  been  supposed,  from  time  to 
time,  to  be  levying  forces  to  take  the  field  in  some  crisis  of 
his  country's  fate.  The  story  has  often  been  told  of  a  daring 
horse-jockey  having  sold  a  black  horse  to  a  man  of  venerable 
and  antique  appearance,  who  appointed  the  remarkable  hil- 
lock upon  Eildon  hills,  called  the  Lncken-hare,  as  the  place 
where,  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  he  should  receive  the  price. 
He  came,  his  money  was  paid  in  ancient  coin,  and  he  was  in- 
vited by  his  customer  to  view  his  residence.  The  trader  in 
liorses  followed  his  guide  in  the  deepest  astonishment  through 
several  long  ranges  of  stalls,  in  each  of  which  a  horse  stood 
motionless,  while  an  armed  warrior  lay  equally  still  at  the 
charger's  feet.  '  All  these  men,'  said  the  wizard  in  a  whisper, 
'  will  awaken  at  the  battle  of  Sheriffmuir.'  At  the  extremity 
of  this  extraordinary  depot  liung  a  sword  and  a  horn,  which 


(4.)  THE  REIVER'S  WEDDEfG. 


1802. 


In  "  The  Reiver's  Wedding,"  the  Poet  had  evi- 
dently designed  to  blend  together  two  traditional 
stories  concerning  his  own  forefathers,  the  Scots 
of  Harden, -which  are  detailed  in  the  first  chap- 
ters of  his  Life.  The  biographer  adds : — "  I  know 
not  for  what  reason,  Lochwood,  the  ancient  for- 
tress of  the  Johnstones  in  Annandale,  has  been 
substituted  for  the  real  locaUty  of  his  ancestor's 
drumhead  Wedding  Contract." — Life,  voL  11  p.  94. 


0  will  ye  hear  a  mirthfid  bourd  ? 

Or  will  ye  heai'  of  comtesie  ? 
Or  will  hear  how  a  gallant  lord 

Was  wedded  to  a  gay  ladye  ? 

"  Ca'  out  the  kye,"  quo'  the  village  herd, 

As  he  stood  on  the  knowe, 
"  Ca'  this  ane's  nine  and  that  ane's  ten, 
And  bauld  Lord  WiUiam's  cow." — 

"  Ah !  by  my  sooth,"  quoth  William  then, 

"  And  stands  it  that  way  now. 
When  knave  and  churl  have  nine  and  ten. 

That  the  Lord  has  but  his  cow  ? 

"  I  swear  by  the  hght  of  the  Mchaelmas  moon, 

And  the  might  of  Mary  high. 
And  by  the  edge  of  my  braidsword  brown. 

They  shall  soon  say  Harden's  kye." 

He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 

With  names  carved  o'er  and  o'er — 

Full  many  a  chief  of  meikle  pride 
That  Border  bugle  bore — "^ 


the  projjhet  pointed  out  to  the  horse-dealer  as  containing  the 
means  of  dissolving  the  spell.  The  man  in  confusion  took 
the  horn  and  attempted  to  wind  it.  «  The  horses  instantly 
started  in  their  stalls,  stamped,  and  shook  their  l»idles,  the 
men  arose  and  clashed  their  armor,  and  the  mortal,  terrified  at 
the  tumult  he  had  excited,  dropped  the  horn  from  his  hand. 
A  voice  like  that  of  a  giant,  louder  even  than  the  tumult 
around,  pronounced  these  words  : — 

'  Woe  to  the  coward  that  ever  he  was  bom, 
That  did  not  draw  the  sword  before  he  blew  the  horn.' 

A  whirlwind  expelled  the  horse-dealer  from  the  cavern,  tha 
entrance  to  which  he  could  never  again  find.  A  moral  might 
be  perhaps  extracted  from  the  legend,  namely,  that  it  is  better 
to  be  armed  against  danger  before  bidding  it  defiance." 

2  Tills  celebrated  horn  b  still  in  the  possession  ot  the  chief 
of  the  Harden  family,  Lord  Polwarlh. 


«32 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


He  blew  a  note  baith  sharp  and  hie, 
Till  rock  and  water  rang  around — 

Three  score  of  moss-troopers  and  three 
Have  mounted  at  that  bugle  soimd. 

The  Michaelmas  moon  had  enter'd  then, 

And  ere  she  wan  the  fuU, 
Ye  might  see  by  her  hght  ui  Harden  glen 

A  bow  o'  kye  and  a  bassen'd  bull. 

And  loud  and  loud  in  Harden  tower 

The  quaigh  gaed  round  wi'  meilde  glee ; 

For  the  English  beef  was  brought  in  bower, 
And  the  Enghsh  ale  flow'd  merrilie. 

And  mony  a  guest  from  Teviotside 

And  Yarrow's  Braes  were  there ; 
Was  never  a  lord  iu  Scotland  wide 

That  made  more  dainty  fare. 

They  ate,  they  laugh'd,  they  sang  and  quaff 'd. 

Till  naught  on  board  was  seen. 
When  knight  and  squire  were  boune  to  dine. 

But  a  spur  of  silver  sheen. 

I.ord  William  has  ta'en  his  berry  brown  steed — 

A  sore  shent  man  was  he ; 
"  Wait  ye,  my  guests,  a  httle  speed — 

Weel  feasted  ye  shall  be." 

He  rode  him  down  by  Falsehope  burn, 

His  cousin  dear  to  see. 
With  him  to  take  a  riding  turn — 

Wat-draw-the-sword  was  he. 

And  when  he  came  to  Falsehope  glen, 

Benaath  the  trysting-tree. 
On  the  smooth  green  was  carved  plain,' 

"  To  Lochwood  bound  are  we." 

"  U  if  they  be  gane  to  dark  Lochwood 

To  drive  the  Warden's  gear. 
Betwixt  our  names,  I  ween,  there's  feud ; 

m  go  and  have  my  share : 

"  For  httle  reck  I  for  Johnstone's  feud, 

The  Warden  though  he  be." 
So  Lord  WilUam  is  away  to  dark  Lochwood, 

With  riders  bai-ely  thi-ee. 

The  Warden's  daughters  in  Lochwood  sate, 

AYere  all  both  fair  and  gay, 
All  save  the  Lady  Margaret, 

And  she  was  wan  and  wae. 

>  "  At  Linton,  in  Roxburglishire,  tliere  is  a  circle  of  stones 
tnrronnding  a  smooth  plot  of  turf,  called  the  Tryst,  or  place 
of  appointment,  which  tradition  avers  to  have  been  the  ren- 
dezvoas  of  the  neighboring  warriors.     The  name  of  the  leader 


The  sister,  Jean,  had  a  full  fair  skin. 
And  Grace  was  bauld  and  braw ; 

But  the  leal-fast  heart  her  breast  within 
It  weel  was  worth  them  a'. 

Her  father's  pranked  her  sisters  twa 

With  meikle  joy  and  pride ; 
But  Margai'et  maun  seek  Dimdrennan's  wa'- 

She  ne'er  can  be  a  bride. 

On  spear  and  casque  by  gallants  gent 

Her  sisters'  scarfs  were  borne, 
But  never  at  tilt  or  tom-nament 

Were  Margaret's  colors  worn. 

Her  sisters  rode  to  Thudstane  bower. 

But  she  was  left  at  hame 
To  wander  round  the  gloomy  tower. 

And  sigh  young  Harden's  name. 

"  Of  all  the  knights,  the  knight  most  fair. 

From  Yarrow  to  the  Tyne," 
Soft  sigh'd  the  maid,  "  is  Harden's  heir, 

But  ne'er  can  he  be  mine ; 

"  Of  all  the  maids,  the  foulest  maid 

From  Teviot  to  the  Dee, 
Ah !"  sighing  sad,  that  lady  said, 

"  Can  ne'er  yotmg  Harden's  be." — 

She  looked  up  the  briery  glen. 

And  up  the  mossy  brae. 
And  she  saw  a  score  of  her  father's  men 

Yclad  in  the  Johnstone  gray. 

O  fast  and  fast  they  dovmwards  sped 

The  moss  and  briers  among. 
And  in  the  midst  the  troopers  led 

A  shackled  knight  along. 


Sjje  JSatti's  fincantation 

WEITTEX  UNDER   THE   THREAT    OF   INVASION   IN    I'HII 
AUTUMN  OF  1804. 

The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  di-ear. 

It  is  all  of  black  pine  and  the  dark  oak-tree ; 
And  the  midnight  wind,  to  the  mountain  deer. 

Is  whistling  the  forest  luUaby : 
The  moon  looks  tlirough  the  drifting  storm. 
But  the  troubled  lake  reflects  not  her  form, 

was  cut  in  the  tnrf,  and  the  arrangement  of  ihe  letters  an 
nounced  to  his  followers  the  course  which  he  had  taken."- 
Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy,  p.  185. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


633 


For  tlie  waves  roll  whitening  to  the  land, 
And  dash  against  the  slielvy  strand. 
There  is  a  voice  among  the  trees, 

That  mingles  with  the  groaning  oak — 
That  mingles  with  the  stormy  breeze, 

And  the  lake-waves  dashing  against  the  rock ; — 
There  is  a  voice  within  the  wood, 
The  voice  of  the  bard  in  fitful  mood ;  f 

His  song  was  louder  than  the  blast. 
As  the  bard  of  Glenmore  thi'ough  the  forest  past. 

"  Wake  ye  from  your  sleep  of  death. 
Minstrels  and  bards  of  other  days ! 
For  the  midnight  wind  is  on  the  heath, 

And  the  midnight  meteors  dimly  blaze : 
The  Spectre  witli  Iiis  Bloody  Hand,' 
Is  wandering  tlirough  the  wild  woodland ; 
The  owl  and  the  raven  are  mute  for  dread. 
And  the  time  is  meet  to  awake  the  dead  ! 

"  Souls  of  the  mighty,  wake  and  say. 

To  wliat  high  strain  your  harps  were  strung. 
When  Lochhn  plow'd  her  bniowy  way. 

And  on  your  shores  her  Norsemen  flung  ? 
Her  Norsemen  train'd  to  spoil  and  blood, 
Skill'd  to  jDrepare  the  Raven's  food. 
All,  by  your  harpings,  doom'd  to  die 
On  bloody  Largs  and  Loncarty.^ 

"  Mute  are  ye  all  ?    No  murmurs  strange 
Upon  the  midnight  breeze  sail  by ; 

Nor  tlirough  tlie  pines,  with  whistling  change 
Mimic  the  harp's  wild  harmony ! 

Mute  are  ye  now  ? — Ye  ne'er  were  mute. 

When  Murder  with  his  bloody  foot, 

And  Rajjine  with  his  iron  hand, 

Were  hovering  near  yon  momitain  strand. 

"  0  yet  awake  the  strain  to  tell. 

By  every  deed  in  song  enroll'd. 
By  every  chief  who  fought  or  fell. 

For  Albion's  weal  m  battle  bold : — 
From  Coilgach,'  first  who  roll'd  his  car 
Through  the  deep  ranks  of  Roman  war, 
To  him,  of  veteran  memory  dear. 
Who  victor  died  on  Aboukir. 

*  By  all  their  swords,  by  aU  their  scars, 

By  all  their  names,  a  mighty  spell  1 
By  all  their  wounds,  by  all  their  wai-s. 

Arise,  the  mighty  strain  to  tell ! 
For  fiercer  than  fierce  Hengist's  strain. 
More  unjiious  than  the  heathen  Dane, 
More  grasping  than  all-grasping  Rome, 
Gaul's  ravemng  legions  hither  come  !" 


•  'f  l/e  forest  of  Glenmore  is  haunted  by  a  spirit  called  Lham- 
■>irf   or  Reil-liand. 
80 


The  wind  is  hush'd,  and  still  the  lake — 
Strange  murmurs  fill  ray  tinkling  ears, 
Bristles  ray  hair,  my  smews  quake. 

At  the  dread  voice  of  other  years — 
"  When  targets  clash'd,  and  bugles  rung. 
And  blades  round  warriors'  heads  were  flung, 
The  foremost  of  the  band  were  we. 
And  hymn'd  the  joys  of  Liberty !" 


5ajcIlbell2Ji. 


1805. 


In  the  spring  of  1805,  a  young  gentleman  of  tal- 
ents, and  of  a  most  amiable  disposition,  perished 
by  losing  his  way  on  the  mountain  Hellvellyn. 
His  remains  were  not  discovered  till  three  months 
afterwards,  when  tliey  were  found  guarded  by  a 
faithful  terrier-bitch,  his  constant  attendant  du- 
ring frequent  solitary  rambles  tlirough  the  wilds 
of  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland. 


I  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hellvellyn, 

Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleam'd  misty 

and  wide ;  [ling. 

All  was  stni,  save  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was  yel- 

And  starting  around  me  the  echoes  rephed. 
On  the  right,  Striden-edge  round  the  Red-tarn  waa 

bending. 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending. 
One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending, 
When  I  mark'd  the  sad  spot  where  the  wan- 
derer had  died. 

Dark  green  was  that  spot  'mid  the  brown  moun- 
tain-heather. 
Where  the  Pilgrim  of  Nature  lay  stretch'd  in 
decay, 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandon'd  to  weather, 
Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenantless 
clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended. 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favorite  attended, 
The  much-loved  remains  of  her  master  defended, 
And  chased  the  hUl-fox  and  the  raven  away. 

How  long  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence  was 
slumber  ? 
When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft 
didst  thou  start  ? 

3  Where  the  Norwegian  invader  of  Scotland  received  two 
bloody  defeats.  ^  The  Galgacus  of  Tacitus. 


634 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


-I  i 


Uo-vr  many  long  days  and  long  -weeks  didst  thou 

number, 
Ere  he  faded  before   thee,  the   friend  of  thy 

heart  ? 
And,  oil,  was  it  meet,  that — no  requiem  read  o'er 

him — 
No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him, 
And  thou,  little  guardian,  alone  stretch'd  before 

him — 
Unhonor'd  the  Pilgrim  from  life  should  dejjart  ? 

When  a  Prince  to  the  fate   of  the   Peasant  has 
yielded, 
The  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim-lighted 
hall ; 
With  scutcheons  of  silver  the  coffin  is  shielded. 
And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall : 
Through  the  courts,  at  deej)  midnight,  the  torches 

are  gleaming ; 
In  the   proudly-arch'd  chapel   the   banners    are 

beaming, 
Far  adown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming. 
Lamenting  a  Chief  of  the  people  should  fall. 

But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature. 

To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain 
lamb. 
When,  wilder'd,  he  di'ops  from  some  cliff  huge  in 
stature, 
And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  tliis  desert  lake 

lying, 
Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gray  plover  flying, 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying. 
In  the  arms  of  Hellvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 


SElje  Bsi'ns  aSatS.' 


1806. 


Air — Daffijdz  Oangwen. 
The  Welsh  tradition  hears,  that  a  Bard,  on  his 
death-bed,  deinanded  his  harp,  and  played  the  air 
to  which  these  verses  are  adapted;    reqxtesting 
that  it  might  be  performed  at  his  funeral. 


T. 

I)iN/is  Emlinn,  lament ;  for  the  moment  is  nigh. 
When  mute  in  the  woodlands  thine  echoes  shall  die  : 

1  This  and  the  following  were  written  for  Jlr.  George  Thora- 
Bon's  Welsh  Airs,  and  are  contained  in  his  Select  Melodies, 
vol,  i. 


No  more  by  sweet  Teivi  Cadwallon  shall  rave, 
And  mix  his  wild  notes  with  the  wild   dasliing 
wave. 

II. 

In  spring  and  in  autumn  thy  glories  of  shade 
Unhonor'd  shall  flourish,  unhonor'd  shall  fade ; 
For  soon  shall  be  lifeless  the  eye  and  the  tongue, 
That  view'd  them  with  raptm-e,  with  rapture  that 
sung. 

III. 
Thy  sons,  Dinas  Emlinn,  may  march  in  their  pride. 
And  chase  the  proud  Saxon  from  Prestatyn's  side  ; 
But  where  is  the  harp  shaU  give  life  to  their  name  ? 
And  where  is  the  bard  shall  give  heroes  their  fame  ? 

IV. 
And  oh,  Dinas  Emlinn !  thy  daughters  so  fair. 
Who  heave  the  white  bosom,  and  wave  the  dark 

hair; 
What  tuneful  enthusiast  shall  worship  their  eye, 
When  half  of  theu-  charms  with  Cadwallon  shall 

die? 

V. 
Then  adieu,  silver  Teivi !  I  quit  thy  loved  scene. 
To  join  the  dim  choir  of  the  bards  who  have  been 
With  Lewarch,  and  Meilor,  and  Merlin  the  Old, 
And  sage  Taliessin,  high  harping  to  hold. 

VI. 

And  adieu,  Dinas  Emlinn !  still  gi-een  be  thy  shades, 

Unconquer'd  thy  warriors,  and  matchless  thy 
maids ! 

And  thou,  whose  faint  warblings  my  weakness  cac 
tell. 

Farewell,  my  loved  Harp !  my  last  treasure,  fare- 
well 1 


SClje   Norman   3!!§orsc  =  sj[)oc. 


1806. 


Air — The  War-Song  of  the  Jlen  of  Olamorgan. 

The  Welsh,  inhabiting  a  mountainous  country,  a7id 
possessing  only  an  inferior  breed  of  horses,  were 
usually  unable  to  encounter  the  shock  of  the 
Anglo-Norman  cavalry.  Occasionally,  however, 
they  were  successful  in  repelling  the  invaders ; 
and  the  following  verses  are  supposed  to  celebrate 
the  defeat  o/ Clare,  JiJarl  of  Striguil  and  Pem- 
broke, and  of  Neville,  Baron  of  Chepstow, 
Lords-Marchers  of  Monmouthshire.  Rijmny  is 
a  stream  which  divides  the  cottnties  of  Monmouth 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


635 


and  Glamorgan :  Caerphili,  tlie  scene  of  the  sup- 
posed battle,  is  a  vale  upon  its  banks,  dignified  by 
the  ruins  of  a  very  ancient  castle. 


Red  glo-w^s  the  forge  in  Striguil's  bounds, 
And  hammers  din,  and  anvil  soimds, 
And  armorers,  with  iron  toil, 
Barb  many  a  steed  for  battle's  broU. 
Foul  fall  the  hand  which  bends  the  steel 
Around  the  courser's  thundering  heel, 
That  e'er  shail  dint  a  sable  wound 
On  fair  Glamorgan's  velvet  ground ! 

II. 

From  Chepstow's  towers,  ere  dawn  of  morn. 
Was  heard  afar  the  bugle-horn  ; 
And  forth,  in  banded  pomp  and  pride, 
Stout  Clare  and  fiery  Neville  ride. 
They  swore,  then-  banners  broad  should  gleam, 
In  crimson  hght,  on  Rymny'w  stream  ; 
They  vow'd,  Caerphili's  sod  should  feel 
The  Norman  charger's  spuryiing  heel. 

III. 

And  sooth  they  swore — ihe  sun  arose. 
And  Rymny's  wave  with  crimson  glows ; 
For  Clare's  red  banner,  floating  wide, 
RoU'd  down  the  stream  to  Severn's  tide  ! 
And  sooth  they  vow'd — the  trampled  green 
Show'd  where  hot  Neville's  charge  had  been : 
In  every  sable  hoof-tramp  stood 
A  Norman  horseman's  cm-dling  blood ! 

IV, 
Old  Chepstow's  brides  may  curse  the  toil. 
That  arm'd  stout  Clare  for  Cambrian  broil ; 
Their  orphans  long  the  art  may  rue. 
For  Neville's  war-horse  forged  the  shoe. 
No  more  the  stamp  of  armed  steed 
Shall  dint  Glamorgan's  velvet  mead ; 
Nor  trace  be  there,  in  early  spring. 
Save  of  the  Fairies'  emerald  ring. 


ffifte  l^aflf  of  Soto.* 


1806. 


O,  LOW  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 
And  weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the 
dark  wood, 

I  This,  and  the  three  following,  were  first  published  in  Ha- 
dyn's  Collection  of  Scottish  Airs.    Edin.  1806. 


All  as  a  fair  maiden,  bewUder'd  in  sorrow, 

Sorely  sigh'd  to  the  breezes,  and  wept  to  tlie 
flood. 
"  0  saints  !  from  the  mansions  of  bliss  lowly  bend 

Sweet  Virgin !  who  hearest  tl»e  suppliant's  cry, 
Now  grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending. 
My  Henry  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die !" 

All  distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle, 
"With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes 
they  fail, 
TOl  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  conflict's 
dread  rattle. 
And  the  chase's  wild  clamor,  came  loading  the 
gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  on  the  woodlands  so  dreary ; 

Slowly  approaching  a  warrior  was  seen ; 
Life's  ebbmg  tide  mark'd  his  footsteps  so  weary, 
Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  Avas  his  mien 

"  0  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying ! 

0  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low ! 
Deadly  cold  on  yon  heath  thy  brave  Henry  is  lying. 

And  fast  thi-ough  the  woodland  approaches  the 
foe." 
Scarce  could  he  falter  the  tidings  of  sorrow. 

And  scarce  could  she  hear  them,  benmnb'd  with 
despau- ; 
And  when  the  sun  sank  on  the  sweet  lake  of  Tore, 

For  ever  he  set  to  the  Brave  and  the  Fair 


Sjje  33ali"et. 


1806. 


"  0  OPEN  the  door,  some  pity  to  show 
Keen  blows  the  nortliern  wind ! 

The  glen  is  white  with  the  drifted  snow, 
And  the  path  is  hard  to  find. 

"  No  outlaw  seeks  your  castle  gate. 
From  chasing  the  King's  deer. 

Though  even  an  outlaw's  wretched  state 
Might  claim  compassion  here. 

"  A  weary  Pahner,  worn  and  weak, 

I  wander  for  my  sin ; 
O  open,  for  Our  Lady's  sake ! 

A  pilgrim's  blessing  win  1 

"  I'll  give  you  pardons  from  the  Pope, 
And  reliques  from  o'er  the  sea ; 

Or  if  for  these  you  will  not  ope 
Yet  open  for  charity. 


036 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  Tlie  bare  is  crouching  in  her  form. 

The  hart  beside  the  hind  ; 
An  aged  man,  amid  the  storm, 

No  shelter  can  I  find. 

"  You  hear  the  Ettrick's  sidlen  roar 
Dark,  deep,  and  strong  is  he. 

And  I  must  ford  the  Ettrick  o'er, 
Unless  you  pity  me. 

"  The  iron  gjrte  is  bolted  hard, 

At  -which  I  knock  in  vain ; 
Tlie  owner's  heart  is  closer  barr'd, 

Who  hears  me  thus  complain. 

"  Farewell,  farewell !  and  ]\Iary  gi-ant, 
When  old  and  frail  you  be. 

You  never  may  the  shelter  want. 
That's  now  denied  to  me." 

The  Ranger  on  his  couch  lay  warm. 
And  heard  him  plead  in  vain ; 

But  oft  amid  December's  storm, 
He'U  hear  that  voice  again : 

For  lo,  when  tlu-ough  the  vapors  dank. 
Morn  shone  on  Ettrick  fair, 

A  corpse  amid  the  alders  rank. 
The  Palmer  welter'd  there. 


ffi:i)e  ifWaitJ  of  NcfDpatl). 


1806. 


There  is  a  tradition  in  Tweeddale,  that,  when  Neid- 
path  Castle,  near  Peebles,  was  inhabited  by  the 
Earls  of  March,  a  mutual  passion  subsisted  be- 
twee?i  a  daughter  of  that  noble  fainili/,  and  a  son 
of  the  Laird  of  Tushielaw,  in  Ettrick  Forest.  As 
the  alliance  loas  thought  uiisicitable  by  her  pa- 
rents, the  young  man  went  abroad.  During  his 
absence,  the  lady  fell  into  a  consumption  ;  arid 
at  length,  as  the  only  means  of  saving  her  life, 
her  father  consented  that  her  lover  shotdd  he  re- 
called. On  the  day  when  lie  was  expected  to  pass 
through  Peebles,  on  the  road  to  lushiclaw,  the 
young  lady,  though  much  exhausted,  caused  her- 
self to  be  carried  to  the  balcony  of  a  house  in 
Peebles,  belonging  to  the  family,  that  she  might 
see  him  as  he  rode  past.  Her  anxiety  and  eager- 
ness gave  such  force  to  her  organs,  that  slie  is 
said  to  have  distinguished  his  horse's  footsteps  at 
an  incredible  distance.  But  Tushielaw,  unpre- 
pared for  the  change  in  her  appearance,  and  not 


expecting  to  see  her  in  that  place,  rode  on  without 
recognizing  her,  or  even  slackening  his  pace.  The 
lady  was  unable  to  support  the  shock  ;  and,  after 
a  short  struggle,  died  in  the  arms  of  her  attend- 
ants. There  is  an  incident  similar  to  this  tradi- 
tional tale  in  Count  Hamilton's  "  Fleur  d'EpineV 


0  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 

And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing  ; 
And  love,  in  life's  extremity. 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower. 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning. 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath's  tower, 

To  watch  her  love's  returning. 

All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright, 

Her  form  decay'd  by  pining. 
Till  tlirough  her  wasted  hand,  at  night, 

You  saw  the  taper  shining ; 
By  fits,  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

Across  her  cheek  was  flying ; 
By  fits,  so  ashy  pale  she  grew, 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 

Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear, 

Seem'd  m  her  frame  residing  ; 
Before  the  watch-dog  prick'd  his  ear, 

She  heard  her  lover's  riding : 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  ken'd, 

She  knew,  and  waved  to  greet  him  ; 
And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend. 

As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

He  came — ^he  pass'd — a  heedless  gaze, 

As  o'er  some  stranger  glancing ; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase, 

Lost  in  his  courser's  prancing — 
The  castle  arch,  whose  hollow  tone 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken, 
Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan, 

Wliich  told  her  heart  was  broken. 


OTantJerinji  C^iIHc. 


1806. 


All  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  you  left  me 
And  climb'd  the  tall  vessel  to  sail  yon  wid« 


sea; 


0  weaj-y  betide  it !  I  wander'd  beside  it, 
And  baiJi'd  it  for  parting  my  Willie  and  me. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


637 


Far  o'er  the  wave  hast  thou  follow'd  thy  fortune, 
Oft  fought  the  squadrons  of  France  and  of  Spain ; 

Ae  kiss  of  welcome's  worth  twenty  at  parting, 
Now  I  hae  gotten  my  WiUie  agtrfn. 

Wlieu  the  sky  it  was  mhk,  and  the  winds  they 
were  waihng, 
I  sat  ou  the  beach  wi'  the  tear  in  my  ee, 
And  thouglit  o'  the  bark  where  my  "Willie  was 
sailing. 
And  wisli'd   that  the   tempest   could  a'  blow 
on  me. 

Now  that  thy  gallant  sliip  rides  at  her  mooring, 
Now  that  my  wanderer's  in  safety  at  hame, 

Music  to  me  were  the  wOdest  winds'  roaiing. 
That  e'er  o'er  Inch-Keith  drove  the  dark  ocean 
faem. 

When  the  lights  they  did  blaze,  and  the  guns  they 
did  rattle, 

And  blithe  was  each  heart  for  the  great  victory. 
In  secret  I  wept  for  the  dangers  of  battle, 

And  thy  glory  itself  was  scarce  comfort  to  me. 

But  now  shalt  thou  tell,  while  I  eagerly  listen. 
Of  each  bold  adventure,  and  every  brave  scar ; 

And  trust  me,  I'll  smile,  though  my  eeu  they  may 
glisten  ; 
For  sweet  after  danger's  the  tale  of  the  war. 

And  oh,  how  we  doubt  when  there's  distance 
'tween  lovers. 
When  there's  naething  to  speak  to  the  heart 
tlu'o'  the  ee ; 
How  often  the  kindest  and  warmest  prove  rovers, 
And  the  love  of  the  faithfullest  ebbs  like  the  sea. 

Till,  at  times — could  I  help  it? — I  pined  and  I 

ponder'd, 

If  love  could  change  notes  like  the  bud  on  the 

tree — 

Now  m  ne'er  ask  if  thine  eyes  may  hae  wander'd, 

Enough,  thy  leal  heart  has  been  constant  to  me. 

W  ulcome,  from  sweeping  o'er  sea  and  through 
channel. 

Hardships  and  danger  despising  for  fame, 
Furnishing  story  for  glory's  bright  annal. 

Welcome,  my  wanderer,  to  Jeanie  and  hame ! 

Enough,  now  thy  story  in  annals  of  glory 

Has  humbled  the  pride  of  France,  Holland,  and 
Spain ; 
No  more  shalt  thou  grieve  me,  no  more  shalt  thou 
leave  me, 
I  never  will  part  with  my  Wilhe  again. 


I^ealti)   to  aovir  iHclbilU, 


1806. 


Air — Carrickfergiis. 

"  The  impeachment  of  Lord  MclviUe  was  among 
the  fij'st  measures  of  the  new  (Whig)  Government  • 
and  personal  affection  and  gratitude  graced  as  well 
as  heigliteued  the  zeal  with  which  Scott  watched 
the  issue  of  this,  in  his  eyes,  vindictive  proceeding ; 
but,  though  the  ex-minister's  ultimate  acquittal 
was,  as  to  all  the  charges  mvolving  his  personal 
honor,  complete,  it  must  now  be  allowed  that  the 
investigation  brought  out  many  circumstances  by 
no  means  creditable  to  his  discretion  ;  and  the  re- 
joicings of  his  friends  ought  not,  therefore,  to  have 
been  scornfully  jubilant.  Such  they  were,  how- 
ever— at  least  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  Scott  took  his 
share  in  them  by  inditing  a  song,  which  was  sung 
by  James  BaUantyne,  and  received  with  clamorous 
applauses,  at  a  pubhc  dinner  given  in  honor  of  the 
event,  on  the  27th  of  June,  1806." — Life,  vol.  ii.  p. 
322. 


Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round  the  table, 
Five  hundred  good  fellows  well  met  in  a  hall, 
Come  Usten,  brave  boys,  and  I'U  sing  as  I'm  able 
How  innocence  triumph'd  and  pride  got  a  fall. 

But  push  round  the  claret — 

Come,  stewards,  don't  spare  it — 
With  rapture  you'll  di-ink  to  the  toast  that  I  give  : 

Here,  boys, 

Off  with  it  merrily — 
Melville  for  ever,  and  long  may  he  live ! 

What  were  the  Wliigs  doing,  when  boldly  pm'suing, 

Pitt  banish'd  Rebellion,  gave  Treason  a  string  ? 

Why,   they   swore   on  their  honor,   for   Artuur 

O'Connor, 

And  fought  hard  for  Despard  against  country 

and  king. 

Well,  then,  we  knew,  boys, 
Pitt  and  Melville  were  true  boys. 
And  the  tempest  was  raised  by  the  friends  of 
Reform. 
Ah,  woe ! 

Weep  to  his  memory ; 
Low  lies  the  pilot  that  weather'd  the  storm ! 

And  pray,  don't  you  mind  when  the  Blues  first 
were  raising. 
And  we  scarcely  could  think  the  house  safe  o'er 
our  heads  ? 

1  Published  on  a  broadside,  and  reprinted  in  the  Life  of 
Scott,  1837. 


C38 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"Wlien    villains    and    coxcombs,    French    politics 
praising,  [beds  ? 

Drove  peace  from  our  tables  and  sleep  from  our 
Our  hearts  they  grew  bolder 
When,  musket  on  shoulder, 
Stepp'd  forth  our  old  Statesmen  example  to  give. 
Come,  boys,  never  fear. 
Drink  the  Blue  grenadier — 
Here's  to  old  Harry,  and  long  may  he  live ! 

They  would  tm-n  us  adrift ;  though  rely,  sir,  upon 
it— 
Our  own  faithful  chronicles  waiTant  us  that 
The  free  mountaineer  and  his  bonny  blue  bonnet 
Have  oft  gone  as  far  as  the  regular's  hat. 
"We  laugh  at  their  taunting. 
For  all  we  are  wanting 
Is  license  our  life  for  our  country  to  give. 
Oif  with  it  merrily. 
Horse,  foot  and  artillery. 
Each  loyal  Volunteer,  long  may  he  live ! 

'Tis  not  us  alone,  boys — the  Army  and  Navj 

Have  each  got  a  slap  'mid  then-  poUtic  pranks ; 
CoRxwALLis   cashier'd,   that   watch'd   winters    to 
save  ye. 
And  the  Cape  call'd  a  bauble,  unworthy  of  thanks. 
But  vain  is  their  taunt, 
JN^o  soldier  shall  want 
The  thanks  that  his  country  to  valor  can  give : 
Come,  boys. 
Drink  it  off  merrily, — 
Sir  David  and  Poph-^m,  and  long  may  they  live ! 

And  then  our  revenue — Lord  knows  how  they 
view'd  it, 
"WhUe  each  petty  statesman  talk'd  lofty  and  big ; 
But  the  beer-tax  was  weak,  as  if  Whitbread  had 
brew'd  it. 
And  the  pig-iron  duty  a  shame  to  a  pig. 
In  vain  is  their  vaunting, 
Too  surely  there's  wanting 
What  judgment,  experience,  and  steadiness  give : 
Come,  boys. 
Drink  about  merrily, — 
Health  to  sage  Melville,  and  long  may  he  live  ! 

Our  King,  too — our  Princess — I  dare  not  say  more, 

sir, — 
May  Providence  watch  them  with  mercy  and 

might ! 
Wliile  there's  one  Scottish  hand  that  can  wag  a 

claymore,  sir, 

1  The  Magistrates  of  Edinburgh  had  rejected  an  application 
for  illumination  of  the  town,  on  the  arrival  of  the  news  of 
Lord  Melville's  acquittal. 

8  First  published  in  the  continuation  of  Strntt's  Q.ueenhoo- 


They  shall  ne'er  want  a  friend  to  stand  up  for 
their  right. 

Be  daimi'd  he  that  dare  not,— 
For  my  part,  I'U  spare  not 
To  beauty  afflicted  a  tribute  to  give : 
Fill  it  up  steadily. 
Drink  it  off  readily — 
Here's  to  the  Princess,  and  long  may  she  live  ! 

And  since  we  must  not  set  Auld  Reekie  in  glory. 
And  make  her  brown  visage    as  light  as  her 
heart ;' 
TUl  each  man  iUumine  his  own  upper  story, 
Nor  law-book  nor  lawyer  shall  force  us  to  part. 
In  Grenville  and  Spenxer, 
And  some  few  good  men,  sir. 
High  talents  we  honor,  shght  difference  forgive ; 
But  the  Brewer  we'll  hoax, 
Tallyho  to  the  Fox, 
And  drink  Melville  for  ever,  as  long  as  we  live  V 


untinfl  Sottfl.' 


1808. 


Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day. 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here. 

With  liawk,  and  horse,  and  hunting-spcar  1 

Hoimds  are  in  their  couples  yelhng, 

Hawks  are  whisthng,  horns  are  knelling, 

Merrily,  merrUy,  muigle  they, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming. 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming : 

And  foresters  have  busy  been, 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
To  the  green- wood  haste  away , 
We  can  show  you  where  he  Ues, 
Fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size ; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made, 
Wlicn  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  fray'd ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

hall,  1808,  inserted  in  the  Edinburgh  Annua!  Register  of  the 
same  year,  and  set  to  a  Welsh  air  in  Thomson's  Select  Melo- 
dies, vol.  iii.    1817. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


039 


Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay, 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay ! 

Tell  them  youth,  and  mirth,  and  glee, 

Run  a  course  as  well  as  we ; 

Time,  stern  huntsman  !  who  can  haulk, 

Stanch  as  hound,  and  fleet  as  hawk ; 

Tliink  of  this,  and  rise  with  day, 

Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay. 


m  IMITATION  OF  AX  OLD  ENGLISH  POEM. 


1808. 


My  wayward  fate  I  needs  must  plain, 

Tliough  bootless  be  the  theme ; 
I  loved,  and  was  beloved  again, 

Yet  all  was  but  a  dream  : 
For,  as  her  love  was  quickly  got. 

So  it  was  quickly  gone  ; 
No  more  I'll  bask  in  flame  so  hot, 

But  coldly  dwell  alone. 

Not  maid  more  bright  than  maid  was  e'er 

My  fancy  shall  beguile, 
By  flattering  word,  or  feigned  tear. 

By  gesture,  look,  or  smile  : 
No  more  111  call  the  shaft  fau*  shot, 

Till  it  has  fauly  flown, 
Nor  scorch  me  at  a  flame  so  hot ; — 

I'll  rather  freeze  alone. 

Each  ambush'd  Cupid  I'U  defy, 

In  cheek,  or  chin,  or  brow, 
And  deem  the  glance  of  woman's  eye 

As  weak  as  woman's  vow : 
I'll  hghtly  hold  the  lady's  heart, 

That  is  but  lightly  won ; 
m  steel  my  breast  to  beauty's  art, 

And  learn  to  Uve  alone. 

The  flaunting  torch  soon  blazes  out. 

The  diamond's  ray  abides ; 
The  flamejits  glory  hurls  about, 

The  gem  its  lustre  hides ; 
Such  gem  I  fondly  deem'd  was  mine. 

And  glow'd  a  diamond  stone, 
But,  since  each  eye  may  see  it  shine, 

I'll  dai-kling  dwell  alone. 

1  Publisbed  anonymously  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Regis- 
ter of  1808.  Writing  to  his  brother  Thomas,  the  author  says, 
"  The  Resolve  is  mine  ;  and  it  is  not — or,  to  be  less  enigmati- 
"al,  it  is  an  old  fragment,  which  I  coopered  up  into  its  present 
state  with  the  purpose  of  quizzing  certain  judges  of  poetry, 
who  have  been  extremely  delighted,  and  declare  that  no  living 


No  waking  dream  shall  tinge  my  thought 

With  dyes  so  bright  and  vain. 
No  silken  net,  so  sligJitly  wrought. 

Shall  tangle  me  again : 
No  more  I'll  pay  so  dear  for  wit, 

I'll  Uve  upon  mine  own. 
Nor  shall  wild  passion  trouble  it, — 

I'll  rather  dweU  alone. 

And  thus  I'U  hush  my  heart  to  rest, — 

"  Thy  loving  labor's  lost ; 
Tliou  shalt  no  more  be  wildly  blest. 

To  be  BO  strangely  crost ; 
The  widow'd  turtles  mateless  die, 

The  phcenix  is  but  one ; 
They  seek  no  loves — no  more  will  I — 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone." 


DESIGNED    FOR    A    MONUMENT 

IN   LICHFIELD    CATHEDRAL,   AT   THE   BURIAL-PLACE   Ot 

THE  FAMILY  OF  MISS  SEWARD. 

Amld  these  aisles,  where  once  his  precepts  show'd 
The  Heavenward  pathway  wliich  in  life  he  trod, 
This  simple  tablet  marks  a  Father's  bier. 
And  those  he  loved  in  life,  in  death  are  near , 
For  him,  for  them,  a  Daughter  bade  it  rise, 
Memorial  of  domestic  charities.  [spread, 

Still  wouldst   thou  know  why  o'er  the  marble 
In  female  grace  the  willow  droops  her  head ; 
Why  on  her  branches,  silent  and  unstrung. 
The  minstrel  harp  is  emblematic  hung ; 
What  poet's  voice  is  smother'd  here  in  dust 

TiU  waked  to  join  the  chorus  of  the  just, 

Lo !  one  brief  line  an  answer  sad  supphes, 
Honor'd,  beloved,  and  mourn'd,  here  Seward  lies : 
Her  worth,  her  warmth  of  heart,  let  friendship  say  •, 
Go  seek  her  genius  in  her  Uviug  lay. 


TO  MISS  BAILLIe's  PLAY  OF  THE  FAMILY  LEGEND.* 


1809. 


'Tis  sweet  to  hear  expu-ing  Summer's  sigh. 
Through  forests  tinged  with  russet,  wail  and  die ; 

poet  could  write  in  the  same  exquisite  taste." — Life  of  Scott, 
vol.  iii.  p.  330.  2  Edinburgh  Annual  Register,  1809. 

3  Miss  Baillie's  Family  Leg-end  was  ])roduced  with  consid- 
erable success  on  the  Edinburgh  stage  in  the  winter  of  1809-10. 
This  prologue  was  spoken  on  that  occasion  by  the  Author's 
friend,  Mr.  Daniel  Terry. 


G40 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


'Tis  sweet  and  sad  the  latest  notes  to  hear 
Of  distant  music,  dying  on  the  ear  ; 
But  far  more  sadly  sweet,  on  foreign  strand, 
We  list  the  legends  of  our  native  land, 
Link'd  as  they  come  with  every  tender  tie, 
Memorials  dear  of  youth  and  infiincy. 

Chief,  thy  wild  tales,  romantic  Caledon, 
Wake  keen  remembrance  in  cacli  hardy  son. 
Whether  on  Lidia's  bmning  coasts  he  toil. 
Or  till  Acadia's*  winter-fetter'd  soil. 
He  hears  with  throbbing  heart  and  moisten'd  eyes. 
And,  as  he  hears,  what  dear  illusions  rise  ! 
It  opens  on  his  soid  his  native  dell, 
The  woods  wild  waving,  and  the  water's  swell ; 
Tradition's  theme,  the  tower  that  threats  the  plain. 
The  mossy  cairn  that  hides  the  hero  slain ; 
The  cot,  beneath  whose  simple  porch  were  told, 
By  gray-hair'd  patriarch,  the  tales  of  old. 
The  infant  group,  that  hush'd  their  sports  the 

wliile, 
And  the  dear  maid  who  hsten'd  with  a  smile. 
The  wanderer,  while  the  vision  warms  his  brain, 
Is  denizen  of  Scotland  once  again. 

Are  such  keen  feelings  to  the  crowd  confined. 
And  sleep  they  in  the  Poet's  gifted  mind  ? 
Oh  no !  For  She,  witliin  whose  mighty  page 
Each  tyrant  Passion  shows  liis  woe  and  rage, 
Has  felt  the  wizard  influence  they  insphe. 
And  to  your  own  traditions  tuned  her  lyre. 
Yourselves  shall  judge — whoe'er  has  raised  the  sail 
By  MuU's  dark  coast,  has  heard  tliis  evening's  tale. 
The  plaided  boatman,  resting  on  his  oar, 
Points  to  the  fatal  rock  amid  the  roar 
Of  whitening  waves,  and  tells  whate'er  to-night 
Our  humble  stage  shall  offer  to  yom-  sight ; 
Proudly  preferr'd  that  fu'st  our  efforts  give 
Scenes  glowing  from  her  pen  to  breathe  and  live ; 
More  proudly  yet,  shoidd  Caledon  approve 
The  filial  token  of  a  Daughter's  love. 


E\je  33oacI)er. 

WRITTEN    IN   IMITATION    OF    CEABBE,   AND    PUBLISHED 
IN  THE  EDINBUUGH  ANNUAL  KEGISTER  OF  1809.^ 

Welcome,  grave  Stranger  to  our  green  retreats, 
Where  health  with  exercise  and  freedom  meets  I 
Thrice  welcome.  Sage,  whose  philosophic  plan 
By  nature's  limits  metes  the  rights  of  man ; 
Generous  as  he,  who  now  for  freedom  bawls, 
Now  gives  full  value  for  true  Indian  shawls : 
O'er  court,  o'er  customhouse,  his  shoe  who  flings, 

1  Acadia,  or  Nova  Scotia. 


Now  bilks  excisemen,  and  now  buUies  kings. 
Like  his,  I  ween,  thy  comprehensive  mind 
Holds  laws  as  mouse-traps  baited  for  mankind : 
Thine  eye,  applausive,  each  sly  vermin  sees. 
That  baulks  the  snare,  yet  battens  on  the  cheese 
Thine  ear  lias  heard,  with  scorn  instead  of  awe, 
Our  buckskinn'd  justices  expoimd  the  law, 
Wire-ch-aw  the  acts  that  fix  for  wires  the  pain, 
And  for  the  netted  partridge  noose  the  swain ; 
And  thy  vindictive  arm  would  fain  have  broke 
The  last  fight  fetter  of  the  feudal  yoke, 
To  give  the  denizens  of  wood  and  wild, 
Nature's  free  race,  to  each  her  free-born  child. 
Hence  hast  thou  mark'd,  with  grief,  fair  London  a 

race, 
Mock'd  with  the  boon  of  one  poor  Easter  chase, 
And  long'd  to  send  them  forth  as  free  as  when 
Pour'd  o'er  Chantilly  the  Parisian  train, 
When  musket,  pistol,  blunderbuss,  combined, 
And  scarce  the  field-pieces  were  left  behind ! 
A  squadron's  charge  each  leveret's  heart  dismay'd 
On  every  covey  fired  a  bold  brigade ; 
ia  Douce  Humanite  approved  the  sport, 
For  great  the  alarm  indeed,  yet  small  the  hurt 
Shouts  patriotic  solemnized  the  day, 
And  Seine  re-echo'd  Vive  la  Liberie ! 
But  mad  Citoyen,  meek  Monsieur  again, 
With  some  few  added  links  resumes  his  chain. 
Then,  since  such  scenes  to  France  no  more  are 

known, 
Come,  view  with  me  a  hero  of  thine  own ! 
One,  whose  free  actions  vindicate  the  cause 
Of  silvan  fiberty  o'er  feudal  laws. 

Seek  we  yon  glades,  where  the  proud  oak  o'er- 

tops 
Wide-waving  seas  of  birch  and  hazel  copse, 
Leaving  between  deserted  isles  of  land. 
Where  stunted  heath  is  patch'd  with  ruddy  sand ; 
And  lonely  on  the  waste  the  yew  is  seen. 
Or  stragglmg  hollies  spread  a  brighter  green. 
Here,  little  worn,  and  winding  dark  and  steep. 
Our  scarce  mark'd  path  descends  yon  dingle  deep . 
FoUow — but  heedful,  cautious  of  a  trip, — 
In  earthly  mire  philosophy  may  sHp. 
Step  slow  and  wary  o'er  that  swampy  stream, 
Till,  guided  by  the  charcoal's  smothering  steam, 
We  reach  the  frail  yet  barricaded  door 
Of  hovel  form'd  for  poorest  of  the  poor ; 
No  hearth  the  fire,  no  vent  the  smoke  receives, 
The  walls  are  wattles,  and  the  covering  leaves ; 
For,  if  such  hut,  om*  forest  statutes  say, 
Pdse  in  the  progress  of  one  night  and  day 
(Tliough  placed  where  stUl  the  Conqueror's  bests 

o'erawe, 
And  his  son's  stiri'up  shines  the  badge  of  law), 

2  See  Life  of  Scott  vol.  iii.  p.  329. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


Gil 


The  builder  claims  the  unenviable  boon, 
To  tenant  dwelling,  framed  as  sliglit  and  soon 
As  Avigwam  wild,  that  shrouds  the  native  frore 
On  the  bleak  coast  of  frost-barr'd  Labrador.' 

Approach,  and   through  the   uiilatticed  wmdow 

peep — 
Nay,  shi-ink  not  back,  the  inmate  is  asleep ; 
Sunk  'mid  yon  sordid  blankets,  till  the  sun 
Stoop  to  the  west,  the  plunderer's  toils  are  done. 
Loaded  and  primed,  and  prompt  for  desperate 

hand, 
Rifle  and  fowling-piece  beside  him  stand ; 
While  round  the  hut  are  in  disorder  laid 
The  tools  and  booty  of  his  lawless  trade ; 
For  force  or  fraud,  resistance  or  escape, 
The  crow,  the  saw,  the  bludgeon,  and  the  crape. 
His  pilfer'd  powder  in  yon  nook  he  hoards. 
And  the  filch'd  lead  the  church's  roof  affords — 
(Hence  shall  the  rector's  congregation  fret. 
That  while  his  sermon's  dry  his  walls  are  wet.) 
The  fish-spear  barb'd,  the  sweeping  net  are  there, 
Doe-liides,  and  pheasant  plmnes,  and  skins  of  hare. 
Cordage  for  toQs,  and  wiring  for  the  snare. 
Barter'd  for  game  from  chase  or  warren  won. 
Yon  cask  holds  moonhght,'^  run  when  moon  was 

none; 
And  late-snatched  spoils  lie  stow'd  in  hutch  apart. 
To  wait  the  associate  higgler's  evening  ciu-t. 

Look  on  his  pallet  foul,  and  mark  his  rest : 
What  scenes  j)erturb'd  are  acting  in  his  breast ! 
His  sable  brow  is  wet  and  wi-ung  with  pain. 
And  his  dilated  nostril  toils  in  vain  ; 
For  short  and  scant  the  breath  each  effort  draws. 
And  'twixt  each  effort  Nature  claims  a  pause. 
Beyond  the  loose  and  sable  neckcloth  strctch'd, 
His  sinewy  throat  seems  by  convulsion  twitch'd, 
While  the  tongue  falters,  as  to  utterance  loth. 
Sounds  of  dire  import — watchword,  thi-eat,  and 

oath. 
Though,  stupefied  by  toil,  and  drugg'd  with  gin. 
The  body  sleep,  the  restless  guest  within 
Now  pUes  on  wood  and  wold  his  lawless  trade. 
Now  in  the  fangs  of  justice  wakes  dismay'd. — • 

"  Was  that  wild  start  of  terror  and  despair, 
Tliose  bursting  eyeballs,  and  that  wUder'd  air, 
Signs  of  compunction  for  a  murder'd  hare  ? 
Do  the  locks  bristle  and  the  eyebrows  arch, 
For  grouse  or  partridge  massacred  in  March  ?" — 

No,  scoffer,  no !  Attend,  and  mark  with  awe, 
There  is  no  wicket  in  the  gate  of  law ! 

1  Such  13  the  law  in  the  New  Forest,  Hampshire,  tending 
greatly  to  increase  the  various  settlements  of  thieves,  smug- 
glers, and  deer-stealers,  who  infest  it.     In  the  forest  courts 
presiding  judge  wears  as  a  badge  of  oiBce  an  antique  stir- 


He,  that  would  e'er  so  lightly  set  ajar 
That  awful  portal,  must  undo  each  bar : 
Tempting  occasion,  habit,  passion,  pride, 
Will  joui  to  storm  the  breach,  and  force  the  barriei 
wide. 

That  ruffian,  whom  true  men  avoid  and  dreao, 
Whom  bruisers,  poachers,  smugglers,  call  Black 

Ned, 
Was  Edward  Mansell  once ; — ^the  lightest  heart, 
Tliat  ever  play'd  on  holiday  his  part ! 
The  leader  he  in  every  Christmas  game. 
The  harvest  feast  grew  bUther  when  he  came, 
And  liveliest  on  the  chords  the  bow  did  glance, 
When  Edward  named  the  tune  and  led  the  dance. 
Kind  was  his  heart,  his  passions  quick  and  strong, 
Hearty  his  laugh,  and  jovial  was  his  song ; 
And  if  he  loved  a  gun,  his  father  swore, 
"  'Twas  but  a  trick  of  youth  would  soon  be  o'er, 
Himself  had  done  the  same  some  thu'ty  years  bo- 
fore." 

But  he  whose  humors  spurn  law's  awful  yoke, 
Must  herd  with  those  by  whom  law's  bonds  are 

broke. 
The  common  dread  of  justice  soon  allies 
The  clown,  who  robs  the  warren,  or  excise, 
With  sterner  felons  train'd  to  act  more  dread. 
Even  with  the  wretch  by  whom  his  fellow  bled. 
Then,  as  in  plagues  the  foul  contagions  pass. 
Leavening  and  festering  the  corrupted  mass, — 
Giult  leagues  with  gmlt,  while  mutual  motives 

draw, 
Their  hope  impunity,  their  fear  the  law ; 
Their  foes,  tbeh  friends,  their  rendezvous  the  same, 
Till  the  revenue  baulk'd,  or  pilfer'd  game. 
Flesh  the  young  culprit,  and  example  leads 
To  darker  villany,  and  dh-er  deeds. 

Wild  howl'd  the  wind  the  forest  glades  along. 
And  oft  the  owl  renew'd  her  dismal  song ; 
Aroimd  the  spot  where  erst  he  felt  the  wound. 
Red  WiUiam's  spectre  walk'd  his  midnight  roxmd. 
When  o'er  the  swamp  he  cast  liis  blightuig  look. 
From  the  green  marshes  of  the  stagnant  brook 
The  bittern's  sullen  shout  the  sedges  shook ! 
The  waning  moon,  with  storm  presaging  gleam, 
Now  gave  and  now  withheld  her  doubtful  beam . 
The  old  Oak  stoop'd  his  arms,  then  flung  them  high. 
Bellowing  and  groaning  to  the  troubled  sky — 
'Twas  then,  that,  couch'd  amid  tlie  brushwood  sere^ 
In  Malwood-walk  young  Mansell  watch'd  the  deer : 
The  fattest  buck  received  his  deadly  shot — 
The  watchful  keeper  heard,  and  sought  the  spot, 

rup,  said  to  have  been  that  of  William  Rnfus.      See  Mr 
William  Rose's  spirited  poem,  entitled  "  The  Red  King." 

"  To  the  bleak  coast  of  savage  Labrador." — Falconer 

2  A  cant  term  for  smuggled  spirits. 


t;42 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Stout  were  their  hearts,  and  stubborn  was  their 

strife, 
O'orpo-wer'd  at  length  the  Outlaw  drew  liis  knife. 
Next  morn  a  corpse  was  found  upon  the  fell — 
The  rest  his  waking  agony  may  tell ! 


Sons. 


Oh,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air. 
That  your  spring-tune  of  pleasure  is  flown. 

Nor  bid  me  to  maids  that  are  younger  repair, 
For  those  raptures  that  still  are  thine  own. 

Though  April  his  temples  may  wreathe  with  the 
vine, 

Its  tendrils  in  infancy  curl'd, 
'Tis  the  ardor  of  August  matures  us  the  wine, 

Whose  life-blood  enhvens  the  world. 

Though  thy  form,  that  was  fashion'd  as  light  as  a 
fay's. 

Has  assumed  a  proportion  more  round, 
And  thy  glance,  that  was  bright  as  a  falcon's,  at  gaze 

Looks  soberly  now  on  the  ground, — 

Enough,  after  absence  to  meet  me  again. 

Thy  steps  still  with  ecstasy  move ; 
Enough,  that  those  dear  sober  glances  retain 

For  me  the  kind  language  of  love. 


2E1)e  Bolti  IBragoon;* 

I 

OR, 

THE  PLAIN  OF  BADAJOS. 


1812. 


'TwAs  a  Marechal  of  France,  and  he  fain  would 

honor  gain, 
And  he  long'd  to  take  a  passing  glance  at  Portu- 
gal from  Spain ; 
With  his  flying  guns  this  gallant  gay. 
And  boasted  corps  d'arniee — 
0  he  fear'd  not  our  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

To  Campo  Mayor  come,  he  had  quietly  sat  down, 
Just  a  fricassee  to  pick,  while  his  soldiers  sack'd  the 
town, 

1  This  song  was  written  shortly  after  the  battle  of  Badajos 
(April,  1812),  for  a  Yeomanry  Cavalry  dinner.  It  was  first 
printed  in  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Collection  of  Select  Melo- 
dies, and  stands  in  vol.  vi.  of  the  last  edition  of  tliat  work. 


When,  'twas  peste !  morbleu !  mon  General, 
Hear  the  English  bugle-call ! 
And  behold  the  light  dragoons,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding. 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  (fee. 

Right  about  went  horse  and  foot,  artillery  and  all. 
And,  as  the  devil  leaves  a  house,  they  tumbled 
tlu-ough  the  wall  ;* 
They  took  no  time  to  seek  the  door, 
But,  best  foot  set  before — 
0  they  ran  from  our  dragoons,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding. 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

Those  valiant  men  of  France  they  had  scarcely  fled 

a  mile, 
When  on  then-  flank  there  sous'd  at  once  the  Brit- 
ish rank  and  file ; 
For  Long,  De  Grey,  and  Otway,  then 
Ne'er  minded  one  to  ten. 
But  came  on  hke  light  dragoons,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding. 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

Three  hundred  British  lads  they  made  three  thou- 
sand reel, 
Their  hearts  were  made  of  English  oak,  then-  swords 
of  Sheflield  steel. 
Their  horses  were  in  Yorksliire  bred, 
And  Bcresford  them  led  ; 
So  huzza  for  brave  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  <tc. 

Then  here's  a  health  to  Wellington,  to  Beresford, 

to  Long, 
And  a  suigle  word  of  Bonaparte  before  I  close  my 
song: 
Tlie  eagles  that  to  fight  he  brings 
Should  serve  his  men  with  wings, 
When  they  meet  the  bold  dragoons,  with  theli 
long  swords,  boldly  riding. 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  <fec. 


©n  ti)c  iJttassacre  of  CJlcncoe. 


1814. 


"  In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1692,  an  actioix  f 
unexampled  barbarity  disgraced  the  govermnent 

2  In  their  hasty  evacuation  of  Campo  Mayor,  the  French 
pulled  down  a  part  of  tlie  rampart,  and  marched  out  over  the 
glacis 

3  First  published  in  Thomson's  Select  Melodies,  1814. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


64y 


of  King  William  III.  in  Scotland.  In  the  August 
preceding,  a  proclamation  had  been  issued,  offering 
an  indemnity  to  such  insui'gents  as  should  take  the 
oaths  to  the  King  and  Queen,  on  or  before  the  last 
day  of  December;  and  the  chiefs  of  such  tribes  as 
had  been  in  arms  for  James,  soon  after  took  advan- 
tage of  tlie  proclamation.  But  Macdonald  of  Glen- 
coe  was  prevented  by  accident,  rather  than  by  de- 
sign, from  tendering  his  submission  within  the  lim- 
ited time.  In  the  end  of  December  he  went  to 
Colonel  Hill;  who  commanded  the  garrison  in  Fort 
William,  to  take  the  oaths  of  allegiance  to  the  gov- 
ernment ;  and  the  latter  having  furni.shed  liim  with 
a  letter  to  Su-  Colin  Campbell,  sheriff  of  the  county 
of  Argyll,  directed  him  to  repair  immediately  to 
Inverary,  to  make  his  submission  in  a  legal  manner 
before  that  magistrate.  But  the  way  to  Inverary 
lay  through  almost  impassable  mountains,  the  sea- 
son was  extremely  rigorous,  and  the  whole  coun- 
try was  covered  with  a  deep  snow.  So  eager, 
however,  was  Macdonald  to  take  the  oaths  before 
the  limited  time  should  expire,  that,  though  the 
road  lay  within  half  a  mile  of  his  own  house,  he 
stopped  not  to  visit  his  family,  and  after  various 
obstructions,  arrived  at  Inverary.  The  time  had 
elapsed,  and  the  sheriff  hesitated  to  receive  his 
submission ;  but  Macdonald  prevailed  by  his  im- 
portunities, and  even  tears,  in  inducing  that  func- 
tionary to  administer  to  him  the  oath  of  allegiance, 
and  to  certify  the  cause  of  his  delay.  At  tliis  time 
Su"  Jolm  Dalrymple,  afterwards  Earl  of  Stair,  being 
in  attendance  upon  William  as  Secretary  of  State 
for  Scotland,  took  advantage  of  Macdonald's  neg- 
lecting to  take  the  oath  witliin  the  time  prescribed, 
and  procm'ed  from  the  king  a  warrant  of  miUtary 
execution  against  that  chief  and  liis  whole  clan. 
This  was  done  at  the  instigation  of  the  Earl  of 
Breadalbane,  whose  lands  the  Glencoe  men  had 
plundered,  and  whose  treachery  to  government  in 
negotiating  with  the  Highland  clans,  Macdonald 
himself  had  exposed.  The  King  was  accordingly 
persuaded  that  Glencoe  was  the  main  obstacle  to 
the  pacification  of  the  Highlands ;  and  the  fact  of 
the  unfortunate  cliief 's  submission  having  been  con- 
cealed, the  sanguinary  orders  for  proceeding  to 
military  execution  against  liis  clan  were  in  conse- 
quence obtained.  The  warrant  was  both  signed 
and  countersigned  by  the  King's  own  hand,  and 
the  Secretary  urged  the  officers  who  commanded 
in  the  Highlands  to  execute  their  orders  with  the 
utmost  rigor.  Campbell  of  Glenlyon,  a  captain  in 
Argyle's  regiment,  and  two  subalterns,  were  or- 
dered to  repair  to  Glencoe  on  the  first  of  Febru- 
ary with  a  hundred  and  twenty  men.  Campbell, 
being  uncle  to  young  Macdonald's  wife,  was  re- 
ceived by  the  father  with  all  manner  of  friendship 
and  hospitality.  The  men  were  lodged  at  free 
quarters  in  the  houses  of  his  tenants,  and  received 


the  kindest  entertainment.  Till  the  13th  of  the 
month  the  troops  lived  in  the  utmost  harmony  and 
familiarity  with  the  people ;  and  on  the  very  night 
of  the  massacre  the  officers  passed  the  evening  at 
cards  in  Macdonald's  house.  In  the  night.  Lieu- 
tenant Lindsay,  with  a  party  of  soldiers,  called  in 
a  friendly  manner  at  liis  door,  and  was  instantly 
admitted.  Macdonald,  wlule  in  the  act  of  rising 
to  receive  his  guest,  was  shot  dead  through  tlie 
back  with  two  bullets.  His  wife  had  already 
dressed ;  but  she  was  stripped  naked  by  the  sol- 
diers, who  tore  the  rings  off  her  fingers  with  their 
teeth.  The  slaughter  now  became  general,  and 
neither  age  nor  infirmity  was  spared.  Some  wo- 
men, in  defending  their  children,  were  kiUod  ;  boys 
imploring  mercy  were  shot  dead  by  officers  on 
whose  knees  they  hung.  In  one  place  nine  per- 
sons, as  they  sat  enjoying  themselves  at  table,  were 
butchered  by  the  soldiers.  In  Inverriggon,  Camp- 
bell's own  quarters,  nine  men  were  first  boimd  by 
the  soldiers,  and  then  shot  at  intervals,  one  by  one. 
Nearly  forty  persons  were  massacred  by  the  troops ; 
and  several  who  fled  to  the  mountains  perished  by 
famine  and  the  inclemency  of  the  season.  Those 
who  escaped  owed  their  lives  to  a  tempestuous 

night.     Lieutenant-Colonel  Hamilton,  who  had  re- 
el ' 

ceived  the  charge  of  the  execution  from  Dalrym- 
ple, was  on  his  march  with  four  hundred  men,  to 
guard  all  the  passes  from  the  valley  of  Glencoe ; 
but  he  was  obliged  to  stop  by  the  severity  of  the 
weather,  which  proved  the  safety  of  the  unfortu- 
nate clan.  Next  day  he  entered  the  valley,  laid 
the  houses  in  ashes,  and  carried  away  the  cattle 
and  spoil,  which  were  divided  among  the  officers 
and  soldiers." — Article  "Bkitain;"  Encyc.  Britaib- 
nica — I^ew  Edition. 


"  0  TELL  me.  Harper,  wherefore  flow 
Thy  wayward  notes  of  wail  and  woe, 
Far  down  the  desert  of  Glencoe, 

Where  none  may  list  their  melody  ? 
Say,  harp'st  thou  to  the  mists  that  fly, 
Or  to  the  dun-deer  glancing  by, 
Or  to  the  eagle,  that  from  high 

Screams  chorus  to  thy  minstrelsy  ?" 

"  No,  not  to  these,  for  they  have  rest, — 
The  mist-wreath  has  the  mountain-crest, 
The  stag  his  lair,  the  erne  her  nest, 

Abode  of  lone  security. 
Eut  those  for  whom  I  pour  the  lay, 
Not  wUd-wood  deep,  nor  mountain-gray, 
Not  this  deep  dell,  that  shrouds  from  day. 

Could  screen  from  treach'rous  cruelty. 

"  Their  flag  was  furl'd,  and  mute  their  drum. 
The  very  household  dogs  were  dumb, 


644 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Unvfont  to  bay  at  guests  that  come 

The  Thistle,  though  her  leaf  be  rude, 

In  guise  of  hospitality. 

Yet  faith  we'll  no  misca'  that. 

His  bhthest  notes  the  piper  plied, 

She  shelter'd  in  her  solitude 

Her  gayest  snood  the  maiden  tied, 

The  Fleur-de-Us,  for  a'  that. 

The  dame  her  distaff  flung  aside. 

To  tend  her  kindly  housewifery. 

The  Austrian  Vine,  the  Prussian  Pine 

(For  Blucher's  sakp  hurra  that), 

«  The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal, 

The  Spanish  Olive,  to„,  shall  join. 

At  midnight  di'ew  the  felon  steel. 

And  bloom  in  peace  for  a'  that. 

And  gave  the  host's  kind  breast  to  feel 

Stout  Russia's  Hemp,  so  surely  twined 

Meed  for  his  hospitality  ! 

Around  our  wreath  we'll  di-aw  that. 

The  friendly  hearth  which  warm'd  that  hand, 

And  he  that  would  the  cord  imbind. 

At  midnight  arm'd  it  with  the  brand. 

Shall  have  it  for  his  gi-a-vat ! 

That  bade  destruction's  flames  expand 

Their  red  and  fearful  blazonry. 

Or,  if  to  choke  sae  puir  a  sot. 

Tour  pity  scorn  to  thraw  that. 

"  Then  woman's  shriek  was  heard  in  vain, 

The  Devil's  elbow  be  his  lot. 

Nor  infancy's  unpitied  plain, 

Where  he  may  sit  and  claw  that. 

More  than  the  warrior's  groan,  could  gain 

In  spite  of  slight,  in  spite  of  might, 

Respite  from  ruthless  butchery  ! 

In  spite  of  brags,  an'  a'  that. 

The  winter  wmd  that  whistled  shrill, 

The  lads  that  battled  for  the  right, 

The  snows  that  night  that  cloked  the  hill, 

Have  won  the  day,  an'  a'  that  1 

Though  wild  and  pitiless,  had  still 

Far  more  than  Southern  clemency. 

There's  ae  bit  spot  I  had  forgot, 

America  they  ca'  that ! 

"  Long  have  my  harp's  best  notes  been  gone, 

A  coward  plot  her  rats  had  got 

Few  are  its  strings,  and  faint  their  tone. 

Their  father's  flag  to  gnaw  that : 

They  can  but  sound  in  desert  lone 

Now  see  it  fly  top-gallant  liigh, 

Their  gray-hair'd  masters  misery. 

Atlantic  winds  shall  blaw  that, 

"Were  each  gray  hah-  a  minstrel  string. 

And  Yankee  loon,  beware  your  croun, 

Each  chord  should  imprecations  fling, 

There's  kames  in  hand  to  claw  that ! 

Till  stai-tled  Scotland  loud  should  ring. 

'  Revenge  for  blood  and  treachery  !'  " 

For  on  the  land,  or  on  the  sea. 

Where'er  the  breezes  blaw  that. 

The  British  Flag  shall  boar  the  grie. 
And  win  the  day  for  a'  that ! 

Sox   a'   ti)at   an'  a'  tijat.' 

&  >'EW  SONG  TO  A>'  OLD  TUNE. 

1814. 

Soixfl, 

FOR  THE  ANNIVPRSAKT  MEETING   OK  TH*  PITT  CLUB 

Though  right  be  aft  put  down  by  strength, 

OF  SCOTLAND. 

As  mony  a  day  we  saw  that. 

The  true  and  leilfu'  cause  at  length 

1814. 

Shall  bear  the  grie  for  a'  that. 

For  a'  that  an'  a'  that, 

Gims,  guillotines,  and  a'  that. 

0,  DREAD  was  the  time,  and  more  dreadful  the  omen, 

The  Fleur-de-lis,  that  lost  her  right. 

When  the  brave  on  Marengo  lay  slaughter'd  in 

Is  queen  again  for  a'  that ! 

vain, 

And  beholding  broad  Em-oi)e  bow'd  down  by  ber 

We'll  twine  her  in  a  friendly  knot 

foemen. 

"With  England's  Rose,  and  a'  that ; 

Pitt  closed  in  liis  anguisli  the  map  of  her  reign ! 

rhe  Shamrock  shall  not  be  forgot. 

Not  the  fate  of  broad  Europe  could  bend  his  brave 

For  Wellington  made  braw  that. 

spirit 

To  take  for  liis  country  the  safety  of  shame  ; 

-  Sung  al  the  first  meeting  of  the  Pitt  Club  of  Scotland  ;  and 

0,  then  in  her  triumph  remember  his  merit, 

lished  in  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1814. 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


Gil 


Round  the  husbandman's  head,  while  he  traces  the 
furrow, 
Tlic  mists  of  the  winter  may  mingle  with  rain, 
He  may  plough  it  with  labor,  and  sow  it  in  sorrow. 
And  sigh  while  he  fears  he  has  sow'd  it  in  vain ; 
He  may  die  ere  his  children  shall  reap  in  tlieir 
gladness. 
But  the  bhthe  harvest-home  shall  remember  his 
claim  ; 
And  their  jubilee-shout  shall  be  soften'd  with  sad- 
ness, 
Wliile  they  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 
name. 

Though  anxious  and  timeless  his  life  was  expended, 

In  toils  for  our  country  preserved  by  his  care, 
Though  he  died  ere  one  ray  o'er  the  nations  as- 
cended. 

To  light  the  long  darkness  of  doubt  and  despair ; 
The  storms  he  endiu-ed  in  our  Britains  December, 

The  perils  his  wisdom  foresaw  and  o'ercame, 
In  her  glory's  rich  harvest  shall  Britain  remember, 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  liis  name. 

'Not  forget  His  gray  head.who,  all  dark  in  alfliction, 

Is  deaf  to  the  tale  of  om-  victories  won. 
And  to  sounds  the  most  dear  to  paternal  affection. 

The  shout  of  his  people  applauding  liis  Son  ; 
By  liis  firmness  unmoved  in  success  and  disaster, 

By  his  long  reign  of  virtue,  remember  his  claim  ; 
With  our  tribute  to  Pitt  join  the  praise  of  his 
Master, 

Though  a  tear  stain  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 
name. 

Yet  again  fill  the  wine-cup,  and  change  the  sad 
measure. 
The  rites  of  our  grief  and  our  gratitude  paid. 
To  our  Prince,  to  om-  Heroes,  devote  the  bright 
treasure. 
The  wisdom  that  plann'd,  and  the  zeal   that 
obey'd ; 
Fill  'Wellixgtox's  cup  till  it  beam  like  his  glory. 
Forget   not   our    own    brave    Dalhousie    and 
Gr^me ; 
A  thousand  years  hence  hearts  shall  bound  at  their 
story. 
And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  their  fame. 

1  "  On  the  30th  of  Jnly,  1814,  Mr.  Hamilton,*  Mr.  Erskine,+ 
and  Mr.  Duff,$  Commissioners,  along  with  Mr.  (now  Sir)  Wal- 
ter Scott,  anfi  the  writer,  visited  the  Lighthouse  ;  the  Com- 
missioners being  then  on  one  of  their  voyages  of  Inspection, 
noticed  in  the  Introduction.  They  breakfasted  in  the  Library, 
when  Sir  Walter,  at  the  entreaty  of  the  party,  upon  inscribing 
his  name  in  the  Album,  added  these  interesting  lines." — Ste- 
venson's Account  of  the  Bell-Rock  Lighthouse,  1824. 
Scott's  Diary  of  the  Voyage  is  now  published  in  the  4th  volume 
'.  f  his  IJfe. 

2  Tliese  lines  were  written  in  the  Album,  kept  at  the  Sound 
of  Ulva  Inn   in  the  month  of  August,  1814. 


|)i)nros    Soquitur.' 

F.\R  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 

O'er  these  wide  shelves  my  watch  I  keep ; 

A  ruddy  gem  of  changeful  light. 

Bound  on  the  dusky  brow  of  night, 

The  seaman  bids  my  lustre  hail, 

And  scorns  to  strike  his  timorous  saiL 


31 1  n  e  s  ,^ 


ADDEESSED  TO  RANALD  MACDONALD,  ESQ.,  OF  STAFFA.* 


1814. 


Staff  A,  spnmg  from  high  Macdonald, 
Worthy  brancli  of  old  Clan-Ranald ! 
Staffa  I  king  of  aU  kind  fellows ! 
Well  befall  thy  hills  and  valleys. 
Lakes  and  inlets,  deeps  and  shallows — 
Cliffs  of  darkness,  caves  of  wonder, 
Echoing  the  Atlantic  thimder ; 
Momitaius  which  the  gray  mist  covers, 
Where  the  Chieftain  spirit  hovers, 
Pausing  while  liis  pinions  quiver, 
Stretch'd  to  quit  our  land  for  ever ! 
Each  kind  influence  reign  above  thee ! 
Warmer  heart,  'twixt  this  and  Staffa 
Beats  not,  than  in  heart  of  Staffa  1 


Setter  in  Terse 

ON    THE   VOTAGE   WITH   THE    COMMISSIONEES    OF 
NORTHERN    LIGHTS. 

"  Of  the  letters  which  Scott  wrote  to  his  friends 
during  those  happy  six  weeks,  I  have  recovered 
only  one,  and  it  is,  thanks  to  the  leisure  of  the 
yacht,  in  verse.  The  strong  and  easy  heroics  of 
the  first  section  prove,  I  think,  that  ilr.  Carming 
did  not  err  when  he  told  him  that  if  he  chose  he 
might  emulate  even  Dryden's  command  of  that 

3  Afterwards  Sir  Reginald  Macdonald  Stewart  Seton  of 
Ftafia,  Allanton,  and  Touch,  Baronet.  He  died  16th  April, 
1838,  in  his  61st  year.  The  reader  will  find  a  warm  tribute  to 
Staifa's  character  as  a  Highland  landlord,  in  Scott's  article  oa 
Sir  John  Carr's  Caledonian  Sketches. — Miscellaneous  Prosa 
Works,  vol.  xis. 


*  The  late  Robert  Hamilton,  Esq.,  Advocate,  long  Sieriff-Deputa  et 
Lanarkisire,  and  afterwards  one  of  the  Principal  Clerks  of  Session  in  Scot- 
land—died in  1831. 

t  Afterwards  Lord  Kinneder, 

J  The  late  Adam  Duff,  Esq.,  Sheriff-Depute  of  the  county  of  Edinbargh. 


046 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


noble  measure ;  and  the  dancing  anapaests  of  the 
second,  show  that  he  could  with  equal  faciUty 
have  rivalled  the  gay  graces  of  Cotton,  Anstey,  or 
Moore." — LocKHAiiT,  Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  372. 


1  O  HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCCLEUCH, 

&c.  <kc.  d'c. 

Lighthouse  Yacht  in  the  Sound  of  Lerwick, 
Zetland,  8th  August,  1814. 

He.\lth  to  the  chieftain  from  his  clansman  true  ! 
From  her  true  minstrel,  health  to  fair  Buccleuch ! 
Health  from  the  isles,  where  dewy  Morning  weaves 
Iler  chaplet  with  the  tints  that  Twilight  leaves ; 
Vrhere  late  the  sun  scarce  vanish'd  from  the  siglit, 
And  his  bright  pathway  graced  the   short-lived 

night, 
Though  darker  now  as  autumn's  shades  extend, 
The  north  winds  whistle  and  the  mists  ascend ! 
Health  from  the  land  where  eddying  whirlwinds 

toss 
The  storm-rock'd  cradle  of  the  Cape  of  Noss ; 
On  outstretch'd  cords  the  giddy  engine  sUdes, 
His  own  strong  arm  the  bold  adventurer  guides, 
And  he  that  lists  such  desperate  feat  to  try, 
May,  like  the  sea-mew,  skim  'twixt  surf  and  sky, 
And  feel  the  mid-air  gales  around  him  blow, 
And  see  tlie  bUlows  rage  five  huncb'ed  feet  below. 

Here,  by  each  stormy  peak  and  desert  shore. 
The  hardy  islesman  tugs  the  daring  oar, 
Practised  alike  his  venturous  course  to  keep, 
Tln-ough  the  wliite  breakers  or  the  pathless  deep. 
By  ceaseless  peril  and  by  toil  to  gain 
A  wretched  pittance  from  the  niggard  main. 
And  when  the  worn-out  drudge  old  ocean  leaves, 
What  comfort  greets  hun,  and  what  hut  receives  ? 
Lady  !  the  worst  yom-  presence  ere  has  cheer'd 
(TVTien  want  and  sorrow  fled  as  you  appear'd) 
Were  to  a  Zetlander  as  the  liigh  dome 
Of  proud  Drumlanrig  to  my  humble  home. 
Here  rise  no  groves,  and  here  no  gardens  blow, 
Here  even  the  hardy  heath  scarce  dares  to  grow; 
But  rocks  on  rocks,  in  mist  and  storm  arrav'd. 
Stretch  f;ir  to  sea  then-  giant  colonnade, 
With  many  a  cavern  seam'd,  the  dreary  haunt 
Of  the  dun  seal  and  swarthy  cormoi-ant. 
Wild  round  their  rifted  brows,  with  frequent  cry 
As  of  lament,  the  gulls  and  gannets  fly, 
And  from  then-  sable  base,  witli  sullen  sound, 
In  sheets  of  whitening  foam  the  waves  reboimd. 

Yet  even  these  coasts  a  touch  of  envy  gain 
From  those  whose  land  has  known  oppression's 

chain ; 
For  here  the  industrious  Dutchman  comes  once 

more 


To  moor  his  fishing-craft  by  Bressay's  shore , 
Greets  every  former  mate  and  brother  tar. 
Marvels  how  Lerwick  'scaped  the  rsge  of  war, 
Tells  many  a  tale  of  Gallic  outrage  done, 
And  ends  by  blessing  God  and  WeUuigton. 
Here  too  the  Greenland  tar,  a  fiercer  guest, 
Claims  a  brief  hour  of  riot,  not  of  rest ; 
Proves  each  wild  frolic  that  in  wine  has  bii'th, 
And  wakes  the  laud  with  brawls  and  boisteroui 

mii'th. 
A  sadder  sight  on  yon  poor  vessel's  prow 
The  captive  Norseman  sits  in  silent  woe. 
And  eyes  the  flags  of  Britain  as  they  flow. 
Hard  fate  of  war,  which  bade  her  terrors  sway 
His  destined  course,  and  seize  so  mean  a  prey ; 
A  bark  with  planks  so  warp'd  and  seams  so  riven, 
Slie  scarce  miglit  face  the  gentlest  airs  of  heaven : 
Pensive  he  sits,  and  questions  oft  if  none 
Can  hst  his  speech,  and  understand  his  moan  ; 
Li  vaui — no  Islesman  now  can  use  the  tongue 
Of  the   bold   Korse,  fi'om  whom   thek   lineage 

sprung. 
Not  thus  of  old  the  Norsemen  hither  came. 
Won  by  the  love  of  danger  or  of  fame ; 
On  every  storm-beat  cape  a  shapeless  tower 
Tells  of   their  wars,  their  conquests,   and  their 

power ; 
For  ne'er  for  Grecia's  vales,  nor  Latian  land. 
Was  fiercer  strife  than  for  this  barren  strand ; 
A  race  severe — the  isle  and  ocean  lords. 
Loved  for  its  own  delight  the  strife  of  swords; 
With  scornful  laugh  the  niortal  pang  defied, 
And  blest  then-  gods  that  they  m  battle  died. 

Such  were  the  sires  of  Zetland  s  simple  race. 
And  still  the  eye  may  faint  resemblance  trace 
In  the  blue  eye,  tall  form,  proportion  fan*, 
Tlie  limbs  athletic,  and  the  long  light  hair-^- 
(Such  was  the  mien,  as  Scald  and  Minstrel  sings, 
Of  fair-hau''d  Harolil,  fii-st  of  Norway's  Kings) ; 
But  their  high  deeds  to  scale  these  crags  confined, 
Their  only  warfare  is  with  waves  .ind  wind. 

Why  should  I  talk  of  Mousa's  ca-jtled  coast  ? 
Why  of  tlie  liorrors  of  the  Sumbiu-gh  Rost  ? 
May  not  these  bald  disjointed  lines  sufiice, 
Peim'd   while   my   comrades  whirl   the   rattling 

dice — 
While  down  tlie  cabin  skylight  lesseuing  shine 
Tlie  rays,  and  eve  is  chased  with  mirth  and  wine  ? 
Imagined,  while  down  Mousa's  desert  day 
Our  well-trimm'd  vessel  urged  her  nimble  way, 
While  to  the  fresliening  breeze  she  lean'd  her  side 
And  bade  her  bowsprit  kiss  the  foamy  tide  ? 

Such  are  the  lays  that  Zetland  Isles  supply; 
Drench'd  with  the  drizzly  spray  and  dropping  sky 
Weary  and  wet,  a  sea-sick  minstrel  I. W.  Scott 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


647 


POSTSCRIPTUM. 

Kirkwall,  Orkney,  Aug.  13,  1814. 
In  respect  that  yoiu-  Grace  lias  commission'd  a 
Kraken, 
You  will  please  be  inform'd  that  they  seldom  are 

taken ; 
It  is  January  two  years,  the  Zetland  folks  say, 
Since  they  saw  the  last  Kraken  in  Scalloway  bay ; 
He  lay  in  the  offing  a  fortnight  or  more, 
But  the  devil  a  Zetlander  jjut  from  the  shore, 
Though  bold  in  tha  seas  of  the  North  to  assail 
The  morse   and  the  sea-horse,  the  gi-AmjJus  and 

whale. 
If  your  Grace  thinks  I'm  writing  the  thing  that  is 

not, 
Tou  may  ask  at  a  namesake  of  ours,  Mr.  Scott — 
(He's  not  from  om-  clan,  though  his  merits  de- 
serve it. 
But  springs,  I'm  inform'd,  from  the  Scotts  of  Scot- 

starvet)  ;^ 
lie  question'd  the  folks  who  beheld  it  with  eyes. 
But  they  diifer'd  confoundedly  as  to  its  size. 
For  instance,  the  modest  and  diffident  swore 
That  it  seem'd  like  the  keel  of  a  ship,  and  no 

more — 
Those  of  eyesight  more  clear,  or  of  fancy  more 

high. 
Said  it  rose  lik  an  island  'twixt  ocean  and  sky — 
But  all  of  the  hulk  had  a  steady  opinion 
That  'twas  sure  a  live  subject  of  Neptime's  do- 
minion— 
And  I  think,  my  Lord  Duke,  your  Grace  hardly 

would  wish. 
To  cumber  your  house,  such  a  kettle  of  fish. 
Had  yom-  order  related  to  night-caps  or  hose. 
Or  mittens  of  worsted,  there's  plenty  of  those. 
Or  would  you  be  pleased  but  to  fancy  a  whale  ? 
And  direct  me  to  send  it — by  sea  or  by  mail  ? 
The  season,  I'm  told,  is  nigh  over,  but  still 
I  could  get  you  one  fit  for  the  lake  at  BowhiU. 
Indeed,  as  to  whales,  there's  no  need  to  be  thrifty. 
Since  one  day  last  fortnight  two  hundred  and  fifty, 
Pursued  by  seven  Orkneymen's  boats  and  no  more, 
Betwixt  Truffness  and  Luifness  were  drawn  on  the 

shore ! 
You'U  ask  if  I  saw  this  same  wonderful  sight ; 
I  own  that  I  did  not,  but  easUy  might — 
For  tliis  mighty  shoal  of  leviathiuis  lay 
On  our  lee-beam  a  mile,  in  the  loop  of  the  bay. 
And  the  islesmen  of  Sanda  were  all  at  the  spoil, 
AnA.  flinching  (so  term  it)  the  blubber  to  boil; 
(Ye  spirits  of  lavender,  drown  the  reflection 
That  awakes  at  the  thoughts  of  tliis  odorous  dis- 
section). 

1  The  Scotts  of  Scotstarvet,  and  other  families  of  the  name 
tn  Fife  and  elsewhere,  <laim  no  kindred  with  the  great  clan 
»)€ ll>e  Border, — and  thei:;  armorial  bearings  are  different 


To  see  this  huge  marvel  full  fain  would  we  go, 
But  Wilson,  the  wind,  and  the  current,  said  no. 
We  have  now  got  to  Kirkwall,  and  needs  I  must 

stare 
When  I  tliiuk  that  ui  verse  I  have  once  call'd  it 

fair  ; 
'Tis  a  base  Uttle  borough,  both  dirty  and  mean — 
There  is  notliing  to  hear,  and  there's  naught  to  bi 

seen. 
Save  a  church,  where,  of  old  times,  a  prelate  ha 

rangued. 
And  a  palace  that's  built  by  an  earl  that  was 

hang'd. 
But,  farewell  to  Kirkwall — aboard  we  are  gomg. 
The  anchor's  a-peak,  and  the  breezes  are  blowing : 
Our  commodore  calls  all  hLs  band  to  their  places. 
And  'tis  time  to  release  you — good  night  to  your 

Graces  1 


iJcrscs   from    tDaDcrUg. 


18U. 


"  The  followmg  song,  which  has  been  since  bor- 
rowed by  the  worshipful  author  of  the  famous 
'  History  of  Fryar  Bacon,'  has  been  with  difficulty 
deciphered.  It  seems  to  have  been  sung  on  occa 
sion  of  carrying  home  the  bride." 

(l.)_BRIDAL  SONG. 

To  the  tune  of  "  I  have  been  a  Fiddler,"  (J-e. 

And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell 
The  morrow  after  a  wedding  day. 

And  carrymg  a  bride  at  home  to  dwell  ? 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away ! 

The  quintain  was  set,  and  the  garlands  were 
made, 

'Tis  pity  old  customs  should  ever  decay ; 
And  woe  be  to  him  that  was  horsed  on  a  jade, 

For  he  carried  no  credit  away,  away. 

We  met  a  concert  of  fiddle-de-dees ; 

We  set  them  a  cockhorse,  and  made  them 

-    play 

The  winning  of  Bullen,  and  Upsey-frees, 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away  1 

There  was  ne'er  a  lad  in  all  the  parish 
That  would  go  to  tlic  plough  that  day ; 

But  on  his  fore-horse  his  wench  lie  carries. 
And  away  to  Tewm,  away  away  1 


648 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  butler  was  quick,  and  the  ale  he  did  tap, 
The  maidens  did  make  the  chamber  full  gay ; 

The  servants  did  give  me  a  fuddhng  cup. 
And  I  did  cany't  away,  away. 

The  smith  of  the  town  his  liquor  so  took. 

That  he  was  persuaded  that  the  ground  look'd 
blue ; 

And  I  dare  boldly  be  sworn  on  a  book. 
Such  smiths  as  he  there's  but  a  few. 

A  posset  was  made,  and  the  women  did  sip, 
And  simpering  said,  they  could  eat  no  more  ; 

Full  many  a  maiden  was  laid  on  the  Up, — 
I'll  say  no  more,  but  give  o'er  (give  o'er). 

Appendix  to  the  General  Preface. 


(2.)— WAVERLEY. 

"  On  receiving  intelligence  of  his  commission  as 
captain  of  a  troop  of  horse  in  Colonel  Gardiner's 
regiment,  his  tutor,  Mr.  Pembroke,  picked  up  about 
Edward's  room  some  fragments  of  irregular  verse, 
wliich  he  appeared  to  have  composed  i:nder  the 
influence  of  the  agitating  feehngs  occasioned  by 
this  sudden  page  being  turned  up  to  him  in  the 
book  of  life." 

Late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell 
On  ilirkwood-Mere's  romantic  dell. 
The  lake  return'd,  in  chasten'd  gleam. 
The  purple  cloud,  the  golden  beam : 
Reflected  in  the  crystal  pool, 
Headland  and  bank  lay  fan-  and  cool ; 
Tlie  weather-tinted  rock  and  tower. 
Each  drooping  tree,  each  fairy  flower, 
So  true,  so  soft,  the  mkror  gave, 
As  if  there  lay  beneath  the  wave, 
Secm'e  from  trouble,  toil,  and  care, 
A  world  than  eartldy  world  more  fair. 

But  distant  winds  began  to  wake. 
And  roused  the  Genius  of  the  Lake ! 
He  heard  the  groaiung  of  the  oak. 
And  donn'd  at  once  his  sable  cloak, 
As  warrior,  at  the  battle  cry. 
Invests  him  with  his  panoply  : 
Then,  as  the  whirlwind  nearer  press'd, 
He  'gan  to  shake  his  foamy  crest 
O'er  furrow'd  brow  and  blackeu'd  cheek, 
And  bade  his  surge  in  thunder  speak. 
In  wild  and  broken  eddies  whu-l'd, 
Fhtted  that  fond  ideal  world  ; 
And,  to  the  shore  in  tumult  tost. 
The  realms  of  fairy  bliss  were  lost. 


Yet.  with  a  stern  delight  and  strange, 
I  saw  the  spu-it-stirring  change. 
As  warr'd  the  wind  with  wave  and  wood, 
Upon  the  ruin'd  tower  I  stood. 
And  felt  my  heart  more  strongly  bound. 
Responsive  to  the  lofty  sound, 
"WTiile,  joying  in  the  mighty  roar, 
I  mourn'd  that  tranquil  scene  no  more. 

So,  on  the  idle  dreams  of  youth 
Breaks  the  loud  trumpet-call  of  truth, 
Bids  each  fair  vision  pass  away. 
Like  landscape  on  the  lake  that  lay 
As  fair,  as  flitting,  and  as  frail, 
As  that  which  fled  the  autumn  gale — 
Por  ever  dead  to  fancy's  eye 
Be  each  gay  form  that  ghded  by. 
While  dreams  of  love  and  lady's  charms 
Give  place  to  honor  and  to  ai'ms ! 

Chap.  V. 


(3.)— DAVIE  GELLATLEY'S  SONG. 

"He  (Daft  Davie  GeUatley)  simg  with  grea'' 
earnestness,  and  not  without  some  taste,  a  frag 
ment  of  an  old  Scotch  ditty  :" 

False  love,  and  hast  thou  play'd  me  this 

In  summer  among  the  flowers  ? 
I  win  repay  thee  back  again 

In  winter  among  the  showers. 
Unless  again,  again,  my  love. 

Unless  you  turn  again  ; 
As  you  with  other  maidens  rove, 

rU  smUe  on  other  men. 

"  This  is  a  genuine  ancient  fragment,  with  some 
alteration  in  the  last  two  lines." 


« The  questioned  party  replied — and,  lili'? 

the  witch  of  Thalaba, '  still  his  speech  was  song.'  " 

The  Knight's  to  the  movmtain 

His  bugle  to  wind  ; 
The  Lady's  to  greenwood 

Her  garland  to  bind. 
The  bower  of  Burd  Ellen 

Has  moss  on  the  floor, 
Tliat  the  step  of  Lord  William 

Be  silent  and  sure. 

Cliap,  ix. 


LYRICAL  AXD  MISCELLAXEOUS  PIECES. 


64'j 


(4.)— SCEKE 

IN  LUCKIE  MACLEARY's  TAYERX. 

"  Ty  the  middle  of  this  din,  the  Baron  repeatedly 
implored  silence ;  and  when  at  length  the  instinct 
of  polite  discipline  so  far  prevailed,  that  for  a  mo- 
ment lie  obtained  it,  he  hastened  to  beseech  their 
attention  '  unto  a  military  ariette,  which  was  a 
particular  favorite  of  the  Mar^chal  Due  de  Ber- 
wick;' then,  imitatmg,  as  well  as  he  could,  the 
manner  and  tone  of  a  French  musquetaire,  he  im- 
mediately commenced," 

Mon  coeur  volage,  dit-elle, 
N'est  pas  pour  vous,  garden, 

Est  pour  un  homme  de  guerre, 
Qui  a  barbe  au  menton. 

Lon,  LoD,  Laridon. 

Qui  porta  chapeau  a  plume, 

Soulier  a  rouge  talon, 
Qui  joue  de  la  flute, 

Aussi  de  violon. 

Lon,  Lon,  Laridon. 

"  Balmawhapple  could  hold  no  longer,  but  break 
in  with  what  he  called  a  d — d  good  song,  com- 
posed by  Gibby  Gaethrowit,  the  Piper  of  Cupar ; 
and,  without  wastirg  more  time,  struck  up — " 

It's  up  Glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed, 
And  o'er  the  bent  of  Killiebraid, 
And  mony  a  weary  cast  I  made. 
To  cuittle  the  moor-fowl's  tail. 

If  up  a  bonny  black-cock  should  spring. 
To  whistle  him  down  wi'  a  slug  in  his  wing, 
And  strap  him  on  to  my  lunzie  string, 
Right  seldom  would  I  faiL 

Chap.  XL 


(5.)— "HIE  AWAY,  HIE  AWAY." 

"  The  stamping  of  horses  was  now  heard  in  the 
court,  and  Davie  Gellatley's  voice  singing  to  the 
two  large  deer  greyhoimds," 

Hie  away,  hie  away, 

Over  bank  and  over  brae, 

Wliere  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 

"Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheenest, 

Where  the  lady-fern  grows  strongest, 

Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest, 

Where  the  black-cock  sweetest  sips  it, 

Where  the  fairy  latest  trips  it : 
82 


Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen. 
Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green. 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Hie  away,  liie  away. 

Cliap.  xii 


(6.)— ST.  SWITHIN'S  CHAIR. 

"  The  view  of  the  old  tower,  or  fortalioe,  intro- 
duced some  family  anecdotes  and  tales  of  Scottish 
cliivahy,  which  the  Baron  told  with  great  enthu- 
siasm. The  projecting  peak  of  an  impending  crag, 
which  rose  near  it,  had  acquired  the  name  of  St. 
Swithin's  Chair.  It  was  the  scene  of  a  peculiar 
superstition,  of  which  Mr.  Kubrick  mentioned  some 
curious  particulars,  which  reminded  Waverley  of  a 
rhyme  quoted  by  Edgar  in  King  Lear ;  and  Rose 
was  called  upon  to  sing  a  little  legend,  in  which 
they  had  been  interwoven  by  some  village  poet. 

Who,  noteless  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprnng, 
Saved  others'  names,  but  left  his  own  nnsung. 

"The  sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  simple 
beauty  of  her  music,  gave  all  the  advantage  which 
the  minstrel  could  have  desired,  and  which  his 
poetry  so  much  wanted." 

On  Hallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  boune  ye  to  rest, 
Ever  beware  that  your  couch  be  bless'd  ; 
Sign  it  with  cross,  and  sain  it  with  bead. 
Sing  the  Ave,  and  say  the  Creed. 

For  on  HaUow-Mass  Eve  the  Night-Hag  wiU 

ride. 
And  all  her  nine-fold  sweeping  on  by  her  side. 
Whether  the  wind  sing  lowly  or  loud, 
Sailincr  through   moonshine   or  swath'd  in  the 

cloud. 

ITie  Lady  she  sate  in  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
The  dew  of  the  night  has  damp'd  her  hair : 
Her  cheek  was  pale — but  resolved  and  high 
Was  the  word  of  her  lip  and  the  glance  of  her 
eye. 

She  mutter'd  the  spell  of  Swithin  bold, 
When  his  naked  foot  traced  the  midnight  weld. 
When  he  stopp'd  the  Hag  as  she  rode  the  night, 
And  bade  her  descend,  iuid  her  promise  pUght. 

He  that  dare  sit  on  St.  Swithin's  Cliair, 
■^Tien  the  Night-Hag  wings  the  troubled  air, 
Questions  three,  when  he  speaks  the  spell. 
He  may  ask,  and  she  must  telL 


G50 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Baron    has    been  with  King    Robert    his 

liege, 
These  three  long  years  in  battle  and  siege ; 
News  are  there  none  of  liis  weal  or  his  woe, 
And  fain  the  Lady  his  fate  would  know. 

She    shudders    and   stops    as   the    charm   she 

speaks ; — 
Is  it  the  moody  owl  that  shrieks  ? 
Or  is  that  sound,  betwixt  laughter  and  scream. 
The  voice  of  the  Demon  who  haunts  the  stream  ? 

The  moan  of  the  wind  sunk  silent  and  low, 
And  the  roaring  torrent  had  ceased  to  flow ; 
The    calm    was    more    di'eadful    than    raging 

storm, 
When  the  cold  gray  mist  brought  the  ghastly 

form  1 

****** 

Chap.  xiii. 


(T.)— DAVIE  GELLATLEY'S  SOIfa. 

"  The  next  day  Edward  arose  betimes,  and  in  a 
morning  walk  around  the  house  and  its  vicinity, 
came  suddenly  upon  a  small  court  in  front  of  the 
dog-kennel,  where  liis  friend  Davie  was  employed 
about  his  four-footed  charge.  One  quick  glance 
of  his  eye  recognized  Waverley,  when,  instantly 
turning  his  back,  as  if  he  had  not  observed  him, 
he  began  to  sing  part  of  an  old  ballad." 

Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more 
fast ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
Old  men's  love  the  longest  will  last. 

And  tlie  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

The   young  man's  wrath  is  like  light  straw  on 
fire; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
But  like  red-hot  steel  is  the  old  man's  ire. 

And  the  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

Tlie  young  man  will  brawl  at  the  ev»ning  board  ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
But  the  old  man  wUl  draw  at  the  dawning  the 
sword, 

And  the  throstle-cocTi s  head  is  under  his  wing. 

[This  song  has  allusion  to  the  Baron  of  Braid- 
wardine's  personal  encounter  with  Balmawhapple 
early  next  morning,  after  the  evening  quaiTel  be- 
twixt the  latter  and  Waverley.] 

Chap.  xiv. 


(8.)— JAIS^ET  GELLATLEY'S  ALLEGED 
WITCHCRAFT. 

"  Tms  anecdote  led  into  a  long  discussion  of," 

All  those  idle  thoughts  and  phantasies. 

Devices,  dreams,  opinions  unsound, 
Shows,  visions,  soothsays,  and  prophecies. 
And  all  that  feigned  is,  as  leasings,  tales,  and  lies 

Chap,  xiii 


(9.)— FLORA  MACIVOR'S  SON"G. 

"  Flora  had  exchanged  the  measured  and  mo 
notonous  recitative   of  the  bard  for  a  lofty  and 
uncommon  Highland  air,  which  had  been  a  battle 
song  in  former  ages.     A  few  u-regulai'  strains  in 
troduced  a  prelude  of  wild   and   peculiar   tone, 
which  harmonized  well  with  the  distant  water- 
fall, and  the  soft  sigh  of  the  evening  breeze  in 
the  rustling  leaves  of  an  aspen  which  overhung 
the  seat  of  the  fair  harpress.     The  following  versea 
conwjy  but  little  idea  of  the  feelings  with  which, 
so  sung   and   accompanied,  they  were   heard  by 
Waverley :" 

There  is  mist  on  the  moimtain,  and  night  on  the 

vale, 
But  more  dark  is  the  sleep  of  the  sons  of  the  Gael. 
A  stranger  commanded — it  sunk  on  the  land. 
It  has   frozen   each  heart,  and  benimib'd  every 

hand ! 

Tlie  dirk  and  the  target  lie  sordid  with  dust, 
The  bloodless  claymore  is  but  redden'd  with  rust ; 
On  the  hill  or  the  glen  if  a  gun  should  appear, 
It  is  only  to  war  with  the  heath-cock  or  deer. 

The  deeds  of  our  sires    if   our  bards  should  re- 
hearse. 
Let  a  blush  or  a  blow  be  the  meed  of  their  verse  1 
Be  mute  every  string,  and  be  hush'd  every  tone. 
That  shall  bid  us  remember  the  fame  that  is  flown. 

But  the  dark  hours  of  night  and  of  slumber  are 

past. 
The  morn  on  our  mountains  is  dawning  at  last ; 
Glenaladale's  peaks  are  illumed  witli  the  rays. 
And  the  streams  of  Glenfinnan  leap  bright  in  the 

blaze. 

0  liigh-mmded  Moray  ! — the  exiled-  the  dear  \— 
In  the  blush  of  the  dawning  the  Standard  uprear  I 
Wide,  wide  on  the  winds  of  the  north  let  it  fly. 
Like  the  sun's   latest  flash  when  the  tempest  u 
nigh! 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


651 


Ye  sons  of  the  strong,  ivhen  that  dawning  shall 

break, 
Need  the  harp  of  the  aged  remmd  you  to  wake  ? 
That  dawn  never  beani'd  on  your  forefathers'  eye, 
But  it  roused  each  high  chieftain  to  vanquish  or 

die. 

0  sprmig  fi-om  the  Kings  who  in  Italy  kept  state. 
Proud  chiefs  of  Clan-Ranald,  Glengary,  and  Sleat ! 
Combine  like  three  streams  from  one  mountain  of 

snow, 
And  resistless  in  union  rush  down  on  the  foe  1 

True  son  of  Sii*  Evan,  imdaimted  Lochiel, 

Place  thy  targe  on  thy  shoulder  and  burnish  thy 

steel ! 
Rough  Keppoch,  give  breath  to  thy  bugle's  bold 

swell. 
Till  far  Coryarrick  resound  to  the  knell ! 

Stem  son  of  Lord  Kenneth,  high  chief  of  Kintail, 
Let  the  stag  in  thy  standard  bound  wild  in  the 

gale  ! 
May  the  race  of  Clan-GUHan,  the  fearless  and  free, 
Remember  Glenlivat,  Harlaw,  and  Dundee  ! 

Let  the  clan  of  gray  Fingon,  whose  offspring  has 

given 
Such  heroes  to  earth,  and  such  martyrs  to  heaven. 
Unite  with  the  race  of  renown'd  Rorri  More, 
To  launch  the  long  galley,  and  stretch  to  the  oar  I 

How  Mac-Shimei  will  joy  when  their  chief  shall 

display 
The  yew-crested  bonnet  o'er  tresses  of  gray  I 
How  the  race  of   wrong'd  Alpine  and  murder'd 

Glencoe 
Shall  shout  for  revenge  when  they  pour  on  the  foe  1 

Te  sons  of   brown  Dermid,  who  slew  the  wild 

boar. 
Resume  the  pm-e  faith  of  the  great  CaUum-More  ! 
Mac-Mel  of  the  Islands,  and  Moy  of  the  Lake, 
For  honor,  for  freedom,  for  vengeance  awake  I 

Awake  on  your  hills,  on  your  islands  awake. 
Brave  sons  of  the  mountain,  the  frith,  and  the 

lake  I 
Tis  the  bugle — but  not  for  the  chase  is  the  call ; 
'Tis  the  pibroch's  shrill  summons — but  not  to  the 

halL 

'Tis  the  summons  of  heroes  for  conquest  or  death, 
When  the  banners  are  blazing  on  mountain  and 

heath ; 
rhey  call  to  the  dirk,  the  claymore,  and  the  targe, 
To  the  march  and  the  muster,  the  line  and  the 

charge. 


Be  the  brand  of  each  chieftain  like  Fin's  in  hi? 

ire ! 
May  the  blood  through  his  veins  flow  like  currents 

of  the  ! 
Burst  the  base  foreign  yoke  as  your  sires  did  of 

yore ! 
Or  die,  like  your  sires,  and  endure  it  no  more ' 

"  As  Flora  concluded  her  song,  Fergus  stood  be- 
fore them,  and  immediately  conunenced  with  a 
theatrical  ah-," 

0  Lady  of  the  desert,  hail ! 
That  lovest  the  harping  of  tlie  Gael, 
Through  fair  and  fertile  regions  borne. 
Where  never  yet  grew  grass  or  coit. 

"  But  English  poetry  will  never  succeed  under 
the  influence  of  a  Highland  HeHcon  —  Allans 
cotirage" — 

0  vous,  qui  buvez  k  tasse  pleine, 

A  cette  heureuse  fontaine, 
Oh.  on  ne  voit  sm-  le  rivage 

Que  quelques  vilains  troupeaux, 
Suivis  de  nymphes  de  vUlage, 

Qui  les  escortent  sans  sabots 


Chap.  xxii. 


(10.)— LINES  ON  CAPTALN  WOGAN. 

"The  letter  fi-om  the  Chief  contained  Flora's 
lines  on  the  fate  of  Captain  Wogan,  whose  enter- 
prising character  is  so  well  di'awn  by  Clarendoa 
He  had  originally  engaged  in  the  service  of  the 
Parhament,  but  had  abjm-ed  that  j)ai-ty  upon  the 
execution  of  Charles  I. ;  and  upon  hearing  that 
the  royal  standard  was  set  up  by  the  Earl  oi 
Glencairn  and  General  Middleton  in  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland,  took  leave  of  Charles  II.,  who 
was  then  at  Paris,  passed  into  England,  assembled 
a  body  of  cavaliers  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lon- 
don, and  traversed  the  kingdom,  which  had  been 
so  long  under  domination  of  the  usurper,  by 
marches  conducted  with  such  skill,  dexterity,  and 
spirit,  that  he  safely  united  his  handful  of  horse- 
men with  the  body  of  Highlanders  then  in  arms. 
After  several  months  of  desultory  warfare,  in 
which  Wogan's  skill  and  corn-age  gained  him  the 
highest  reputation,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
wounded  in  a  dangerous  manner,  and  no  surgical 
assistance  being  within  reach,  he  terminated  hia 
short  but  glorious  career." 

The  Verses  were  inscribed. 


652 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


TO  AN  OAK  TREE, 


IN   THE   CHimCHTARD  OF 


IN   THE   HIGHLANDS 


OF   SCOTLAND,  SAID   TO    MARK   THE    GRATE    OF    CAP- 
TAIN WOGAN,  KILLED  IN  1649. 

EitBLEM  of  England's  ancient  faith, 
Full  proudly  may  thy  branches  ware, 

"Where  loyalty  lies  low  in  death. 
And  valor  fills  a  timeless  grave. 

And  thou,  brave  tenant  of  the  tomb ! 

Repine  not  if  om-  clime  deny, 
Above  tliine  honor'd  sod  to  bloom, 

The  flowrets  of  a  milder  sky. 

These  owe  their  birth  to  genial  May ; 

Beneath  a  fiercer  sun  they  pine, 
Before  the  winter  storm  decay — 

And  can  their  worth  be  type  of  thine  ? 

No !  for,  'mid  storms  of  Fate  opposing. 
Still  higher  swell'd  thy  dauntless  heart, 

And,  while  Despau-  the  scene  was  closing. 
Commenced  thy  brief  but  brilliant  part. 

'Twas  then  thou  sought'st  on  Albyn's  hill 
(When  England's  sons  the  strife  resign'd), 

A  rugged  race  resisting  stiU, 

And  unsubdued  though  unrefined. 

Thy  death's  hour  heard  no  kindred  wail. 

No  holy  knell  thy  requiem  rung ; 
Thy  mourners  were  the  plaided  Gael, 

Thy  dirge  the  clamorous  pibroch  sung. 

Yet  who,  in  Fortune's  summer-shine 
To  waste  hfe's  longest  term  away, 

Would  change  that  glorious  dawn  of  tliine, 
Tliough  darken'd  ere  its  noontide  day  ? 

Be  thine  the  Tree  whose  dauntless  boughs 
Brave  summer's  drought  and  winter's  gloom ! 

Rome  bound  with  oak  her  patriots'  brows, 
As  Albyn  shadows  "Wogan's  tomb. 

Chap.  xxix. 


(11.)— "FOLLOW  ME,  FOLLOW  ME." 

"  '  Who  are  dead  ?'  said  Waverley,  forgetting 
the  incapacity  of  Davie  to  hold  any  connected  dis- 
tourse. 

"Baron — and  Baillie — and  Sanders  Sanderson 
— and  Lady  Rose,  that  sang  sae  sweet — A'  dead 
and  gane — dead  and  gane  (said  Davie) — 


But  follow,  follow  me. 

While  glow-worms  fight  the  lea, 

I'll  show  ye  where  the  dead  should  be — 

Each  in  his  shroud. 

While  winds  pipe  loud, 

And  the  red  moon  peeps  dim  through  the  cloud 

Follow,  follow  me ; 
Brave  should  he  be 

That  treads  by  the  night  the  dead  man's  lea." 

Chap.  Ixiii. 


STijc   ^utt)or  of  SWabcrUg. 

["  I  AM  not  able  to  give  the  exact  date  of  the 
following  reply  to  one  of  John  Ballantyne's  expos- 
tulations on  the  subject  of  the  secret!' — Life,  voL 
iv.  p.  179.] 

"  No,  John,  I  will  not  own  the  book — 
I  won't,  you  Piccaroon. 
When  next  I  try  St.  Grubby's  brook. 
The  A;  of  Wa — shall  bait  the  hook — 

And  flat-fish  bite  as  soon, 
As  if  before  them  they  had  got 
The  worn-out  wriggler 

Walter  Scott." 


jFatefaocll   to   iWacftenjic. 

HIGH  CHIEF  OF  KINTAIL. 
FROM  THE  GAELIC. 


1815.— JEt.  44. 


The  original  verses  are  arranged  to  a  beautiful 
Gaelic  air,  of  which  the  chorus  is  adapted  to  the 
double  pull  upon  the  oars  of  a  galley,  and  which 
is  therefore  distinct  frmn,  the  ordinary  jorrams, 
or  boat-songs.  They  were  composed  by  the  Fam- 
ily Bard  upon  the  departure  of  the  Earl  of  Sea- 
forth,  who  was  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  Spain, 
after  an  unsuccessful  effort  at  insurrection  in 
favor  of  the  Stuart  family,  in  tJie  year  1718. 


Farewell  to  Mackenneth,  great  Earl  of  the  North, 
The  Lord  of  Lochcarron,  Glenshiel,  and  Seaforth  ; 
To  the  Chieftain  this  morning  liis  course  who  began, 
Launching  forth  on  the  billows  his  bark  like  a  swaa 
For  a  far  foreign  laud  he  has  hoisted  his  sail. 
Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail  I 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


653 


O  swift  be  the  galley,  and  hardy  her  crew, 
May  her  captain  be  skilful,  her  mariners  true, 
Iq  danger  undaunted,  unwearied  by  toil, 
Though  the  whirlwind  should  rise,  and  the  ocean 

should  boil : 
On  the  brave  vessel's  gunnel  I  drank  his  bonail,* 
And  farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 

Awake  in  thy  chamber,  thou  sweet  southland  gale ! 
Like  the  sighs  of  liis  people,  breathe  soft  on  his  sail ; 
Be  prolong'd  as  regret,  that  his  vassals  must  know, 
Be  fair  as  their  faith,  and  sincere  as  their  woe  : 
Be  so  soft,  and  so  fair,  and  so  faithful,  sweet  gale. 
Wafting  onward  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 

Be  Ills  pilot  experienced,  and  trusty,  and  wise, 
To  measure  the  seas  and  to  study  the  skies  : 
May  he  hoist  all  his  canvas  from  streamer  to  deck, 
But  0  !  crowd  it  liigher  when  wafting  hun  back — 
TUl  the  cliffs  of  Skooroora,  and  Conan's  glad  vale. 
Shall  welcome  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 


BIITATION"  OF  THE  PRECEDIIS^G  SONG." 

So  sung  the  old  Bard,  in  the  grief  of  Ms  heart. 
When  he  saw  his  loved  Lord  from  his  people  depart. 
Now  mute  on  thy  mountains,  0  AlbjTi,  are  heard 
Nor  the  voice  of  the  song,  nor  the  harp  of  the  bard ; 
Or  its  strings  are  but  waked  by  the  stern  winter 

gale, 
As  they  mom-n  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

From  the  far  Southland  Border  a  Minstrel  came 

forth, 
And  he  waited  the  hour  that  some  Bard  of  the  north 
His  hand  on  tlie  harp  of  the  ancient  should  cast, 
And  bid  its  wild  numbers  mix  liigh  with  the  blast ; 
But  no  bard  was  there  left  in  the  land  of  the  Gael, 
To  lament  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

And  shalt  thou  then  sleep,  did  the  Minstrel  exclaim, 
Like  the  son  of  the  lowly,  unnoticed  by  fame  ? 
No,  son  of  Fitzgerald  !  in  accents  of  woe. 
The  song  thou  hast  loved  o'er  thy  coffin  shall  flow. 
And  teach  thy  wild  moimtains  to  jom  in  the  wail 
That  laments  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

In  vain,  the  bright  com-se  of  thy  talents  to  ViTong, 
Fate  deaden'd  thine  ear  and  imprison'd  thy  tongue ; 
For  brighter  o'er  all  her  obstructions  arose^ 

1  Bonail,  or  Bonallez,  the  old  Scottish  phrase  for  a  feast  at 
parting  willi  a  friend. 

2  These  verses  were  written  shortly  after  the  death  of  Lord 
Beaforth,  the  last  male  representative  of  his  illustrious  house. 
He  was  a  nobleman  of  extraordinary  talents,  who  must  have 
m^di  for  himself  a  lasting  reputation,  had  not  his  pohtical  ex- 


The  glow  of  the  genius  they  could  not  oppose ; 
And  who  in  the  land  of  the  Saxon  or  Gael, 
Might  match  with  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kin- 
tail ? 

Thy  sons  rose  around  thee  in  light  and  in  love. 
All  a  father  could  hope,  all  a  friend  could  approve ; 
What  'vails  it  the  tale  of  thy  sorrows  to  tell, — 
In  the  spring-time  of  youth  and  of  promise  they 

fell! 
Of  the  line  of  Fitzgerald  remains  not  a  male, 
To  bear  the  proud  name  of  the  Chief  of  Kintail. 

And  thou,  gentle  Dame,who  must  bear,  to  thy  grief. 
For  thy  clan  and  thy  country  the  cai-es  of  a  Chief, 
Wliom  brief  rolling  moons  in  six  changes  have  left, 
Of  thy  husband,  and  father,  and  brethren  bereft. 
To  thine  ear  of  affection,  how  sad  is  the  hail. 
That  salutes  thee  the  Heir  of  the  line  of  Kmtail  '' 


E2^at  =  Sonfl   of  Hacljlan, 

HIGH  CHEEF  OF  MACLEAN. 

FEOM  THE  GAELIC. 


1815. 


This  song  appears  to  be  imperfect,  or,  at  least,  like 
many  of  the  early  Gaelic  poems,  makes  a  rapid 
transition  from  one  subject  to  another  ;  from  tht 
situation,  namely,  of  one  of  the  daughters  of  the 
clan,  tvho  opens  the  song  by  lamcntitig  the  ab- 
sence of  fier  lover,  to  an  eulogium  over  the  mili- 
tary glories  of  the  Chieftain.  The  translator 
has  endeavored  to  imitate  the  abrupt  style  of  tht 
original. 


A  WEAET  month  has  wander'd  o'er, 
Since  last  we  parted  on  the  shore ; 
Heaven  !  that  I  saw  thee.  Love,  once  more, 

Safe  on  that  shore  again  ! — 
'Twas  vaUant  Laclilan  gave  the  word : 
Lachlan,  of  many  a  galley  lord : 
He  call'd  his  kindred  bands  on  board, 

And  launch'd  them  on  the  main. 

Clan-Gillian''  is  to  ocean  gone  ; 
Clan-Gillian,  fierce  in  foray  known  ; 

ertions  been  checked  by  the  painful  natural  infirmities  alluded 
to  in  the  fourth  stanza.— See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  18,  19. 

3  The  Honorable  Lady  Hood,  daughter  of  the  last  Lord  Sea- 
forth,  widow  of  Admiral  Sir  Samuel  Hood,  now  Mrs.  Stewart 
Mackenzie  of  Seaforth  and  Glasserton. — 1833. 

*  i.  e.  The  clan  of  Maclean,  literally  the  race  ot  Gillian 


654 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Reioicing  in  the  glory  won 

Though  music's  self  was  wont  to  meet 

In  many  a  bloody  broil : 

With  Princes  at  Saint  Cloud. 

For  wide  is  heard  the  thundering  fray, 

The  rout,  the  ruin,  the  dismay, 

Nor  then,  with  more  delighted  ear, 

When  from  the  twilight  glens  away 

The  circle  rouud  her  drew. 

Clan-Gillian  drives  the  spoil. 

Than  ours,  when  gather'd  rotmd  to  hear 

Our  songstress'  at  Samt  Cloud. 

Woe  to  the  hills  that  shall  rebound 

Our  banner'd  bag-pipes'  maddening  sound  ; 

Few  happy  hours  poor  mortals  pass, — 

Clan-Gillian's  onset  echoing  round, 

Then  give  those  hours  then-  due. 

Shall  shake  their  inmost  cell. 

And  rank  among  the  foremost  class 

Woe  to  the  bark  whose  crew  shall  gaze, 

Our  evenings  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Where  Lachlan's  silken  streamer  plays ! 

The  fools  might  face  the  lightuing's  blaze 

As  ■w'sely  and  as  well ! 

2ri)e  Sancg  of  33eati).* 

1815. 

Saint   ©loiitr. 

IParis,  5ih  September,  1815.] 

I. 

Night  and  morning^  were  at  meeting 

Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night 

Over  Waterloo ; 

Her  veil  of  darksome  blue  ; 

Cocks  had  sung  their  earliest  greeting ; 

Ten  tliousand  stars  combined  to  light 

Faint  and  low  they  crew ; 

The  terrace  of  Saint  Cloud. 

For  no  paly  beam  yet  shone 

On  the  heights  of  Mount  Saint  John ; 

The  evening  breezes  gently  sigh'd. 

Tempest-clouds  prolong'd  the  sway 

Like  breath  of  lover  true. 

Of  timeless  darkness  over  day ; 

Bewailing  the  deserted  pride 

W  hirlwind,  thunder-clap,  and  shower, 

And  wreck  of  sweet  Saint  Cloud. 

Mark'd  it  a  predestined  liour. 

Broad  and  frequent  through  the  night 

The  drum's  deep  roll  was  heard  afar, 

Flash'd  the  sheets  of  levin-light ; 

The  bugle  wildly  blew 

Muskets,  glancmg  lightumgs  back. 

Good-night  to  Hulan  and  Hussar, 

Show'd  the  dreary  bivouac 

That  garrison  Saint  Cloud. 

Where  the  soldier  lay, 

Chill  and  stiff,  and  drench'd  with  rain, 

The  startled  Xaiads  from  the  shade 

Wisliing  dawn  of  morn  again. 

With  broken  urns  withdrew. 

Though  death  should  come  with  day. 

And  silenced  was  that  proud  ca.scade, 

The  glory  of  Saint  Cloud. 

n. 

'Tis  at  such  a  tide  and  hoiu-, 

We  sate  upon  its  steps  of  stone. 

Wizard,  witch,  and  fiend  have  power, 

Nor  could  its  silence'  rue, 

And  ghastly  forms  through  mist  and  shower 

When  waked,  to  music  of  our  own. 

Gleam  on  the  gifted  ken  ; 

The  echoes  of  Saint  Cloud. 

And  then  the  affrighted  prophet's  ear 

Drinks  whispers  strange  of  fate  and  fear 

Slow  Seine  might  hear  each  lovely  note 

Presaging  death  and  ruin  near 

Pall  light  as  summer  dew. 

Among  the  sons  of  men ; — 

While  through  the  moonless"  air  they  float. 

Apart  from  Albyn's  war-array. 

Prolong' d  from  fail-  Stunt  Cloud. 

'Twas  then  gray  Allan  sleepless  lay ; 

Gray  AUan,  who,  for  many  a  day, 

And  sure  a  melody  more  sweet 

Had  followed  stout  and  stem. 

His  waters  never  knew, 

Where,  tlu-ough  battle's  rout  and  reel, 

I  MS.—"  Absence."                 MS.—"  Midnight." 

«  Originally  published  in  1815,  in  the  Edinburgh  Annn 

3  These  lilies  were  written  after  an  evening  spent  at  Saint 

Register,  vol.  v. 

Jloud  with  the   ate  Lady  Alvanley  and  her  daughters,  one  of 

whom  was  tlie  songstress  alluded  to  in  the  text. 

'  MS. — "  Dawn  and  darkness." 

1 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                        655 

Storm  of  shot  and  hedge  of  steel. 

Our  airy  feet. 

Led  the  grandson  of  Lochiel, 

So  hght  and  fleet. 

Valiant  Fassiefern. 

They  do  not  bend  the  rye 

Thi-ough  steel  mid  shot  he  leads  no  more, 

That  shiks  its  head  when  Avhirlwinda 

Low  laid  'mid  friends'  and  foemen's  gore — 

rave. 

But  long  his  native  lake's  wild  shore. 

And  swells  again  in  eddying  wave. 

And  Sunart  rough,  and  high  Ardgower, 

As  each  wild  gust  blows  by ; 

And  Morven  long  shall  tell, 

But  still  the  corn. 

And  proud  Bennevis  hear  with  awe, 

At  dawn  of  morn. 

How,  upon  bloody  Quatre-Bras, 

Our  fatal  steps  that  bore, 

Brave  Cameron  heard  the  wild  hun'a 

At  eve  lies  waste. 

Of  conquest  as  he  fell.' 

A  trampled  paste 

Of  blackening  mud  and  gore. 

IIL 

'Lone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  host. 

V. 

The  weary  sentinel  held  post. 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 

And  heard,  through  darkness  far  aloof. 

"WTiile  hghtnings  glance. 

The  frequent  clang^  of  coursers  hoof. 

And  thunders  rattle  loud. 

"Where  held  the  cloak'd  patrol  theii-  course. 

And  call  the  brave 

And   spurr'd   'gainst   storm   the    swerving 

To  bloody  grave. 

horse ; 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

But  there  are  sounds  in  Allan's  ear, 

Patrol  nor  sentinel  may  hear, 

Wlieel  the  wild  dance ! 

And  sights  before  his  eye  aghast 

Brave  sous  of  France, 

Invisible  to  them  have  pass'd. 

For  you  our  riug  makes  room ; 

■\Vlien  down  the  destined  plain, 

Make  space  full  wide 

'Twixt  Britain  and  the  bands  of  France, 

For  martial  pride. 

Wild  as  marsh-borne  meteor's  glance. 

For  bamier,  spear,  and  plume. 

Strange  phantoms  wheel'd  a  revel  dance, 

Approach,  draw  near, 

And  doom'd  the  future  slain. — 

Proud  cuhassier  I 

Such   forms  were   seen,   such   sounds  were 

Room  for  the  men  of  steel ! 

heard, 

Tlu-ough  crest  and  plate 

W  hen  Scotland's  James  his  march  prepared. 

The  broadsword's  weight 

For  Flodden's  fiital  plain ;' 

Both  head  and  heart  shall  feeL 

Such,  when  he  drew  his  ruthless  sword, 

As  Choosers  of  the  Slain,  adored 

VL 

The  yet  unchristen'd  Dane. 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 

An  indistinct  and  phantom  band. 

While  hghtnings  glance. 

They  wheel'd  their  ring-dance  hand  in  hand, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 

With  gestm-es  wild  and  dread ; 

And  call  the  brave 

Tlie  Seer,  who  watch'd  them  ride  the  storm. 

To  bloody  grave. 

Saw  through  their  faint  and  shadowy  form 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

The  hghtning's  flash  more  red ; 

And  still  their  ghastly  roundelay 

Sons  of  the  spear  I 

Was  of  the  coming  battle-fray, 

You  feel  us  near 

And  of  the  destined  dead. 

In  many  a  ghastly  di'eam ; 

IV. 

With  fancy's  eye 

Our  forms  you  spy. 

Soixfl. 

And  hear  our  fatal  scream. 

"  Wlieel  the  wUd  dance 

With  clearer  sight 

While  lightnings  glance, 

Ere  falls  the  night. 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 

Just  when  to  weal  or  woe 

And  call  the  brave 

Tom-  disembodied  souls  take  flight 

To  bloody  grave. 

On  trenibUng  wing — each  startled  sprite 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud- 

Our  choh"  of  death  shall  know. 

1  See  note,  ante,  p.  509. 

s  See  ante,  Marmion,  canto  v.  stanzas  24,  25,  26,  and  Aj* 

a  MS.—"  Oft  came  the  clang  "  &c. 

pendix,  Note  4  A,  p.  173 

G5G 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


VII. 

"  And  grant,  immortal  Queen  of  Heaven,'  was  still 

"  VV  heel  the  wil'd  dance 

the  Soldier's  prayer. 

Wliile  lightnings  glance, 

"  That  I  may  prove  the  bravest  knight,  and  love 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 

the  fairest  fau-." 

And  call  the  brave 

To  bloody  grave. 

His  oath  of  honor  on  the  shrine  he  graved  it  with 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

his  sword. 
And  foUow'd  to  the  Holy  Tiand  the  banner  of  his 

Burst,  ye  clouds,  in  tempest  sho-wers. 

Lord; 

Redder  rain  shall  soon  be  ours — 

Where,  faithful  to  hi.s  noble  vow,  his  wai--cry  fiU'd 

See  the  east  grows  van — 

the  air. 

Yield  we  place  to  sterner  game. 

"  Be  honor'd  aye  the  bravest  knight,  beloved  the 

Ere  deadher  bolts  and  direr  flame 

fairest  fail-." 

Shall  the  welkin's  thunders  shame : 

Elemental  rage  is  tame 

They  owed  the  conquest  to  his  arm,  and  then  his 

To  the  wrath  of  man." 

Liege-Lord  said, 
"  The  heart  that  has  for  honor  beat  by  bh'ss  must 

VIII. 

be  repaid. — 

At  morn,  gi'ay  Allan's  mates  with  awe 

My  daughter  Isabel  and  thou  shall  be  a  wedded 

Heard  of  the  vision'd  sights  he  saw, 

pair. 

The  legend  heard  him  say ; 

For  thou  art  bravest  of  the  brave,  she  fairest  of 

But  the  Seer's  gifted  eye  was  dim. 

the  fair." 

Deafen'd  his  ear,  and  stark  his  limb, 

Ere  closed  that  bloody  day — 

And  then  they  bound  the  holy  knot  before  Saint 

He  sleeps  far  from  his  Highland  heath, — 

Mary's  slu-ine. 

But  often  of  the  Dance  of  Death 

That  makes  a  paradise  on  earth,  if  hearts  and  hands 

His  comrades  tell  the  tale, 

combine ; 

On  picquet-post,  when  ebbs  the  night. 

And  every  lord  and  lady  bright,  that  were  in  chapel 

And  waning  watch-fires  glow  less  bright. 

there, 

And  dawn  is  glimmering  pale. 

Cried,  "  Honor'd  be  the  bravest  knight,  beloved  the 
fau-est  fair  1" 

JSlomance  of  33uuois.' 

FEOM  THE  FRENCH. 

ffiijc  STroufiatJour.' 

FROM   THE    SAME    COLLECTION 

1815. 

rt  of 
roba- 

The  oricjinal  of  lids  little  Romance  makes  pa 

1815. 

a  manuscript  collection  of  French  Songs,  p 

bly  compiled  by  some  young  officer,  which 

was 

Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame, 

found  071  the  field  of  Waterloo,  so  7nuch  stained 

A  Troubadour  that  hated  sorrow. 

with  clay  and  with  blood,  as  sufficiently  to 

indi- 

Beneath  his  Lady's  window  can.-«. 

cate  the  fate  of  its  late  owner.    The  song  is  popu- 

And thus  he  sung  liis  last  good-morrow: 

lar  in  France,  and  is  rather  a  good  specimen  of 

"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right. 

the  style  of  composition  to  which  it  belongs. 

The 

My  heart  is  in  my  true-love  s  boweir 

translation  is  strictly  literal.^ 

Gayly  for  love  and  fame  to  fight 

ound 

Befits  the  gallant  Troubadour." 

't  was  Dunois,  the  young  and  brave,  was  b 

And  while  he  march'd  with  helm  on  head 

for  Palestine, 

And  harp  in  liand,  the  de.scant  rung. 

3ut  fii"st  he  made  his  orisons  before  Saint  Mary's 

As,  faithful  to  liis  favorite  maid. 

shi-ine : 

The  minstrel-burden  still  he  sung : 

1  This  ballad  appeared  in  1815,  in  Paul's  Letters,  and 

in  the 

was  written,  and  set  to  music  also,  by  Hortense  Beanhamois, 

Edinburgh  Annual  Register.     It  has  since  been  sot  to 

music 

Duchesse  de  St.  Leu,  Ex-dueen  of  Holland. 

bj  G.  F.  Graham,  Esq.,  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Select  Melodies,  &c. 

3  The  original  of  this  ballad  also  was  written  and  composed 

2  The  original  romance, 

by  the  Duchesse  de  St.  Leu.     The  translation  has  been  set  to 

"  Partant  pour  la  Syrie, 

music  by  Mr.  Thomson.    See  bis  Collection  of  Scottish  Songs. 

Le  jeune  et  brave  Dunois,"  &o. 

1826. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


G57 


"  My  arm  it  is  my  comitry's  right, 
My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower ; 

Resolved  for  love  and  fame  to  fight, 
I  come, 


a  gallant  Troubadour; 


Even  when  the  battle-roar  was  deep, 

With  dauntless  heart  he  hew'd  his  way, 
'Mid  sj)lintering  lance  and  falchion-sweep, 

And  still  was  heard  his  warrior-lay : 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  to  die,  for  fame  to  fight, 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 

Alas !  upon  the  bloody  field 

He  fell  beneath  the  foeman's  glaive. 
But  still  reclining  on  his  sliield, 

Expiring  sung  the  exulting  stave : — 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  and  fame  to  fall  in  fight 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 


jFront  tj)e  iFvencJ).* 


1815. 


It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season. 
By  Fancy  urged,  resolved  to  wed. 

But  could  not  settle  whether  Reason 
Or  Folly  should  partake  his  bed. 

"What  does  he  then  ? — Upon  my  life, 
'Twas  bad  example  for  a  deity — 

He  takes  me  Reason  for  a  wife. 
And  Folly  for  his  hom's  of  gayety. 

Though  thus  he  dealt  in  petty  treason, 
He  loved  them  both  in  equal  measm'e ; 

Fidelity  was  born  of  Reason, 

And  FoUy  brought  to  bed  of  Pleasure. 


Sons, 

ON  THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  BANNER  OF  THE 

HOUSE   OF    BUCCLEUCH,  AT  A  GREAT    FOOT-BALL  MATCH 

ON  CARTERHAUGH.^ 


1815. 


Feom  the  brown  crest  of  Newai-k  its  summons 
extending. 
Our  signal  is  waving  in  smoke  and  in  flame ; 

1  This  trifle  also  is  from  the  French  Collection,  found  at 
Waterloo. — See  Paul's  Letters. 

■2  This  tons  appears  with  Music  in  Mr.  G.  Thomson's  Col- 
lection— 1826.  The  foot-ball  match  on  which  it  was  written 
b3 


And  each  forester  blithe,  from  his  mountain  de- 
scending. 
Bounds  liglit  o'er  the  heather  to  join  in  tho 
game. 

CHORUS. 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan  her. 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and  more  . 

In  sport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her. 

With  heart  and  with  hand,  like  our  fathers  before. 

When  the   Southern  invader  spread  waste   and 
disorder, 
At  tlie  glance  of  her  crescents  he  paused  and 
withdrew. 
For  around  them  were  marshall'd  the  pride  of  the 
Border, 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest,Hhe  Bands  of  Buo- 

CLEUCH. 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

A  Striphng's  weak  hand^  to  our  revel  has  borne  her, 
No  mail-glove  has  grasp'd  her,  no  speajjmen  sur- 
round ; 
But  ere  a  bold  foeman  should  scathe  or  should 
scorn  her, 
A  thousand  true  hearts  would  be  cold  on  the 
ground. 

Then  up  with  tho  Banner,  <fec. 

We  forget  each  contention  of  civil  dissension. 
And  hail,  Kke  our  brethi-en,  Home,  Douglas,  ana 
Car: 
And  Elliot  and  Pringle  in  pastime  shall  mingle. 
As  welcome  in  peace  as  their  fathers  in  war. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

Then  strip,  lads,  and  to  it,  though  sharp  be  tho 
weather, 
And  if,  by  mischance,  you  should  happen  to  faU, 
There  are  worse  things  in  life  than  a  tumble  on 
heather, 
And  life  is  itself  but  a  game  at  foot-ball. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

And  when  it  is  over,  we'U  drink  a  blithe  measure 
To  each  Laird  and  each  Lady  that  witness'd  our 
fun, 
And  to  every  blithe  heart  that  took  part  in  our 
pleasure. 
To  the  lads  that  have  lost  and  the  lads  that 
have  won. 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

took  place  on  December  5,  1815,  and  was  also  celebrated  by 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd.     See   Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  112; 
116,  122. 
3  The  bearer  of  the  standard  was  the  Author's  eldest  soa 


658 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1 


May  the  Forest  still  flourish,  both  Borough  and 
Landward, 
From  the  hall  of  the  Peer  to  the  Herd's  ingle- 
nook  ; 
And  huzza !  my  brave  hearts,  for  Buccleuch  and 
liis  standard, 
For  tlie  King  and  the  Country,  the  Clan,  and 
the  Duke  1 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan 
her, 
She  has   blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages   and 
more  ; 
In  sport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her. 
With  heart   and  with   hand,  like   our  fathers 
before. 


3luIIai)»  of  an  Enfant  ffiijief. 

AlK—"  Cadul  ffu  lo."i 


1815. 


O,  HTJSH  thee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a  knight, 

Thy  mother  a  lady,  both  lovely  and  bright ; 

The  woods  and  the  glens,  from  the  towers  which 

we  see. 
They  all  are  belonging,  dear  babie,  to  thee. 
0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  cadul  gu  lo, 
0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 

n. 

0,  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudly  it  blows. 

It   calls  but  the   warders    that    guard   thy  re- 
pose ; 

Their  bows  would  be  bended,  their  blades  would 
be  red. 

Ere  the  step  of  a  foeman  draws  near  to  thy  bed. 
0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 

III. 
0,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  the  time  soon  will  come. 
When  thy  sleep  shall  be  broken  by  trumpet  and 

drum; 
Then  hush  thee,  my  darling,  take  rest  while  you 

may, 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood,  and  waking  with 
day. 

0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  <fec. 

1  "  Sleep  on  till  day."  Thes"  words,  adapted  to  a  melody 
somewhat  different  from  the  .  u.tI,  are  sung  in  my  friend 
Mr.  Terry's  drama  of  "  Gay  Mannering."  [The  "  Lnllaby" 
was  first  printed  in  Mr.  Terry's  drama  :  it  was  afterwards  set 
tp  music  in  Thotnson's  Collection.     1822.] 


\)ast5  from  (f3un  ilTanncring. 


1815. 


(l.)-SOXGS  OF  IIEG  MEMILIES. 


NATIVITY  OF  HARRY  BERTRAM. 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit ; 

Is  the  lady  lighter  yet  ?  * 

Be  it  lad,  or  be  it  lass. 

Sign  wi'  cross,  and  sain  wi'  mass. 

Trefoil,  vervain,  Jolm's-wort,  dill, 
Hinders  witches  of  tlieir  will ; 
"Weel  is  them,  that  weel  may 
Fast  upon  St.  Andrew's  day. 

Saint  Bride  and  her  brat, 
Saint  Colme  and  her  cat. 
Saint  Michael  and  his  spear. 
Keep  the  liouse  firae  reif  and  wear. 

Chap,  iii 


"TWIST  YE,  TWIKE  YE." 

Twist  ye,  twine  ye  !  even  so. 
Mingle  shades  of  joy  and  woe, 
Hope,  and  fear,  and  peace,  and  strife. 
In  the  thi'ead  of  hmnan  life. 

Willie  the  mystic  twist  is  spinning, 
And  the  infant's  hfe  beginning, 
Dimly  seen  through  twilight  bending, 
Lo,  what  varied  shapes  attending ! 

Passions  wild,  and  follies  vain, 
Pleasm'es  soon  exclianged  for  pain ; 
Doubt,  and  jealousy,  and  fear, 
In  the  magic  dance  appear. 

Now  they  wax  and  now  they  dwindle, 
Whu-liug  with  the  whirling  spindle. 
Twist  ye,  twine  ye !  even  so. 
Mingle  human  bliss  and  woe. 


Ibid. 


THE  DYISG  GIPSY  SMUGGLER. 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay, 
Wrestling  thus  with  earth  and  clay ! 
From  the  body  pass  away  ; — 

Hai"k !  the  mass  is  singing. 

From  thee  doff  thy  mortal  weed, 
Mary  Mother  be  thy  speed, 


LYRICAL  AND  :MISCELLANE0US  PIECES. 


659 


Saints  to  help  thee  at  thy  n  scd ; — 

Hark !  the  kneU  is  ringing. 

Fear  not  snow-drift  driving  fast, 
Sleet,  or  hail,  or  levin  blast ; 
Soon  the  shroud  shall  lap  thee  fast, 
And  the  sleep  be  on  thee  c?^t 

That  shall  ne'er  know  waldng. 

Haste  thee,  haste  thee,  to  bs  gone. 
Earth  flits  fas',  and  time  draws  on, — 
Gasp  thy  gasp,  and  groan  thy  groan, 
Day  is  near  the  breaking. 

"  The  songstress  paused,  and  was  answered  by 
one  or  two  deep  and  hollow  groans,  that  seemed 
to  proceed  from  the  very  agony  of  the  mortal 
strife.  'It  will  not  be,'  she  muttered  to  herself 
'  He  cannot  pass  away  with  that  on  his  mind ;  it 
tethers  him  here. 

Heaven  cannot  abide  it ; 
Earth  refuses  to  hide  it. 

I  must  open  the  door.' 

" She  lifted  the  latch,  saying, 


'  Open  locks,  end  strife, 
Come  death,  and  pass  hfe.'  " 

Chap. 


XXVIL 


THE  PEOPHECJY. 

The  dark  shall  be  light, 

And  the  wrong  made  right, 

When  Bertram's  right  and  Bertram's  might 

Shall  meet  on  Ellangowan's  height. 

Chap.  xli. 


(2.)— SONGS  OF  DIRK  HAITERAICK  AND 
GLOSSIN. 

" '  And  now  I  have  brought  you  some  breakfast,' 
said  Glossin,  producing  some  cold  meat  and  a  flask 
of  spirits.  The  latter  Hatteraick  eagerly  seized 
upon,  and  applied  to  his  mouth ;  and,  after  a  hearty 
draught,  he  exclaimed  with  great  rapture,  'Das 
schmeckt ! — That  is  good — that  warms  the  liver !' 
— Then  broke  into  the  fragment  of  a  High-Dutch 
Bong :" — 

Saufen  bier,  und  brante-wein, 
Schmeissen  alle  die  fenstern  ein ; 
Ich  ben  liederlich, 

1  First  published  in  Mr.  G.  Thomson's  Collection  of  Irish 
Aire     1816. 


l^-_ 


Du  bist  liederlich, 

Sind  wir  nicht  liederlich  leute  a. 

"  '  "Well  said,  my  hearty  Captain !'  cried  Glossin, 
endeavoring  to  catch  the  tone  of  revelry," — 

Gin  by  pailfuls,  wine  in  rivers, 

Dash  the  window-glass  to  sliivers ! 

For  three  wild  lads  were  we,  brave  boys, 

And  three  wild  lads  were  we ; 

Thou  on  the  land,  and  I  on  the  sand. 

And  Jack  on  the  gallows-tree ! 

Chap,  xxxiv. 


SJc   Jicturn   to    SUlstcr.' 


1816. 


Once  again, — but  how  changed  since  my  wand'- 

rings  began — 
I  have  heard  the  deep  voice  of  the  Lagan  and  Bann, 
And  the  pines  of  Clanbrassil  resotmd  to  the  roar 
That  wearies  the  echoes  of  fair  Tullamore. 
Alas !  my  poor  bosom,  and  why  shouldst  thou  burn  ? 
With  the  scenes  of  my  youth  can  its  raptures  return  ? 
Can  I  live  the  dear  life  of  delusion  again,    [strain  s 
That  flow'd  when  these  echoes  first  mix'd  with  my 

It  was  then  that  around  me,  though  poor  and  un- 
known, [tlu-own ; 
High  spells  of  mysterious  enchantment  were 
The  streams  were  of  silver,  of  diamond  the  dew. 
The  land  was  an  Eden,  for  fancy  was  new. 
I  had  heard  of  our  bards,  and  my  soul  was  on  fire 
At  the  rush  of  their  verse,  and  the  sweep  of  their 

lyre: 
To  me  'twas  not  legend,  nor  tale  to  the  ear. 
But  a  vision  of  noontide,  distinguished  and  clear. 

Ultonia's  old  heroes  awoke  at  the  call,  piall ; 

And  renew'd  the  wild  pomp  of  the  chase  and  the 
And  tlie  standard  of  Fion  flashed  fierce  from  on  high, 
Like  the  burst  of  the  sun  when  the  tempest  is  nigL' 
It  seem'd  that  the  harp  of  green  Erin  once  more 
Could  renew  all  the  glories  she  boasted  of  yore. — 
Yet  why  at  remembrance,  fond  heart,  shoulds* 

thou  burn  ? 
Tliey  were  days  of  delusion,  and  cannot  return. 

But  was  she,  too,  a  phantom,  the  Maid  who  stood  by, 
And  hsted  my  lay,  while  she  turn'd  from  mine  eye  I 
Was  she  too,  a  vision,  just  glancing  to  view. 
Then  dispersed  in  the  sunbeam,  or  melted  to  dew  f 

2  In  ancient  Irisn  poetry,  the  standard  of  Fion,  or  Fingal,  ii 
callel  the  Sun-burst,  an  epithet  feebly  rendered  by  the  Sur 
bean,  of  MacpheisoD. 


660 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Oh !  -would  it  had  been  so, — Oh !  would  that  her  eye 
Had  been  but  a  star-glance  that  shot  through  the 

sky, 
And  her  voice  that  was  moulded  to  melody's  tlirill, 
Had  been  but  a  zephyr,  that  sigh"d  and  was  still ! 

Oh !  would  it  had  been  so, — not  then  this  poor  heart 
Had  learn'd  the  sad  lesson,  to  love  and  to  part ; 
To  bear,  unassisted,  its  burthen  of  care. 
While  I  toil'd  for  the  wealth  I  had  no  one  to  share. 
Not  then  had  I  said,  when  life's  summer  was  done, 
And  the  hours  of  hur  autumn  were  fast  speeding  on, 
"  Take  the  fame  and  tlie  riches  ye  brought  in  your 

train. 
And  restore  me  the  dream  of  my  spring-tide  again." 


SJocit   of  55t]ajeltjean. 

Air — jJ  Border  Melody. 


1816. 


The  first  stanza  of  this  Ballad  is  ancient.  The 
others  were  written  for  Mr.  CampbeWs  Albyn's 
Anthology. 


I. 

"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladle  ? 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 
I'U  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride  : 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen" — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

II. 

"  Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done. 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale  ; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale  ; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

His  sword  in  battle  keen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

III. 
"  A  chain  of  gold  ye  saU  not  lack, 

Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair ; 
Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  aud  fair ; 
And  you,  the  foremost  o'  them  a' 

Shall  ride  our  forest  queen  " — 

»  "The  pibroch  of  Donald  the  Black."  This  song  was 
written  for  Campbell's  Albyn's  Anthology,  1816.  It  may  also 
De  seen,  set  to  music,  in  Thomson's  Collection,  1830. 


But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 
For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

IV. 

The  Mrk  was  deck'd  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmer'd  fair  ; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there. 
They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha' ; 

The  ladie  was  not  seen ! 
She's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 


iSifirodj   of  33onallr   Slju. 

Air — "  Piobair  of  Donuil  Dhuidh."^ 


1816. 


This  is  a  very  ancient  pibroch  belonging  to  Clan 
MacDonald,  and  supposed  to  refer  to  the  expedi- 
tion of  Donald  Balloch,  who,  in  1431,  launched 
from  tlie  Isles  with  a  considerable  force,  i?ivaded 
Xiochaber,  and  at  Inverlochy  defeated  and  put  to 
fight  the  Earls  of  Mar  and  Caithness,  though 
at  the  head  of  an  army  superior  to  his  ovm.  The 
words  of  the  set,  thone,  or  melody,  to  which  the 
pipe  variations  are  applied,  run  thiis  in  Gaelic : — 

Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil  ; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhnidh,  ])iobaireachd  Dhonnil ; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonnil; 
Piob  agus  bratach  air  faiche  luverlochi. 
The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  pipe-summon.s  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  war-pipe  and  the  pennon  are  on  the  gathering-place  at 
Inverlochy.* 


Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

Summon  Clan-Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away, 

Hark  to  the  summons ! 
Come  in  your  war-array, 

Gentles  and  commons. 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky, 
The  war-pipe  and  peimon 

Are  at  Inverlochy. 
Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

True  heart  that  wears  one, 

-  Compare  this  with  the  gathering-song  in  the  third  canto  ot 
the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  ante. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


661 


Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear, 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near, 

That  ever  valor  lost  or  won, 

Leave  untended  the  herd, 

I  would  not  wed  the  Earlie's  son." — 

The  flock  without  shelter ; 

Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

II. 

The  bride  at  the  altar ; 

"  A  maiden's  vows,"  old  Galium  spoke, 

Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 

"  Are  lightly  made  and  lightly  broke  ; 

Leave  nets  and  barges : 

The  heather  on  the  mountain's  height 

Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light ; 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

The  frost-wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 

That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae ; 

Come  as  the  winds  come,  when 

Yet  Nora,  ere  its  bloom  be  gone. 

Forests  are  rended ; 

May  bUthely  wed  the  EarUe's  son." — 

Come  as  the  waves  come,  when 

Navies  are  stranded : 

III. 

Faster  come,  faster  come, 

"  The  swan,"  she  said,  "  the  lake's  clear  breast 

Faster  and  faster. 

May  barter  for  the  eagle's  nest ; 

Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom. 

The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  turn, 

Tenant  and  master. 

Ben-Cruaichan  fall,  and  crush  Kilchurn; 

Our  kilted  clans,  when  blood  is  high,    " 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come  ; 

Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly ; 

See  how  they  gather ! 

But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done. 

Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume. 

Would  never  wed  the  Earhe's  son." 

Blended  with  heather, 
Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades. 

Forward  each  man  set  I 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

KneU  for  the  onset ! 


Air — "  Cha  teid  mis  a  chaoidh."i 
■WHITTEN  FOa  ALBTn's  ANTH0L8GY.' 


1816. 


fn  the  original  Gaelic,  the  Lady  makes  protestations 
that  she  will  not  go  with  the  Red  EarVs  son,  until 
the  swan  should  build  in  the  cliff,  and  the  eagle 
in  the  lake — until  one  mountain  should  change 
places  with  another,  and  so  forth.  It  is  bid  fair 
to  add,  that  there  is  7io  authority  for  sujtposing 
that  she  altered  her  mind — except  the  vehemence 
of  her  protestation. 


Heae  what  Highland  Nora  said, — 
"  The  Earlie's  son  I  will  not  wed. 
Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die, 
And  none  be  left  but  he  and  I. 

'  "  I  will  never  go  with  him." 
See  also  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Collection.    1822. 


IV. 

still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild-swan  made ; 

Ben-Cruaichan  stands  as  fast  as  ever. 

Still  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fierce  river; 

To  shun  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel. 

No  Highland  brogue  has  turn'd  the  heel ; 

But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won, 

— She's  wedded  to  the  Earlie's  son ! 


Air — "  ThaiiC  a  Gh-igalach."^ 
WRITTEN  FOR  ALBYn's  ANTHOLOGT. 


1816. 


These  verses  are  adapted  to  a  very  wild,  yet  lively 
gathering-tune,  used  by  the  MacGregors.  The 
severe  treatment  of  this  Clan,  their  outlawry,  and 
the  proscription  of  their  very  name,  are  alluded 
to  in  the  Ballad.* 


The  moon's  on  the  lake,  and  the  mist's  on  the  brae, 
And  the  Clan  has  a  name  that  is  nameless  by  day ; 

Tlien  gather,  gather,  gatlier  Grigalach  I 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  &c. 

s  "  The  MacGregor  is  come." 

*  For  the  history  of  the  clan,  see  Introduction  to  Rob  Rof 
Waverlcy  Novels,  vol.  vii 


662 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Our  signal  for  fight,  that  from  monarchs  we  drew. 
Must  be  heard  but  by  night  in  om-  vengeful  haloo  ! 
Then  haloo,  Grigalach !  haloo,  Grigalach  1 
Haloo,  haloo,  haloo,  Grigalach,  (fee. 

Glen  Orchy's  proud  mountains,  Coalchuirn  and  her 

towers, 
Glenstrae  and  Glenlyon  no  longer  are  ours ; 

We're  landless,  landless,  landless,  Grigalach  1 

Landless,  landless,  landless,  &c. 

But  doom'd  and  devoted  by  vassal  and  lord, 
MacGregor  has  still  both  his  heart  and  liis  sword  1 

Then  courage,  courage,  courage,  Grigalach ! 

Courage,  courage,  courage,  <fec. 

If  they  rob  us  of  name,  and  pursue  us  with  beagles. 
Give  their  roofs  to  the  flame,  and  their  flesh  to  the 
eagles ! 
Then  vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  Griga- 
lach ! 
Vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  <fec. 

While  there's  leaves  in  the  forest,  and  foam  on  the 
river, 

MacGregor,  despite  them,  shall  flourish  for  ever ! 
Come  then,  Grigalach,  come  then,  Grigalach, 
Come  then,  come  then,  come  then,  <fec. 

Through  the  depths  of  Loch  Katrine  the  steed 

shall  career. 
O'er  the  peak  of  Ben-Lomond  the  galley  shall  steer. 
And  the  rocks  of  Craig-Royston'  hke  icicles  melt, 
Ere  our  wrongs  be  forgot,  or  our  vengeance  unfelt ! 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Grigalach ! 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  (fee. 


Verses, 

COMPOSED  FOR  THE  OCCASION,  ADAPTED  TO  HAYDn's 

AIB, 

"  Ood  Save  the  Emperor  Francis," 

4ND  SUNG  BY  A  SELECT  BAND  AFTER  THE  DINNER  GIVEN 
BY  THE  LORD  PROVOST  OF  EDINBURGH  TO  THE 

GRAND-DUKE  NICHOLAS  OF  RUSSIA, 

AND  HIS  SUITE,  19tH  DECEMBER,  1816. 

God  protect  brave  Alexander, 
Heaven  defend  the  noble  Czar, 
Mighty  Russia's  high  Commander, 

I  "  Rob  Roy  MacGregor's  own  (Jesignation  was  of  tnner- 
maid  ;  but  he  appears  to  have  acquired  a  right  of  some  kind  or 
other  to  the  property  or  possession  of  Craig-Royston,  a  do- 
main of  rock  and  forest,  lying  on  the  east  side  of  Loch  Lomond, 
where  tliat  beautiful  lake  strutches  into  the  dusky  mountains 
ol  Glenfalloch," — Introd.  to  Rob  Roy,  Wave.  JVou.vii.  31. 


First  in  Europe's  banded  war ; 
For  the  reabns  he  did  deliver 
From  the  tyrant  overthrown, 
Thou,  of  every  good  the  Giver, 
Grant  lum  long  to  bless  his  own ! 
Bless  him,  'mid  his  land's  disaster, 
For  her  rights  who  battled  brave. 
Of  the  land  of  foemen  master, 
Bless  lum  who  their  wrongs  forgave. 

O'er  his  just  resentment  victor, 
Victor  over  Europe's  foes. 
Late  and  long  supreme  director, 
Grant  in  peace  his  reign  may  close. 
Hail !  then,  hail  I  illustrious  stranger  1 
Welcome  to  our  mountain  strand ; 
Mutual  interests,  hopes,  and  dangei; 
Link  us  with  thy  native  land. 
Freemen's  force,  or  false  beguiling, 
Shall  that  union  ne'er  divide, 
Hand  in  hand  while  peace  is  smiling. 
And  in  battle  side  by  side.^ 


Jrom  tijc  ^ntiqnarg. 


1816. 


(1.)— TIME. 

"The  window  of  a  turret,  which  projected  at 
an  angle  with  the  wall,  and  thus  came  to  be  very 
near  Lovel's  apartment,  was  half  open,  and  from 
that  quarter  he  heard  again  the  same  music  which 
had  probably  broken  short  his  dream.  With  its 
visionary  character  it  had  lost  much  of  its  cliarms 
— it  was  now  nothing  more  than  an  air  on  the 
harpsichord,  tolerably  well  performed — such  is  the 
caprice  of  huagination  as  affecting  the  fine  ai'ts.  A 
female  voice  sung,  with  some  taste  and  great  sim- 
phcity,  somethuig  between  a  song  and  a  hymn,  in 
words  to  the  following  effect :" — 

"  Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  haU, 
ITiou  aged  carle  so  stern  and  gray  ? 

Dost  thou  its  former  pride  recall, 
Or  ponder  how  it  pass'd  away  ?" — 

"  Know'st  thou  not  me  ?"  the  Deep  Voice  cried ; 
"  So  long  enjoy'd,  so  oft  misused — 

2  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  William  Arbuthnot,  the  Lord  Provost 
of  Edinburgh,  who  had  the  honor  to  entertain  the  Grand-Duke, 
now  Emperor  of  Russia,  was  a  personal  friend  of  Sir  Walter 
Hcott's  ;  and  these  Verses,  with  their  heading,  are  now  given 
from  the  newspapers  of  1816. 


I 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


663 


Alternate,  in  thy  fickle  pride, 

With  a  chafron  of  steel  on  each  horse's  bead, 

Desired,  neglected,  and  accused ! 

And  a  good  knight  upon  his  back. 

"  Before  my  breath,  like  blazing  flax, 

They  hadna  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile. 

Man  and  his  marvels  pass  away  ! 

A  mile,  but  biu-ely  ten. 

And  changing  empires  wane  and  wax, 

When  Donald  came  branking  down  the  brae 

A»e  founded,  flourish,  and  decay. 

Wi'  twenty  thousand  men. 

Redeem  mine  hours — the  space  is  brief — 

Their  tartans  they  were  waving  wide, 

While  in  my  glass  the  sand-grains  shiver, 

Their  glaives  were  glancing  clear. 

And  measvu-eless  thy  joy  or  grief. 

The  pibrochs  rung  frae  side  to  side, 

VV  hen  TmF,  and  thou  shalt  part  for  ever !" 

Would  deafen  ye  to  hear. 

Chap.  X. 

The  great  Earl  in  his  stirrups  stood, 

That  Highland  host  to  see : 

(2.)— EPITAPH  ON  JON  0'  YE  GIRNELL. 

"Now  here  a  Imight  that's  stout  and  good 

May  prove  a  jeopardie: 

"  Beneath  an  old  oak-tree,  upon  a  hillock,  lay  a 

moss-grown  stone,  and,  in  memory  of  the  departed 

"  What  would'st  thou  do,  my  squire  so  gay 

worthy,  it  bore  an  inscription,  of  which,  as  ilr. 

That  rides  beside  my  reyne, — 

Oldbuck  aflfirmed  (though  many  doubted),  the  de- 

Were ye  GlenaUan's  Earl  the  day, 

parted  characters  could  be  distinctly  traced  to  the 

And  I  were  Roland  Cheyne  ? 

folloAvmg  effect :" — 

"  To  turn  the  rein  were  sin  and  shame. 

Heir  lyeth  Jon  o'  ye  Girnell. 

To  fight  were  wond'rous  peril, — 

Erth  has  ye  nit  and  heuen  ye  ku-neU. 

VV  hat  would  ye  do  now,  Roland  Cheyne, 

In  hys  tyme  ilk  wyfe's  hennis  clokit. 

Were  ye  GlenaUan's  Earl  ?"— 

Uka  gud  mannis  berth  wi'  bairnis  was  stoMt, 

He  deled  a  boll  o'  bear  in  firlottis  fyve, 

"  Were  I  GlenaUan's  Earl  tliis  tide. 

Four  for  ye  haUe  kirke  and  ane  for  pure  mennis 

And  ye  were  Roland  Cheyne, 

wyvis. 

The  spear  should  be  in  my  horse's  side. 

Chap.  xL 

And  the  bridle  upon  his  mane. 

(3.)— ELSPETH'S  BALLAD. 

"  As  the  Antiquary  lifted  the  latch  of  the  hut, 
he  was  sm-prised  to  hear  the  shrill  tremulous  voice 
of  Elspeth  chanting  forth  an  old  ballad  in  a  wild 
and  doleful  recitative  :" — 

The  herring  loves  the  merry  moon-light, 

The  mackerel  loves  the  wind. 
But  the  oyster  loves  the  dredging  sang. 

For  they  come  of  a  gentle  kind. 

Now  baud  your  tongue,  baith  wife  and  carle, 

And  hsten  great  and  sma'. 
And  I  will  sing  of  GlenaUan's  Ear] 

That  fought  on  the  red  Harlaw. 

The  cronach's  cried  on  Bennachie, 

And  doun  the  Don  and  a', 
And  hieland  and  lawland  may  mournfu'  be 

For  the  sair  field  of  Harlaw. 

They  saddled  a  hundred  milk-wliite  steeds, 
They  hae  bridled  a  hundi-ed  black. 


"  If  they  hae  twenty  thousand  blades, 

And  we  twice  ten  times  ten, 
Tet  they  hae  but  their  tartan  plaids, 

And  we  are  mail-clad  men'. 

"  My  horse  shall  ride  thi-ough  ranks  sae  nide^ 
As  through  the  moorland  fern, — 

Then  ne'er  let  the  gentle  Norman  blude 
Grow  cauld  for  Highland  kerne." 


He  tum'd  him  right  and  roimd  again. 
Said,  Scorn  na  at  my  mither  ; 

Light  loves  I  may  get  mony  a  ane. 
But  minnie  ne'er  anither. 


Chap.  xL 


MOTTOES  IN  THE  ANTIQUARY. 

"  The  scraps  of  poetiy  which  have  been  in  nioa! 
cases  tacked  to  the  beginning  of  chapters  in  theae 


I  Novels,  ai-e  sometimes  quoted  either  from  reading 
I  or  ii-om  memory,  but,  in  the  general  case,  are  pure 
I  invention.  I  found  it  too  troublesome  to  turn  to 
the  collection  of  the  British  Poets  to  discover  ap- 
posite mottoes,  and,  in  the  eit'iation  of  the  theatri- 
cal mechanist,  who,  'when  the  white  jDaper  which 
represented  his  shower  of  snow  was  exhausted, 
continued  the  shower  oy  snowuig  brown,  I  drew 
on  my  memory  as  long  as  I  could,  and  when  that 
faUed,  eked  it  out  with  invention.  I  believe  that, 
in  some  cases,  where  actual  names  are  affixed  to 
the  supposed  quotations,  it  would  be  to  httle  pur- 
pose to  seek  them  in  the  works  of  the  authors  re- 
ferred to.  In  some  cases,  I  have  been  entertained 
when  Dr.  Watts  and  other  graver  authors  have 
been  ransacked  in  vain  for  stanzas  for  wliich  the 
novelist  alone  was  responsible." — Introduction  to 
Chronicles  of  the  Ganongate. 


I  knew  Anselmo.    He  was  shrewd  and  prudent, 

Wisdom  and  cunning  had  their  shares  of  liim ; 

But  he  was  shrewish  as  a  wayward  child, 

And  pleased  again  by  toys  which  childhood  please ; 

As — book  of  fables  graced  with  print  of  wood. 

Or  else  the  jingling  of  a  rusty  medal. 

Or  the  rare  melody  of  some  old  ditty, 

That  first  was  sung  to  please  lOng  Pepin's  cradle. 

(2.)— Chap.  ix. 
"Be  brave,"  she  cried,  "you  yet  may  be  our  guest. 
Our  haunted  room  was  ever  held  the  best : 
If,  then,  your  valor  can  the  fight  sustain 
Of  rustling  curtains,  and  the  chnking  chain  ; 
If  your  courageous  tongue  have  powers  to  talk, 
When  round  your  bed  the  horrid  ghost  shall  walk ; 
If  you  dare  ask  it  why  it  leaves  its  tomb, 
I'U  see  yom-  sheets  well  air'd,  and  sliow  the  room." 

IVue  Story. 

(3.)— Chap.  xi. 
Sometimes  he  thinks  that  Heaven  this  vision  sent. 
And  order'd  all  the  pageants  as  they  went ; 
Sometknes  that  only  'twas  wild  Fancy's  play, — 
The  loose  and  scatter'd  relics  of  the  day. 

(4.) — Chap.  xii. 

Beggar ! — the   only  fi-eemen   of  yom-   Common- 
wealth ; 
Free  above  Scot-free,  that  observe  no  laws, 
Obey  no  governor,  use  no  religion  [toms, 

But  what  they  draw  from  their  own  ancient  cus- 
Or  constitute  themselves,  yet  they  are  no  rebels. 

Brome. 

(5.) — Chap.  xix. 
Here  has  been  such  a  stormy  encounter, 
Betwixt  my  cousin  Captain,  and  this  soldier. 


About  I  know  not  what ! — notliing,  indeed ; 
Competitions,  degrees,  and  comparatives 

Of  soldiership ! 

A  Faire  Quarrel. 

(6.) — Chap.  xx. 
If  you  fail  honor  here, 


Never  presume  to  serve  her  any  more , 
Bid  farewell  to  the  integrity  of  arms, 
And  the  honorable  name  of  soldier 
Fall  from  you,  hke  a  shiver'd  wreath  of  laurel 
By  thimder  struck  from  a  desertlesse  forehead. 

A  Faire  Quarrel. 

C?.) — Chap.  xxi. 
The  Lord  Abbot  had  a  soul 


Subtile  and  quick,  and  searching  as  the  fire : 
By  magic  staii-s  he  went  as  deep  as  hell, 
And  if  in  devils'  possession  gold  be  kept, 
He  brought  some  sure  from  thence — 'tis  hid  in 
caves, 

Known,  save  to  me,  to  none 

Tlie  Wonder  of  a  Kingdome. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxvn. 
Many  great  ones 


Would  part  with  half  their  states,  to  have  the  plan 
And  credit  to  beg  in  the  first  style. — 

Beggar's  Bush. 

(9.) — CriAP.  XXX. 
Who  is  he  ? — One  that  for  the  lack  of  land 
Shall  fight  upon  the  water — he  hath  challenged 
Formerly  the  grand  whale  ;  and  by  his  titles 
Of  Leviatlian,  Behemoth,  and  so  forth. 
He  tilted  with  a  sword-fish — Marry,  sir, 
Th'  aquatic  had  the  best — the  argument 
StiU  galls  our  cliampion's  breech. 

Old  Play. 

(10.)— Chap.  xxxr. 
Tell  me  not  of  it,  friend — when  the  young  weep, 
Their  tears  are  lukewarm  brine ; — from  our  old 

eyes 
Sorrow  falls  down  like  hail-drops  of  the  North, 
Chilling  the  furrows  of  our  wither'd  cheeks. 
Cold  as  our  hopes,  and  harden'd  as  our  feeling — 
Theirs,  as  they  fall,  sink  sightless — om-s  recoil, 
Heap  the  fair  plain,  and  Weaken  all  before  us. 

Old  Play. 

(11.) — Chap.  xxxiiT. 
Eemorse — she  ne'er  forsakes  us  ! — 
A  bloodhound  stanch — she  tracks  our  rapid  step 
Through  the  wild  labyrinth  of  youthful  pnrensy, 
Unheard,  perchance,  until  old  age  hath  tamed  us ; 
Then  in  our  lair,  when  Time  liath  chill'd  om- joints, 
And  mann'd  our  hope  of  combat,  or  of  flight. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


665 


"We  hear  her  deep-mouth'd  bay,  announcing  all 
Of  wi-ath  and  woe  and  piinishment  that  bides  us. 

Old  Flay. 

(12.) — Chap,  xxxiv. 
Still  in  his  dead  hand  clench'd  remain  the  strings 
Tliat  tlirill  his  father's  heart — e'en  as  the  limb, 
Lopp'd  off  and  laid  in  grave,  retains,  they  tell  us, 
Strange  commerce  -with  the  mutilated  stump, 
■WHiose  nerves  are  twinging  stiU  in  maim'd  exist- 
ence. Old  Flay. 

(13.) — Chap.  xxxv. 

Life,  with  you. 

Glows  in  the  brain  and  dances  in  the  arteries ; 
'Tis  like  the  wine  some  joyous  guest  hath  quaff 'd, 
That  glads  the  heart  and  elevates  the  fancy : — 
Mine  is  the  poor  residuum  of  the  cup, 
Vapid,  and  dull,  and  tasteless,  only  soiluig 
"With  its  base  di-egs  the  vessel  that  contains  it. 

Old  Play 

(14.) — Chap,  xxxvn. 
Tes !  I  love  Justice  well — as  well  as  you  do — 
But,  since  the  good  dame's  blind,  she  shall  excuse 

me, 
[f,  time  and  reason  fitting,  I  prove  dumb  ; — 
The  breath  I  utter  now  shall  be  no  means 
To  take  away  from  me  my  breath  in  future. 

Old  Flay. 

(15.) — Chap,  xxxviii. 
Well,  well,  at  worst,  'tis  neither  theft  nor  coinage, 
Granting  I  knew  aU  that  you  charge  me  with. 
What,  tho'  the  tomb  hath  born  a  second  bhth. 
And  given  the  wealth  to  one  that  knew  not  on't, 
Yet  fan-  exchange  was  never  robbery, 
Far  less  pure  botmtj^ Old  Flay. 

(16.) — Chap.  xl. 
Life  ebbs  from  such  old  age,  unmark'd  and  silent, 
As  the  slow  neap-tide  leaves  yon  stranded  galley. 
Late  she  rock'd  merrily  at  the  least  impulse 
That  wind  or  wave  could  give  ;  but  now  her  keel 
Is  settling  on  the  sand,  her  mast  has  ta'en 
An  angle  with  the  sky,  from  which  it  shifts  not. 
Each  wave  receding  shakes  her  less  and  less, 
Till,  bedded  on  the  strand,  she  shall  remain 
Useless  as  motionless.  Old  Flay. 

(17.) — Chap.  xli. 
So,  wlaile  the  Goose,  of  whom  the  fable  told, 
Incumbent,  brooded  o'er  her  eggs  of  gold. 
With  hand  outstretch'd,  impatient  to  destroy, 
Stole  on  her  secret  nest  the  cruel  Boy, 
Whose  gripe  rapacious  changed  her  splendid  dream, 
For  wings  vain  fluttering,  and  for  dying  scream. 
The  Loves  of  the  Sea-  Weedt. 
84 


(18.)— Cu^vp.  xi.ir. 
Let  those  go  see  who  will — I  like  it  not — • 
Far,  say  he  was  a  slave  to  rank  and  pomp. 
And  all  the  notliings  ho  is  now  divorced  from 
By  the  hard  doom  of  stern  necessity  ; 
Yet  is  it  sad  to  mark  his  alter'd  brow, 
Where  Vanity  adjusts  her  flimsy  veil 
O'er  the  deep  wrinkles  of  repentant  Anguish. 

Old  Flay. 

(19.) — Chap,  xliii. 
Fortune,  you  say,  flies  from  us — She  but  circles, 
Like  the  fleet  sea-bkd  round  the  fowler's  skiff, — 
Lost  in  the  mist  one  moment,  and  the  next 
Brusliing  the  white  sail  with  her  whiter  wing, 
As  if  to  com't  the  aim. — ExjDerieuce  watches, 
And  has  her  on  the  wheel. Old  Flay. 

(20.) — Chap,  xliv 
Nay,  if  she  love  me  not,  I  care  not  for  her ; 
Shall  I  look  pale  because  the  maiden  blooms  ? 
Or  sigh  because  she  smiles — and  smiles  on  others  f 
Kot  I,  by  Heaven  ! — I  hold  my  peace  too  dear, 
To  let  it,  hke  the  plume  upon  her  cap. 
Shake  at  each  nod  that  her  caprice  shall  dictate. 

Old  Flay. 

["  It  may  be  worth  noting,  that  it  was  in  cor- 
recting the  proof-sheets  of  The  Antiquary  that 
Scott  first  took  to  equipping  his  chapters  with 
mottoes  of  his  own  fabrication.  On  one  occasion 
ho  happened  to  ask  John  BaUantyne,  who  was  sit- 
ting by  him,  to  hunt  for  a  particular  passage  in 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  John  did  as  he  was  bid, 
but  did  not  succeed  in  cUscovering  the  lines. 
'  Hang  it,  Johnnie,'  cried  Scott,  '  I  beheve  I  can 
make  a  motto  sooner  than  you  will  find  one.'  He 
did  so  accordingly  ;  and  from  that  hour,  whenever 
memory  faUed  to  suggest  an  appropriate  epigraph 
he  had  recourse  to  the  inexhaustible  mines  of '  old 
play'  or  '  old  ballad,'  to  which  we  owe  some  of  the 
most  exquisite  verses  that  ever  flowed  from  his 
pen." — Life,  vol.  v.  p.  145.] 


irom  tlje  Black  Pmarf. 


1816. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  v. 
The  bleakest  rock  upon  the  lonehest  heath 
Feels,  in  its  barrenness,  some  touch  of  spring 
And,  in  the  April  dew,  or  beam  of  May, 


666 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Its  moss  and  lichen  freshen  and  revive  ; 

And  thus  the  heart,  most  sear'd  to  human  pleasure, 

Me.'ts  at  the  tear,  joys  in  the  smile  of  woman. 

Beaumont. 

(2.) — Chap.  xvi. 
'Twas  tune  and  griefs 


That  framed  liim  thus  :  Tune,  with  his  fairer  hand, 
Off(!ring  the  fortunes  of  his  former  days, 
The  former  man  may  make  him — Bring  us  to  him, 
And  chance  it  as  it  may.  Old  Play. 


/rom  ©III  iHortalitn. 


1816. 


(1.)— MAJOR  BELLENDEN'S  SONG. 

And  wVat  though  winter  will  pinch  severe 
Tlu-ough  locks  of  gray  and  a  cloak  that's  old, 

Yet  keep  up  thy  heart,  bold  cavalier. 
For  a  cuj:)  of  sack  shall  fence  the  cold. 

For  time  will  rust  the  brightest  blade. 
And  years  will  break  the  strongest  bow ; 

Was  never  wight  so  starkly  made. 

But  time  and  years  would  overthrow  ? 

Chap.  xix. 


(2.)— VERSES  FOUND  IN"  BOTHWELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK, 

"  "With  these  letters  was  a  lock  of  hair  wrapped 
in  a  copy  of  verses,  written  obviously  with  a  feel- 
ing wliich  atoned,  in  Morton's  opmion,  for  the 
roughness  of  the  poetry,  and  the  conceits  with 
which  it  abounded,  according  to  the  taste  of  the 
period :" — 

Thy  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright, 
As  in  that  well-remember'd  night, 
"V^lien  first  thy  mystic  braid  was  wove, 
And  fii-st  my  Agnes  whisper'd  love. 

Since  then  how  often  hast  thou  press'd 
Tlie  torrid  zone  of  this  wild  breast, 
Whose  wrath  and  hate  have  sworn  to  dwell 
With  the  first  sin  which  peopled  hell, 
A  breast  whose  blood's  a  troubled  ocean. 
Each  throb  the  earthquake's  wild  commotion  ! — 
O,  if  such  clime  thou  canst  endure. 
Yet  keep  thy  hue  unstain'd  and  pm-e, 


"What  conquest  o'er  each  erring  thought 

Of  that  fierce  realm  had  Agnes  wrought! 

I  had  not  wander'd  wild  and  wide, 

With  such  an  angel  for  my  guide  ; 

Nor  heaven  nor  earth  could  then  reprove  me, 

If  she  had  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Not  then  this  world's  wild  joys  had  been 
To  me  one  savage  hunting  scene, 
My  sole  dehght  the  headlong  race, 
And  frantic  hurry  of  the  chase  ; 
To  start,  pursue,  and  bring  to  bay, 
Rush  ui,  drag  down,  and  rend  my  prey, 
Then — from  the  carcass  turn  away  ! 
Mine  ireful  mood  had  sweetness  tamed. 
And  soothed  each  wound  which  pride  inflamed 
Yes,  God  and  man  might  now  approve  me, 
If  thou  hadst  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Chap,  xxiii. 


(3.)— EPITAPH  ON  BALFOUR  OF  BURLEY 

"  Gentle  reader,  I  did  request  of  mine  honest 
friend  Peter  Proudfoot,  travelling  merchant,  known 
to  many  of  this  land  for  his  faithful  and  just  deal- 
ings, as  well  in  muslins  and  cambiucs  as  in  small 
wares,  to  procure  me,  on  liis  next  peregrinations  to 
that  vicinage,  a  copy  of  the  Epitaphion  alluded  to. 
And,  according  to  his  report,  which  I  see  no  ground 
to  discredit,  it  runneth  thus  :"— 

Here  lyes  ane  saint  to  prelates  surly. 
Being  John  Balfour,  sometime  of  Burley 
Who,  stirred  up  to  vengeance  take. 
For  Solemn  League  and  Cov'nant's  sake, 
Upon  the  Magus-Moor,  in  Fife, 
Did  tuk'  James  Sharpe  the  apostate's  life ; 
By  Dutclmian's  hands  was  hacked  and  shot, 
Then  drowned  in  Clyde  near  thiw  eaam  spot. 

Chap,  xliv 


MOTTOES. 


(1.)— Chap.  v. 
Arouse  thee,  youth  ! — it  is  no  common  call, — 
God's  Church  is  leaguer'd — haste  to  man  the  wall ; 
Haste  where  the  Red-cross  banners  wave  on  liigh, 
Signals  of  honor'd  death  or  victory. 

James  Dujf. 

(2.) — Chap.  xrv. 
My  hounds  may  a'  rin  masterless, 
My  hawks  may  ily  frae  tree  to  tree, 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


667 


My  lord  may  grip  ray  vassal  lands, 
For  there  again  maun  I  never  be ! 

Old  Ballad. 

(3.) — Chap,  xxxrv. 
Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fiU  the  fife ! 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim. 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 
Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name. 

Anonymous. 


a:j)C  Seatcl)  after  J^apjifness;* 


OR, 


THE    QUEST   OF   SULTAUN   SOLIMAUN". 


1817. 


I. 

Oh  for  a  glance  of  that  gay  Muse's  eye, 
That  lighten'd  on  BandeUo's  laughmg  tale. 
And  twinkled  with  a  lustre  shrewd  and  sly. 
When  Giam  Battista  bade  her  vision  hail ! — ^ 
Yet  fear  not,  ladies,  the  naive  detail 
Given  by  the  natives  of  that  land  canorous ; 
Italian  license  loves  to  leap  the  pale. 
We  Britons  have  the  fear  of  shame  before  us. 
And,  if  not  wise  in  mirth,  at  least  must  be  de- 
corous. 

IL 

In  the  far  eastern  clime,  no  great  while  since, 
Lived  Sultaua  Solimaun,  a  mighty  prince, 
Whose  eyes,  as  oft  as  they  perform'd  their  round, 
Beheld  all  others  fix'd  upon  the  ground ; 
Whose  ears  received  the  same  unvaried  plu-ase, 
"  Sultaun  !  thy  vassal  hears,  and  he  obeys !" 
All  liave  their  tastes — tliis  may  the  fancy  strike 
Of  such  grave  folks  as  pomp  and  grandeur  like ; 
For  me,  I  love  the  honest  heart  and  warm 
Of  Monarch  who  can  amble  round  his  farm, 
Or,  when  the  toil  of  state  no  more  annoys, 
In  chimney  corner  seek  domestic  joys — 
I  love  a  prince  will  bid  the  bottle  pass, 
Exclianging  with  his  subjects  glance  and  glass  ; 
In  fitting  time,  can,  gaj^est  of  the  gay. 
Keep  up  tlie  jest,  and  mmgle  in  the  lay — 
Such  Monarchs  best  om"  free-born  humors  suit. 
But  Despots  must  be  stately,  stern,  and  mute. 

1  First  published  in  "  The  Sale  Room,  No.  V.,"  February 
1,  1817. 

2  The  bint  of  the    oUowing  tale  is  taken  from  La  Camiscia 
Magjca,  a  novel  o/  Giam  Battista  Casti. 


III. 
This  Solimaun,  Serendib  had  in  sway — 
And  Where's  Serendib  ?  may  some  critic  say. — 
Good  lack,  mine  honest  friend,  consult  the  chart. 
Scare  not  my  Pegasus  before  I  start ! 
If  RenneU  has  it  not,  you'll  find,  mayhap. 
The  isle  laid  down  in  Captain  Sindbad's  map,-  - 
Famed  mtu-iner  !  whose  merciless  narrations 
Drove  every  friend  and  kinsman  out  of  patienre, 
Till,  feiu  to  find  a  guest  who  thought  them  shorter 
He  deign'd  to  tell  tliem  over  to  a  porter — ^ 
The  last  edition  see,  by  Long,  and  Co., 
Rees,  Htirst,  and  Orme,  our  fathers  in  the  Row 

IV. 

Serendib  foimd,  deem  not  my  tale  a  fiction — 
Tliis  Sultaim,  whether  lacking  contradiction — 
(A  sort  of  stimulant  which  hath  its  uses, 
To  raise  the  spirits  and  reform  the  juices, 
— Sovereign  specific  for  all  sorts  of  cures 
In  my  wife's  practice,  and  perhaps  in  yours). 
The  Sultaun  lacking  this  same  wholesome  bitter 
Or  cordial  smooth  for  prince's  palate  fitter — 
Or  if  some  MoUah  had  hag-rid  his  dreams 
With  Degial,  Ginnistan,  and  such  wild  themes 
Belonging  to  the  Mollah's  subtle  craft, 
I  wot  not — but  tlie  Sultaun  never  laugh'd, 
Scarce  ate  or  drank,  and  took  a  melancholy 
That  scoru'd  all  remedy — profane  or  holy ; 
In  his  long  list  of  melancholies,  mad. 
Or  mazed,  or  dumb,  hath  Burton  none  so  bad.* 


Physicians  soon  arrived,  sage,  ware,  and  tried, 
As  e'er  scrawl'd  jargon  in  a  darken'd  room ; 
With  heedful  glance  the  Sultaun's  tongue  they 

eyed, 
Peep'd  in  his  bath,  and  God  knows  where  beside 

And  then  in  solemn  accent  spoke  their  doom, 
"  His  majesty  is  very  far  from  well." 
Then  each  to  work  with  his  specific  fell: 
The  Hakim  B^raliim  instanter  brought 
His  vmguent  Mahazzim  al  Zerdukkaut, 
While  Roompot,  a  practitioner  more  wily. 
Relied  on  his  Munaskif  al  fiUfily.' 
More  and  yet  more  in  deep  array  appear, 
And  some  the  front  assail,  and  some  the  rear ; 
Their  remedies  to  reinforce  and  vary. 
Came  surgeon  eke,  and  eke  apothecary; 
Till   the   tu-ed  Monarch,  though  of  words  grown 

chary, 
Tet  dropt,  to  recompense  then-  fruitless  labor, 
Some  hint  about  a  bowstring  or  a  sabre. 


3  See  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments. 

4  See  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

6  For  these  hard  words  see  D'Herbelot,  or  the  learned  editof 
of  the  Recipes  of  Avicenna. 


C68 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  A\^ORKS. 


Tliere  lack'd,  I  promise  you,  no  longer  speeches 
To  rid  the  palace  of  tliose  learned  leeches. 

VI. 
Then  was  the  council  call'd — ^by  their  advice 
(Tliey  deem'd  the  matter  tickUsh  all,  and  nice. 
And  sought  to  shift  it  off  from  then-  own  shoul- 
ders), 
Tartars  and  couriers  in  all  speed  were  sent, 
To  call  a  sort  of  Eastern  Parliament 

Of  feudatory  cliieftauis  andjieeholders — 
Such  have  the  Persians  at  this  very  day, 
Jly  gallant  Malcohn  calls  them  couroultai  ; — * 
I'm  not  prepared  to  show  in  tliis  slight  song 
That  to  Serendib  the  same  forms  belong, — 
E'en  let  the  learn'd  go  search,  and  teU  me  if  I'm 
wi-ong. 

VII. 

The  Omrahs,"  each  with  hand  on  scymitar, 
Gave,  like  Sempronius,  still  their  voice  for  war — 
"  The  sabre  of  the  Siiltaun  in  its  sheath 
Too  long  has  slept,  nor  own'd  the  work  of  death ; 
Let  the  Tambourgi  bid  his  signal  rattle. 
Bang  the  loud  gong,  and  raise  the  shout  of  bat- 
tle! 
This  dreary  cloud  that  dims  our  sovereign's  day, 
Shall  fi-om  his  kindled  bosom  flit  away. 
When  the  bold  Lootie  wheels  his  courser  round, 
And  the  arm'd  elephant  shall  shake  the  ground. 
Each  noble  pants  to  own  the  glorious  summons — 
And    for  the   charges — Lo !    yom-    faithful  Com- 
mons !" 
Tlie  Riots  who  attended  in  their  places 

(Serendib  language  calls  a  farmer  Riot) 
Look'd  ruefully  in  one  another's  faces. 

From  this  oration  auguring  much  disquiet, 
Double  assessment,  forage,  and  free  quarters  ; 
And  fearing  these  as  China-men  the  Tartars, 
Or  as  the  whisker'd  vermin  fear  the  mousers. 
Each  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers. 

VIII. 
And  next  came  forth  the  reverend  Convocation, 
Eald  heads,  white  beards,  and  many  a  turban 
green, 
Lnaimi  and  Mollah  there  of  every  station, 
Santon,  Fakir,  and  Calendar  were  seen. 
Their  votes  were  various — some  advised  a  Mosque 

With  fitting  revenues  should  be  erected. 
With  seemly  gardens  and  with  gay  Kiosque, 

To  recreate  a  band  of  priests  selected ; 
Others  opined  that  through  the  realms  a  dole 
Be  made  to  holy  men,  whose  prayers  might 
profit 
The  Sultaun's  weal  in  body  and  in  soul. 

'  See  Sir  John  Malcolm's  admirable  History  of  Persia. 


But  theii-  long-headed  chief,  the  Sheik  Ul-Sofit, 
More  closely  touch'd  the  point : — "  Thy  studioua 

mood," 
Quoth    he,    "  0  Prmce !    hath    thicken'd  aU  thy 

blood. 
And  dull'd  thy  brain  with  labor  beyond  measure  ; 
Wlaerefore  relax  a  space  and  take  thy  pleasure, 
And  toy  with  beauty,  or  tell  o'er  thy  treasure ; 
From  all  the  cares  of  state,  my  Liege,  enlarge 

thee. 
And  leave  the  burden  to  thy  faithful  clergy." 

IX. 

These  counsels  sage  availed  not  a  whit. 

And  so  the  patient  (as  is  not  uncommon 
Where  gi'ave  physicians  lose  then-  time  and  wit) 

Resolved  to  take  advice  of  an  old  woman  ; 
His  mother  she,  a  dame  who  once  was  beauteous, 
And  still  was  called  so  by  each  subject  duteous. 
Now,  whether  Fatima  was  witch  in  earnest, 

Or  only  made  believe,  I  cannot  say — 
But  she  profess'd  to  cure  disease  the  sternest, 

By  dint  of  magic  amulet  or  lay  ; 
And,  when  all  other  skill  in  vain  was  shown, 
Shje  deem'd  it  fitting  time  to  use  her  own. 

X. 

"  Sympathia  magica  hath  wonders  done" 
(Thus  did  old  Fatima  bespeak  her  son), 
"  It  works  upon  the  fibres  and  the  pores, 
And  thus,  insensibly,  our  health  restores, 
And  it  must  help  us  here. — Thou  must  endure 
Tlie  ill,  my  son,  or  travel  for  the  cure. 
Search  land  and  sea,  and  get,  where'er  you  can. 
The  mmost  vesture  of  a  happy  man, 
I  mean  his  shirt,  my  son ;  which,  taken  warm 
And  fresh  from  off  his  back,  shall  chase  your  harm. 
Bid  every  current  of  your  veins  rejoice. 
And  your  dull  heart  leap  light  as  shepherd-boy's." 
Such  was  the  counsel  from  his  mother  came ; — 
I  know  not  if  she  had  some  under-game, 
As  Doctors  have,  who  bid  their  patients  roam 
And  live  abroad,  when  sure  to  die  at  home ; 
Or  if  she  thought,  that,  somehow  or  another, 
Queen-Regent  sounded  better  than  Queen-Mo- 
ther ; 
But,  says  the  Chronicle  (who  will  go  look  It), 
That  such  was  her  advice — the  Sultaun  took  it. 

XL 

All  are  on  board — the  Sultaim  and  his  train. 
In  gQded  galley  prompt  to  plough  the  main. 
The  old  Rais'  was  the  fii'st  who  questioned, 
"  Whither  ?" 
They  paused — "  Arabia,"  thought  the   pensive 
Prince, 


2  Nobility. 


3  Master  of  the  veasal. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


669 


"  Was  call'd  The  Happy  many  ages  since — 
For  Mokha,  Eais." — And  they   came   safely 
thither. 
But  not  in  Araby,  with  all  her  balm, 
N'ot  where  Judea  weeps  beneath  her  palm, 
Not  in  rich  Egypt,  not  in  Nubian  waste, 
Could  there  the  step  of  happiness  be  traced. 
One  Copt  alone  profess'd  to  have  seen  her  smde, 
Wlien  Bruce  his  goblet  fill'd  at  infant  Nile : 
She  bless'd  the  dauntless  traveller  as  he  quaff'd. 
But  vanish'd  from  him  with  the  ended  draught. 

XII. 

"  Enough  of  turbans,"  said  the  weary  King, 
"  These  dolimans  of  ours  arc  not  the  thing ; 
Try  we  the  Giaoiu's,  tliese  men  of  coat  and  cap,  I 
Incline  to  think  some  of  them  must  be  happy ; 
At  least,  they  have  as  fair  a  cause  as  any  can. 
They  drink  good  wine  and  keej)  no  Ramazan. 
Then  northward,  ho !" — The  vessel  cuts  the  sea, 
And  fair  Italia  hes  upon  her  lee. — 
But  fair  Italia,  she  who  once  unfurl'd 
Her  eagle  banners  o'er  a  conquer'd  world. 
Long  from  her  throne  of  dommation  tumbled, 
Lay,  by  her  quondam  vassals,  sorely  humbled ; 
The  Pope  himself  look'd  pensive,  pale,  and  lean, 
And  was  not  half  the  man  he  once  had  been. 
"  While  these  the  priest  and  those  the  noble 

fleeces. 
Our  poor  old  boot,"^  they  said,  "  is  torn  to  pieces. 
Its  tops'*  the  vengeful  claws  of  Austria  feel. 
And  the  Great  Devil  is  rending  toe  and  heeP 
If  happiness  you  seek,  to  tell  you  truly, 
We  think  she  dwells  with  one  Giovanni  BuUi ; 
A  tramontane,  a  heretic, — the  buck, 
Poffaredio  !  still  has  all  the  luck ; 
By  land  or  ocean  never  strikes  his  flag — 
And  then — a  perfect  walking  money-bag." 
Off  set  om*  Prince  to  seek  John  Bull's  abode, 
But  first  took  France — it  lay  upon  the  road. 

XIIL 

Monsieur  Baboon,  after  much  late  commotion. 

Was  agitated  hke  a  settling  ocean. 

Quite  out  of  sorts,  and  could  not  teU  what  ail'd 

him, 
Only  the  glory  of  his  house  had  fail'd  him ; 
Besides,  some  tumors  on  his  noddle  biding, 
Gave  indication  of  a  recent  hiding.* 
Our  Prince,  though   Sultauns  of  such  things  are 

heedless, 
Thought  it  a  thing  indelicate  and  needless 
To  ask,  if  at  that  moment  he  was  happy. 
And  Monsieur,  seeing  that  he  was  comme  ilfaut,a, 

1  Tlie  well-known  resemblance  of  Italy  in  the  map. 
''  Florence,  Venice,  &c. 

3  The  Calabrias,  infested  by  bands  of  assassins.     One  of  the 
leaders  was  called  Fra  Diavolo.  i.  e.  Brother  Devil. 


Loud  voice  mustered  up,  for  "  Vive  le  Hoi .'" 

Tlien  whisper'd,  "  Ave  you  any  news  of  Nappy  ?" 
Tlie  Sultaun  answer'd  him  with  a  cross  question, — 
"  Pray,  can  you  tell  me  aught  of  one  John  Bull, 
That  dwells  somewhere  beyond  your  heiTing- 
pool  ?" 
Tlie  query  seem'd  of  difficult  digestion, 
The  party  shrugg'd,  and  grinn'd,  and  took  his  snuff 
And  found  his  whole  good-breeding  scarce  enough 

XIV. 

Twitching  his  visage  into  as  many  puckers 

As  damsels  wont  to  put  into  their  tuckers 

(Ere  liberal  Fashion  damn'd  both  lace  and  lawu. 

And  bade  the  veil  of  Modesty  be  drawn). 

Replied  the  Frenchman,  after  a  brief  pause, 

"  Jean  Bool ! — I  vas  not  know  him — Yes,  I  vas — 

I  vas  remember  dat,  von  year  or  two, 

I  saw  him  at  von  place  call'd  Vaterloo — 

Ma  foi !  il  s'est  tres  joliment  battu, 

Dat  is  for  Englislunan, — m'entendez-vous  ? 

But  den  he  had  wit  liim  one  damn  son-gun, 

Rogue  I  no  like — dey  call  him  Vellington." 

Monsieur's  politeness  could  not  hide  his  fret, 

So  Solimaun  took  leave,  and  cross'd  the  strait. 

XV. 
John  Bull  was  in  his  very  worst  of  moods, 
Raving  of  sterile  farms  and  unsold  goods  ; 
His  sugar-loaves  and  bales  about  he  threw. 
And  on  his  coimter  beat  the  devil's  tattoo. 
His  wars  were  ended,  and  the  victory  won. 
But  then,  'twas  reckoning-day  with  honest  John ; 
And  authors  voucli,  'twas  still  this  Worthy's  way 
"  Never  to  grumble  till  he  came  to  pay ; 
And  then  he  always  tliinks,  his  temper's  such. 
The  work  too  little,  and  the  pay  too  much."^ 

Yet,  grumbler  as  he  is,  so  kind  and  hearty, 
That  when  his  mortal  foe  was  on  the  floor. 
And  past  the  power  to  harm  his  quiet  more, 

Poor  John  had  wellnigh  wept  for  Bonaparte ! 
Such  was  the  wight  whom  Solimaun  salam'd, — 
"And  who   are   you,"   John   answer'd,   "and  ba 
d— d  ?" 

XVL 

"  A  stranger,  come  to  see  the  happiest  man, — 
So,  signior,  aU  avouch, — in  Frangistan." — ° 
"  Happy  ?  my  tenants  breakmg  on  my  hand ; 
Unstock'd  my  pastures,  and  mitill'd  my  land ; 
Sugar  and  rum  a  drug,  and  mice  and  moths 
Tlie  sole  consumers  of  my  good  broadcloths — 
Happy  ? — Why,  cursed  war  and  racking  tax 
Have  left  us  scarcely  raiment  to  our  backs." — 

*  Or  drubbing  ;  so  called  in  the  Slang  Dictionary. 
6  See  the  Trne-Born  Englishman,  by  Daniel  De  Foe. 
c  Europe. 


6'70 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


'  In  that  case,  signior,  I  may  take  my  leave ; 

I  came  to  ask  a  favor — but  I  grieve" 

"  Favor  ?"  said  John,  and  eyed  the  Sultaun  hard, 
"  It's  luy  behef  you  come  to  break  the  yard  ! — 
But,  stay,  you  look  like  some  poor  foreign  sinner, — 
Take  that  to  buy  yourself  a  shirt  and  dinner." — 
With  that  he  chuck'd  a  guinea  at  his  head; 
But,  -with  due  dignity,  the  Sultaun  said, 
"  Permit  me,  sir,  your  bounty  to  decline ; 
A  shirt  indeed  I  seek,  but  none  of  tliine. 
Signior,  I  kiss  your  hands,  so  fare  you  well." — 
"  Kiss  and  be   d — d,"    quoth  John,    "  and   go   to 
hell !" 

XVII. 

N'ext  door  to  John  there  dwelt  his  sister  Peg, 
Once  a  wild  lass  as  ever  shook  a  leg 
Wlien  the  bhthe  bagpipe  blew — but,  soberer  now. 
She  doucely  span  her  flax  and  niilk'd  her  cow. 
And  whereas  erst  she  was  a  needy  slattern. 
Nor  now  of  wealth  or  cleanliness  a  pattern. 
Yet  once  a-month  her  house  was  j^artly  swept. 
And  once  a-week  a  plenteous  board  she  kept. 
And  whereas,  eke,  the  vixen  used  her  claws 

And  teeth,  of  yore,  on  slender  provocation, 
She  now  was  grown  amenable  to  laws, 

A  quiet  soul  as  any  in  the  nation ; 
The  sole  remembrance  of  her  warlike  joys 
Wa.'!  in  old  songs  she  sang  to  please  her  boys. 
John  Bull,  wliom,  in  their  years  of  early  strife. 
She  wont  to  lead  a  cat-and-doggish  life, 
Now  found  the  woman,  as  he  said,  a  neighbor. 
Who  look'd  to  the  main  chance,  declined  no  labor. 
Loved  a  long  grace,  and  spoke  a  northern  jargon, 
And  Wiis  d — d  close  in  making  of  a  bargain. 

XVIII. 
The  Sultaun  enter'd,  and  he  made  his  leg, 
And  with  decorum  curtsy'd  sister  Peg ; 
(She  loved  a  book,  and  knew  a  thing  or  two. 
And  guess'd  at  once  with  whom  she  had  to  do). 
She  bade  him  "  Sit  into  the  fire,"  and  took 
Her  dram,  her  cake,  her  kebbuck  from  the  nook ; 
A.sk'd  him  "  about  the  news  from  Eastern  parts ; 
And  of  her  absent  bah-ns,  puir  Highland  hearts ! 
If  peace  brought  down  the  price  of  tea  and  pep- 
per. 
And  if  the  nitmugs  were  grown  ony  cheaper ; — 
Were  there  nae  apeerings  of  our  Muno-o  Park — 
Ye'll  be  the  gentleman  that  wants  the  sark  ? 
If  ye  wad  buy  a  web  o'  auld  wife's  spinnin', 
I'll  wairant  ye  it's  a  weel-weai"ing  linen." 

XIX. 

Tlien  up  got  Peg,  and  round  the  house  'gan  scuttle 
Li  search  of  goods  her  customer  to  lail. 

Until  the  Sultaun  strain'd  his  princely  throttle. 
And  hollo'd, — "  Ma'am,  that  is  not  what  I  ail. 


Pray,  are  you  happy,  ma'am,  in  this  snug  glen  ?"-  - 
"Happy?"   said  Peg:  "What  for   d'ye  want  ii 

ken? 
Besides,  just  think  upon  this  by-gane  year. 

Grain  wadna  pay  the  yoking  of  the  pleugh." — 
"  What  say  you  to  the   present  ?" — "  Meal's  sae 

dear. 
To    mak'   their   brose  my  bairns  have   scaine 

aneugh." — 
"  The  devil  take  the  shu-t,"  said  Solimaun, 
•'  I  think  my  quest  wiU  end  as  it  began. — 
Farewell,  ma'am ;  nay,  no  ceremony,  I  beg" 


"  Ye'U  no  be  for  the  linen,  then  ?"  said  Peg. 

XX. 

Now,  for  the  land  of  verdant  Erin, 

The  Sultaun's  royal  bark  is  steering. 

The  Emerald  Isle,  where  honest  Paddy  dwells. 

The  cousin  of  Jolm  BuU,  as  story  tells. 

For  a  long  space  had  John,  with  words  of  thunder. 

Hard  looks,  and  harder  knocks,  kept  Paddy  under, 

TiU  the  poor  lad,  hke  boy  that's  flogg'd  unduly. 

Had  gotten  somewhat  restive  and  unruly. 

Hard  was  liis  lot  and  lodging,  you'll  allow, 

A  wigwam  that  would  hardly  serve  a  sow ; 

His  landlord,  and  of  middle-men  two  brace. 

Had  screw'd  his  rent  up  to  the  starving-place  ; 

His  garment  was  a  top-coat,  and  an  old  one, 

His  meal  was  a  potato,  and  a  cold  one ; 

But  still  for  fun  or  frolic,  and  all  that. 

In  the  rouud  world  was  not  the  match  of  Pat. 

XXI. 
Tlie  Sultaun  saw  him  on  a  holiday. 
Which  is  with  Paddy  still  a  joUy  day : 
Wlien  mass  is  ended,  and  his  load  of  sins 
Confess'd,  and  Mother  Chm-ch  hath  from  her  binns 
Dealt  forth  a  bonus  of  imputed  merit. 
Then  is  Pat's  time  for  fancy,  whim,  and  spirit ! 
To  jest,  to  sing,  to  caper  fair  and  free. 
And  dance  as  light  las  leaf  upon  the  tree. 
"By  Mahomet,"  said  Sultaun  Solimaun, 
"  Tliat  ragged  fellow  is  our  very  man ! 
Rush  in  and  seize  liim — do  lot  do  liim  hurt. 
But,  will  he  nill  he,  let  me  nave  his  shirt." — 

XXII. 

Shilela  their  plan  was  wellnigh  after  baulking 
(Much  less  provocation  will  set  it  a-walking). 
But  the  odds  that   foil'd  Hercules   foil'd  Paddy 

Whack; 
They  seized,  and  they  floor'd,  and  they  stripp'd 

liim — Alack ! 
Up-bubboo !     Paddy   had  not a  shirt  to  hia 

back ! ! ! 
And   the    King,  disappointed,  with    sonfvtw    and 

shame. 
Went  back  to  Serendib  as  sad  as  he  came. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


Oil 


Mt.  2temljlc's  ^^aveiueU  mtitsvess,^ 

ON  TAKING  LEAVE  OF  THE  EDINBURGH  STAGE. 


1817. 


As  the  worn  war-horse,  at  the  trumpet  s  sound, 
Erects    his    mane,    and   neighs,   and    paws    the 

ground — 
Disdains  the  ease  his  generous  lord  assigns, 
And  longs  to  rush  on  the  embattled  lines, 
So  I,  your  plaudits  ringing  on  mine  ear, 
Can  scarce  sustain  to  think  our  parting  near ; 
To  tliink  my  scenic  hour  for  ever  past, 
And  that  these  valued  plaudits  are  my  last. 
Why  should  we   part,  while  still  some  powers 

remain. 
That  in  your  service  strive  not  yet  in  vain  ? 
Cannot  high  zeal  the  strength  of  youth  supply, 
And  sense  of  duty  fire  the  fading  eye ; 
And  all  the  -WTongs  of  age  remain  subdued 
Beneath  the  burnmg  glow  of  gratitude  ? 
Ah,  no !  the  taper,  wearing  to  its  close, 
Oft  for  a  space  in  fitful  lustre  glows ; 
But  all  too  soon  the  transient  gleam  is  past, 
It  cannot  be  renew'd,  and  will  not  last ; 
Even  duty,  zeal,  and  gratitude,  can  wage 
But  short-lived  conflict  with  the  frosts  of  age. 
Yes !  It  were  poor,  remembering  what  I  was, 
To  live  a  pensioner  on  your  applause. 
To  drain  the  dregs  of  your  endurance  dry, 
And  take,  as  alms,  the  praise  I  once  could  buy ; 
Till  every  sneering  youth  around  inquires, 
♦'  Is  this  the   man  who   once   could  please    our 

sires  ?" 
And  scom  assumes  compassion's  doubtful  mien, 
To  warn  me  off  from  the  encumber'd  scene. 
This  must  not  be ; — and  higher  duties  crave. 
Some  space  between  the  theatre  and  the  grave, 
That,  hke  the  Roman  in  the  Capitol, 
I  may  adjust  my  mantle  ere  I  fall : 

1  These  lines  first  appeared,  April  5, 1817,  in  a  weekly  sheet, 
called  the  "  Sale  Room,"  conducted  and  published  by  Messrs. 
Ballantyne  and  Co.  at  Edinburgh.  In  a  note  prefixed,  Mr. 
James  Ballantyne  says,  "  The  character  fixed  upon,  with 
happy  propriety,  for  Kemble's  closing  scene,  was  Macbeth,  in 
which  he  took  his  fijial  leave  of  Scotland  on  the  evening  of 
Saturday,  the  29th  Marcli,  1817.  He  had  labored  under  a 
severe  cold  for  a  few  days  before,  but  on  this  memorable  night 
the  physical  annoyance  yielded  to  the  energy  of  his  mind. — 
'  He  was,'  he  said,  in  the  green-room,  immediately  before  the 
curtain  rose,  '  determined  to  leave  behind  him  the  most  per- 
fect specimen  of  his  art  which  he  had  ever  shown,'  and  his 
success  was  complete.  At  the  moment  of  the  tyrant's  death 
the  curtain  fell  by  the  universal  acclamation  of  the  audience. 
The  ai)plauses  were  vehement  and  prolonged  ;  they  ceased — 
were  resumed — rose  again  -were  reiterated — and  again  were 
hushed.  In  a  few  minutes  tlie  curtain  ascended,  and  Mr. 
Kemble  came  forward  in  the  dress  of  Macbeth  (the  audience 
i»y  a  oonsent»i.eous  movement  rising  to  receive  him),  to  deliver 


The  last,  the  closing  scene,  must  be  my  own. 
My  life's  brief  act  in  public  service  flown, 

Here,  then,  adieu !  while  yet  some  well-graced 
parts 
May  fix  an  ancient  favorite  in  your  hearts, 
Not  quite  to  be  forgotten,  even  when 
You  look  on  better  actors,  younger  men : 
And  if  your  bosoms  own  this  kindly  debt 
Of  old  remembrance,  how  shall  mine  forget — 
0,  how  forget ! — how  oft  I  hither  came 
In  anxious  hope,  how  oft  retura'd  with  fame  1 
How  oft  around  your  circle  this  weak  hand 
Has  waved  immortal  Shakspeare's  magic  wand, 
Till  the  fuU  burst  of  inspiration  came, 
And  I  have  felt,  and  you  have  fann'd  the  flame ! 
By  mem'ry  treasured,  while  her  reign  endures. 
Those  hours  must  five — and  all  their  charms  are 
yours. 

0  favor'd  Land !  renown'd  for  arts  and  arms, 
For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms, 
Could  this  full  bosom  prompt  the  sinking  line, 
What  fervent  benedictions  now  were  thine  1 
But  my  last  part  is  play'd,  my  knell  is  rung, 
When  e'en  your  praise  falls  faltering  from  my 

tongue ; 
And  all  that  you  can  hear,  or  I  can  tell. 
Is — Friends  and  Patrons,  hail,  and  faee  too  well. 


WRITTEN  FOR  MISS  SMITH. 


1817. 


When  the  lone  pilgi'im  views  afar 
The  slu"ine  that  is  his  guiding  star. 
With  awe  his  footsteps  print  the  road 
Wliich  the  loved  saint  of  yore  has  trod. 

his  farewell."  ....  "  Mr.  Kemble  delivered  these  lines 
with  exquisite  beauty,  and  with  an  effect  that  was  evidenced 
by  the  tears  and  sobs  of  many  of  the  audience.  His  own  emotions 
were  very  conspicuous.  When  his  farewell  was  closed,  he  lin- 
gered long  on  the  stage,  as  if  unable  to  retire.  The  house  again 
stood  up,  and  cheered  him  witli  the  waving  of  hats  and  long 
shouts  of  applause.  At  length,  he  finally  retired  and,  Jn  so 
far  as  regards  ^'cotland,  the  curtain  dropped  upon  his  profes- 
sional life  for  ever." 

2  These  lines  were  first  printed  in  "  The  Forget-Me-Not,  for 
1834."  Tlrey  were  written  for  recitation  by  the  distinguished 
actress.  Miss  Smith,  now  Mrs.  Hartley,  on  the  night  of  her  ben- 
efit at  the  Edinburgli  Theatre,  in  1817  ;  but  reached  her  too  late 
for  her  purpose.  In  a  letter  which  inclosed  them,  the  poet 
intimated  that  they  were  written  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on 
which  they  were  sent— that  he  thought  the  idea  better  than  the 
execution,  and  forwarded  them  with  the  hope  of  their  adding 
perhaps  "  a  little  salt  to  the  bill." 


672 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


As  near  he  draws,  and  yet  more  neai-, 
His  dun  eye  sparkles  with  a  tear ; 
The  Gotliic  fane's  unwonted  show, 
The  choral  hynin,  the  tapers'  glow, 
Oppress  his  soul ;  while  they  delight 
And  chasten  rapture  with  affright. 
'No  longer  dare  he  think  his  toil 
Can  merit  aught  his  patron's  smile ; 
Too  light  appears  the  distant  way. 
The  cliilly  eve,  the  sultry  day — 
AU  these  endured  no  favor  claim. 
But  murmuring  forth  the  sainted  name. 
He  lays  his  httle  offering  down, 
And  only  deprecates  a  frown. 

"We  too,  who  ply  the  Thespian  art, 
Oft  feel  such  bodings  of  the  heart. 
And,  when  oiu"  utmost  powers  are  strain'd. 
Dare  hardly  hope  your  favor  gain'd. 
She,  who  from  sister  climes  has  sought 
The  ancient  land  where  "Wallace  fought ; — 
Land  long  reno-\vn'd  for  arms  and  arts. 
And  conquering  eyes  and  dauntless  hearts ; — ' 
She,  as  the  flutterings  here  avow. 
Feels  all  the  pilgi-im's  terrors  now; 
Yet  sure  on  Caledonian  plain 
The  stranger  never  sued  in  vain. 
'Tis  yours  the  hospitable  task 
To  give  the  applause  she  dare  not  ask ; 
And  they  who  bid  the  pilgrim  speed, 
The  pilgrim's  blessing  be  their  meed. 


Air — "  Rimhin  aluin  'stu  mo  run.' 


E\)z  Sun  upon  tlje  aSTciriJlatD  Jljtll. 


1817. 


["  Scott's  enjoyment  of  his  new  territories  was, 
however,  interrupted  by  various  returns  of  his 
cramp,  and  the  depression  of  spirit  which  always 
attended,  in  his  case,  the  use  of  opium,  the  only 
medicine  that  seemed  to  have  power  over  the  dis- 
ease. It  was  while  struggling  with  such  languor, 
on  one  lovely  evening  of  this  autumn,  that  he  com- 
posed the  following  beautiful  verses.  They  mark 
the  very  spot  of  their  buth, — namely,  the  then 
naked  height  overhanging  the  northern  side  of  the 
Cauldshiuls  Loch,  from  which  Mekose  Abbey  to 
the  eastward,  and  the  hills  of  Ettrick  and  Yarrow 
to  the  west,  are  now  visible  over  a  wide  range  of 
rich  woodland, — all  the  work  of  the  poet's  hand." 
— Life,  vol.  V.  p.  237.] 

•  "  O  favor'il  land !  renown'd  for  arts  and  arms. 
For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms." 

Lines  written  for  Mr.  J.  Kemble. 
«  "  Nathaiiel  Govv  told  me  that  he  got  the  air  from  an  old 


The  air,  composed  by  the  Editor  of  Albyn's  Anthology .*  TIa 
words  written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Scottish  Melodies 
[1822.] 


The  sun  upon  the  "Weirdlaw  HiU, 

Li  Et trick's  vale,  is  sinking  sweet ; 
The  westland  wind  is  hush  and  still, 

The  lake  lies  sleeping  at  my  feet. 
Yet  not  the  landscape  to  mine  eye 

Bears  those  bright  hues  that  once  it  bore  ; 
Though  evening,  with  her  richest  dye. 

Flames  o'er  the  hiUs  of  Ettrick's  shore. 

"With  listless  look  along  the  plain, 

I  see  Tweed's  silver  current  glide, 
And  coldly  mark  the  holy  fane 

Of  Melrose  rise  in  ruin'd  pride. 
The  quiet  lake,  the  balmy  air. 

The  hill,  the  stream,  the  tower,  the  tree,— 
Are  they  still  such  as  once  they  were  ? 

Or  is  the  dreary  change  in  me  ? 

Alas,  the  warp'd  and  broken  board. 

How  can  it  bear  the  painter's  dye  ! 
The  harp  of  strain'd  and  tuneless  chord. 

How  to  the  minstrel's  skill  reply  1 
To  aching  eyes  each  landscape  lowers, 

To  feverish  pulse  each  gale  blows  chill ; 
And  Araby's  or  Eden's  bowers 

"Were  barren  as  this  moorland  hill. 


2ri)e  iWonfts  of  38anflor's  iWarcJ). 

Air — "  Ymdaith  J\Iionge." 
WEITTEN  FOE  MU.  GEO.  THOMSON'S  WELSH  MELODIES 


1817. 


Ethelfeid  or  Olfrid,  King  of  Northumberland, 
having  besieged  Chester  in  613,  and  Brockmael, 
a  British  Prince,  advancing  to  relieve  it,  the  re- 
ligious of  the  neighboring  Monastery  of  Bangor 
marched  in  procession,  to  pray  for  the  success  of 
their  countrymen.  But  the  British  being  totally 
defeated,  the  heathen  victor  put  the  monks  to  the 
sword,  and  destroyed  their  monastery.  The  tune 
to  which  these  verses  are  adapted  is  called  the 
Ifonks^  March,  and  is  S2ipposed  to  have  been 
played  at  their  ill-omened  procession. 


"When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang 
Round  beleaguer'd  Chester  rang, 

gentleman,  a  Mr.  Dalrymple  of  Orangefield  (he  thinks),  who 
had  it  from  a  friend  in  the  Western  Isles,  as  an  old  Highland 
air."-  George  Thomson. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


673 


Veiled  nun  and  friar  gray 
March'd  from  Bangor's  fair  Abbaye  ; 
Higb  tlieir  holy  anthem  sounds, 
Cestria's  vale  the  hymn  rebounds, 
Floatuig  down  the  silvan  Dee, 

0  miserere,  Domine  I 

On  the  long  procession  goes. 
Glory  round  their  crosses  glows, 
And  the  Virgin-mother  mild 
In  their  peaceful  banner  smiled ; 
Who  could  think  such  saintly  band 
Dooni'd  to  feel  unhallow'd  hand  ? 
Such  was  the  Divine  decree, 

0  miserere,  Domine  ! 

Bands  that  masses  oidy  sung, 
Hands  that  censers  only  swung, 
Met  the  nortliern  bow  and  bill, 
Heard  the  war-cry  wild  and  shiill ; 
Woe  to  Brockmael's  feeble  hand, 
Woe  to  Olfrid's  bloody  brand. 
Woe  to  Saxon  cruelty, 

0  miserere,  Domine  ! 

Weltering  amid  warriors  slain, 
Spurn'd  by  steeds  with  bloody  mane, 
Slaugliter'd  down  by  heathen  blade, 
Bangor's  peaceful  monks  are  laid : 
Word  of  parting  rest  unspoke, 
Mass  unsung,  and  bread  unbroke  ; 
For  their  souls  for  charity, 

Sing,  0  miserere,  D&mine  ! 

Bangor  !  o'er  the  murder  wail ! 
Long  thy  ruins  told  the  tale, 
Shatter'd  towers  and  broken  arch 
Long  recall'd  the  woeful  march  •} 
On  thy  shrine  no  tapers  burn, 
Never  shall  thy  pi-iests  retm-n ; 
The  pilgi-im  sighs  and  sings  for  thee, 

0  miserere,  Domine  I 


3lcttet 


TO   HIS    GRACE    THE    DUKE    OF   BUCCLEUCH, 
DEUMLAXEIG  CASTLE, 

Sanquhar,  2  o'clock,  July  30,  1817. 
Feom  Ross,  where  the  clouds  on  Benlomond  are 

sleeping — 
From  Greenock,  where   Clyde   to   the   Ocean  is 

sweeping — 

1  William  of  Malmsbnry  says,  that  in  his  time  the  extent  of 
the  ruins  of  the  monastery  bore  ample  witness  to  the  desolation 
occasioned  by  the  massacre: — "  tot  seniiruli  parietes  ecclesia- 
85 


From  Largs,  where  the  Scotch  gave  the  Northmen 
a  drilling — 

From  Ardrossan,  whose  harbor  cost  many  a  shil- 
ling— 

From  Old  Cumnock,  where  beds  are  as  hard  as  a 
plank,  sir — 

From  a  chop  and  green  pease,  and  a  dilcken  in 
Sanquhar, 

This  eve,  please  the  Fates,  at  Drumlanrig  we  an 
chor.  W.  S. 

[Sir  Walter's  companion  on  this  excmsion  was 
Captain,  now  Sir  Adam  Ferguson. — See  Life,  voL 
V.  p.  234.] 


Jrom  Hob  Uo^. 


1817. 


(1.)— TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  EDWARD  THL 
BLACK  PRINCE. 

"  A  BLOTTED  piece  of  paper  dropped  out  of  the 
book,  and,  being  taken  up  by  ray  father,  he  inter 
rupted  a  hint  from  Owen,  on  the  propriety  of  se- 
curing loose  memoranda  with  a  little  paste,  by 
exclaiming,  '  To  the  memory  of  Edward  the  Black 
Prince — What's  all  this  ? — verses ! — By  Heaven, 
Frank,  you  are  a  greater  blockhead  than  I  sup- 
posed you !' " 

0  for  the  voice  of  that  wild  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne. 

The  dying  hero's  call. 
That  told  imperial  Charlemagne, 
How  Paynim  sons  of  swarthy  Spain 

Had  wrought  his  champion's  fall, 

" '  Fontarahian  echoes  P  continued  my  father, 
interrupting  himself ;  '  the  Fontarabian  Fair  would 
have  been  more  to  the  pm-pose. — Paynim? — 
What's  Paynim  ? — Could  you  not  say  Pagan  as 
well,  and  write  English,  at  least,  if  you  must 
needs  write  nonsense  V  " — 

Sad  over  earth  and  ocean  soimding, 
And  England's  distant  cliiFs  astounding, 

Such  are  the  notes  should  say 
How  Britain's  hope,  and  France's  fear, 
Victor  of  Cressy  and  Poitier, 

In  Bourdeaux  dying  lay. 

rum,  tot  anfractns  porticnm,  tanta  tnrba  rndemm  qaantnm  n. 
alibi  cernas." 


6Y4 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


" '  Poitier?,  by  the  way,  is  always  spelled  with 
an  s,  and  I  know  no  reason  why  orthography  should 
give  place  to  rhyme.' " 

"  Eaise  my  faint  head,  my  squires,"  he  said, 
"  And  let  the  casement  be  display'd, 
That  I  may  see  once  more 
The  splendor  of  the  setting  sun 
Gleam  on  thy  mirror'd  wave,  Garonne, 
And  Blaye's  empurpled  shore." 

" '  Garonne  and  sun  is  a  bad  rhyme.  Why, 
Frank,  you  do  not  even  understand  the  beggarly 
trade  you  have  chosen.'  " 

"  Like  me,  he  sinks  to  Glory's  sleep, 
His  fall  the  dews  of  evening  steep. 

As  if  in  sorrow  shed. 
So  soft  shall  fall  the  trickling  tear, 
When  England's  maids  and  matrons  hear 

Of  their  Black  Edward  dead. 

"  And  though  my  sun  of  glory  set. 
Nor  France  nor  England  shall  forget 

The  terror  of  my  name  ; 
And  oft  shall  Britain's  heroes  rise, 
New  planets  in  these  southern  skies, 

Through  clouds  of  blood  and  flame." 

"'A  cloud  of  flame  is  something  new — Good- 
morrow,  my  masters  all,  and  a  merry  Christmas 
to  you  ! — Why,  the  bellman  writes  better  lines  !'  " 

Chap.  ii. 


(2.>— TRANSLATION  FROM  ARIOSTO. 


1817. 


"  Miss  Vernon  proceeded  to  read  the  first  stanza, 
which  was  nearly  to  the  following  purpose  :" — 

Ladies,  and  knights,  and  arms,  and  love's  fair  flame. 

Deeds  of  emprize  and  courtesy,  I  sing ; 
What  time  the  Moors  from  sultry  Africk  came, 

Led  on  by  Agramant,  their  youthful  king — 
He  whom  revenge  and  hasty  ire  did  bring 

O'er  the  broad  wave,  in  France  to  waste  and  war ; 
Such  ills  from  old  Trojano's  death  did  spring. 

Which  to  avenge  he  came  from  realms  afar, 
And  menaced  Christian  Charles,  the  Roman  Em- 
peror. 

Of  daimtless  Roland,  too,  my  strain  shall  sound, 
In  import  never  known  in  prose  or  rhyme. 


How  He,  the  chief  of  judgment  deem'd  profound, 
For  luckless  love  was  crazed  upon  a  time — 

" '  There  is  a  great  deal  of  it,'  said  she,  glancing 

along  the  paper,  and  interrupting  the  sweetest 

sounds  which  mortal  ears  can  drink  in ;  those  of  a 

youthful  poet's  verses,  namely,  read  by  the  hp3 

which  are  deai-est  to  them." 

Chap.  xvi. 


(3.)— M  0  T  T  0  E  S . 

(1.) — Chap,  x. 
In  the  wide  pile,  by  others  heeded  not, 
Hers  was  one  sacred  sohtary  spot. 
Whose  gloomy  aisles  and  bending  shelves  contain. 
For  moral  hunger  food,  and  cm-es  for  moral  pain. 

Anonymous. 

"  The  library  at  Osbaldistone  HaU  was  a  gloomy 
room,"  <fec. 

(2.) — Chap.  xm. 
Dire  was  his  thought,  who  first  in  poison  steep'd 
The  weapon  form'd  for  slaughter — direr  his. 
And  worthier  of  damnation,  who  instiU'd 
The  mortal  venom  in  the  social  cup, 
To  fin  the  veins  with  death  instead  of  hfe. 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xxn. 
Look  round  thee,  young  Astolpho :    Here's  the 

place 
Which  men  (for  being  poor)  ai"e  sent  to  starve  in, — 
Rude  remedy,  I  trow,  for  sore  disease. 
Within  these  walls,  stifled  by  damp  and  stench, 
Doth  Hope's  fair  torch  expire  ;  and  at  the  snuff. 
Ere  yet  'tis  quite  extinct,  rude,  wild,  and  wayward. 
The  desperate  revekies  of  wild  despair, 
Kindling  then  hell-born  cressets,  hght  to  deeds 
That  the  poor  captive  would  have  died  ere  prac- 
tised, 
Till  bondage  sunk  his  soul  to  his  condition. 

The  Prison,  Scene  iii.  Act  i. 

(4.) — Chap.  xxvn. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  no  tree  was  se<.n. 
Earth,  clad  in  russet,  scorn'd  the  lively  green ; 
No  birds,  except  as  birds  of  passage,  flew ; 
No  bee  was  heard  to  hum,  no  dove  to  coo ; 
No  streams,  as  amber  smooth,  as  amber  clear, 
Were  seen  to  glide,  or  heard  to  warble  here. 
Prophecy  of  Famine. 

(5.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
"  Woe  to  the  vanquish'd !"  was  stern  Brenno's  worui 
When  sunk  pi  3ud  Rome  beneath  the  GaUic  sword — • 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


675 


"  "Woe  to  the  vanquish'd !"  when  lois  massive  blade 
Bore  down  the  scale  against  her  ransom  weighed, 
And  on  the  field  of  foughten  battle  still, 
Who  knows  no  limit  save  the  victor's  will. 

Tlie  Gaulliad. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxxn. 

And  be  he  safe  restored  ere  evening  set, 

Or,  if  there's  vengeance  in  an  injured  heart, 

And  power  to  wi-eak  it  in  an  arm'd  hand, 

Yoiu"  land  shall  ache  for't. 

Old  Play. 

(7.) — Chap,  xxxvi. 
Farewell  to  the  land  where  the  clouds  love  to  rest. 
Like  the  shroud  of  the  dead  on  the  mountain's 

cold  breast ; 
To  the  cataract's  roar  where  the  eagles  reply, 
And  the  lake  her  lone  bosom  expands  to  the  sky. 


fSpfloflUc  to  tlje  Sljppeal.' 

spoken  by  mrs.  henpvt  siddons, 
Feb.  16,  1818. 

A  CAT  of  yore  (or  else  old  ^sop  lied) 
Was  changed  into  a  fair  and  blooming  bride. 
But  spied  a  mouse  upon  her  marriage  day. 
Forgot  her  spouse,  and  seized  upon  her  prey ; 
Even  thus  my  bridegroom  lawyer,  as  you  saw. 
Threw  off  poor  me,  and  pounced  upon  papa. 
His  neck  from  Hymen's  mystic  knot  made  loose, 
He  twisted  round  my  sire's  the  literal  noose. 
Such  are  the  fruits  of  our  dramatic  labor 
Since  the  New  Jail  became  our  next-door  neighbor.^ 

Yes,  times  are  changed ;  for,  in  your  fathers'  age. 
The  lawyers  were  the  patrons  of  the  stage ; 
However  high  advanced  by  future  fate, 
There  stands  the  bench  {points  to  the  Fit)  that  first 

received  their  weight. 
The  future  legal  sage,  'twas  ours  to  see. 
Doom  though  imwigg'd,  and  plead  without  a  fee. 

But  now,  astounding  each  poor  mimic  elf, 
Instead  of  lawyers  comes  the  law  herself; 
Tremendous  neighbor,  on  our  right  she  dwells, 
Builds  her  high  towers  and  excavates  her  cells ; 
Wliile  on  the  left  she  agitates  the  town, 

■  1  "  The  Appeal,"  a  Tragedy,  by  Jolin  Gait,  the  celebrated 
anthor  of  llie  "  Annals  of  the  Parish,"  and  other  Novels,  was 
played  for  four  nights  at  this  time  in  Edinburgli. 

2  It  is  necessary  to  mention,  that  the  allusions  in  this  piece 
are  all  local,  and  addressed  only  to  the  Edinburgh  audience. 
The  new  prisons  of  the  city,  on  the  Caltou  Hill,  are  not  far  from 
the  theatre. 


With  the  tempestuous  question,  Up  or  down  ?' 
'Twixt  Scylla  and  Charybdis  thus  stand  we, 
Law's  final  end,  and  law's  uncertainty. 
But,  soft  I  who  lives  at  Rome  the  Pope  must  flatter. 
And  jails  and  lawsuits  are  no  jesting  matter. 
Then — just  f^irewell !     We  wait  with  serious  awe 
Till  your  applause  or  censure  gives  the  law. 
Trusting  our  humble  efforts  may  assure  ye. 
We  hold  you  Comt  and  Counsel,  Judge  and  Jury. 


ifttacferimmon's  Slament.'' 


1818. 

Air—"  Cha  till  mi  tuille."^ 

Mackrimnioti,  hereditary  piper  to  the  Laird  of 
Macleod,  is  said  to  have  composed  this  Lament 
when  the  Clan  was  about  to  depart  upon  a  distatit 
and  dangerous  expedition.  Tlie  Minstrel  was 
impressed  with  a  belief,  which  the  event  verified, 
that  he  was  to  be  slain  in  the  approaching  feud ; 
and  hence  the  Gaelic  icords,  "  Cha  till  mi  tuille  ; 
ged  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon,"  "I 
shall  never  return ;  although  Jfacleod  returns, 
yet  Mackrimmon  shall  never  return  !"  The  piece 
is  but  too  well  known,  from  its  being  the  strain 
with  which  the  emigrants  from  the  West  High- 
lands and  Isles  usually  take  leave  of  their  native 
shore. 


MacLeod's  wizard  flag  from  the  gray  castle  sallies, 
The  rowers  are  seated,  unmoor'd  are  the  galleys ; 
Gleam  war-axe  and  broadsword,  clang  target  and 

quiver. 
As  Mackrimmon  sings,  "Farewell  to  Dunvegan 

for  ever ! 
Farewell   to   each   cliff,  on  which  breakers   are 

foaming ; 
Farewell,  each  dark  glen,  in  which  red-deer  aid 

roaming ; 
Farewell,  lonely  Skye,  to  lake,  mountain,  and  river  > 
Macleod  may  retiurn,  but  Mackrimmon  shall  nev.r 

"  Farewell  the  bright  clouds  that  on  QuiUan  arn 

sleeping ; 
Farewell  the  bright  eyes  in  the  Dun  that  are 

weeping ; 

3  At  this  time  the  public  of  Edinburgh  was  mach  agitated  by 
a  lawsuit  betwixt  the  Magistrates  and  many  of  the  Inhabitants 
of  the  City,  concerning  a  range  of  new  huildings  on  the  western 
side  of  the  North  Bridge  ;  which  the  latter  insisted  should  h» 
removed  as  a  deformity. 

4  Written  for  Albyn's  Anthology. 
6  >i  We  return  no  more." 


r 

i    676                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

To  each  minstrel  delusion,  farewell ! — and  for  ever ; 

Water-bailiffs,  rangers,  keepers, 

Mackrimmon  departs,  to  retuin  to  you  never ! 

He   can   wauk  when  they   are 

The  Banshee's  wild  voice  sings  the  death-dirge 

sleepers ; 

before  me,* 

Not  for  bountith  or  reward 

Tlie  pall  of  the  dead  for  a  mantle  hangs  o'er  me ; 

Dare  ye  meU  wi'  Donald  Caird. 

But  my  heart  shall  not  flag,  and  my  nerves  shall 

not  sliiver, 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Though  devoted  T  go — to  return  again  never ! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Oar  the  bagpipes  hum  amain. 

"  Too  oft  shall  the  notes  of  Mackrimmon's   be- 

Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

■waiUng 

Be  heard  when  the  Gael  on  their  exQe  are  sailing ; 

Donald  Cau-d  can  drink  a  gill 

Dear  land !  to  the  shores,  whence  unwilling  we 

Fast  as  hostler- wife  can  fill ; 

sever, 

nka  ane  that  sells  gude  liquor 

Return — return — return  shall  we  never ! 

Kens  how  Donald  bends  a  bicker ; 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille ! 

When  he's  fou  he's  stout  and  saucy, 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille. 

Keeps  the  cantle  o'  the  cawsey ; 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuQle, 

Hieland  chief  and  Lawland  laird 

Gea  thi]lis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon  !" 

Maun  gie  room  to  Donald  Caird ! 

Donald  Cair£s  crnne  again  ! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

JBonalU  ffiafrlr's  Come  ^flain.^ 

Tell  the  iiews  in  brugh  and  glen, 

Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Air — "  Malcolm  Caird's  come  again."^ 

Steek  the  amrie,  lock  the  kist, 

1818. 

Else  some  gear  may  weel  be  mis't ; 

Donald  Caird  finds  orra  things 

CHORUS. 

Where  Allan  Gregor  fand  the  tings ; 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Dunts  of  kebbuck,  taits  o"  woo, 

Donald  Caird's  cmne  again  ! 

Wliiles  a  hen  and  whiles  a  sow, 

Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen. 

Webs  or  duds  frae  hedge  or  yard — 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  I 

'Ware  the  wuddie,  Donald  Caird  ! 

Donald  Caird  can  lilt  and  sing, 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Bhthely  dance  the  Hieland  fling, 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Drink  till  the  gudeman  be  blind, 

Dinna  let  the  Shirra  ken 

Fleech  till  the  gudewife  be  kind ; 

Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Hoop  a  leglin,  clout  a  pan. 

Or  crack  a  pow  wi'  ony  man ; 

On  Donald  Caird  the  doom  was  stern, 

Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen. 

Craig  to  tether,  legs  to  airn  ; 

Donald  Cahd's  come  again 

But  Donald  Caird,  wi'  niickle  study, 

Caught  the  gift  to  cheat  the  wuddie ; 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  1 

Rings  of  airn,  and  bolts  of  steel. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Fell  like  ice  frae  hand  and  heel ! 

Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 

Watch  the  sheep  in  fauld  and  glen. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again ! 

Donald  Caird  can  wire  a  maukin, 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 

Kens  the  wiles  o'  dun-deer  staukin', 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  I 

Leisters  kipper,  makes  a  shift 

Dinna  let  the  Justice  ken, 

To  shoot  a  muir-fowl  in  the  drift ; 

Donald  Caird's  come  again} 

1  See  a  note  on  Banshee,  Lady  of  the  Lake,  ante,  p.  250. 

Sir  Walter  Fcott  usually  attended  ;  and  the  Poet  was  high  fy 

»  Written  for  Albyn's  Anthology,  vol.  ii.,  1818,  and  set  to 

amused    wi-n   a  sly   allusion   to    his    two-fold    character   of 

music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Collection,  in  1822. 

Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire,  and  author-suspect  of  "  Rob  Roy,"  in 

s  Caird  signifies  Tinker. 

the  chorus, — 

*  Mr.  D.  Thomson,  of  Galashiels,  produced  a  parody  on  this 

"  Think  ye,  does  the  Shirra  hen 

«ong  at  an  annual  dinner  of  the  raanulacturers  ihere,  which 

Rob  M'  Gregor' s  come  again  7" 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


611 


Ivom  tijc  Heart  of  illilr-Cotljian. 


1818. 


(1.)— MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SONGS. 

"When  the  gledd's  in  the  blue  cloud, 

The  la^  rock  lies  stiU ; 
When  the  hound's  in  the  green-wood. 

The  hind  keeps  the  lull. 


0  Bleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said, 
When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 

There's  twenty  men,  wi'  bow  and  blade, 
Are  seeking  where  ye  hide. 


Hey  for  cavaliers,  ho  for  cavaliers, 
Dub  a  dub,  dub  a  dub ; 
Have  at  old  Beelzebub, — 

Oliver's  running  for  fear. — 


I  glance    like  the  wildfire    through  country  and 

town ; 
Tm  seen  on  the  causeway — Fm  seen  on  the  down ; 
The  lightning  that  flashes  so  bright  and  so  free. 
Is  scarcely  so  blithe  or  so  bonny  as  me. 


What  did  ye  wi'  the  bridal  ring — bridal  ring — 

bridal  ring  ? 
What  did  ye  wi'  your  wedding  ring,  ye  little  cutty 

quean,  0  ? 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  a  sodger,  a  sodger, 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  an  auld  true  love  o'  mine,  0. 


Good  even,  good  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee ; 
I  prithee,  dear  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  form  and  the  featiu-es,  the  speech  and  de- 
gree. 
Of  the  man  that  true  lover  of  mine  shall  be. 


It  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad, 
That  wears  the  sleeves  of  blue, 

He  sells  the  flesh  on  Saturday, 
On  Friday  that  he  slew. 


There's  a  bloodhound  ranging  Tinwald  Wood, 

Thare's  harness  glancing  sheen ; 
There's  a  maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 

And  she  sings  loud  between. 

Up  in  the  air. 

On  my  bonnie  gi'ay  mare. 

And  I  see,  gaid  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet. 


In  the  bonnie  cells  of  Bedlam, 
Ere  I  was  ane  and  twenty, 
I  had  hempen  bracelets  strong. 


And  merry  whips,  ding-dong, 
And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty. 


My  banes  ai'e  buried  in  yon  kirk-yard 

Sae  far  ayont  the  sea. 
And  it  is  but  my  blithsome  ghaist 

That's  speaking  now  to  thee. 


I'm  Madge  of  the  country,  I'm  Madge  of  the  town, 
And  I'm  Madge  of  the  lad  I  am  bUthest  to  own — 
The  Lady  of  Beever  in  diamonds  may  shine. 
But  has  not  a  heart  half  so  lightsome  as  mine. 

I  am  Queen  of  the  Wake,  and  Fm  Lady  of  May, 
And  I  lead  the  bhthe  ring  roimd  the  May-pole  to- 
day; 
The  wUd-fire  that  flashes  so  far  and  so  free 
Was  never  so  bright,  or  so  bonnie  as  me. 


He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low  no  pride ; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

Fulness  to  such  a  bm-then  is 

That  go  on  pilgrimage ; 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 

Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

"  As  Jeanie  entered,  she  heard  first  the  air,  and 
then  a  pai-t  of  the  chorus  and  words  of  what  had 
been,  perhaps,  the  song  of  a  jolly  harvest-home." 

Our  work  is  over — over  now, 
The  goodman  wipes  his  weary  brow, 
The  last  long  wain  wends  slow  away. 
And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

The  night  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun. 
And  labor  ends  when  day  is  done. 
When  Autumn's  gone,  and  Winter's  come. 
We  hold  our  jovial  haiwest-home. 

"  The  attendant  on  the  hospital  arranged  her  in 
her  bed  as  she  desired,  with  her  face  to  the  wall, 
and  her  back  to  the  light.  So  soon  as  she  was 
quiet  in  this  new  position,  she  began  again  to  sing 
in  the  same  low  and  modulated  strains,  as  if  she 
was  recovering  the  state  of  abstraction  which  the 
inten-uption  of  her  visitants  had  disturbed.  The 
strain,  however,  was  different,  and  rather  resem- 
bled the  music  of  the  methodist  hymns,  though 
the  measm-e  of  the  song  was  similar  to  that  of  the 
former :" — 

When  the  fight  of  grace  is  fought, — 
When  the  marriage  vest  is  wrought, — 
When  Faith  has  chased  cold  Doubt  away, — 


678 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  Hope  but  sickens  at  delay, — 
When  Oiarity,  imprisoned  here, 
Longs  for  a  more  expanded  sphere ; 
Doff  thy  robe  of  sin  and  clay ; 
Christian,  rise,  and  come  away. 

"  Her  next  seemed  to  be  the  fragment  of  some 
lid  ballad  :"— 

Cauld  is  my  bed,  Lord  Archibald, 

And  sad  my  sleep  of  sorrow : 
But  thme  sail  be  as  sad  and  cauld, 

My  fause  true-love  !  to-morrow. 

And  weep  ye  not,  my  maidens  free, 
Though  death  your  mistress  borrow ; 

For  he  for  whom  I  die  to-day. 
Shall  die  for  me  to-morrow. 

"  Again  she  changed  the  tune  to  one  wilder,  less 
monotonous,  and  less  regular.  But  of  the  words 
only  a  fragment  or  two  could  be  collected  by  those 
who  listened  to  this  singular  scene :" — 

Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early ; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bu.sh, 

Singing  so  rarely. 

"  TeU  me,  thou  bonny  bird. 

When  shall  I  marry  me  ?" — 
"  WTien  six  brae  gentlemen 

Kirkward  shaU  carry  ye." 

"  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 

Birdie,  say  truly  ¥' — 
"  The  gray -headed  sexton 

That  delves  the  grave  duly. 

"  The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  hght  thee  steady. 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 

'  Welcome,  proud  lady.' " 

"  Her  voice  died  away  with  the  last  notes,  and 
she  fell  into  a  slumber,  from  which  the  experienced 
attendant  assured  them,  that  she  would  never 
awake  at  all,  or  only  in  the  death-agony. 

"  Her  first  prophecy  was  true.  The  poor  maniiic 
parted  with  existence,  without  agahi  uttering  a 
sound  of  any  kind." 

Chaps,  xv.-xxxviii.  passim. 


:2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  xix. 
To  man,  in  tliis  his  trial  state, 
The  privilege  is  given, 


Wlien  lost  by  tides  of  human  fate, 
To  anchor  fast  in  Heaven. 

Watts^  Hymns 

(2.) — Chap.  xxin. 
Law,  take  thy  victim  ! — May  she  find  the  mercy 
In  yon  mild  heaven  wliich  this  hard  world  denies  her* 

(3.) — Chap.  xxvn. 
And  Need  and  ilisery.  Vice  and  Danger,  bind 
Li  sad  alliance,  each  degraded  mind. 

(4.) — Chap.  xxxv. 
I  beseech  you- 


These  tears  beseech  you,  and  these  chaste  hands 

woo  you, 
Tliat  never  yet  were  heaved  but  to  things  holy — ■ 
Things  like  yourself — You  are  a  God  above  us ; 
Be  as  a  God,  then,  full  of  saving  mercy  ! 

The  Bloody  Brotlm 

(5.) — Chap.  xlvi. 
Happy  thou  art !  then  happy  be, 

Nor  envy  me  my  lot ; 
Thy  happy  state  I  envy  thee, 
And  peaceful  cot. 

Lady  C C 1. 


i^rom  tijc  Bribe  of  Cammcrmoor 


1819. 


(1.)— LUCY  ASHTON'S  SONG. 

"  The  silver  tones  of  Lucy  Ashton's  voice  min- 
gled with  the  accompaniment  in  an  ancient  air,  to 
which  some  one  had  adapted  the  followiug  words : — ■ 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming, — 
Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming, — 
Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens, — 
Speak  not  when  the  people  listens, — 
Stt)p  tliine  ear  against  the  singer, — 
From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finger, — • 
Vacant  heart,  and  hand,  and  eye, 
Easy  Uve  and  quiet  die. 

Chap.  iii. 


(2.)— NORMAN  THE  FORESTER'S  SONG. 

"And  humming  his  rustic  roundelay,  the  yeo- 
man went  on  his  road,  the  sound  of  bis  rougb 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


679 


voice  gradually  dying  away  as  the  distance  be- 
twixt them  increased." 

The  monk  must  ai-ise  when  the  matins  ring, 
The  abbot  may  sleep  to  their  chime  ; 

But  the  yeoman  must  start  when  the  bugles  sing, 
'Tis  time,  my  heajrts,  'tis  time. 

There's  bucks  and  raes  on  BQUiope  braes, 
There's  a  herd  on  Shortwood  Shaw ; 

But  a  lily  white  doe  in  the  garden  goes, 
She's  fairly  worth  them  a'. 

Chap.  iii. 


(3.)— THE  PROPHECY. 

"  Wfth  a  quivering  voice,  and  a  cheek  pale  with 
apprehension,  Caleb  faltered  out  the  following 
Imes  :"— 

When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravens- 
wood  shall  ride. 
And  wooe  a  dead  maiden  to  be  his  bride, 
He  shall  stable  liis  steed  in  the  Kelpie's  flow, 
And  his  name  shall  be  lost  for  evermoe  I 

Chap,  xviii. 


(4.)_M0TT0ES. 

(1.) — Chap.  vm. 
The  hearth  in  hall  was  black  and  dead. 
No  board  was  dight  in  bower  within, 
Xor  merry  bowl  nor  welcome  bed ; 

"  Here's  sorry  cheer,"  quoth  the  Heir  of  Linne. 
Old  Ballad, 
[Altered  from  "  The  Heir  of  Linne."] 

(2.) — Chap.  xrv. 
As,  to  the  Autumn  breeze's  bugle-sound. 
Various  and  vague  the  dry  leaves  dance  their 

round ; 
Or,  from  the  garner-door,  on  aether  borne. 
The  chaff  flies  devious  from  the  wiunowd  com ; 
So  vague,  so  devious,  at  the  breath  of  heaven. 
From  their  fix'd  aim  are  mortal  coxmsels  driven. 

Anonpnous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xvn. 

Here  is  a  father  now. 

Will  truck  bis  daughter  for  a  foreign  venture, 
Make  her  the  stop-gap  to  some  canker'd  feud, 
Or  fling  her  o'er,  like  Jonah,  to  the  fishes, 
Td  appease  the  sea  at  highest. 

Aiioni/mous. 


(4.) — Chap.  xviu. 
Sir,  stay  at  home  and  take  an  old  man's  coimsel . 
Seek  not  to  bask  you  by  a  stranger's  hearth ; 
Our  own  blue  smoke  is  warmer  than  their  fite. 
Domestic  food  is  wholesome,  though  'tis  homely, 
And  foreign  dainties  poisonous,  though  tastefuL 
2'Ae  French  Courtezan. 

(5.) — Chap.  xxv. 
True-love,  an'  thou  be  true. 

Thou  has  ane  kittle  part  to  play. 
For  fortune,  fasliion,  fancy,  and  thou 

Maim  strive  for  many  a  day. 

Tve  kend  by  mony  friend's  tale. 
Far  better  by  this  heart  of  mine. 

What  time  and  change  of  fancy  avail, 
A  true  love-knote  to  imtwine. 

RendersouH. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxvn. 

Why,  now  I  have  Dame  Fortune  by  the  forelock, 
And  if  she  'scapes  my  grasp,  the  fault  is  mine  ; 
He  that  hath  buffeted  with  stern  adversity. 
Best  knows  to  shape  his  course  to  favormg  breezes. 

Old  Play. 


Jrom  tlje  Ccgculr  of  illontro0€. 

(1.)— AXCIEXT  GAELIC  ilELODY. 

"  So  saying,  Annot  Lyle  sate  down  at  a  little 
distance  upon  the  bench  on  which  Allan  M'Aulay 
was  placed,  and  tuning  her  clairshach,  a  small 
harp,  about  thirty  inches  in  height,  she  accompa- 
nied it  with  her  voice.  The  air  was  an'  ancient 
Gaelic  melody,  and  the  words,  which  were  sup- 
posed to  be  very  old,  were  in  the  same  language ; 
but  we  subjoin  a  translation  of  them,  by  Secundus 
M'Pherson,  Esq.,  of  Glenforgen ;  which,  although 
submitted  to  the  fetters  of  English  rhythm,  we 
trust  will  be  found  nearly  as  genuine  as  the  ver- 
sion of  Ossian  by  his  celebrated  namesake." 


Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul, 
Night-crow,  raven,  bat,  and  owl. 
Leave  the  sick  man  to  his  di-eam — 
All  night  long  he  heard  you  scream. 
Haste  to  cave  and  ruin'd  tower. 
Ivy  tod,  or  dingled-bower, 
There  to  wink  and  mop,  for.  hark! 
In  the  mid  air  sings  the  lark. 


680 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


2. 

The  lady  said,  "  An  orphan's  state 

Hie  to  moorish  gills  and  rocks, 

Is  hard  and  sad  to  bear ; 

Prowling  wolf  and  wily  fox, — 

Yet  worse  the  widow'd  mother's  fate, 

Hie  ye  fast,  nor  turn  your  view, 

Who  mourns  both  lord  and  heir. 

Though  the  lamb  bleats  to  the  ewe. 

Couch  yom-  trains,  and  speed  yom-  flight, 

"  Twelve  times  the  rolling  year  has  sped, 

Safety  parts  with  parting  night ; 

Since,  while  fi'om  vengeance  wild 

And  on  distant  echo  borne, 

Of  fierce  StrathaUan's  chief  I  fled. 

Comes  the  himter's  early  hora 

Forth's  eddies  whelm'd  my  child." — 

3. 

"  Twelve  times  the  year  its  course  has  borne," 

The  moon's  wan  crescent  scarcely  gleams. 

The  wandering  maid  replied. 

Ghost-like  she  fades  in  morning  beams  ; 

"  Since  fishers  on  St.  Bridget's  morn 

Hie  hence,  each  peevish  imp  and  fay 

Drew  nets  on  Campsie  side. 

That  scare  the  pilgrim  on  his  way. — 

Quench,  kelpy !  quench,  in  bog  and  fen. 

"  St.  Bridget  sent  no  scaly  spoil ; 

Thy  torch,  that  cheats  benighted  men ; 

An  infant,  well  nigh  dead. 

Thy  dance  is  o'er,  thy  reign  is  done, 

They  saved,  and  rear'd  in  want  and  toil. 

For  Benyieglo  hath  seen  the  sun. 

To  beg  from  you  her  bread." 

4, 

That  orphan  maid  the  lady  kiss'd, — 

Wild  thoughts,  that,  sinful,  dark,  and  deep, 

"  My  husband's  looks  you  bear ; 

O'erpower  the  passive  mind  in  sleep. 

Saint  Bridget  and  her  morn  be  bless'd ! 

Pass  from  the  slumberer's  soul  awav, 

You  are  Ms  widow's  heir." 

Like  night-mists  fi-om  the  brow  of  day : 

Foul  hag,  whose  blasted  visage  grim 

They've  robed  that  maid,  so  poor  and  pale,  ■ 

Smothers  the  pulse,  unnerves  the  limb, 

In  silk  and  sandals  rare  ; 

Spur  thy  dark  palfrey,  and  begone ! 

And  pearls,  for  diops  of  frozen  hail, 

Thou  darest  not  face  the  godlike  sim. 

Axe  glistening  in  her  hair. 

Chap.  vi. 

Chap.  ix. 

(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(2.)— THE  ORPHAN"  MAID. 

(1.)— CH.iP.  X. 

Dark  on  their  journey  lom-'d  the  gloomy  day. 

"Tu>ixG  her  instrument,  and  receiving  an  as- 

Wild were  the  hills,  and  doubtful  grew  the  way ; 

senting  look  from  Lord  Monteith  and  Allan,  Annot 

More  dark,  more   gloomy,  and  more  doubtful, 

Lyle  executed  the   following   ballad,  which  our 

show'd 

friend,  Mr.  Secundus  M'Pherson,  whose  goodness 

The  mansion  wliich  received  them  from  the  road 

we  had  before  to  acknowledge,  has  thus  translated 

The  Travellers,  a  Romance. 

into  the  English  tongue :" — 

(2.)— Chap.  xi. 

November's  hail-cloud  drifts  away. 

Is  this  thy  castle,  Baldwm  ?     Melancholy 

November's  sunbeam  wan 

Displays  her  sable  banner  from  the  donjon. 

Looks  coldly  on  the  castle  gray, 

Dai-k'ning  the  foam  of  the  whole  surge  beue.\tL 

When  forth  comes  Lady  Anne. 

Were  I  a  habitant,  to  see  this  gloom 

Pollute  the  face  of  natm-e,  and  to  hear 

The  orphan  by  the  oak  was  set. 

The  ceaseless  sound  of  wave  and  sea-bu-d's  scTtarj, 

Her  arms,  her  feet,  were  bare  ; 

I'd  wish  me  in  the  hut  that  poorest  peasant 

ITie  hail-drops  had  not  melted  yet, 

Ere  fi-amed  to  give  him  temporary  shelter. 

Amid  her  raven  hair. 

Browne. 

"  And  dame,"  she  said,  "  by  aU  the  ties 

(3.) — Chap.  juv. 

That  child  and  mother  know. 

This  was  the  entry,  then,  these  stairs — but  whithei 

Aid  one  who  never  knew  these  joys, — 

after  ? 

Relieve  an  orphan's  woe." 

Yet  he  that's  sure  to  perish  on  the  land 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                         081 

May  quit  the  nicety  of  card  and  compass, 

Let  grateful  love  quell  maiden  shame. 

And  trust  the  open  sea  without  a  pilot. 

And  grant  him  bliss  who  brings  thee  fame." 

Tragedy  of  Brennovalt, 

Chap.  xviiL 

(2.)    THE  BAREFOOTED  FRIAR. 
1 

iVom  Icanljoe. 

(1.)— THE  CRUSADER'S  RETURN. 

Pll  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelvemonth  or  twain, 

To   search   Europe   tlu'ough  from    Byzantium  to 

1. 

Spain; 

High  deeds  achieved  of  knightly  fame, 

But  ne'er  shall  you  find,  should  you  search  till  you 

Fi-om  Palestine  the  champion  came ; 

tire. 

The  cross  upon  his  shoulders  borne, 

So  happy  a  man  as  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Battle  and  blast  had  dimm'd  and  torn. 

Each  dint  upon  liis  bat.ter'd  shield 

2. 

"Was  token  of  a  foughten  field  ; 

Your  knight  for  his  lady  pricks  forth  in  career, 

And  thus,  beneath  his  lady's  bower, 

And  is  brought  home  at  even-song  prick'd  through 

He  smig,  as  fell  the  twilight  hour  : 

with  a  spear ; 

I  confess  him  in  haste — for  his  lady  desires 

2. 

No  comfort  on  earth  save  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 

"  Joy  to  the  fair ! — thy  knight  behold, 

Return'd  from  yonder  land  of  gold  ; 

3, 

No  wealth  he  brings,  nor  wealth  can  need, 

Your  monarch  ! — Pshaw  1  many  a  prince  has  been 

Save  liis  good  arms  and  battle-steed ; 

known 

His  spurs  to  dash  against  a  foe. 

To  barter  his  robes  for  our  cowl  and  our  gowu ; 

His  lance  and  sword  to  lay  him  low  ; 

But  which  of  us  e'er  felt  the  idle  desire 

Such  all  the  tropliies  of  his  toil. 

To  exchange  for  a  crown  the  gray  hood  of  a  Friar  ? 

Ruch — and  the  hojje  of  Tekla's  smile  ! 

4. 

3. 

The  Friar  has  wallc'd  out,  and  where'er  he  has  gone, 

"  Joy  to  the  fair  !  whose  constant  knight 

The  land  and  its  fatness  is  mark'd  for  Ids  own ; 

Her  favor  fired  to  feats  of  might ! 

He  can  roam  where  he  hsts,  he  can  stop  where  he 

Unnoted  shall  she  not  remain 

tires. 

Where  meet  the  bright  and  noble  train ; 

For  every  man's  house  is  the  Bai-efooted  Friar's. 

Minstrel  shall  sing,  and  herald  tell — 

'  Mark  yonder  maid  of  beauty  well. 

5. 

'Tis  she  for  whose  bright  eyes  was  won 

He's  expected  at  noon,  and  no  wight,  tiU  he  comes, 

The  listed  field  of  Ascalon  ! 

May  profane  the  great  chair,  or  the  porridge  of 

plums ; 

4. 

For  the  best  of  the  cheer,  and  the  seat  by  the  fire, 

"  '  Note  well  her  smile  ! — it  edged  the  blade 

Is  the  undenied  right  of  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Which  fifty  wives  to  widows  made. 

When,  vain  his  strength  and  Mahoimd's  spell, 

6. 

Iconium's  tiu-ban'd  Soldan  fell. 

He's  expected  at  night,  and  the  pasty's  made  hot, 

See'st  thou  her  locks,  whose  smmy  glow 

They  broach  the  brown  ale,  and  they  fill  the  black 

Half  shows,  half  shades,  her  neck  of  snow  ? 

pot ; 

Twines  not  of  them  one  golden  thread. 

And  the  good-wife  would  wish  the  good-man  in  the 

But  for  its  sake  a  Paynim  bled.' 

mire. 

5. 

Ere  he  lack'd  a  soft  pillow,  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

"  Joy  to  the  fiiir  ! — my  name  imknown, 

7. 

Each  deed,  and  all  its  praise,  thine  own  ; 

Long  flourish  the  sandal,  the  cord,  and  the  cope. 

Then,  oh  !  unbar  tliis  churlish  gate. 

The  dread  of  the  devil  and  trust  of  the  Pope  ! 

The  night-dew  falls,  the  hour  is  late. 

For  to  gather  Life's  roses,  unscathed  by  the  brier , 

Iimred  to  Syria's  glowmg  breath. 

Is  granted  alone  to  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

I  feel  the  north  breeze  chill  as  death: 
86 

Chap,  xviii. 

682 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(3.)— SAXON  WAR-SONG. 

«'The  fire  was  spreading  rapidly  through  all 
parts  of  the  castle,  -when  Ukica,  who  had  fii-st 
Kiadled  it,  appeared  on  a  turret,  in  the  guise  of 
one  of  the  ancient  furies,  yelhng  forth  a  war-song, 
such  as  was  of  yore  chanted  on  the  field  of  battle 
by  the  yet  heathen  Saxons.  Her  long  dishevelled 
gray  Imir  flew  back  from  her  uncovered  head ;  the 
inebriating  delight  of  gratified  vengeance  contend- 
ed in  her  eyes  with  the  fire  of  insanity ;  and  she 
Drandished  tlie  distaff  which  she  held  in  her  hand, 
as  if  she  had  been  one  of  the  Fatal  Sisters,  who 
spin  and  abridge  the  thread  of  human  Ufe.  Tra- 
dition has  preserved  some  wild  strophes  of  the 
barbarous  hymn  which  she  chanted  wildly  amid 
that  scene  f^f  fii-e  and  slaughter  :" — 


Whet  the  bright  steel, 

Sons  of  the  White  Dragon ! 

Kindle  the  torch. 

Daughter  of  Hengist !  [banquet, 

The  steel  glimmers  not  for  the  carving  of  the 

It  is  hard,  broad,  and  sharply  pointed  ; 

The  torch  goeth  not  to  the  bridal  chamber, 

It  steams  and  glitters  blue  with  sulphur. 

Whet  the  steel,  the  raven  croaks  ! 

Light  the  torch,  Zeruebock  is  yelhng  ! 

Whet  the  steel,  sons  of  the  Dragon ! 

Kindle  the  torch,  daughter  of  Hengist '. 

2, 
The  black  clouds  are  low  over  the  thane's  castle  : 
The  eagle  screams — he  rides  on  theii"  bosom. 
Scream  not,  gray  rider  of  the  sable  cloud, 
Thy  banquet  is  prepared  ! 
The  maidens  of  VaDialla  look  forth, 
Tlie  race  of  Hengist  will  send  them  guests. 
Shake  your  black  tresses,  maidens  of  Valhalla  I 
And  strike  your  loud  timbrels  for  joy  ! 
Many  a  haughty  step  bends  to  your  halls, 
Many  a  helmed  head. 


Dark  sits  the  evening  upon  the  thane's  castle, 
The  black  clouds  gather  round ; 
Soon  shall  they  be  red  as  the  blood  of  the  valiant  1 
The  destroyer  of  forests  shaU  shake  his  red  crest 

against  them ; 
He,  the  bright  consumer  of  palaces, 
Broad  waves  he  liis  blazing  banner, 
Red,  wide,  and  dusky, 
Over  the  strife  of  the  valiant ; 
His  joy  is  in  the  clashing  swords  and  broken 

bucklers ; 
He  loves  to  lick  the  hissing  blood  as  it  bursts 

warm  from  the  wound ! 


4. 
All  must  perish ! 
The  sword  cleaveth  the  hehnet ; 
The  strong  armor  is  pierced  by  the  lance : 
Fke  devoureth  the  dwelling  of  princes. 
Engines  break  down  the  fences  of  the  battle. 
All  must  perish  ! 
The  race  of  Hengist  is  gone — 
The  name  of  Horsa  is  no  more  ! 
Shrink  not  then  from  your  doom,  sons  of  the 

sword ! 
Let  your  blades  drink  blood  like  wine : 
Feast  ye  in  the  banquet  of  slaughter, 
By  the  light  of  the  blazing  halls  ! 
Strong  be  your  swords  while  your  blood  la  warm. 
And  spare  neither  for  pity  nor  fear. 
For  vengeance  hath  but  an  hour  ; 
Strong  hate  itself  shall  expire  ! 
I  also  must  perish. 


Note. — "  It  will  readily  occur  to  the  antiquary, 
that  these  verses  are  intended  to  imitate  the  an- 
tique poetry  of  the  Scalds — the  minstrels  of  the 
old  Scandinavians — the  race,  as  the  Laureate  so 
happUy  terms  them, 

'  Stern  to  inflict,  and  stubborn  to  endure, 
Who  smiled  in  death.' 

The  poetry  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  after  their  civili- 
zation and  conversion,  was  of  a  different  and  softer 
character  ;  but,  in  the  circumstances  of  Ukica,  she 
may  be  not  unnaturally  supposed  to  return  to  the 
wild  strains  which  animated  her  forefathers  dm-ing 
the  times  of  Paganism  and  untamed  ferocity." 

Chap,  xxxii. 


(4.)— REBEGCA'S  HYIVIN. 

"  It  was  in  the  twilight  of  the  day  when  her 
trial,  if  it  could  be  called  such,  had  taken  place, 
that  a  low  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  Re- 
becca's prisoL  chamber.  It  disturbed  not  the  in- 
mate, who  was  then  engaged  in  the  evening  prayer 
recommended  by  her  religion,  and  which  concluded 
with  a  hymn,  which  we  have  ventured  thus  to 
translate  into  English :" — 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved, 

Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came. 
Her  fathers'  God  before  her  moved. 

An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame. 
By  day,  along  the  astonish'd  lands 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow ; 
By  night,  Ai-abia's  crimson'd  sands 

Retm-n'd  the  fiery  column's  glow. 


^. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


683 


There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise, 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answer'd  keen, 
And  Zion's  daugliters  pom-'d  their  laj^s, 

With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze, 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone  : 
Our  fatJiers  would  not  know  Thy  ways, 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 

But  present  stiU,  though  now  unseen  ! 

Wlien  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day. 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray. 
And  oh,  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path 

In  shade  and  storm  the  frequent  night, 
Be  Thou,  long-suffering,  slow  to  wrath, 

A  burning  and  a  shuiiDg  light ! 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams, 

The  tyrant's  jest,  the  Gentile's  scorn  ; 
No  censer  round  our  altar  beams, 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  harp,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said,  The  blood  of  goat. 

The  flesh  of  rams  I  will  not  prize  ; 
A  contrite  heart,  a  humble  thought. 

Are  mine  accepted  sacrifice. 

Chap.  xl. 


(5.)— THE  BLACK  KNIGHT'S  SONG. 

"  At  the  point  of  their  journey  at  which  we  take 
them  up,  this  joyous  pair  were  engaged  in  singing 
a  virelai,  as  it  was  called,  in  which  the  clown  bore 
a  stiff  and  mellow  burden  to  the  better  instructed 
Knight  of  the  Fetterlock.  And  thus  ran  the  ditty :" 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  is  the  sun, 

Anna-Marie,  love,  morn  is  begim, 

Mists  are  dispersing,  love,  birds  singing  free, 

Up  in  the  morning,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  in  the  mom. 

The  hunter  is  wmding  blithe  sounds  on  his  horn, 

Tlie  echo  rings  merry  from  rock  and  from  tree, 

'Tis  time  to  arouse  thee,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

WAMBA. 

O  Tybalt,  love,  Tybalt,  awake  me  not  yet. 
Around  my  soft  pillow  while  softer  dreams  flit ; 
For  what  are  the  joys  that  in  waking  we  prove. 
Compared  with  these  visions,  0  Tybalt !  my  love  ? 
Let  the  birds  to  the  rise  of  the  mist  carol  shrill, 
Let  the  hunter  blow  out  his  loud  horn  on  the  liiU, 
Softer   sounds,  softer  pleasures,  in   slumber    I 

prove, 
But  think  not  I  dream'd  of  thee,  Tybalt,  my  love. 

Chap,  xli 


(6.)— SONG. 

the  black  knight  and  WAMBA. 

"The  Jester  next  struck  into  another  carol,  a 
sort  of  comic  ditty,  to  which  the  Knight,  catching 
up  the  tune,  repUed  in  the  like  manner." 

KNIGHT  AND  WAMBA. 

There  came  three  merry  men  from  south,  west, 
and  north. 

Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
To  wm  the  Widow  of  Wycombe  forth. 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  them  nay  ! 

The  first  was  a  knight,  and  from  Tynedale  he  came, 

Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
And  his  fathers,  God  save  us,  were  men  of  great 
fame. 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay  ? 

Of  his  father  the  lau'd,  of  his  uncle  the  squire, 
He  boasted  in  rhyme  and  in  roundelay ; 

She  bade  him  go  bask  by  his  sea-coal  fire. 
For  she  was  the  widow  would  say  him  nay. 

WAMBA. 

The  next  that  came  forth,  swore  by  blood  and  by 
naUs, 
Merrily  sing  the  roimdelay ; 
Hur's  a  gentleman,  God  wot,  and  bur's  lineage  was 
of  Wales, 
And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay  ? 

Sir  David  ap  Morgan  ap  Griflith  ap  Hugh 
Ap  Tudor  ap  Rhice,  quoth  his  roundelay ; 

She  said  that  one  widow  for  so  many  was  too  few, 
And  she  bade  the  Welshman  wend  his  way. 

But  then  next  came  a  yeoman,  a  yeoman  of  Kent, 

Jollily  singing  his  roundelay ; 
He  spoke  to  the  widow  of  livmg  and  rent. 

And  wliere  was  the  widow  could  say  him  nay  ? 

BOTH. 

So  the  knight  and  the  squire  were  both  left  in  the 
mire. 
There  for  to  sing  their  roundelay ; 
For  a  yeoman  of  Kent,  with  his  yearly  rent. 
There  ne'er  was  a  widow  could  say  him  nay. 

Chap,  xli 


('7.)_FUNERAL  HYMN. 

"  FouK,  maidens,  Rowena  leading  the  choir, 
raised  a  hymn  for  the  soul  of  the  deceased,  of  which 
we  have  only  been  able  to  decipher  two  or  three 
stanzas :" — 


684 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Dust  unto  dust, 
To  this  all  must ; 

The  tenant  hath  resign'd 
Th-e  faded  form 
To  waste  and  worm — 

Corruption  claims  her  kind. 

Through  paths  unknown 
Thy  soul  hath  flown, 

To  seek  the  realms  of  woe, 
Where  fiery  pain 
Shall  purge  the  stain 

Of  actions  done  below. 

In  that  sad  place, 
By  Mary's  grace. 

Brief  may  thy  dwelling  be  ! 
TiU  prayers  and  alms, 
And  holy  psalms. 

Shall  set  the  captive  free. 

Cliap.  xliii. 


(8.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  xix. 

Away  !  our  journey  Hes  through  dell  and  dmgle, 
Wliere  the  blithe  fawn  trips  by  its  timid  mother, 
Wliere  the  broad  oak,  with  intercepting  boughs, 
Checkers  the  sunbeam  in  the  green  sward  al- 
ley— 
Up  and  away ! — for  lovely  paths  are  these 
To  tread,  when  the  glad  sun  is  on  Iiis  tlu-one : 
Less  pleasant,   and   less   safe,   when    Cynthia's 

lamp 
With  doubtful  glimmer  lights  the  dreary  forest. 

Ettrick  Forest. 

(2.) — Chap.  xxi. 
When  autumn  nights  were  long  and  drear. 

And  forest  walks  were  dark  and  dim, 
How  sweetly  on  the  pilgrim's  ear 

Was  wont  to  stetd  the  hermit's  hymn ! 

Devotion  boiTOws  Music's  tone. 
And  Music  took  Devotion's  winir. 

And,  like  the  bkd  that  hails  the  sun, 
They  soar  to  heaven,  and  soaring  sing. 

The  Hermit  of  St.  Clement's  Well. 

(3.) — Chap.  xxvn. 
The  hottest  horse  wQl  oft  be  cool. 

The  dullest  wiU  show  fire  ; 
The  friar  wUl  often  play  the  fool. 
The  fool  wUl  play  the  friar. 

Old  Song. 


(4.) — Chap.  xxix. 
This  wandering  race,  sever'd  from  other  men, 
Boast  yet  their  intercourse  with  human  arts ; 
The   seas,   the   woods,   the    deserts   wliich    they 

haunt, 
Fmd  them  acquainted  with  their  secret  treasures 
And  imregarded  herbs,  and  flowers,  and  blossoms, 
Display  undream'd-of  powers  when  gather'd  by 

them. 

The  Jew. 

(5.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
Approach  the  chamber,  look  upon  his  bed. 
His  is  the  passing  of  no  peaceful  ghost, 
Wliich,  as  the  lai"k  arises  to  the  sky, 
'Md  morning's  sweetest  breeze  and  softest  dew, 
Is  wing'd  to  heaven  by  good  men's  sighs  and  tears  I 
Anselm  parts  otherwise. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap,  xxxiii. 

Trust  me,  each  state  must  have  its  policies : 
Kingdoms  have  edicts,  cities  have  their  charters ; 
Even  the  wUd  outlaw,  in  his  forest-walk, 
Keeps  yet  some  touch  of  civil  discipline. 
For  not  since  Adam  wore  his  verdant  apron. 
Hath  man  and  man  in  social  union  dwelt. 
But  laws  were  made  to  draw  that  union  closer. 

Old  Flay. 

(Y.) — Chap,  xxxvi. 

Arouse  the  tiger  of  Hyrcanian  deserts. 
Strive  with  the  half-starved  Uon  for  his  prey ; 
Lesser  the  risk,  than  rouse  the  slumbering  fire 
Of  wild  Fanaticism. 

Anonymous. 

(8.) — Chap,  xxxvu. 

Say  not  my  art  is  fraud — all  live  by  seeming. 
The  beggar  begs  with  it,  and  the  gay  courtier 
Gains  land  and  title,  rank  and  rule,  by  leeniing : 
The  clergy  scorn  it  not,  and  the  bold  soldier 
WiU  eke  with  it  his  service. — All  admit  it, 
AU  practise  it ;  and  he  who  is  content 
With  showing  what  he  is,  shaU  have  small  credit 
In  church,  or  camp,  or  state. — So  wags  the  world 

Old  Flay. 

(9.) — Chap,  xxxvin. 
Stern  was  the  law  which  bade  its  vot'ries  leave 
At  human  woes  with  liuman  hearts  to  grie>  e ; 
Stern  was  the  law,  wliich  at  the  wumhig  wile 
Of  frank  and  harmless  mirth  forbade  to  smUe ; 
But  sterner  still,  when  high  the  iron-rod 
Of  tyTaai  power  she  shook,  and  caU'd  that  power 
of  God. 

The  Middle  Ages, 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


6S5 


aSpftapi)  on  iWrs.  3Srsltinc. 


1819. 


Plain,  as  her  native  dignity  of  mind, 
Arise  the  tomb  of  her  we  have  resign'd  ; 
Unflaw'd  and  stainless  be  the  marble  scroll, 
Emblem  of  lovely  form  and  candid  soul. — 
But,  oh !  what  symbol  may  avail,  to  tell 
The  kindness,  wit,  and  sense,  we  loved  so  well ! 
What  sculpture  show  the  broken  ties  of  life. 
Here  buried  with  the  parent,  friend,  and  wife  ! 
Or  on  the  tablet  stamp  each  title  dear. 
By  which  thine  urn,  Euphemia,  claims  the  tear ! 
Yet  taught,  by  thy  meek  sufferance,  to  assume 
Patience  in  anguish,  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Resign'd,  though  sad,  this  votive  verse  shall  flow, 
And  brief,  alas !  as  thy  brief  span  below. 


Jrom  tlje  iHonastcrg. 


1820. 


(l.)-SONGS  OP  THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  AVENEL. 


ON  TWEED  RIVER. 

1. 

Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
Both  current  and  ripple  are  dancing  in  light. 
We  have  roused  the  night  raven,  I  heard  him 

croak, 
As  we  plash'd  along  beneath  the  oak 
That  flings  its  broad  branches  so  far  and  so  wide. 
Their  shadows  are  dancing  in  midst  of  the  tide. 
"  Who  wakens  my  nestlings  ?"  the  raven  he  said, 
"  My  beak  shall  ere  morn  m  his  blood  be  red ! 
For  a  blue  swollen  corpse  is  a  dainty  meal. 
And  I'U  have  my  share  with  the  pike  and  the  eeL" 


Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
There's  a  golden  gleam  on  the  distant  height : 
There's  a  silver  shower  on  the  alders  dank. 
And  the  drooping  willows  that  wave  on  the  bank. 
I  see  the  Abbey,  both  tm-ret  and  tower, 
It  is  all  astir  for  the  vesper  hour ; 
The  Monks  for  the  chapel  are  leaving  each  cell. 
But  Where's  Father  Philip  should  toll  the  bell  ? 

1  Mrs.  Enphemia  Robinson,  wife  of  William  Erskine,  Esq. 
fafterwards  Lord  Kinedder),  died  September,  1S19,  and  was 


Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
Downward  we  drift  through  shadow  and  light. 
Under  yon  rock  the  eddies  .sleep. 
Calm  and  silent,  dark  and  deep. 
Tlie  Kelpy  has  risen  from  the  fathomless  pool, 
He  has  lighted  his  candle  of  death  and  of  dool : 
Look,  Father,  look,  and  you'll  laugh  to  see 
How  he  gapes  and  glares  with  his  eyes  on  thee  1 

4. 

Good  luck  to  yom-  fishing,  whom  watch  ye  to- 
night? 

A  man  of  mean  or  a  man  of  might  ? 

Is  it  layman  or  priest  that  must  float  in  yom"  cove, 

Or  lover  who  crosses  to  visit  his  love  ? 

Hark !  heard  ye  the  Kelpy  reply  as  we  pass'd, — 

"  God's  blessing  on  the  warder,  he  lock'd  the 
bridge  fast ! 

All  that  come  to  ray  cove  are  sunk, 

Priest  or  layman,  lover  or  monk." 


Landed — landed !  the  black  book  hath  won, 
Else  had  you  seen  Berwick  with  morning  sun ! 
Sain  ye,  and  save  ye,  and  bUthe  mot  ye  be. 
For  seldom  they  land  that  go  swimming  with  me. 

Chap.  V. 


TO  THE  SUB-PRIOR. 

Good  evening.  Sir  Priest,  and  so  late  as  you  ride, 
With  your  mule  so  fair,  and  your  mantle  so  wide ; 
But  ride  you  through  valley,  or  ride  you  o'er  hill, 
There  is  one  that  has  warrant  to  wait  on  you  stilL 

Back,  back. 

The  volume  black  1 
I  have  a  warrant  to  carry  it  back. 

Wliat,  ho !  Sub-Prior,  and  came  you  but  here 
To  conjure  a  book  from  a  dead  woman's  bier  ? 
Sain  you,  and  save  you,  be  wary  and  wise. 
Ride  back  with  the  book,  or  you'll  pay  for  your 
prize. 

Back,  back. 

There's  death  in  the  track! 
lu  the  name  of  my  master,  I  bid  thee  beai*  back. 

"  In  the  name  of  my  Master,"  said  the  astonished 
Monk,  "  that  name  before  wliich  all  tilings  created 
tremble,  1  conjm-e  thee  to  say  what  thou  art  that 
hauntest  me  thus  ?" 

The  same  voice  replied, — 

That  which  is  neither  ill  nor  well. 

That  wliich  belongs  not  to  heaven  nor  to  hcU, 

buried  at  Saline,  in  the  county  of  Fife,  where  these  lines  aw 
inscribed  on  the  tombstone. 




t    686 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


A  -WToath  of  the  mist,  a  bubble  of  the  stream, 
'Tmxt  a  -waking  thought  and  a  sleeping  dream ; 
A  form  that  men  spy 
With  the  half-shut  eye 
In  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  am  L 

Vainly,  Sir  Prior,  wouldst  thou  bar  me  my  right  1 
Like  the  star  when  it  shoots,  I  can  dart  through 

the  night ; 
I  can  dance  on  the  torrent,  and  ride  on  the  air, 
And  travel  the  world  with  the  bonny  night-mare. 

Again,  again. 

At  the  crook  of  the  glen. 
Where  bickers  the  burnie,  I'll  meet  thee  again. 

Men  of  good  are  bold  as  sackless,^ 

Men  of  rude  are  wild  and  reckless. 
Lie  thou  still 
In  the  nook  of  the  hill. 

For  those  be  before  thee  that  wish  thee  ill. 

Chap.  ix. 


HALBERT'S  INCANTATIOJf. 

Thrice  to  the  holly  brake — 
Thrice  to  the  weU : — 

I  bid  thee  awake, 

White  Miud  of  Avenel ! 

'Noon  gleams  on  the  Lake — 
Noon  glows  on  the  Fell — 

Wake  thee,  0  wake. 
White  Maid  of  Avenel. 


TO  HALBERT. 


Youth  of  the  dai'k  eye,  wherefore  didst  thou  call 

me? 
Wherefore  art  thou  here,  if  terrors  can  appal  thee  ? 
He  that  seeks  to  deal  with  us  must  know  nor  fear. 


nor  failing ; 


To  coward  and  chm-1  our  speech  is  dark,  our  gifts 

are  unavailing. 
The  breeze  that  brought   me   hither  now  must 

sweep  Egyptian  ground, 
The  fleecy  cloud  on  which  I  ride  for  Araby  is 

bound ; 
The  fleecy  cloud  is  drifting  by,  the  breeze  sighs  for 

my  stay. 
For  I  must  sail  a  thousand  miles  before  the  close 

of  day. 


Wliat  I  am  I  must  not  show — 
What  I  am  thou  couldst  not  know — 

•  Sacklcss— Innocent. 


Something  betwixt  heaven  and  heU — 
Something  that  neither  stood  nor  fell — 
Something  that  through  thy  wit  or  will 
May  work  thee  good — may  work  thee  ill 
Neither  substance  quite,  nor  shadow, 
Haunting  lonely  moor  and  meadow, 
Dancing  by  the  haunted  spring. 
Riding  on  the  whirlwind's  wing ; 
Aping  in  fantastic  fashion 
Every  change  of  human  passion, 
Wliile  o'er  our  frozen  minds  they  pass, 
Like  shadows  from  the  mirror'd  glass. 
Wayward,  fickle,  is  our  mood. 
Hovering  betwixt  bad  and  good, 
Happier  than  biief-dated  man. 
Living  ten  times  o'er  his  span ; 
Far  less  happy,  for  we  have 
Help  nor  hope  beyond  tlie  grave  ! 
Man  awakes  to  joy  or  sorrow  ; 
Ours  the  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow. 
This  is  all  that  I  can  show — 
This  is  all  that  thou  may'st  know. 


Ay !  and  I  taught  thee  the  word  and  the  spell, 
To  waken  me  here  by  the  Fairies'  WeU. 
But  thou  hast  loved  the  heron  and  hawk, 
More  than  to  seek  my  haunted  walk ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  lance  and  the  sword. 
More  than  good  text  and  holy  word ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  deer  to  track. 
More  than  the  lines  and  the  letters  black-, 
And  thou  art  a  ranger  of  moss  and  wood, 
And  scomest  the  nurture  of  gentle  bloodL 


Thy  craven  fear  my  truth  accused. 

Thine  idlehood  my  trust  abused ; 

He  that  draws  to  harbor  late, 

Must  sleep  without,  or  burst  the  gate. 

There  is  a  star  for  thee  which  burn'd, 

Its  influence  wanes,  its  course  is  turn'd ; 

Valor  and  constancy  alone 

Can  bring  thee  back  the  chance  that's  flown. 


Within  that  awful  volume  lies 
Tlie  mystery  of  mysteries ! 
Happiest  they  of  human  race. 
To  whom  God  has  granted  grace 
To  read,  to  fear,  to  hope,  to  pray, 
To  lift  the  latch,  and  force  the  way ; 
And  better  had  they  ne'er  been  bom. 
Who  read  to  doubt,  or  read  to  scorn. 


Many  a  fathom  dark  and  deep 
I  have  laid  the  book  to  sleep ; 
Ethereal  fires  around  it  glowing — 
Ethereal  music  ever  flowing — 
The  sacred  pledge  of  Heav'n 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


681 


All  things  revere, 
Each  in  his  sphere, 

Save  man  for  Avhom  'twas  giv'n : 
Lend  thy  hand,  and  thou  shalt  spy- 
Things  ne'er  seen  by  mortal  eye. 


Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me  ? 
Still  it  is  free  to  thee 

A  peasant  to  dwell ; 
Thou  may'st  drive  the  dull  steer, 
And  chase  the  king's  deer, 
But  never  more  come  near 

This  luumted  well. 


Here  hes  the  volume  thou  boldly  hast  sought ; 
Touch  it,  and  take  it,  'twUl  deaily  be  bought. 


/  Rash  thy  deed. 
Mortal  weed 
To  immortal  flames  applying ; 
Rasher  trust 
Has  thing  of  dust. 
On  his  o-wm  weak  worth  relying : 
Strip  thee  of  such  fences  vain. 
Strip,  and  prove  thy  luck  again. 

Mortal  war])  and  mortal  woof 
Cannot  brook  this  charmed  roof; 
All  that  mortal  art  hath  wrought 
In  our  cell  returns  to  naught. 
The  molten  gold  returns  to  clay. 
The  polish'd  diamond  melts  away ; 
All  is  altered,  aU  is  flown, 
Naught  stands  fast  but  truth  alone. 
Not  for  that  thy  quest  give  o'er : 
Courage !  prove  thy  chance  once  more. 


Alas !  alas ! 

Not  ours  the  grace 

These  holy  characters  to  trace : 

Idle  forms  of  painted  air. 

Not  to  us  is  given  to  share 
The  boon  bestow'd  on  Adam's  race. 

With  patience  bide. 

Heaven  wiU  provide 
The  fitting  time,  the  fitting  guide. 

Chap.  xiL 


HALBERT'S  SECOND  INTERVIEW  WITH 
THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  AVENEL. 

"  She  spoke,  and  her  speech  was  still  song,  or 
rather  meiisured  chant ;  but  if,  as  now,  more  famil- 
iar, it  flowed  occasionally  in  modulated  blank-verse, 
and,  at  other  times,  in  the  lyrical  measure  which 
>je  liad  used  at  their  former  meeting." 


This  is  the  day  when  the  fairy  kind 

Sit  weeping  alone  for  their  hopeless  lot. 

And    the  wood-maiden    siglis   to    the    sighing 

wind. 
And  the  mermaiden  weeps  in  her  crystal  grot ; 
For  this  is  a  day  that  the  deed  was  wrought, 
In  which  we  have  neither  part  nor  share. 
For  the  children  of  clay  was  salvation  bought, 
But  not  for  the  forms  of  sea  or  air  I 
And  ever  the  mortal  is  most  forlorn. 
Who  meeteth  our  race  on  the  Friday  mom. 

Daring  youth  !  for  thee  it  is  well, 

Here  calling  me  in  liaunted  dell, 

That  thy  heart  has  not  quaU'd, 

Nor  thy  courage  fail'd. 

And  that  thou  couldst  brook 

The  angry  look 

Of  Her  of  Avenel. 

Did  one  limb  shiver 

Or  an  eyelid  quiver. 

Thou  wert  lost  for  ever. 

Though  I  am  form'd  from  the  ether  blue. 

And  my  blood  is  of  the  unfallen  dew. 

And  thou  art  framed  of  mud  and  dust, 

'Tis  thine  to  speak,  reply  I  must. 


A  mightier  wizard  far  than  I 
Wields  o'er  the  universe  liis  power ; 
Him  owns  the  eagle  in  the  sky. 
The  turtle  m  the  bower. 
Changeful  in  shape,  yet  mightiest  still. 
He  wields  the  heart  of  man  at  will. 
From  ill  to  good,  from  good  to  ill. 
In  cot  and  castle-tower. 


Ask  thy  heart,  whose  secret  cell 
Is  fiU'd  with  Mary  Avenel ! 
Ask  thy  pride,  why  scornful  look 
In  Mary's  view  it  will  not  brook  ? 
Ask  it,  why  thou  seek'st  to  rise 
Among  the  mighty  and  the  wise, — 
Why  thou  spuru'st  thy  lowly  lot, — 
Why  thy  pastimes  are  forgot, — 
Why  thou  wouldst  in  bloody  strife 
Mend  thy  luck  or  lose  thy  fife  ? 
Ask  thy  heart,  and  it  shall  tell. 
Sighing  from  its  secret  cell, 
'Tis  for  Mary  AveneL 


Do  not  ask  me ; 

On  doubts  like  these  thou  canst  not  task  ma 

We  only  see  the  passing  show 

Of  human  passions'  ebb  and  flow ; 

And  view  the  pageant's  idle  glance 

As  mortals  eye  the  northern  dance, 

When  thousand  streamers,  flashing  bright, 

Career  it  o'er  the  brow  of  nighty 


CSS 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  gazers  mark  their  changeful  gleams, 
But  feel  no  bfluence  from  their  beams. 


By  ties  mysterious  link'd,  our  fated  race 
Holds  strange  connection  with  the  sons  of  mea 
The  star  that  rose  upon  the  House  of  Avenel, 
When  Norman  UMc  first  assumed  the  name, 
That  star,  when  culminating  in  its  orbit, 
Shot  from  its  sphere  a  di-op  of  diamond  dew. 
And  this  bright  font  received  it — and  a  Spirit 
Rose  from  the  fountain,  and  her  date  of  Ufa 
Hath  coexistence  with  the  House  of  Avenel, 
And  with  the.  star  that  rides  it. 


Look  on  my  girdle — on  tliis  thread  of  gold — 
'Tis  fine  as  web  of  hghtcst  gossamer. 
And,  but  there  is  a  spell  on't,  would  not  bmd, 
Light  as  they  are,  the  folds  of  my  thin  robe. 
But  when  'twas  donn'd,  it  was  a  massive  chain, 
Such  as  might  bin  1  the  champion  of  the  Jews, 
Even  when   his   locks  were   longest  —  it  hath 

dwindled. 
Hath  'minish'd  in  its  substance  and  its  strength, 
As  sunk  the  gi-eatness  of  the  House  of  AveneL 
When  this  frail  thread  gives  way,  I  to  the  ele- 
ments 
Eesign  the  principles  of  hfe  they  lent  me. 
Ask  me  no  more  of  this ! — the  stai-s  forbid  it. 


jht- 


Dim  burns  the  once  bright  star  of  Avenel, 
Dim  as  the  beacon  when  the  morn  is  nigh, 
And  the  c'er-weaiied  warder  leaves  the  hj^ 

house ; 
There  is  an  influence  sorrowful  and  fearful, 
That   dogs   its   downward    course.     Disastrous 

passion, 
Fierce  hate  and  rivahy,  are  in  the  aspect 
That  lowers  upon  its  fortunes. 


Complain  not  on  me,  child  of  clay, 
If  to  thy  harm  I  yield  the  way. 
We,  who  soar  thy  sphere  above, 
Know  not  aught  of  hate  or  love ; 
As  will  or  wisdom  rules  thy  mood, 
My  gifts  to  evil  turn  or  good. 

When  Picrcie  Shafton  boasteth  high, 
Let  this  token  meet  his  eye. 
The  sun  is  westering  from  the  dell. 
Thy  wish  is  granted — fare  thee  well ! 

Chap.  xviL 


THE  WHITE  LADY  TO  ILiRY  AVENEL. 

Maiden,  whose  sorrows  wail  the  Living  Dead, 
Who?6  eyes  .shall  commune  with  the  Dead  Alive, 


Maiden,  attend  !  Beneath  my  foot  lies  hid 

The  Word,  the  Law,  the  Path  which  thou  d  ;si 
strive 
To  find,  and  canst  not  find. — Could  Spirits  shed 

Tears  for  then-  lot,  it  were  my  lot  to  weep, 
Showing  the  road  which  I  shall  never  tread, 

Though  my  foot  points  it. — Sleep,  eternal  sleep, 
Dark,  long,  and  cold  forgetfulness  my  lot  I — 

But  do  not  thou  at  human  ills  repine  ; 
Secm'e  there  hes  full  guerdon  in  this  spot 

For  all  the  woes  that  wait  fi-ail  Adam's  hne — 
Stoop  then  and  make  it  yours, — I  may  not  make 
it  mine  I 

Chap. 


THE  WHITE  LADY  TO  EDWARD 
GLENDINNIt^G. 

Thou  who  seek'st  my  foimtain  lone, 

With  tl  flights  and  hopes  thou  dar'st  not  own  ^ 

Whose  heart  within  leap'd  wildly  glad. 

When  most  his  brow  seem'd  dark  and  sad ; 

Hie  thee  back,  thou  find'st  not  here 

Corpse  or  coffin,  gi-ave  or  bier  ; 

Tlie  Dead  Ahve  is  gone  and  fled — 

Go  thou,  and  join  the  Living  Dead ! 

The  Living  Dead,  whose  sober  brow 
Oft  shrouds  such  thoughts  as  thou  hast  now, 
Whose  hearts  within  are  seldom  cured 
Of  passions  by  their  vows  abjured  ; 
Where,  under  sad  and  solemn  show, 
Vain  hopes  are  nursed,  wUd  wishes  glow. 
Seek  the  convent's  vaull  ed  room. 
Prayer  and  vigil  be  thy  doom  ; 
Doff  the  green,  and  don  the  gray. 
To  the  cloister  hence  away ! 

Chap,  xxxil. 


THE  WHITE  LADY'S  FAREWELL. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  HoUy  green  ! 

Thou  shalt  seldom  now  be  seen. 

With  all  thy  ghttering  garlands  bending, 

As  to  greet  my  slow  descending, 

Startling  the  bewilder'd  hind. 

Who  sees  thee  wave  without  a  wind. 

Farewell,  Fountain  1  now  not  long 
Shalt  thou  murmur  to  my  song. 
While  thy  crystal  bubbles  glancing, 
Keep  the  time  in  mystic  dancing. 
Rise  and  swell,  are  burst  and  lost, 
Like  mortal  schemes  by  fortune  cross'd. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


689 


The  knot  of  fate  at  length  is  tied, 
Tlie  Churl  is  Lord,  the  Maid  is  Bride ! 
Vainly  did  my  magic  sleight 
Send  the  lover  from  her  sight ; 
Witlier  bush,  and  perish  well, 
Fall'n  is  lofty  Avenel ! 

Chap,  xxxvii. 


(2.)— BORDER  BALLAD. 

1. 

ILiRcn,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale, 

Why  the  deil  dinna  ye  march  forward  in  order  ? 
March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdalc, 

All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  bound  for  the  Border. 
Many  a  banner  spread. 
Flutters  above  your  head, 
Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story. 
Mount  and  make  ready  then, 
Sons  of  the  mountain  glen, 
Fight  for  the  Queen  and  om-  old  Scottish  glory. 


Come  from  the  hills  where  your  lui-sels  are  grazing, 

Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe ; 
Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing, 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance,  and  the  bow. 
Trumpets  are  sounding, 
War-steeds  are  bounding. 
Stand  to  your  arms,  and  marcli  in  good  order, 
England  shall  many  a  day 
Tell  of  the  bloody  fray. 
When  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border. 

Chap.  XXV. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Ch.u'.  I. 

0  AY !  the  Monks,  the  Monks,  they  did  the  mia- 

chief ! 
Theirs  all  the  grossncss,  all  the  superstition 
Of  a  most  gross  and  superstitious  age. — 
May  He  be  praised  that  sent  the  healthful  tem- 
pest. 
And  scatter'd  all  these  pestilential  vapors ; 
But  that  we  owed  them  all  to  yonder  Harlot 
Throned  on  the  seven  hills  with  her  cup  of  gold, 

1  will  as  soon  believe,  with  kind  Su-  Roger, 
That  old  Moll  White  took  wing  with  cat  and  broom- 
stick. 

And  raised  the  last  night's  thunder. 

Old  Flay. 
87 


(2.)— CuAP.  n. 
In  yon  lone  vale  his  eiirly  youth  waa  bred. 
Not  soUtary  then — the  bugle-horn 
Of  fell  Alecto  often  waked  its  windings, 
From  where  the  brook  joins  the  majestic  river, 
To  the  wild  northern  bog,  the  curUeu's  haunt, 
Wliere  oozes  forth  its  fii'st  and  feeble  streamlet 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  v. 
A  priest,  ye  cry,  a  priest ! — lame  shepherds  they, 
How  shall  they  gather  in  the  stragghng  flock  ? 
Dumb  dogs  which  bark  not — how  shall  they  compel 
The  loitering  vagrants  to  the  Master's  fold  ? 
Fitter  to  bask  before  the  blazing  fire. 
And  snuff  the  mess  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses. 
Than  on  the  snow-wreath  battle  with  the  wolf. 

Reformation. 

(4.) — Chap.  vi. 
Now  let  us  sit  in  conclave.     That  these  weeds 
Be  rooted  from  the  vineyard  of  the  Chui'ch, 
That  these  foul  tares  be  sever'd  fi-om  the  whea*, 
We  are,  I  trust,  agreed. — Yet  how  to  do  this. 
Nor  hm-t  the  wholesome    crop  and  tender  vine 

plants, 
Craves  good  advisement. 

The  Reformation. 

(5.)— Chap.  vin. 
Nay,  dally  not  with  time,  the  wise  man's  treasuio. 
Though  fools  are  lavish  on't — the  fatal  Fisher 
Hooks  souls,  while  we  waste  moments. 

Old  Play. 

(6.)— Chap.  xi. 
You  call  this  education,  do  you  not  ? 
Why,  'tis  the  forced  mai-ch  of  a  herd  of  bullocks 
Before  a  shouting  drover.     Tlie  glad  van 
Move  on  at  ease,  and  pause  a  while  to  snatch 
A  passing  morsel  from  the  dewy  green-sward. 
While  all  the  blows,  the  oaths,  the  indignation. 
Fall  on  the  croupe  of  the  ill-fated  laggard 
That  cripples  in  the  rear. 

Old  Play. 

{^) — Chap.  xn. 
There's  something  in  that  ancient  superstition, 
Wliich,  erring  as  it  is,  our  fancy  loves. 
The  spring  that,  with  its  thousand  crystal  bubblen, 
Bm'sts  from  the  bosom  of  some  desert  rock 
In  secret  solitude,  may  well  be  deem'd 
The  haunt  of  something  pm-er,  more  refined, 
And  mightier  than  ourselves.  Old  Play. 

(8.) — Chap.  xrv. 
Nay,  let  me  have  the  friends  who  eat  my  victuali% 
As  various  as  my  dishes.    The  feast's  naught, 


, _____ — 

690                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Where  one  huge  plate  predominates. — John  Plain- 

(14.)— Chap,  win. 

text, 

'Tis  when  the  wound  is  stM'ening  with  the  cold. 

He  shall  be  mighty  beef,  our  English  staple ; 

The  warrior  first  feels  pam — 'tis  when  the  heat 

The  worthy  Alderman,  a  butter'd  dmnpUng  ; 

And  fiery  fever  of  his  soul  Is  past. 

Yon  pair  of  whisker'd  Cornets,  ruffs  and  rees ; 

The  sinner  feels  remorse. 

Then-  friend  the  Dandy,  a  green  goose  in  sippets. 

Old  Play. 

And  so  the  board  is  spread  at  once  and  fiU'd 

On  the  same  principle — Variety. 

(15.) — Chap.  xxtv. 

New  Play. 

rU  walk  on  tiptoe ;  arm  my  eye  with  caution, 

My  heart  with  courage,  and  my  hand  with  weapoa 

(9.) — Chap.  xv. 

Like  him  who  ventures  on  a  lion's  den. 

He  strikes  no  cob,  'tis  true,  but  corns  new  phrases, 

Old  Play. 

And  vends  them  forth  as  knaves  vend  gilded 

counters, 

(16.)— Chap.  2cxvu. 

Which  wise  men  scorn,  and  fools  accept  in  pay- 

Now, by  Our  Lady,  Sheriff,  'tis  hard  reckoning, 

ment. 

That  I,  with  every  odds  of  birth  and  barony, 

Old  Play. 

Should  be  detain'd  here  for  the  casual  death 

Of  a  wild  forester,  whose  utmost  having 

(10.) — Qn\v.  XVI. 

Is  but  the  brazen  buckle  of  the  belt 

A  courtier  extraordinary,  who  by  diet 

In  wliich  he  sticks  his  hedge-knife. 

Of  meats  and  drinks,  his  temperate  exercise. 

Old  Play. 

Choice  music,  frequent  bath,  his  horary  shifts 

Of  shirts  and  waistcoats,  means  to  immortalize 

(1*7.) — Chap.  xxx. 

Mortality  itself,  and  makes  the  essence 

You  call  it  an  iU  angel — it  may  be  so ; 

Of  his  whole  happiness  the  trim  of  court. 

But  sure  I  am,  among  the  ranks  wliich  fcU, 

Magnetic  Lady. 

'Tis  the  first  fiend  e'er  counsell'd  man  to  rise. 

A  nd  win  the  bliss  the  sprite  himself  had  forfeited 

(11.) — Chap.  xix. 

Old  Play. 

Now  choose   thee,  gallant,  betwixt  wealth  and 

honor ; 

(18.) — Chap.  xxth. 

There  lies  the  pelf,  in  sum  to  bear  thee  through 

At  school  I  knew  him — a  sharp-witted  youth, 

The  dance  of  youth,  and  the  turmoil  of  manliood, 

Grave,  thoughtful,  and  reserved  amongst  liis  mates, 

Yet  leave  enough  for  age's  chimney-corner ; 

Turning  the  hours  of  sport  and  food  to  labor, 

But  an  thou  gi'asp  to  it,  farewell  Ambition ! 

Starvino;  his  body  to  inform  his  mind. 

Farewell  each  hope  of  bettering  thy  condition. 

Old  Play. 

And  raising  thy  low  rank  above  the  chmds 

That  till  the  earth  for  bread ! 

(19.) — Chap,  xxxui. 

Old  Play. 

Now  on  my  faith  this  gear  is  all  entangled. 

Like  to  the  yarn-clew  of  the  drowsy  knitter. 

(12.) — Chap.  xxi. 

Dragg'd  by  the  frolic  kitten  through  the  cabin. 

Indifferent,  but  indifferent — ^pshaw!   he  doth  it 

"WhUe  the  good  dame  sits  noddmg  o'er  the  fire — 

not 

Masters,  attend ;  'twUl  crave  some  skill  to  clear  it. 

Like  one  who  is  his  craft's  master — ne'ertheless 

Old  Play. 

I  have  seen  a  clown  confer  a  bloody  coxcomb 

On  one  who  was  a  master  of  defence. 

(20.) — Chap,  xyxrv. 

Old  Play. 

It  is  not  texts  wiU  do  it— Clmrch  artillery 

Are  silenced  soon  by  real  ordnance. 

(13.)— Chap.  xxn. 

And  canons  are  but  vain  opposed  to  cannon. 

Yes,  hfe  hath  left  him — every  busy  thought, 

Go,  coin  yom"  crosier,  melt   your   church   plate 

Each  fiery  passion,  every  strong  affection, 

down, 

The  sense  of  outward  ill  and  inward  soitow, 

Bid  the  starved  soldier  banquet  in  your  halls. 

Are  fled  at  once  from  the  pale  trunk  before  me ; 

And  quaff  your  long-saved  hogsheads — Turn  them 

And  I  have  given  that  which  spoke  and  moved, 

out 

Thought,  acted,  suffcr'd,  as  a  living  man. 

Thus  pruned  with  your  good  cheer,  to  guard  your 

To  be  a  ghastly  form  of  bloody  clay, 

wall, 

Soon  the  foul  food  for  reptiles. 

And  they  will  venture  for  't. 

Old  Play. 

Old  Play. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


691 


JTrom  tlje  ^bbot. 


1820. 


(1.)— THE  rARDONER'S  ADVERTISEMENT. 

"  At  length  the  pardoner  pulle.d  from  his  scrip 
a  small  phial  of  clear  "water,  of  wliich  he  vaunted 
the  quality  in  the  followiug  verses :" — 

Listneth,  gode  people,  everiche  one, 
For  in  the  londe  of  Babylone, 
Far  eastward  I  wot  it  lyeth. 
And  is  the  first  londe  the  sonne  espieth, 
Ther,  as  he  cometh  fro  out  the  s6 ; 
In  this  ilk  londe,  as  thinketh  me, 
Right  as  holie  legendes  tell, 
Suottreth  from  a  roke  a  well. 
And  falleth  iato  ane  bath  of  ston, 
Wlicr  chast  Susaime  iu  times  long  gon, 
Was  wont  to  wash  her  bodie  and  lim — 
Mickle  vertue  hath  that  streme. 
As  ye  shall  se  er  that  ye  pas, 
Ensample  by  this  httle  glas — 
Through  nightes  cold  and  dayes  bote, 
Hiderward  I  have  it  brought ; 
Hath  a  wife  made  slip  or  slide, 
Or  a  maiden  stepp'd  aside ; 
Putteth  this  water  under  her  nese, 
Wold  she  nold  she,  she  shall  snese. 

Chap,  xxvii. 


(2).— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 

-In  the  wild  .storm, 


The  seaman  hews  liis  mast  down,  and  the  merchant 
Heaves  to  the  billows  wares  he  once  deem'd  pre- 
cious : 
So  prince  and  peer,  'mid  popular  contentions. 
Cast  off  their  favorites. 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  vi. 
Thou  hast  each  secret  of  the  household,  Francis. 
I  dare  be  sworn  thou  hast  been  in  the  buttery 
Steeping  thy  curious  humor  in  fat  ale. 
And  in  the  butler's  tattle — ay,  or  cliatting 
With  tlie  glib  waiting-woman  o'er  her  comfits — 
These  bear  the  key  to  each  domestic  mystery. 

Old  Play. 

(3.; — Ch.\p.  vin. 
The  sacred  tapers'  lights  are  gone. 
Gray  moss  has  clad  the  altar  stone. 
The  holy  image  is  o'erthrown, 


The  bell  has  ceased  to  toU. 
The  long-ribb'd  aisles  are  burst  and  shrunk, 
The  holy  shrines  to  ruin  sunk. 
Departed  is  the  pious  monk, 

God's  blessing  on  his  soul  1 

Rediviva 

(4.) — Chap.  xi. 
Life  hath  its  May,  and  all  is  mirthful  then : 
The  woods  are  vocal,  and  the  flowers  all  odor , 
Its  very  blast  has  mirth  in 't, — and  the  maidens, 
Tlie  while  they  don  their  cloaka  to  skreen  their 

kirtles. 
Laugh  at  the  rain  that  wets  them. 

Old  Play. 

(5.) — Chap.  xn. 
Nay,  hear  me,  brother — I  am  elder,  wiser, 
And  holier  than  thou ;  and  age,  and  wisdom. 
And  hohness,  have  peremptory  claims. 
And  will  be  listen'd  to.  Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xiv. 
Not  the  wild  biUow,  when  it  breaks  its  baiTier — 
Not  the  wild  wind,  escaping  from  its  cavern — 
Not  the  wild  fiend,  that  mingles  both  together. 
And  pours  theu-  rage  upon  the  ripening  harvest. 
Can  match  the  wdd  fi-eaks  of  this  mirthful  meet- 
ing- 
Comic,  yet  fearful — droll,  and  yet  destructive. 

The  Conspiracy. 

(7.) — Chap.  xvi. 
Youth !  thou  wear'st  to  manhood  now, 
Darker  hp  and  darker  brow. 
Statelier  step,  more  pensive  mien, 
In  thy  face  and  gait  are  seen : 
Thou  must  now  brook  midnight  watches, 
Take  thy  food  and  sport  by  snatches  1 
For  the  gambol  and  the  jest. 
Thou  wert  wont  to  love  the  best. 
Graver  follies  must  thou  follow, 
But  as  senseless,  false,  and  hollow. 

Life,  a  Poem, 

(8.) — Chap.  xix. 
It  is  and  is  not — ^"tis  the  thing  I  sought  for, 
Have  kneel'd  for,  pray'd  for,  risk'd  my  fame  and 

hfe  for. 
And  yet  it  is  not — ^no  more  than  the  shadow 
Upon  the  hard,  cold,  flat,  and  pohsh'd  mirror. 
Is  the  warm,  graceful,  rounded,  living  substance 
Which  it  presents  in  form  and  lineament. 

Old  Play 

(9.) — Chap.  xxni. 

Give  me  a  morsel  on  the  greensward  rather, 
Coarse  as  you  will  the  cooking — Let  the  fiesh 
spring 


692 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Bubble  beside  my  napkin — and  the  free  birds, 
Twittering    and    chirping,  bop   from    bough   to 

bough, 
To  claim  the  cruras  I  leave  for  perquisites — 
Tour  prison-feasts  I  Uke  not. 

The  Woodman,  a  Drama. 

(10.) — Chap.  xxit. 

'Tis  a  weary  life  this 

Vaults  overhead,  and  grates  and  bars  around  me. 
And  my  sad  hours  spent  with  as  sad  companions, 
Whose  thoughts  are  brooding  o'er  their  own  mis- 
chances, 
Far,  far  too  deeply  to  take  part  in  mine. 

The  Wood&man. 

(11.) — Chap.  xxv. 
And  when  Love's  torch  hath  set  the  heart  in  flame, 
Comes  Seignor  Reason,  with  his  saws  and  cautions, 
Giving  such  aid  as  the  old  gray-beard  Sexton, 
Who  from  the  church-vault  drags  his  crazy  engine. 
To  ply  its  dribbling  ineffectual  streamlet 
Against  a  conflagration. 

Old  Flay. 

(12.) — Chap,  xxvin. 
Yes,  it  la  she  whose  eyes  look'd  on  thy  childhood, 
And  watch'd  with  trembling  hope  thy  dawn  of 

youth. 
That  now,  with  these  same  eye-balls,  dimm'd  with 

age, 
And  dimmer  yet  with  tears,  sees  thy  dishonor. 

Old  Play. 

(13.)— Chap.  xxx. 
In  some  breasts  passion  lies  conceal'd  and  silent, 
Like  war's  swart  powder  in  a  castle  vault. 
Until  occa-sion,  like  the  hnstock,  lights  it ; 
Then  comes  at  once  the  lightning  and  the  thun- 
der. 
And  distant  echoes  tell  tliat  all  is  rent  asunder. 

Old  Play. 

(14.) — Chap,  xxxin. 
Death  distant  ? — No,  alas !  he's  ever  with  us, 
And  shakes  the  dart  at  us  in  all  our  actings: 
He  lurks  within  our  cup,  while  we're  in  health; 
Sits  by  our  sick-bed,  mocks  our  medicines  ; 
We  cannot  walk,  or  sit,  or  ride,  or  travel. 
But  death  is  by  to  seize  us  when  he  lists. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

(15.) — Chap,  xxxrv. 

Ay,  Pedro, — Come  you  here  with  mask  and  lan- 
tern, 
Ladder  of  ropes,  and  other  moonshine  tools — 
^^J>    youngster,    thou    may'st    cheat    the    old 
Duenna, 


Flatter  the  waiting-woman,  bribe  the  valet ; 
But  know,  that  I  her  father  play  the  Gryphon, 
Tameless  and  sleepless,  proof  to  fraud  or  bribe. 
And  guard  the  hidden  treasure  of  her  beauty. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

(16.) — Chap.  xxxv. 
It  is  a  time  of  danger,  not  of  revel, 
When  churchmen  tm'n  to  masquers. 

TJie  Spa7iish  Father. 

(1*7.) — Chap,  xxxvii. 
Ay,  sir — our  ancient  crown,  in  these  wild  times. 
Oft  stood  upon  a  cast — the  gamester's  ducat, 
So  often  staked,  and  lost,  and  then  regain'd. 
Scarce  knew  so  many  hazards. 

Tlie  Spanish  Fatlier 


Jrom  luniliuortl). 


1821. 


(1.)— GOLDTHRED'S  SONG. 

"  After  some  brief  interval.  Master  Goldthred, 
at  the  earnest  instigation  of  mine  host,  and  the 
joyous  concurrence  of  his  guests,  indulged  the  com- 
pany with  the  following  morsel  of  melody :" — 

Of  all  the  birds  on  bush  or  tree, 

Commend  me  to  the  owl. 
Since  he  may  best  ensample  be 
To  those  the  cup  that  trowl. 
For  when  the  sun  hath  left  the  west, 
He  chooses  the  tree  that  he  loves  the  best, 
And  he  whoops  out  his  song,  and  he  laughs  at  his 

jest. 
Then,  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  foul, 
We'U  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny 
owL 

The  lark  is  but  a  bumpkin  fowl. 

He  sleeps  in  his  nest  till  morn ; 
But  my  blessing  upon  the  jolly  owl. 
That  all  night  blows  his  horn. 
Tlien  up  with  your  cup  till  you  stagger  in  speech, 
And  match  me  this  catch,  till  you  swagger  and 

screech. 
And  drink  till  you  wuik,  my  merry  men  each ; 
For,  tliough  hours  be  late,  and  weather  be  foul, 
We'U  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny 
owL 

Chap.  u. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


692 


(2.)— SPEECH  OF  THE  PORTER  AT 
KENILWORTH. 

"At  the  approach  of  the  Queen,  upon  eight 
of  -whom,  as  struck  by  some  heavenly  vision,  the 
gigantic  warder  dropped  his  club,  resigned  his 
keys,  and  gave  open  way  to  the  Goddess  of  the 
night,  and  aU  her  magnificent  train." 

What  stu-,  what  turmoil,  have  we  for  the  nones  ? 
Stand  back,  my  masters,  or  beware  your  bones ! 
Shs,  I'm  a  warder,  and  no  man  of  straw ; 
My  voice  keeps  order,  and  my  club  gives  law. 

Yet  soft — nay  stay — what  vision  have  we  here  ? 
What  damty  darling's  this — what  peerless  peer  ? 
What  loveliest  face,  that  loving  ranks  enfold, 
Like  brightest  diamond  chased  in  purest  gold  ? 
Dazzled  and  blind,  mine  ofBce  I  forsake, 
My  club,  my  key,  my  knee,  my  homage  take. 
Bright  paragon,  pass  on  in  joy  and  bliss ; — 
Beshrew  the  gate  that  opes  not  wide  at  such  a 


sight  as  this  1* 


Chap.  XXX. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 
(1.) — Chap.  iv. 

Not  serve  two  masters  ? — Here  's  a  youth  will 

try  it- 
Would  fain  serve  God,  yet  give  the  devil  his  due ; 
Says  grace  before  he  doth  a  deed  of  villany. 
And  returns  his  thanks  devoutly  when  'tis  acted. 

Old  Play. 

(2.) — Chap.  v. 

He  was  a  man 

Yersed  in  the  world  as  pilot  in  his  compass. 
The  needle  pointed  ever  to  that  mterest 
Wliich  was  his  loadstar,  and  he  spread  his  sails 
With  vantage  to  the  gale  of  others'  passion. 

The  Deceiver — a  Tragedy. 

(3.) — Chap.  vu. 

This  is  JBe 

Who  rides  on  the  com-t-gale  ;  controls  its  tides ; 
Knows  all  their  secret  shoals  and  fatal  eddies ; 
Whose  frown  abases,  and  whose  srmle  exalts. 
He  shines  like  any  rainbow — and,  perchance, 
Hia  colors  are  aa  transient. 

Old  Play. 

1  "  This  13  an  imitation  of  Gascoigne's  verses,  spoken  by  the 
Herculean  porter,  as  mentioned  in  the  text  [of  the  Novel]. 
The  original  may  be  found  in  the  republication  of  the  Princely 
Pleasures  of  Kenihvorth,  by  the  same  author,  iu  the  History  of 
Kenilworth.     Chiswick,  1821. 


(4.) — Chap.  xtv. 
This  is  rare  news  thou  teU'st  me,  my  good  fellow; 
There  are  two  bulls  fierce  battling  on  the  green 
For  one  fair  heifer — if  the  one  goes  down, 
The  dale  will  be  more  peaceful,  and  the  herd. 
Which  have  small  interest  in  their  brulziement. 
May  pasture  there  in  peace. 

Old  Play 

(5.) — Chap.  xvn. 
Well,  then,  our  course  is  chosen ;  spread  the  sail,— 
Heave  oft  the  lead,  and  mark  the  soundings  well; 
Look  to  the  helm,  good  master ;  many  a  shoal 
Marks  this  stem  coast,  and  rocks  where  sits  the 

siren. 
Who,  like  ambition,  lures  men  to  their  ruin. 

The  Shipwreck. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxin. 
Now  God  be  good  to  me  in  this  wild  pUgrimage  I 
AU  hope  in  human  aid  I  cast  behind  me. 
Oh,  who  would  be  a  woman  ?  who  that  fool, 
A  weeping,  pining,  faithful,  lo^ong  woman  ? 
She  hath  hard  measure   still  where  she  hopes 

kindest, 
And  all  her  bounties  only  make  ingi-ates. 

Love's  Pilgrimage. 

(7.) — Chap.  xxv. 
Hark !  the  bells  summon,  and  the  bugle  caUs, 
But  she  the  fau-est  answers  not ;  the  tide 
Of  nobles  and  of  ladies  throngs  the  halls, 
But  she  the  loveliest  must  in  secret  hide. 
What  eyes  were  thine,  proud  Prince,  which  in  the 

gleam 
Of  yon  gay  meteors  lost  that  better  sense, 
That  o'er  the  glow-worm  doth  the  star  esteem. 
And  merit's  modest  blush  o'er  com-tly  insolence  ? 

The  Glass  Slipper. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxvm. 
What,  man,  ne'er  lack  a  draught,  when  the  full 

can 
Stands  at  thine  elbow,  and  craves  emptying ! — 
Nay,  fear  not  me,  for  I  have  no  deUght 
To  watch  men's  vices,  since  I  have  myself 
Of  vh-tue  naught  to  boast  of. — Fm  a  striker, 
Would  have  the  world  stiike  with  me,  pell-meU, 

all. 

Pandceinonium, 

(9.) — Chap.  xxix. 
Now  fare  thee  well,  my  master !  if  true  service 
Be  guerdon'd  with  hai-d  looks,  e'en  cut  the  tow- 
line, 
And  let  om-  barks  across  the  pathless  flood 
Hold  different  com'ses. 

Shipvnreck. 


694 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(10.) — Chap.  xxx. 
Now  bid  the  steeple  rock — she  comes,  she  comes ! 
Speak  for  us,  bells !  speak  for  us,  shrill-tougued 

tuckets ! 
Stand  to  the  linstock,  gunner ;  let  thy  cannon 
Play  such  a  peal,  as  if  a  Paynim  foe 
Came  stretch'd  in  tui-ban'd  ranks  to  storm  the 

ramparts. 
"We  -will  have  pageants  too ;  but  that  craves  wit, 
And  I'm  a  rough-hewn  soldier. 

The  Virgin- Queen,  a  Tragi-Comedy. 

(11.) — Chap.  xxxn. 
The  msest  sovereigns  err  like  private  men, 
And  royal  hand  has  sometimes  laid  the  sword 
Of  claivalry  upon  a  worthless  shoulder, 
■WTiich  better  had  been  branded  by  the  hangman. 
What  then  ?  Bangs  do  their  best, — and  they  and  we 
Must  answer  for  the  intent,  and  not  the  event. 

Old  Flay. 

(12.) — Chap,  xxxui. 
Here  stands  the  victim — there  the  proud  betrayer, 
E'en  as  the  hind  pull'd  down  by  strangling  dogs 
Lies  at  the  hunter's  feet,  who  com-teous  proffers 
To  some  high  dame,  the  Dian  of  the  chase, 
To  whom  he  looks  for  guerdon,  his  sharp  blade, 
To  gash  the  sobbing  throat. 

The  Woodsman. 

(13.)— Chap.  xl. 
High  o'er  the  eastern  steep  the  sun  is  beaming, 
And  darkness  flies  with  her  deceitful  shadows  ; 
So  truth  prevails  o'er  falsehood. 

Old  Play. 


Jrom  tlje  pirate. 


1821. 


(1.)— THE  SONG  OF  THE  TEMPEST. 

"  A  Norwegian  invocation,  still  preserved  in  the 
island  of  TJnst,  under  the  name  of  the  Song  of  the 
Reim-kennar,  though  some  call  it  the  Song  of  the 
Tempest.  The  following  is  a  free  translation,  it 
being  impossible  to  render  literally  many  of  the 
elliptical  and  metaphorical  terms  of  expression  pe- 
culiar to  the  ancient  Northern  poetry  :" — 


Stern  eagle  of  the  far  north-west. 

Thou  that  bearest  in  thy  grasp  the  thunderbolt, 

Thou  whose  rushing  piniona  stir  ocean  to  madness, 


Thou  the  destroyer  of  herds,  thou  the  scatterer  of 

navies. 
Amidst  the  scream  of  thy  rage, 
Amidst  the  rusliing  of  thy  onward  wings, 
Though  thy  scream  be  loud  as  the  cry  of  a  perish- 
ing nation, 
Thougli  the  rushing  of  thy  wings  be  like  the  roar 

of  ten  thousand  waves. 
Yet  hear,  in  tliine  he  and  thy  haste. 
Hear  thou  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 


Tliou  hast  met  the  pine-trees  of  Drontheim, 
Tliek  dark-green  heads  he  prostrate  beside  their 

uprooted  stems ; 
Thou  hast  met  the  rider  of  the  ocean. 
The  tall,  the  strong  bark  of  the  fearless  rover, 
And  she  has  struck  to  thee  the  topsail 
That  she  had  not  veil'd  to  a  royal  armada : 
Thou  hast  met  the  tower  that  bears  its  crest  among 

the  clouds,  [days, 

The  battled  massive  tower  of  the  Jarl  of  former 
And  the  cope-stone  of  the  tuiTct 
Is  lying  upon  its  hospitable  hearth ; 
But  thou  too  shalt  stoop,  proud  compeller  of  clouds, 
When  thou  hearest  the  voice  of  the  Reun-kennar. 


There  are  verses  that  can  stop  the  stag  in  the 

forest, 
Ay,  and  when  the  dark-color'd  dog  is  oj^ening  on 

his  track; 
There  are  verses  can  make  the  wild  hawk  pause 

on  the  wing, 
Like  the  falcon  that  wears  the  hood  and  the  jesses. 
And  who  knows  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  fowler. 
Thou  who  canst  mock  at  the  scream  of  the  drown- 
ing mariner, 
And  the  crash  of  the  ravaged  forest. 
And  the  groan  of  the  overwhehn'd  crowds, 
"When  the  church  hath  fallen  in  the  moment  of 

prayer ; 
There  are  sounds  which  thou  also  must  hst, 
"When  they  are  chanted  by  the  voice  of  the  Reim- 
kennar. 


Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wi  ought  on  the  ocean. 
The  widows  wring  their  hands  on  the  beach ; 
Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the  land. 
The  husbandman  folds  his  arms  in  despair ; 
Cease  thou  the  waving  of  thy  pinions. 
Let  the  ocean  repose  in  her  dark  strength ; 
Cease  thou  the  flashing  of  thine  eye, 
Let  the  thunderbolt  sleep  in  the  armory  of  Odin, 
Be  thou  still  at  my  bidding,  viewless  racer  of  the 

north-western  heaven, — 
Sleep  thou  at  the  voice  of  Noma  the  Reim-kennar 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


695 


Eagle  of  the  far  north-western  waters, 

Thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar, 

Thou  hast  closed  thy  wide  sails  at  her  bidding, 

And  folded  them  in  peace  by  thy  side. 

My  blessing  be  on  thy  retiring  path ; 

When  thou  stoopest  from  thy  place  on  high, 

Soft  be  thy  slumbers  iu  the  caverns  of  the  unknown 

ocean, 
Rest  till  destiny  shall  again  awaken  thee  ; 
Eagle  of  the  north-west,  thou  hast  heai-d  the  voice 

of  the  Reim-kennar. 

Chap.  vi. 


(2.)— CLAUD  HALCRO'S  SONG. 

MART. 

Farewell  to  Northmaven, 

Gray  HiUswicke,  farewell ! 
To  the  calms  of  thy  haven, 

The  storms  on  thy  fell — 
To  each  breeze  that  can  vary 

The  mood  of  thy  main, 
And  to  thee,  bonny  Mary ! 

We  meet  not  again ! 

Farewell  the  wild  ferry, 

Wliich  Hacon  could  brave, 
"Wlien  the  peaks  of  the  Skerry 

Were  white  in  the  wave. 
There's  a  maid  may  look  over 

These  wild  waves  in  vain, — 
For  the  skiif  of  her  lover — 

He  comes  not  again  I 

The  vows  thou  hast  broke. 

On  the  wild  currents  fling  them ; 
On  the  quicksand  and  rock 

Let  the  mermaidens  sing  them. 
New  sweetness  they'll  give  her 

Bewildering  strain ; 
But  there's  one  who  wiU  never 

Beheve  them  again. 

0  were  there  an  island. 

Though  ever  so  wild, 
Where  woman  could  smile,  and 

No  man  be  beguiled — 
Too  tempting  a  snare 

To  poor  mortals  were  given ; 
And  the  hope  would  fix  there. 

That  should  anchor  in  heaven. 

Chap.  xii. 


(3).— THE  SONG  OF  HAROLD  HARFAGER 

The  sun  is  rising  dimly  red. 
The  wind  is  wailing  low  and  dread  ; 
From  liis  cliff  the  eagle  sallies. 
Leaves  the  wolf  liis  darksome  valleys  ; 
In  the  mist  the  ravens  hover. 
Peep  the  wild  dogs  from  the  cover, 
Screaming,  croaking,  baying,  yelling, 
Each  in  his  wild  accents  telling, 
"  Soon  we  feast  on  dead  and  dying, 
Fair-hair'd  Harold's  flag  is  flying." 

Many  a  crest  on  air  is  streaming, 
Many  a  helmet  darkly  gleaming, 
Many  an  arm  the  axe  uprears, 
Doom'd  to  hew  the  wood  of  spears. 
All  along  the  crowded  ranks 
Horses  neigh  and  armor  clanks ; 
Chiefs  are  shouting,  clarions  ringing, 
Louder  still  the  bard  is  singing, 
"  Gather  footmen,  gather  horsemen. 
To  the  field,  ye  valiant  Norsemen  1 

"  Halt  ye  not  for  food  or  slumber, 
View  not  vantage,  count  not  number ; 
Jolly  reapers,  forward  stiU, 
Grow  the  crop  on  vale  or  hill. 
Thick  or  scatter' d,  stiff  or  lithe, 
It  shall  down  before  the  scythe. 
Forward  with  your  sickles  bright, 
Reap  the  harvest  of  the  fight. — 
Onward  footmen,  onward  horsemen. 
To  the  charge,  ye  gallant  Norsemen ! 

"  Fatal  Choosers  of  the  Slaughter, 
O'er  you  hovers  Odin's  daughter  ; 
Hear  the  choice  she  spreads  before  ye, — 
Victory,  and  wealth,  and  glory  ; 
Or  old  Valhalla's  roaring  hail. 
Her  ever-circhng  mead  and  ale. 
Where  for  eternity  unite 
The  joys  of  wassail  and  of  fight. 
Headlong  forward,  foot  and  horsemen. 
Charge  and  fight,  and  die  like  Norsemen  !*  - 

Chap.  XV 


(4.)_S0NG  OF  THE  MERMAIDS  AND 
MERMEN. 

MERMAID. 

Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave. 
Stringing  beads  of  glistering  pearl. 

Singing  the  achievements  brave 
Of  many  an  old  Norwegian  earl ; 


696                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Dwelling  where  the  tempest'"  raving, 

Daughters  of  northern  Magnus,  haU ! 

Falls  as  light  upon  our  ea5 

The  lamp  is  lit,  the  flame  is  clear, — 

As  the  sigh  of  lover,  craving 

To  you  I  come  to  tell  my  tale, 

Pity  from  his  lady  dear. 

Aw^ake,  arise,  my  tale  to  hear ! 

Children  of  wild  Thule,  we, 

Chap.  xiv. 

From  the  deep  caves  of  the  sea, 
As  the  lark  sprmgs  from  the  lea. 

Hither  come,  to  share  your  glee. 

(6.)— CLAUD  HALCRO  AND  NORNA 

MERMAN. 

From  reining  of  the  water-horse. 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

That  bounded  tiU   the  waves  were   foam- 

Mother darksome,  Mother  dread, 

ing, 

Dweller  on  the  Fitful-head, 

Watching  the  infant  tempest's  course. 

Thou  canst  see  what  deeds  are  done 

Chasing  the  sea-snake  in  his  roaming; 

Under  the  never-setting  sun. 

From  winding  charge-notes  on  the  shell. 

Look  through  sleet,  and  look  through  frost, 

When  the  huge  whale  and  sword-fish  duel. 

Look  to  Greenland's  caves  and  coast, — 

Or  tolling  shroudless  seamen's  knell. 

By  the  ice-berg  is  a  sail 

Wlien  the  winds  and  waves  are  cruel ; 

Chasing  of  the  swarthy  whale ; 

Children  of  wild  Thule,  we 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread. 

Have  plough'd  such  furrows  on  the  sea, 

Tell  us,  has  the  good  ship  sped  ? 

As  the  steer  di-aws  on  the  lea, 

And  hither  we  come  to  share  your  glee. 

NOENA- 

The  thought  of  the  aged  is  ever  on  gear, — • 

MERMAIDS  AND  MERMEN. 

On  his  fishing,  his  fm-row,  his  flock,  and  Ms  steer ; 

We  heard  you  in  our  twilight  caves, 

But  thi-ive  may  his  fisliing,  flock,  furrow,  and  herd. 

A  hundred  fathom  deep  below, 

While  the  aged  for  anguish  shall  tear  his  gray 

For  notes  of  joy  can  pierce  the  waves. 

beard. 

That  di-own  each  sound  of  war  and  woe. 

The  ship,  weU-laden  as  bark  need  be. 

Those  who  dwell  beneath  the  sea 

Lies  deep  in  the  fmTow  of  the  Iceland  sea ; — 

Love  the  sons  of  Thule  well ; 

The  breeze  for  Zetland  blows  fair  and  soft, 

Thus,  to  aid  your  mirth,  bring  we 

And  gayly  the  garland  is  fluttering  aloft : 

Dance,  and  song,  and  sounding  shelL 

Seven  good  fishes  have  spouted  their  last. 

Children  of  dark  Thule,  know. 

And  then- jaw-bones  are  hanging  to  yard  and  mast ; 

Those  who  dwell  by  haaf  and  voe, 

Two  are  for  Lerwick,  and  two  for  Kirkwall, — 

Where  your  daring  shallops  row, 

Three  for  Bm.gh  Westra,  the  choicest  of  all. 

Come  to  share  the  festal  show. 

Chap,  xvi 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 

Thou  hast  conn'd  full  many  a  rhyme. 

(5.)— NOR^A'S  SONG. 

That  lives  upon  the  surge  of  time : 

Tell  me,  shall  my  lays  be  sung. 

For  leagues  along  the  watery  way. 

Like  Hacon's  of  the  golden  tongue, 

Through  gulf  and  stream  my  course  has  been ; 

Long  after  Halcro's  dead  and  gone  ? 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay, 

Or,  shall  Hialtland's  minstrel  own 

And  smooth  their  crests  to  silent  green. 

One  note  to  rival  glorious  John  ? 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay, — 

NORNA. 

The  gulf  grows  smooth,  the  stream  is  still ; 

The  infant  loves  the  rattle's  noise ; 

But  human  hearts,  more  wild  than  they, 

Age,  double  cluldhood,  hath  its  toys  ; 

Know  but  the  rule  of  wayward  wiU 

But  different  far  the  descant  rings. 

As  strikes  a  dififerent  hand  the  strings. 

One  hour  is  mine,  in  all  the  year, 

ThI  eagle  mounts  the  polar  sky — 

To  tell  my  woes, — and  one  alone ; 

The  Imber-goose,  unskill'd  to  fly. 

When  gleams  this  magic  lamp,  'tis  here, — 

Must  be  content  to  glide  along. 

When  dies  the  mystic  light,  'tis  gone. 

Where  seal  and  sea-dog  list  his  song. 

LYRICAL  AXD  MISCELLAXEOUS  PIECES.                         69< 

CLAXJD  HALCEO. 

Shall  she  marry,  ay  or  not  ? 

I 

Be  mine  the  Imber-goose  to  play, 

If  she  marry,  whafs  her  lot  ? 

And  haunt  lone  cave  and  silent  bay ; 

The  arclier's  aim  so  shall  I  shun — 

NORNA. 

So  shall  I  'scape  the  levell'd  gun — 

Untoucli'd  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 

Content  my  verses'  tuneless  jingle, 

Is  like  tlie  snow  on  Rona's  crest ; 

With  Thule's  sounding  tides  to  mingle. 

So  pure,  so  free  from  earthy  dye, 

Willie,  to  the  ear  of  wondering  wight. 

It  seems,  wliilst  leaning  on  the  sky, 

Upon  the  distant  headland's  height. 

Part  of  the  heaven  to  which  'tis  nigh ; 

Softon'd  by  niurmm-  of  tlie  sea, 

But  passion,  like  tlie  wild  March  rain, 

The  rude  sounds  seem  like  harmony  1 

May  soil  the  wreath  with  many  a  stain. 

***** 

We  gaze — the  lovely  vision's  gone — 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 

A  torrent  fills  tlie  bed  of  stone. 

Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 

That  hunying  to  destruction's  shock. 

A  gallant  bark  from  f;ir  abroad, 

Leaps  headlong  from  the  lofty  rock. 

Saint  Magnus  hatli  her  in  his  road. 

Cliap.  xxL 

With  guns  and  firelocks  not  a  few — 
A  silken  and  a  scarlet  crew. 

Deep  stored  with  precious  merchandise. 

Of  gold,  and  goods  of  rare  device — 

(7.)— SONG  OF  THE  ZETLAND  FISHERilAN, 

What  interest  hath  our  conn-ade  bold 

In  bark  and  crew,  in  goods  and  gold  ? 

"  While  they  were  yet  within  hearing  of  the 

■ 

shore,  they  chanted  an  ancient  Norse  ditty,  appro- 

XORNA. 

priate  to  the  occasion,  of  wliich  Claud  Halcro  had 

Gold  is  ruddy,  fair,  and  free. 

executed  the  following  literal  translation :" — 

Blood  is  crimson,  and  dark  to  see : — 

I  look'd  out  on  Saint  Magnus  Bay, 

Faee\s'ell,  meny  maidens,  to  song,  and  to  laugh. 

And  I  saw  a  falcon  that  struck  her  prey, — 

For  the  brave  lads  of  Westra  are  bound  to  the 

A  gobbet  of  flesh  in  her  beak  she  bore. 

Haaf; 

And  talons  and  singles  are  dripping  with  gore  ; — 

And  we  must  have  labor,  and  hunger,  and  pain. 

Let  he  that  asks  after  them  look  on  his  hand, 

Ere  we  dance  with  the  maids  of  Dunrossness  again. 

And  if  there  is  blood  on't,  he's  one  of  theh*  band. 

For  now,  in  our  trim  boats  of  Noroway  deal, 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

We  must  dance  on  the  waves,  with  the  porpoise 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread. 

and  seal ; 

Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 

Tlie  breeze  it  shall  pipe,  so  it  pipe  not  too  high. 

Well  thou  know'st  it  is  thy  task 

And  the  gull  be  our  songstress  whene'er  she  flits  by. 

To  teU  what  Beauty  will  not  ask ; — 

Then  steep  thy  words  in  wine  and  milk. 

Sing  on,  my  brave  bird,  while  we  follow,  like  thee. 

And  weave  a  doom  of  gold  and  silk, — 

By  bank,  shoal,  and  quicksand,  the  swarms  of  the 

For  we  would  know,  shall  Brenda  prove 

sea; 

In  love,  and  happy  ir^her  love  ? 

And  when  twentv-score  fishes  are  straining  our  line. 

KORXA. 

Sing  louder,  brave  bird,  for  their  spoils  shall  be  tliine. 

Untouch'd  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 

We'U  sing  while  we  bait,  and  we'U  sing  while  we 

Is  hke  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest. 

haul, 

High  seated  in  tlie  middle  sky. 

For  the  deeps  of  the  Haaf  have  enough  for  us  aU : 

In  bright  and  baiTen  purity ; 

Tliere  is  torsk  for  the  gentle,  and  skate  for  the  carle. 

But  by  the  sunbeam  gently  kiss'd. 

A  nd  there's  wealth  for  bold  Magnus,  the  son  of  the 

Scarce  by  the  gazing  eye  'tis  miss'd, 

earl. 

Ere,  down  the  lonely  vaUey  stealing. 

Fresh  grass  and  growth  its  course  revealing, 

Huzza!   my  brave   comrades,  give  way  for  the 

It  cheers  the  flock,  revives  the  flower. 

Haaf, 

And  decks  some  happy  shepherd's  bower. 

We  shall  sooner  come  back  to  the  dance  and  the 

laugh ; 

MAGNTJS  TEOIL. 

For  light  without  mirth  is  a  lamp  without  oil ; 

ilotlier  speak,  and  do  not  tarry. 

Then,  mirth  and  long  life  to  the  bold  Magnus  Troil  1 

Here's  a  maiden  fain  would  marry. 

88 

Chap.  xxii. 

698 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOEKS. 


(8.)— CLEVELAND'S  SOKGS. 

1. 

Love  -wakes  and  ■weeps 
While  Beauty  sleeps ! 

0  for  Music's  softest  numbers, 
To  prompt  a  theme, 
For  Beauty's  dream, 

Soft  as  the  pillow  of  her  slumbers ! 


Through  groves  of  palm 

Sigh  gales  of  balm, 
Fire-flies  on  the  air  are  -wheeling ; 

While  thi-ough  the  gloom 

Comes  soft  perfume. 
The  distant  beds  of  flo-wers  revealing. 


0  -wake  and  live ! 

No  dream  can  give 
A  shado-w'd  bliss,  the  real  excelling ; 

No  longer  sleep. 

From  lattice  peep, 
And  list  the  tale  that  Love  is  telling. 


Fare-well !  Fare-well  1  the  voice  you  hear, 
Has  left  its  last  soft  tone  -with  you, — 

Its  next  must  join  the  sea-ward  cheer. 
And  shout  among  the  shouting  cre-w. 

The  accents  which  I  scarce  could  form 
Beneath  your  frown's  controlling  check. 

Must  give  the  word,  above  the  storm, 
To  cut  the  mast,  and  clear  the  wreck. 

The  timid  eye  I  dared  not  raise, — 

The  hand,  that  sliook  when  press'd  to  thine, 

Must  point  the  guns  upon  tlie  chase — 
Must  bid  the  deadly  cutlass  shine. 

To  aU  I  love,  or  hope,  or  fear, — 

Honor,  or  own,  a  long  adieu ! 
To  all  that  life  has  soft  and  dear. 

Farewell  1  save  memory  of  you ! 

Chap.  xxiiL 


(9.)— CLAUD  HALCRO'S  VERSES. 

Akd  you  shall  deal  the  funeral  dole  ; 

Ay,  deal  it,  mother  mine, 
To  weary  body,  and  to  hea-^^  soul. 

The  white  bread  and  the  wine. 

And  you  shall  deal  my  horses  of  pride ; 
Ay,  deal  them,  mother  mine ; 


And  you  shall  deal  my  lands  so  -wide, 
And  deal  my  castles  nine. 

But  deal  not  vengeance  for  the  deed, 

And  deal  not  for  the  crime  ; 
The  body  to  its  place,  and  the  soul  to  Heaven's 
grace, 

And  the  rest  in  God's  o-wn  time. 


Saint  Magnus  control  thee,  that  martyr  of  trea- 


son: 


Saint  Ronan  rebuke  thee,  with  rhyme  and  with 

reason ; 
By  the  mass  of  Saint  Martin,  the  might  of  Saint 

Mary, 
Be  thou  gone,  or  thy  weird  shall  be  worse  if 

thou  tarry ! 
If  of  good,  go  hence  and  hallow  thee  ; — 
If  of  ill,  let  the  earth  swallow  thee  ; — 
If  thou'rt  of  air,  let  the  gray  mist  fold  thee  -J— 
If  of  parth,  let  the  swart  mine  hold  thee ; — 
If  a  Pixie,  seek  thy  ring ; — 
If  a  Nixie,  seek  thy  spring ; — 
If  on  middle  earth  thou'st  been 
Slave  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  sin. 
Hast  eat  the  bread  of  toil  and  strife. 
And  dree'd  the  lot  which  men  call  life ; 
Begone  to  thy  stone  !  for  thy  coffin  is  scant  of 

thee. 
The  worm,  thy  play-feUow,  wails  for  the  want 

of  thee : 
Hence,  houseless  ghost !  let  the  earth  hide  thee, 
TiU  Michael  shall  blow  the  blast,  see  that  there 

thou  bide  thee  ! — 
Phantom,  fly  hence !  take  the  Cross  for  a  token. 
Hence  pass  till  Hallowmass ! — my  spell  is  spoken. 


Where  corpse-hght 

Dances  bright, 

Be  it  by  day  or  night, 

Be  it  by  light  or  dark. 

There  shall  corpse  lie  stiff  and  stark. 


Menseful  maiden  ne'er  should  rise, 
Till  the  first  beam  tuige  the  skies ; 
Silk-frmged  eyelids  still  should  close, 
Till  the  sun  has  kiss'd  the  rose  ; 
Maiden's  foot  we  should  not  view, 
Mark'd  with  tiny  print  on  dew. 
Till  the  opening  flowerets  spread 
Carpet  meet  for  beauty's  tread. 

Chap.  xxiiL 


(10.)— NORNA'S  INCAN  TATIONS. 

CnAMPiox,  famed  for  warKke  toil, 
Aj-t  thou  silent,  Ribolt  Troii? 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                        699 

Sand,  and  dust,  and  pebbly  stones, 

Old  Reun-keimar,  to  thy  art 

Are  leavir.g  bare  thy  giant  bones. 

Mother  Hertha  sends  her  part ; 

j             Who  dared  touch  the  wild  bear's  skij 

She,  whose  gracious  bounty  gives 

Ye  slumber"d  on,  wliile  life  was  in  ? — 

Needful  food  for  all  that  Uves, 

A  woman  now,  or  babe,  may  come 

From  the  deep  mine  of  the  North 

And  cast  the  covering  from  thy  tomb. 

Came  the  mystic  metal  forth. 

j 

Doom'd  amidst  disjointed  stones. 

1            Yet  be  not  wrathful,  Chief,  nor  blight 

Long  to  cere  a  champion's  bones, 

Mine  eyes  or  ears  with  soimd  or  sight ! 

Disinhumed  my  charms  to  aid — 

I  come  not,  with  unhallow'd  tread, 

Mother  Earth,  my  thanks  ai-e  paid. 

To  wake  the  slumbers  of  the  dead. 

Or  lay  thy  giant  reliques  bare ; 

Girdle  of  our  islands  dear. 

But  what  I  seek  thou  well  canst  spare. 

Element  of  Water,  hear ! 

Be  it  to  my  hand  allow'd 

Thou  whose  power  can  overwhelm 

To  shear  a  merk's  weight  from  thy  shroud ; 

Broken  mounds  and  ruin'd  realm 

j            Yet  leave  thee  sheeted  lead  enough 

On  the  lowly  Belgian  strand , 

To  shield  thy  bones  from  weather  rough. 

AH  thy  fiercest  rage  can  never 

Of  our  soil  a  furlong  sever 

See,  I  draw  my  magic  knife — 

From  our  rock-defended  land ; 

Never,  while  thou  wert  in  life. 

Play  then  gently  thou  thy  part, 

Laidst  thou  stUl  for  sloth  or  fear. 

To  assist  old  Noma's  art. 

■\\Tien  point  and  edge  were  glittering  near ; 

See,  the  cerements  now  I  sever — 

Elements,  each  other  greeting. 

Waken  now,  or  sleep  for  ever  1 

Gifts  and  power  attend  your  meeting  1 

Thou  wilt  not  wake — the  deed  is  done  ! — 

The  pri^e  I  sought  is  fauiy  won. 

Thou,  that  over  billows  dark 

Safely  send'st  the  fisher's  bark, — 

j            Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks, — for  this  the  sea 

Giving  him  a  path  and  motion 

j            Shall  smooth  its  ruffled  crest  for  thee — 

Through  the  wilderness  of  ocean ; 

And  while  afar  its  bUlows  foam. 

Thou,  that  when  the  biUows  brave  ye^ 

1            Subside  to  peace  near  Ribolt's  tomb. 

O'er  the  shelves  canst  di-ive  the  navy,— 

Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks — for  this  the  might 

Didst  thou  chafe  as  one  neglected, 

Of  wild  wiuds  raging  at  their  height. 

While  thy  brethren  were  respected  ? 

When  to  thy  place  of  slumber  Tiij_,/, 

To  appease  thee,  see,  I  tear 

Shall  soften  to  a  lullaby. 

This  full  grasp  of  grizzled  hair ; 

Oft  thy  breath  hath  through  it  sung, 

She,  the  dame  of  doubt  and  dread. 

Softening  to  my  magic  tongue, — 

JSTorna  of  the  Fitful-head, 

Now,  'tis  thine  to  bid  it  fly 

Mighty  in  her  own  despite, — 

Through  the  wide  expanse  of  sky. 

Miserable  m  her  might ; 

'Mid  the  countless  swarms  to  sail 

In  despau-  and  phrensy  great, 

Of  wild-fowl  wheeling  on  thy  gale ; 

In  her  greatness  desolate  ; 

Take  thy  portion  and  rejoice, — 

Wisest,  wickedest  who  lives, — 

Spirit,  thou  hast  heard  my  voice  I 

WeU  can  keep  the  word  she  gives. 

Chap.  XXV. 

She  who  sits  by  haimted  well, 

Is  subject  to  the  Nixies'  speU ; 

[at  interview  with  MINNA.] 

She  who  walks  on  lonely  beach. 

Thou,  so  needful,  yet  so  dread, 

To  the  Mermaid's  charmed  speech ; 

With  cloudy  crest,  and  wing  of  red ; 

She  who  walks  round  ring  of  green. 

Thou,  without  whose  genial  breath 

Offends  the  peevish  Fairy  Queen ; 

The  North  would  sleep  the  sleep  of  death, — 

And  she  who  takes  rest  in  the  Dwarfie's  cav*}, 

VV  ho  deign'st  to  warm  the  cottage  hearth. 

A  weary  weird  of  woe  shall  have. 

Yet  hmis  proud  palaces  to  earth, — 

Brightest,  keenest  of  the  Powers, 

By  ring,  by  spring,  by  cave,  by  shore. 

Wliich  form  and  rule  this  world  of  ours. 

Mmna  Ti-oU  has  braved  all  tliis  and  more  ; 

With  my  rhyme  of  Runic,  I 

And  yet  hath  the  root  of  her  sorrow  and  dl. 

Thank  thee  for  thy  agency. 

A  source  that's  more  deep  and  more  mystical 

stUL— 

700 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thou  art  within  a  demon's  hold, 

More  wise  than  Heuns,  more  strong  than  Trolld ; 

No  siren  sings  so  sweet  as  he, — 

No  fay  springs  lighter  on  the  lea ; 

No  elfin  power  hath  half  the  art 

To  soothe,  to  move,  to  wring  the  heart  — 

Life-blood  from  the  cheek  to  drain. 

Drench  the  eye,  and  dry  the  vein. 

Maiden,  ere  we  farther  go, 

Dost  thou  note  me,  ay  or  no  ? 

MINNA. 

I  mark  thee,  my  mother,  both  word,  look,  and 

sign; 
Speak  on  with  thy  riddle — to  read  it  be  mine. 

NORNA. 

Mark  me !  for  the  word  I  speak 

Shall  bring  the  color  to  thy  cheek. 

Tliis  leaden  heart,  so  hght  of  cost, 

The  symbol  of  a  treasure  lost, 

Thou  shalt  wear  in  hope  and  in  peace, 

That  the  cause  of  your  sickness  and  sorrow  may 

cease, 
"Wlien  crimson  foot  meets  crimson  hand 
In  the  Martyr's  Aisle,  and  in  Orkney  land. — 


Be  patient,  be  patient ;  for  Patience  hath  power 

To  ward  us  in  danger,  like  mantle  in  shower ; 

A  fairy  gift  you  best  may  hold 

In  a  chain  of  fauy  gold  ! — 

The  chain  and  the  gift  are  each  a  true  token. 

That  not  without  warrant  old  Noma  has  spoken ; 

But  thy  nearest  and  dearest  must  never  behold 

them. 
Till  time  shall  accomplish  the  truths  I  have  told 

them. 

Chap.  xxvJii. 


(11.)- 


-BRYCE   SNAILSFOOTS  ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

Poor  sinners  whom  the  snake  deceives, 
Are  fain  to  cover  them  with  leaves. 
Zetland  hath  no  leaves,  'tis  true. 
Because  that  trees  are  none,  or  few ; 
But  we  have  flax  and  taits  of  woo', 
For  linen  cloth  and  wadmaal  blue ; 
And  we  have  many  of  foreign  knacks 
Of  finer  waft,  than  woo'  or  flax. 
Ye  gallanty  Lambmas  lads  appear. 
And  bring  your  Lambmas  sisters  here, 
Bryce  Snailsfoot  spares  not  cost  or  care, 
To  pleasm-e  every  gentle  pair. 

Chap,  xxxii. 


(12.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  u. 
'Tis  not  alone  the  scene — the  man,  Anselmo, 
The  man  finds  sympathies  in  these  wild  wastes, 
And  roughly  tumbling  seas,  which  fairer  views 
And  smoother  waves  deny  him. 

Ancient  Drama. 

(2.)— Chap.  vn. 
She  does  no  work  by  halves,  yon  raving  ocean  ; 
Engulphing  those  she  strangles,  her  wild  womb 
Affords  the  mariners  whom  she  hath  dealt  on, 
Their  death  at  once,  and  sepulchre. 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  ix. 
This  is  a  gentle  trader,  and  a  prudent — 
He's  no  Autolycus,  to  blear  your  eye. 
With  quips  of  worldly  gauds  and  gamesomenesa ; 
But  seasons  aU  his  gUttering  merchandise 
With  wholesome  doctrine  suited  to  the  use, 
As  men  sauce  goose  with  sage  and  rosemary. 

Old  Flay. 

(4.) — Chap.  xi. 

AU  your  ancient  customs. 

And  long-descended  usages,  I'll  change. 
Ye  shall  not  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  speak,  nor  move, 
Think,  look,  or  walk,  as  ye  were  wont  to  do ; 
Even  your  marriage-beds  shall  know  mutation ; 
The  bride  shall  have  the  stock,  the  groom  the  wall 
For  all  old  practice  will  I  turn  and  cliange. 
And  call  it  reformation — marry,  will  I ! 

'2'is  Even  that  we're  at  Odds. 

(5.) — Chap.  xrv. 
We'U  keep  our  customs — what  is  law  itself, 
But  old  establisli'd  custom  ?     Wliat  religion 
(I  mean,  with  one-half  of  the  men  that  use  it), 
Save  the  good  use  and  wont  that  carries  them 
To  worship  how  and  where  their  fathers  worshipp'd  ! 
All  things  resolve  in  custom — we'U  keep  ours. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxv. 
1  do  love  these  ancient  ruins  t 


We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set 
Om*  foot  upon  some  reverend  history. 
And  questionless,  here  in  this  open  court 
(Which  now  lies  naked  to  the  injtuies 
Of  stormy  weather),  some  men  lie  interr'd. 
Loved  the  Church  so  well,  and  gave  so  largely  to  it, 
They  thought  it  should  have  canopied  tlieir  boaes 
Till  doomsday ; — but  all  tilings  have  their  end — 
Churches  and  cities,  wliich  lutve  diseases  like  to  men, 
Must  have  hke  death  wliich  we  have. 

Duchess  of  Malfy. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


701 


(7.) — Chap.  xxix. 
Bee  yonder  -w^omiin,  -wliom  our  swains  revere, 
And  dread  in  secret,  while  they  take  her  counsel 
"When  sweetheart  shall  be  kind,  or  when  cross 

dame  shall  die ; 
Where  lurks  flie  thief  who  stole  the  silver  tankard. 
And  how  the  pestilent  murrain  may  be  cured  ; — 
Tliis  sage  adviser's  mad,  stark  mad,  my  Mend; 
Yet,  in  her  madness,  hath  the  art  and  cunning 
To  wring  fools'  secrets  from  their  inmost  bosoms. 
And  pay  inquirers  with  the  coin  they  gave  her. 

Old  Play. 

(8.) — Chap.  xsx. 

What  ho,  my  jovial  mates !  come  on !  we'll  frolic  it 
Like  fairies  frisking  in  the  merry  moonshine. 
Seen  by  the  curtal  friar,  who,  from  some  chris- 
tening, 
Or  some  blithe  bridal,  hies  belated  cell-ward — 
He  starts,  and  changes  his  bold  bottle  swagger 
To  churchman's  pace  professional, — and,  ransacking 
His  treacherous  memory  for  some  holy  hymn. 
Finds  but  the  roundel  of  the  midnight  catch. 

Old  Play. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxxn. 
I  strive  like  to  the  vessel  in  the  tide-way. 
Which,  lacking  favoring  breeze,  hath  not  the  power 
To  stem  the  powerful  current. — Even  so, 
Resolving  daily  to  forsake  my  vices. 
Habit,  strong  circumstance,  renew'd  temptation. 
Sweep  me  to  sea  again. — 0  heavenly  breath, 
FUl  thou  my  sails,  and  aid  the  feeble  vessel. 
Which  ne'er  can  reach  the  blessed  port  without 
thee! 

'TVs  Odds  tohc7i  Evens  meet. 

(10.) — Chap,  xxxiii. 
Parental  love,  my  friend,  has  power  o'er  wisdom, 
And  is  the  cliarm,  which,  Uke  the  falconer's  lure, 
Can  bring  from  heaven  the  highest  soaring  spir- 
its.— 
So,  when  famed  Prosper  dofif'd  his  magic  robe. 
It  was  Mu-anda  pluckfd  it  from  his  shoulders. 

Old  Play. 

(11.) — Chap,  xxxrv. 
Hark  to  the  insult  loud,  the  bitter  sneer. 
The  fierce  threat  answering  to  the  brutal  jeer ; 
Oaths  fly  like  pistol-shots,  and  vengeful  words 
Clash  with  each  other  like  conflicting  swords. — 

1  Written  after  a  week's  shooting  and  fisliing,  in  wliich  tlie 
poet  liad  been  engaged  with  some  friends.  The  reader  may  see 
these  verses  set  to  music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Melodies 
for  1822. 

"  See  tlie  famous  salmon-spearing  scene  in  Guy  Mannering. — 
IVaverley  JVovcls,  vol.  iii.  p.  259-63. 


The  robber's  quarrel  by  such  sounds  is  shown, 
And  true  men  have  some  chance  to  gain  their  own. 

Captivity,  a  Poem 

(12.) — Chap,  xxxvn. 
Over  the  mountains  and  under  the  waves, 
Over  the  fountains  and  under  the  graves, 
Over  floods  that  are  deepest, 

Which  Neptune  obey, 
Over  rocks  tliat  are  steepest. 
Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Old  Song. 


©n  Sttticit  iForest's  i^ountniiT.5  33uti ' 


1822. 


On  Ettrick  Forest's  mountains  dun, 
'Tis  blithe  to  hear  tlie  sportsman's  gun, 
And  seek  the  heath-frequenting  brood 
Far  through  the  noon-day  solitude  : 
By  many  a  cairn  and  trenched  mound. 
Where  chiefs  of  yore  sleep  lone  and  sound. 
And  springs,  where  gray-hair'd  shejiherds  teU, 
That  still  the  fairies  love  to  dwell. 

Along  the  silver  streams  of  Tweed, 
'Tis  blithe  the  mimic  fly  to  lead. 
When  to  the  hook  the  salmon  springs. 
And  the  line  wliistles  througli  the  rings ; 
The  boiling  eddy  see  him  try. 
Then  dashing  from  the  current  high. 
Till  watchful  eye  and  cautious  hand 
Have  led  his  wasted  strength  to  land. 

Tis  blithe  along  the  midnight  tide. 
With  stalwart  arm  the  boat  to  guide ; 
On  high  the  dazzling  blaze  to  rear. 
And  heedful  plunge  the  barbed  spear ; 
Rock,  wood,  and  scaur,  emerging  bright, 
Fling  on  the  stream  their  ruddy  light. 
And  from  the  bank  our  band  appears 
Like  Genii,  arm'd  with  fiery  spears.^ 

'Tis  blithe  at  ere  to  tell  the  tale. 
How  we  succeed,  and  how  we  fail, 
Whether  at  Alwyn's^  lordly  meal, 
Or  lowlier  board  of  Ashestiel  ;* 

3  Jllwyn,  the  seat  of  the  Lord  Somerville  ;  now,  alas  !  un- 
tenanted, by  the  lamented  death  of  that  kind  and  hospitable 
nobleman,  the  author's  nearest  neighbor  and  intimate  friend 
Lord  S.  died  in  February,  1819. 

<  .Bshesticl,  the  poet's  residence  at  that  time. 


ro2 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"Wliile  the  gay  tapers  cheerly  sliine, 
Bickers  the  fire,  and  flows  the  wine — 
Days  free  from  thought,  and  nights  from  care, 
My  blessing  on  the  Forest  fair ! 


ffarctoell  to  tije  fHuse.' 


1822. 


EacHANTEESS,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has  decoy 'd  me. 
At  the  close  of  the  evening  through  woodlands 
to  roam. 
Where  the  forester,  lated,  with  wonder  espied  me 
Explore  the  wild  scenes  he  was  quitting   for 
home. 
Farewell,  and  take  with  thee  thy  numbers  wild 
speaking 
The  language  alternate  of  rapture  and  woe : 
Oh !  none  but  some  lover,  whose  heart-strings  are 
breaking. 
The  pang  that  I  feel  at  our  parting  can  know. 

Each  joy  thou  couldst  double,  and  when  there 
came  sorrow. 
Or  pale  disappomtment  to  darken  my  way, 
What  voice  was  like  thine,  that  could  sing  of  to- 
morrow, 
TUl  forgot  in  the  strain  was  the  grief  of  to- 
day ! 
But  when  friends  drop  around  us  in  life's  weary 
waning. 
The  grief,  Queen  of  Ifumbers,  thou  canst  not 
assuage ; 
Nor  the  gradual  estrangement  of  those  yet  re- 
maining, 
The  languor  of  pain,  and  the  chUlness  of  age. 

'Twas  thou  that  once  taught  me,  in  accents  be- 
wailing. 
To   sing  how  a  wamor  lay  stretch'd  on  the 
plain. 
And  a  maiden  hung  o'er  liim  with  aid  unavaiUng, 

And  held  to  his  Ups  the  cold  goblet  in  vain ; 
As  vain  thy  enchantments,  0  Queen  of  wild  Num- 
bers, 
To  a  bard  when  the  reign  of  liis  fancy  is  o'er. 
And  the  quick  pulse  of  feehng  in  apathy  slum- 
bers— 
Farewell,  then,  Enchantress!  I  meet  thee  no 
more ! 


J  Written,  during  illness,  for  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Col- 
'ection,  ami  first  pubhslied  in  1822,  united  to  an  air  composed 
by  George  Kinloch  of  Kinloch,  Esq. 


Eife  MaltJ  of  E-sla. 

Air—"  T/ie  Maid  of  Isla." 

WEITTEN  FOR  ilE.  GEOEGE  THOMSON'S  SCOTTISH 
MELODIES. 


1822. 


Oh,  Maid  of  Isla,  from  the  cliff, 

That  looks  on  troubled  wave  and  sky, 
Dost  thou  not  see  yon  little  skiff 

Contend  with  ocean  gallantly  ? 
Now  beating  'gainst  the  breeze  and  surge, 

And  steep'd  her  leeward  deck  in  foam, 
Why  does  she  war  unequal  urge  ? — 

Oh,  Isla's  maid,  she  seeks  her  home. 

Oh,  Isla's  maid,  yon  sea-bird  mark,  [spray 

Her  white  wing   gleams  through  mist   and 
Against  the  storm-cloud,  lowering  dark, 

As  to  the  rock  she  wheels  away ; — 
Where  clouds  are  dark  and  billows  rave, 

Why  to  the  shelter  should  she  come 
Of  cliff,  exposed  to  wind  and  wave  ? — 

Oh,  maid  of  Isla,  'tis  her  home  ! 

As  breeze  and  tide  to  yonder  skiff, 

Thou'rt  adverse  to  tlie  suit  I  bring, 
And  cold  as  is  you  wintry  cliff. 

Where  sea-birds  close  their  wearied  wing. 
Yet  cold  as  rock,  imkind  as  wave. 

Still,  Isla's  maid,  to  thee  I  come ; 
For  in  thy  love,  or  in  his  grave. 

Must  AUan  Vourich  find  liis  home. 


Carle,   noto   tf)e  Itfnu's  come' 

BEING    NEW   WORDS   TO   AN    AULD   SPKING. 


1822. 


The  news  has  flown  frae  mouth  to  mouth. 
The  North  for  ance  has  bang'd  the  South ; 
The  deil  a  Scotsman's  die  o'  drouth. 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

CHOR0S. 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Thou  shalt  dance,  and  I  will  sing 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

2  Tliis  imitation  of  an  old  Jacobite  ditty  was  writtep  on  tne 
appearance,  in  tiie  Frith  of  Forth,  of  the  fleet  which  cc  teyed 
his  Majesty  King  George  the  Fourth  to  Scotland,  in  Adjust, 
1822  ;  and  was  published  an  a  hroailside. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


703 


Aukl  England  held  him  lang  and  fast ; 
And  Ireland  had  a  joyfu'  cast ; 
But  Scotland's  turn  is  come  at  last — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

Auld  Reekie,  in  her  rokelay  gray, 
Thought  never  to  have  seen  the  day ; 
He's  been  a  weary  time  away — 

But,  Caiie,  now  the  King's  come ! 

She's  skh-ling  frae  the  Castle-hill ; 
The  Carline's  voice  is  grown  sae  shrill, 
Ye'll  hear  her  at  the  Canon-mill — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Up  bau-ns !"  she  cries,  "  baith  grit  and  sma'. 
And  busk  ye  for  the  weapon-shaw ! 
Stand  by  me,  and  we'll  bang  them  a' — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come  from  Newbattle's  ancient  spires, 
Bauld  Lothian,  with  your  knights  and  squires, 
And  match  the  mettle  of  your  sires — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  You're  welcome  hame,  my  Montagu ! 
Bring  in  your  hand  the  young  Buccleuch ; 
I'm  missuig  some  that  I  may  rue — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !* 

"  Come,  Haddington,  the  kind  and  gay, 
You've  graced  my  causeway  mony  a  day ; 
I'll  weep  the  cause  if  you  should  stay — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !" 

"  Come,  premier  Duke,'  and  carry  doun 
Frae  yonder  craig'  his  ancient  croim ; 
It's  bad  a  lang  sleep  and  a  soun' — 

But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  Athole,  from  the  hill  and  wood, 
Bring  down  yom-  clansmen  like  a  clud ; 
Come,  Morton,  show  the  Douglas'  blood, — * 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

"  Come,  Tweeddale,  true  as  sword  to  sheath ; 
Come,  Hopetoun,  fear'd  on  fields  of  death ; 


1  Lord  Montagn,  nncle  and  guardian  to  the  yonng  Duke  of 
Buccleuch,  placed  liis  Grace's  residence  of  Dalkeitii  at  his  Sla- 
esty's  disposal  during  his  visit  to  Scotland. 

2  Charles,  the  tenth  Earl  of  Haddington,  died  in  1828. 

3  The  Duke  of  Hamilton,  as  Earl  of  Angus,  carried  the  an- 
cient royal  crown  of  Scotland  on  horseback  in  King  George's 
procession,  from  Holyrood  to  the  Castle. 

<  The  Castle. 

6  MS. — "  Come,  Athole,  from  yonr  hills  and  woods, 
Bring  lown  your  Hiclandmen  in  cluds, 
With  l>annet,  brogue,  and  tartan  duds." 
•  Sir  George  Clerk  of  Pcnnycuik,  Bart.     The  Baron  of  Pen- 
aycnik  is  bound  by  liis  tenure,  whenever  the  King  comes  to 


Come,  Clerk,"  and  give  your  bugle  breath ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  "Wemyss,  who  modest  merit  aids  ; 
Come,  Rosebery,  from  Dalmeny  shades ; 
Breadalbane,  bring  your  belted  plaids ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  stately  Niddrie,  auld  and  true, 
Girt  with  the  sword  that  Minden  knew ; 
We  have  o'er  few  such  lairds  as  you — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  King  Arthur's  grown  a  common  crier, 
He's  heard  in  Fife  and  far  Cantire, — 
'  Fie,  lads,  behold  my  crest  of  fire  !' ' 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Saint  Abb  roars  out,  '  I  see  him  pass, 
Between  Tantallon  and  the  Bass !' 
Calton,  get  out  yoiu*  keeking-glass — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come !" 

The  Cai-line  stopp'd ;  and,  sure  I  am, 
For  very  glee  had  ta'en  a  dwam. 
But  Oman^  help'd  her  to  a  dram. — 

Cogie,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Cogie,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
I'se  be  fou'  and  ye's  be  toom,' 
Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 


CARLE,  NOW  THE  KING'S  COME. 


PART  SECOND. 


A  Hawick  gill  of  mountain  dew, 
Heised  up  Auld  Reekie's  heart,  I  trow, 
It  minded  her  of  Waterloo — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

Again  I  heard  her  summons  swell, 
Por,  sic  a  diidiun  and  a  yeU, 

Edinburgh,  to  receive  him  at  tlie  Harestone  (in  which  the 
standard  of  James  IV.  was  erected  when  his  army  encamped 
on  the  Boroughmuir,  before  his  fatal  expedition  to  England}, 
now  built  into  the  park-wall  at  the  end  of  Tipperlin  Lone, 
near  the  BoroughmuiHiead  ;  and,  standing  thereon,  to  give 
three  blasts  on  a  horn. 

7  MS. — "  Brave  Arthur's  Seat's  a  story  higher ; 

Saint  Abbe  is  shouting  to  Kiiitire, — 
'  You  lion,  light  up  a  crest  of  fire.'  " 

As  seen  from  the  west,  the  ridge  of  Arthur's  Seat  bean  » 

marked  resemblance  to  a  lion  courhant. 

8  Mr.  Oman,  landlord  of  the  Waterloo  Hotel. 

9  Empty. 


704 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


It  drown'd  St.  Giles's  jowing  bell — 
Carle,  no-w  the  King's  come ! 

"  My  trusty  Provost,  tried  and  tight, 
Stand  forward  for  the  Good  Town's  right, 
There's  waur  than  you  been  made  a  knight—' 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"My  reverend  Clergy,  look  ye  say 
The  best  of  thanksgivings  ye  ha'e. 
A.nd  warstle  for  a  sunny  day — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  My  Doctors,  look  that  you  agi-ee, 
Cure  a'  the  town  without  a  fee  ; 
My  Lawyers,  dinna  pike  a  plea — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come  forth  each  sturdy  Burgher's  bahn, 
Tliat  dints  on  wood  or  clanks  on  airn. 
That  fires  the  o'en,  or  winds  the  pirn — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Come  forward  with  the  Blanket  Blue,' 
Yom-  sires  were  loyal  men  and  true, 
As  Scotland's  foemen  oft  might  rue — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Scots  downa  loup,  and  rin,  and  rave, 
"We're  steady  folks  and  something  grave, 
"We'll  keep  the  causeway  firm  and  brave — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Sir  Thomas,^  thunder  from  your  rock,* 
Till  Pentland  dinnles  wi'  the  shock, 

1  The  Lord  Provost  had  the  agreeable  surprise  to  hear  Iiis 
health  proposed,  at  the  civic  banquet  given  to  George  IV.  in 
the  Parliamont-House,  as  "  Sir  William  Arbuthnot,  Bart." 

2  The  Blue  Blanket  is  the  standard  of  the  incorporated  trades 
of  Edinburgli,  and  is  kept  by  their  convener,  "  at  whose  ap- 
pearance therewith,"  observes  Maitland,  "  'tis  said,  that  not 
>nly  the  artificers  of  Edinburgh  are  obliged  to  repair  to  it,  but 
all  the  artificers  or  craftsmen  within  Scotland  are  bound  to  fol- 

ow  it,  and  fight  under  the  con%'ener  of  Edinburgh  as  aforesaid." 
Aecordnig  to  an  old  tradition,  this  standard  was  used  in  the 
Holy  Wars  by  a  body  of  crusading  citizens  of  Edinburgh,  and 
was  thetirst  that  was  planted  on  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  when 
that  city  was  stormed  by  the  Christian  army  under  the  famous 
Godfrey.  But  the  real  history  of  it  seems  to  be  this : — James 
in.,  a  prince  who  had  virtues  which  the  rude  age  in  which  he 
lived  could  not  appreciate,  having  been  detained  for  nine 
months  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh  by  his  factious  nobles,  was 
relieved  by  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh,  who  assaulted  the  castle 
dud  took  it  by  surprise  ;  on  which  occasion  James  presented 
the  citizens  with  this  banner,  "  with  a  power  to  display  the 
same  in  defence  of  their  king,  country,  and  their  own  rights." 
■-JSTote  to  this  stanza  in  the  "  Account  of  the  King's  Visit," 
&c.,  8vo.  1822. 

3  Sir  Thomas  Bradford,  then  commander  of  the  forces  in 
Scotland. 

<  Edinburgh  Castle. 

5  Lord  Melville  was  colonel  of  the  Mid-Lothian  Yeomanry 
Cavalry  :  Sir  John  Hops  of  Tiukie,  Bart.,  Major ;  and  Robert 


And  lace  wi'  fire  my  snood  o'  smoke — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"Melville,  bring  out  your  bands  of  blue, 
A'  Louden  lads,  baith  stout  and  true, 
"With  Elcho,  Hope,  and  Cockburn,  too — ' 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

"  And  you,  who  on  yon  bluidy  braes 
Compell'd  the  vanquish'd  Despot's  praise, 
Rank  out — rank  out — my  gallant  Grays — * 
Carle,  now  the  Kuig's  come ! 

«  Cock  o'  the  IS^rth,  my  Huntly  bra', 
"Where  are  you  with  the  Forty-twa  V 
Ah  !  wae's  my  heart  that  ye're  awa' — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  But  yonder  come  my  canty  Celts, 
With  durk  and  pistols  at  their  belts, 
Thank  God,  we've  still  some  plaids  and  kilts- 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Lord,  how  the  pibrochs  groan  and  yell ! 
Macdonnell's®  ta'en  the  field  hirasell, 
Macleod  comes  branking  o'er  the  fell — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Bend  up  yom*  bow,  each  Archer  spark, 
For  you're  to  guard  him  fight  and  dark ; 
Faith,  lads,  for  ance  ye've  hit  the  mark — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Young  Errol,®  take  the  sword  of  state, 
The  sceptre,  Panie-Mor  arch  ate  •,"• 

Cockburn,  Esq.,  and  Lord  Elcho,  were  captains  in  the  same 
corps,  to  whioh  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  formerly  belonged. 

8  The  Scots  Grays,  headed  by  their  gallant  colonel.  General 
Sir  James  Stewart  of  Coltness,  Bart.,  were  on  duty  at  Edin- 
burgh during  the  King's  visit.  Bonaparte's  exclamation  at 
Waterloo  is  well  known:  "  Ces  beaux  chevaux  gris,  comme 
ibi  travaillent !" 

'  Marquis  of  Hantly,  who  since  became  the  last  Duke  of 
Gordon,  was  colonel  of  the  42d  Regiment,  and  died  in  1836. 

e  Colonel  Ronaldson  Macdonell  of  Glengarry — who  died  in 
January,  1828. 

9  The  Earl  of  Errol  is  hereditary  Lord  High-Constable  of 
Scotland. 

10  In  more  correct  Gaelic  orthography,  Banamhorar-Chat, 
or  the  Great  Lady  (literally  Female  Lvrd  of  the  Chattc)  ;  the 
Celtic  title  of  the  Countess  of  Sutherland.  "  Evin  unto  this 
day,  the  countrey  of  Sutherland  is  yet  called  Cattey,  the  in- 
habitants Catteigh,  and  the  Earl  of  Sutherland  Morweir  Cat- 
tey, in  old  Scottish  or  Irish  ;  which  language  the  inhabitants 
of  this  countrey  doe  still  use." — Goriion's  Genealogical  His- 
tory of  the  Earls  of  Sutherland,  p.  18.  It  was  determined 
by  his  Majesty,  that  the  right  of  carrying  the  sceptre  lay  with 
this  noble  family  ;  and  Lord  Francis  Leveson  Gower  (now 
Egerton),  second  son  of  the  Countess  (afterwards  Duchess)  of 
Sutherland,  was  permitted  to  act  as  deputy  for  his  mother  in 
that  honorable  office.  After  obtaining  his  Majesty's  nermis- 
sion  to  depart  for  Dnnrobin  Castle,  his  place  was  supplied  by 
the  Honorable  John  M.  Stuart,  second  son  of  the  Earl  of  Mo- 
ray.— Eo. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


705 


Knight  Mareschal,'  see  ye  clear  the  gate — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

*  Kind  cummer,  Leith,  ye've  been  mis-set, 
But  dinna  be  upon  the  fret — 

Te'se  hae  the  handsel  of  him  yet, 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

*  My  daughters,  come  -with  een  sae  blue. 
Your  garlands  weave,  your  blossoms  strew ; 
He  ne'er  saw  fairer  flowers  than  you — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  I 

*  What  shall  we  do  for  the  propine — 

We  used  to  offer  sometliing  fine, 

m  jjoucli  of  mine — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 


But  ne'er  a  groat 


"  Deil  care — for  that  I'se  never  start. 
We'll  welcome  him  with  Highland  heart ; 
Whate'er  we  have  he's  get  a  part — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

*  I'll  show  him  mas ofl-work  this  day — 
Kane  of  your  bricks  of  Babel  clay, 
But  towers  shall  stand  till  Time's  away — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  I'll  show  him  wit,  I'll  show  him  lair. 
And  gaUant  lads  and  lasses  fair. 
And  what  wad  kind  heart  wish  for  mair  ?— 
Carle,  now  the  Kuig's  coa»j  1 

"  Step  out,  Sir  John,"  of  projects  rife. 
Come  win  the  the  thanks  of  an  auld  wife, 
And  bring  him  health  and  length  of  hfe — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !" 


ifiom  tlje  i^oi"tuiu0  of  ^i%d. 


1822. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  i. 
^'ow  Scot  and  EngUsh  are  agreed, 
And  Saunders  hastes  to  cross  the  Tweed, 
Where,  such  the  splendors  that  attend  him. 
His  very  mother  scarce  had  keu'd  liim. 

1  The  Anther's  friend  and  relation,  the  late  Sir  Alexander 
Keith,  of  Dunottar  anJ  Ravelstone. 
'  MS. — "  Rise  up,  Sir  John,  of  projects  rife, 

And  wuss  him  health  and  length  of  life, 
And  win  the  tlianks  of  an  auld  wife." 
89 


His  metamorphosis  behold, 
From  Glasgow  freeze  to  cloth  of  gold ; 
His  back-sword  with  the  u'on-hilt, 
To  rapier,  fairly  hatch'd  and  gilt ; 
Was  ever  seen  a  gallant  braver ! 
His  very  bonnet's  grown  a  beaver. 

2'he  Reformation. 

(2.)— CuAP.  n. 
Tliis,  sir,  is  one  among  the  Seignory, 
Has  wealth  at  will,  and  will  to  use  liis  wealth- 
And  wit  to  increase  it.     Marry,  his  worst  folly 
Lies  in  a  thriftless  sort  of  charity. 
That  goes  a-gadding  sometimes  after  objects, 
Which  wise  men  will  not  see  when  thrust  upon 
them.  The  Old  Couple. 

(3.)— Chap.  rv. 
Ay,  sir,  the  clouted  shoe  hath  ofttimes  craft  in't, 
As  says  the  rustic  proverb  ;  and  your  citizen, 
In's  grogi-am   suit,  gold   chain,  and  weU-black'd 

shoes. 
Bears  under  his  flat  cap  ofttimes  a  brain 
Wiser  than  burns  beneath  the  cap  and  feather. 
Or  seethes  within  the  statesman's  velvet  nightcap. 

Read  me  my  Riddle, 

(4.) — Chap.  v. 
"Wlierefore  come  ye  not  to  court  ? 
Certain  'tis  the  rarest  sport ; 
There  are  silks  and  jewels  glistening, 
Prattling  fools  and  wise  men  listening, 
Bullies  among  brave  men  justling. 
Beggars  amongst  nobles  bustluig ; 
Low-breath'd  talkers,  minion  hspers, 
Cutting  honest  throats  by  whispers ; 
Wherefore  come  ye  not  to  court  ? 
Skelton  swears  'tis  glorious  sport. 

Skelton  Skeltonizeth. 

(5.) — Chap.  vi. 

0,  I  do  know  him — 'tis  the  mouldy  lemon 
Which  our  court  wits  will  wet  their  hps  withai. 
When  they  would  sauce  their  honeyed  conversa- 
tion 
With  somewhat  sharper  flavor. — Marry,  sir. 
That  virtue's  wellnigh  left  him — aU  the  juice 
That  was  so  sharp  aud  poignant,  is  squeezed  out ; 
Wliile  the  poor  rind,  although  as  som-  as  ever, 
Must  season  soon  the  draff  we  give  our  gruntera, 
For  two-legg'd  things  are  weary  on't. 

The  Chai7iherlain—A  Comedy. 

The  Right  Honorable  Sir  John  Sinclair,  Bart.,  author  of  "  The 
Code  of  Health  and  Longevity,"  &c.  &c.,— the  well-known 
patron  and  projector  of  national  and  patriotic  plans  and  im 
provements  innumerable,  died  21st  December,  1835,  in  hij 
eighty-second  year. — Ed 


106 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(6.) — Chap.  vn. 
Things  needful  we  have  thought  on ;  but  the  tiling 
Of  all  most  needful — that  which  Scripture  terms, 
As  if  alone  it  merited  regard, 
The  ONE  thing  needful — that's  yet  unconsider'd. 

The  Chamberlain. 

(7.) — Chap.  vni. 
Ah !  mark  the  matron  well— and  laugh  not,  Hai-ry, 
At  her  old  steeple-hat  and  velvet  guard — 
I've  caU'd  her  like  the  ear  of  Dionysius  ; 
I  mean  that  ear-form'd  vault,  built  o'er  the  dun- 
geon, 
To  catch  the  groans  and  discontented  murmm-s 
Of  his  poor  bondsmen. — Even  so  doth  Martha 
Drink  up,  for  her  own  purpose,  all  that  passes, 
Or  is  supposed  to  pass,  in  tlois  wide  city — 
She  can  retail  it  too,  if  that  her  profit 
Shall  call  on  her  to  do  so  ;  and  retail  it 
For  your  advantage,  so  that  you  can  make 
Your  profit  jump  with  hers. 

The  Conspiracy. 

(8.)— Chap.  x. 

Bid  not  thy  fortune  troU  upon  the  wheels 
Of  yonder  dancing  cubs  of  mottled  bone  ; 
And  dro\vn  it  not,  like  Egypt's  royal  harlot. 
Dissolving  her  rich  pearl  in  the  brimm'd  wine-cup. 
These  are  tlie  arts,  Lothario,  which  shrink  acres 
Lito  brief  yards — bring  sterling  jjounds   to   fai"- 

things. 
Credit  to  infamy  ;  and  the  poor  gull, 
"Who  might  have  lived  an  honor'd,  easy  life. 
To  ruin,  and  an  unregarded  grave. 

The  Changes. 

(9.) — Chap.  xii. 
Tliis  is  the  very  barn-yard. 


Where  muster  daily  the  prime  cocks  o'  the  game, 
Rufiie  their  pinions,  crow  till  they  are  hoarse, 
And  spar  about  a  barleycorn.     Here,  too,  chickens 
The  callow,  unfledged  brood  of  forward  folly, 
Learn  first  to  rear  the  crest,  and  aim  the  spur. 
And  tune  their  note  like  full-plumed  Chanticleer. 

The  Bear  Garden. 

(10.)— Chap.  xm. 
Let  the  proud  salmon  gorge  the  feather'd  hook. 
Then  strike,  and  then  you  have  him. — He  will 

wince ; 
Spin  out  your  hne  that  it  shall  whistle  from  you 
Some  twenty  yards  or  so,  yet  you  shall  have  him — ■ 
Marry  !  you  must  have  patience — the  stout  rock 
Which  is  liis  trust,  hath  edges  something  sharp  ; 
And  the  deep  pool  hath  ooze  and  sludge  enough 
To  mar  your  fishuig — 'less  you  are  more  careful. 
Albion,  or  the  Double  Kings. 


(11.) — Chap.  xvi. 
Give  way — give  way — I  must  and  will  have  justicu 
And  tell  me  not  of  privilege  and  place  ; 
Where  I  am  injm-ed,  there  I'll  sue  redress. 
Look  to  it,  every  one  who  bars  my  access ; 
I  have  a  heart  to  feel  the  injury, 
A  hand  to  right  myself,  and,  by  my  honor, 
That  hand  shall  grasp  what  gray -beard  Law  denies 
me.  The  Chamberlain. 

(12.) — Chap.  xvii. 

Come  hither,  young  one — Mark  me  !  Thou  art  now 
'Mongst  men  o'  the  sword,  that  live  by  reputation 
More  than  by  constant  income — Single-suited 
They  are,  I  grant  you  ;  yet  each  single  suit 
Maintains,  on  the  rough  guess,  a  thousand  follow 

ers — 
And  they  be  men,  who,  hazarding  their  aU, 
JSTeedful  apparel,  necessary  income, 
And  liuman  body,  and  immortal  soul, 
Do  in  tlie  verj'  deed  but  hazard  nothing — 
So  strictly  is  that  all  bound  in  reversion ; 
Clothes  to  the  broker,  income  to  the  usurer, — 
And  body  to  disease,  and  soul  to  the  foul  fiend ; 
Wlio  laughs  to  see  Soldadoes  and  fooladoes. 
Play  better  than  himself  bis  game  on  earth. 

The  MoJiocks. 

(13.) — Chap,  xvhl 
Mother.  Wliat !    dazzled  by  a  flash  of  Cupid's 
mirror. 
With  which  the  boy,  as  mortal  urchms  wont, 
Fhngs  back  the  sunbeam  in  the  eye  of  passengers- 
Then  laughs  to  see  them  stumble  I 

Daughter.  Mother  !  no — 
It  was  a  lightning-flash  which  dazzled  me, 
And  never  shall  these  eyes  see  true  again. 

Beef  and  Pudding — An  Old  English  Comedy. 

(14.) — Ch.\p.  XIX. 
By  this  good  light,  a  wench  of  matchless  mettle  ! 
This  were  a  leaguer-lass  to  love  a  soldier. 
To  bind  his  wounds,  and  kiss  liis  bloody  brow. 
And  smg  a  roundel  as  she  help'd  to  arm  him, 
Though  the  rough  foeman's  drmns  were  beat  so  nigh. 
They  seem'd  to  bear  the  burden. 

Old  Play. 

(15.) — Chj>p.  XX. 
Credit  me,  friend,  it  hath  been  ever  thus, 
Since  the  ark  rested  on  Mount  Ararat. 
False  man  hath  sworn,  and  woman  hath  believed— 
Repented  and  reproach'd,  and  then  believed  once 
more.  The  New  World. 

(16.) — Ch.\p.  XXI. 
Rove  not  fi-om  pole  to  pole — the  man  lives  here 
I  Whose  razor's  only  equaU'd  by  his  beer ; 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


101 


And  where  in  either  senae,  the  cockney-put 
May,  if  he  pleases,  get  confounded  cut. 

On  (he  Sign  of  an  Alehouse  ke^t  by  a  Barber. 

(17.) — Chap.  xxii. 
Chance  will  not  do  the  work — Chance  sends  the 

breeze ; 
But  if  the  pilot  slumber  at  the  helm, 
The  very  wind  that  wafts  us  towards  the  port 
May  dash  us  on  the  shelves. — The  steersman's  part 

is  vigilance, 
Blow  it  or  rough  or  smooth. 

Old  Flay. 

(18.)— Chap,  xxiv, 
This  is  the  time — Heaven's  maiden-sentinel 
Hath  quitted  her  high  watch — the  lesser  spangles 
Are  paling  one  by  one  ;  give  me  the  ladder 
And  the  short  lever — bid  Anthony 
Keep  with  his  carabine  the  wicket-gate ; 
And  do  thou  bare  thy  knife  and  follow  me, 
For  we  will  in  and  do  it — darkness  like  this 
la  dawning  of  our  fortunes. 

Old  Play. 

(19.)— Chap.  xxv. 
Death  finds  us  'mid  our  playtWngs — snatches  us, 
As  a  cross  nurse  might  do  a  wayward  child. 
From  all  our  toys  and  baubles.     His  rough  call 
Unlooses  all  oiu-  favorite  ties  on  earth ; 
And  well  if  they  are  such  as  may  be  answer'd 
In  yonder  world,  where  all  is  judged  of  truly. 

Old  Play. 

(20.)— Chap.  xxvi. 
Give  us  good  voyage,  gentle  stream — we  stun  not 
Thy  sober  ear  with  sounds  of  revelry ; 
Wake  not  the  slumbering  echoes  of  thy  banks 
With  voice  of  flute  and  horn — we  do  but  seek 
On  the  broad  pathway  of  thy  swelling  bosom 
To  gUde  in  silent,safety. 

The  Pouble  Bridal. 

(21.) — Chap.  xxvn. 
This  way  lie  safety  and  a  sure  retreat ; 
Yonder  he  danger,  shame,  and  punishment. 
Most  welcome  danger  then — Nay,  let  me  say. 
Though  spoke  with  swelling  heart — welcome  e'en 

shame ; 
And  welcome  punislmient — for,  call  me  guilty, 
I  do  but  pay  the  tax  that's  due  to  justice ; 
And  call  me  guiltless,  then  that  punishment 
Is  shame  to  those  alone  who  do  inflict  it. 

T/ie  Tribunal. 

(22.)— Chap.  xxix. 
How  fares  the  man  on  whom  good  men  would  look 
With  eyes  where  scorn  and  censure  combated, 


But  that  kind  Christian  love  hath  taught  the  les- 
son— 
That  they  who  merit  most  contempt  and  hate, 
Do  most  deserve  our  pity Old  Play. 

(23.)— Chap.  xxxt. 
Marry,  come  up,  sir,  with  your  gentle  blood ! 
Here's  a  red  stream  beneath   this    coarse  blup 

doublet. 
That  warms  the  heart  as  kindly  as  if  drawn 
From  the  far  source  of  old  Assyrian  kings. 
Who  first  made  mankind  subject  to  their  sway. 

Old  Play. 

(24.) — Chap.  xxxv. 
We  are  not  worse  at  once — the  course  of  evil 
Begins  so  slowly,  and  from  such  shght  source, 
An  infant's  hand  might  stem  its  breach  with  clay; 
But  let  the  stream  get  deeper,  and  philosophy- 
Ay,  and  rehgion  too, — shall  strive  in  vain 
To  turn  the  headlong  torrent. 

Old  Play. 


Ivom.  '^cmt'A  of  tljc  ^cah. 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  n. 
Why  then,  we  will  have  bellowing  of  beeves, 
Broacliing  of  barrels,  brandishing  of  spigots  ; 
Blood  shall  flow  freely,  but  it  shall  be  gore 
Of  herds  and  flocks,  and  venison  and  poultry, 
Join'd  to  the  brave  heart's-blood  of  John-a-Barley 
com !  Old  Play. 

(2.) — Chap.  iv. 
K"o,  sir, — I  will  not  pledge — I'm  one  of  those 
Who  think  good  wine  needs  neither  bush  nor  preface 
To  make  it  welcome.     If  you  doubt  my  word, 
FiU  the  quart-cup,  and  see  if  I  will  choke  on't. 

Old  Play. 

(3.) — Chap.  vi. 
You  shall  have  no  worse  prison  than  my  chamber 
Nor  jailer  than  myself. 

The  Captaiiu 

(4.) — Chap.  xvi. 

Ascasto.     Can  she  not  speak  ? 

Oswald.    If  speech  be  only  in  accented  sounds. 
Framed  by  the  tongue  and  hps,  the  maiden's  dumb 
But  if  by  quick  and  apprehensive  look. 
By  motion,  sign,  and  glance,  to  give  each  meaning 


708 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Express  as  clothed  in  language,  be  term'd  speech, 
She  hath  that  wondrous  faculty ;  for  her  eyes, 
'    Like  the  bright  stars  of  heaven,  can  hold  discourse, 
Though  it  be  mute  and  soundless. 

Old  Play. 

(5.) — Chap.  xvn. 
This  is  a  love  meeting  ?     See  the  maiden  mourns, 
And  the  sad  suitor  bends  his  looks  on  earth. 
There's  more  hath  pass'd  between  them  than  be- 
longs 
To  Love's  sweet  sorrows. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xix. 
Now,  hoist  the  anchor,  mates — and  let  the  sails 
Give  their  broad  bosom  to  the  buxom  wind, 
Like  lass  that  woos  a  lover. 

Anonymous. 

(7.) — Chap.  xxn. 
He  was  a  fellow  in  a  peasant's  garb ; 
Yet  one  could  censure  you  a  woodcock's  carving, 
Like  any  courtier  at  the  ordinary. 

The  Ordinary. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxtv. 
"We  meet,  as  men  see  phantoms  in  a  dream. 
Which  glide  and  sigh,  and  sign,  and  move  their  lips, 
But  make  no  sound ;  or,  if  tliey  utter  voice, 
'Tis  but  a  low  and  undistinguish'd  moaning. 
Which  has  nor  word  nor  sense  of  utter'd  sound. 

The  Chieftain. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxv. 
The  course  of  human  life  is  changeful  still 
As  is  the  fickle  wind  and  wandering  riU ; 
Or,  like  the  light   dance  which  the  wild-breeze 

weaves 
Amidst  the  faded  race  of  fallen  leaves ; 
Which  now  its  breath  bears  down,  now  tosses  high, 
Beats  to  the  earth,  or  wafts  to  middle  sky. 
Such,  and  so  varied,  the  precarious  play 
Of  fate  with  man,  frail  tenant  of  a  day  ! 

Anonymous, 

(10.) — Chap.  xxvi. 
Necessity — thou  best  of  peacemakers. 
As  well  as  surest  prompter  of  invention — 
Help  us  to  composition  I 

Anony^nous. 

(11.) — Chap.  xxvn. 

This  is  some  creature  of  the  elements 

Most  like  your  sea-guU.     He  can  wheel  and  whistle 
His  screaming  song,  e'en  when  the  storm  is  loud- 
est— 
Take  for  liis  sheeted  couch  the  restless  foam 


Of  the  wild  wave-crest — slumber  in  the  calm. 
And  dally  with  the  storm.     Yet  'tis  a  guU, 
An  arrant  gull,  •^yith  all  this. 

The  Chieftain. 

(12.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
I  fear  the  devil  worst  when  gown  and  cassock. 
Or,  in  tlie  lack  of  them,  old  Calvin's  cloak. 
Conceals  his  cloven  hoof. 

Anonymous. 

(13.) — Chap.  xxxm. 
'Tis  the  black  ban-dog  of  our  jail — Pray  look  on  him, 
But  at  a  wary  distance — ^rouse  him  not — 
He  bays  not  till  he  worries. 

Tlie  Black  Dog  of  Newgate. 

(14.) — Chap,  xxxviii. 
"Speak  not  of  niceness,  when  there's  chance  of 

wreck," 
The  captain  said,  as  ladies  writhed  their  neck 
To  see  the  dying  dolphin  flap  the  deck : 
"  If  we  go  down,  on  us  these  gentry  sup ; 
We  dine  upon  them,  if  we  haul  them  up. 
Wise  men  applaud  us  when  we  eat  the  eaters, 
As  the  devil  laughs  when  keen  folks  cheat  the 


cheaters." 


The  Sea  Voyage. 


(15.) — Chap.  xl. 
Contentions  fierce. 


Ardent,  and  dire,  spring  from  no  petty  cause. 

Albion. 

(16.) — Chap.  xLin. 
He  came  amongst  them  like  a  new-raised  spirit, 
To  speak  of  dreadful  judgments  that  impend, 
And  of  the  wrath  to  come. 

Tlie  Reformer. 

(17.) — Chap.  xliv. 
And  some  for  safety  took  the  dreadful  leap ; 
Some  for  the  voice  of  Heaven  seem'd  calling  on 

them ; 
Some  for  advancement,  or  for  lucre's  sake — 
I  leap'd  in  frolic. 

The  Dream. 

(18.) — Chap.  xlv. 
High  feasting  was  there  there — the  gilded  roofs 
Rung  to  the  wassail-health — the  dancer's  step 
Sprung  to  the  chord  responsive — the  gay  gamester 
To  fate's  disposal  flung  liis  heap  of  gold. 
And  laugh'd  alike  when  it  increased  or  lessen'd : 
Such  virtue  hath  court-air  to  teach  us  patience 
Which  schoolmen  preach  in  vain. 

Wliy  Ci-W-e  ye  not  to  Court  f 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


709 


n 


(19.) — Chap.  xlvi. 
Here  stand  I  tight  and  trim, 
Quick  of  eye,  though  httle  of  limb ; 
He  who  detiieth  the  word  I  have  spoken. 
Betwixt  him  and  me  shall  lances  be  broken. 

Lay  of  the  Little  John  de  SaintrL 


iFrom  (!liucntiu  jl)unuari). 


1823. 


(1.)— SONG— COUNTY  GUT. 

Ah  !  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh. 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange  flower  perfumes  the  bower. 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  his  lay  who  thrill'd  all  day, 

Sits  hush'd  his  partner  nigh ; 
Breeze,  bird,  aud  flower,  confess  the  hour, 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 

The  village  maid  steals  through  the  shade, 

Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear ; 
To  beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high, 

Sings  high-born  Cavaher. 
The  star  of  Love,  aU  stars  above. 

Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky ; 
And  high  and  low  the  influence  know — 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 

Chap.  iv. 


(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  xi. 
Painters  show  Cupid  blind — Hath  Hymen  eyes  ? 
Or  is  his  sight  warp'd  by  those  spectacles 
Which  parents,  guardians,  and  advisers,  lend  him. 
That  he  may  look  through  them  on  lands  and  man- 
sions, 
On  jewels,  gold,  and  all  such  rich  donations. 
And  see  their  value  ten  times  magnified  ? — 
Metliinks  'twill  brook  a  question. 

The  Miseries  of  Enforced  Marriage. 

(2.) — Chap.  xn. 
This  is  a  lecturer  so  skill'd  in  policy, 
That  (no  disparagement  to  Satan's  cunning) 
He  well  might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil, 
And  teach  the  old  seducer  new  temptations. 

Old  Play. 


(3.) — Chap.  xiy. 
I  see  thee  yet,  fair  France — thou  favoi^'d  land 
Of  art  and  nature — thou  art  still  before  me ; 
Thy  sons,  to  whom  their  labor  is  a  sport, 
So  well  thy  grateful  soil  returns  its  tribute ; 
Thy  sun-burnt  daughters,  with  their  laughing  eyes 
And  glossy  raven-locks.     But,  favor'd  France, 
Thou  hast  had  many  a  tale  of  woe  to  tell. 
In  ancient  times  as  now. 

Anonymov,». 

(4.) — Chap.  xv. 
He  was  a  son  of  Egypt,  as  he  told  me, 
And  one  descended  from  those  dread  magicians, 
"Who   waged   rash  war,   when   Israel   dwelt   in 

Goshen, 
With  Israel  and  her  Prophet — matching  rod 
With  his  the  sons  of  Levi's — and  encountering 
Jehovah's  miracles  with  incantations, 
Till  upon  Egypt  came  the  avenging  Angel, 
And  those  proud  sages  wept-for  their  first-bom, 
As  wept  the  xmletter'd  peasant. 

Anonymous, 

(5.) — Chap.  xxrv. 
Rescue  or  none.  Sir  Knight,  I  am  your  captive ; 
Deal  with  me  what  yoiu*  nobleness  suggests — 
Thinking  the  chance  of  war  may  one  day  place 

you 
Where  I  must  now  be  reckon'd — i'  the  roU 
Of  melancholy  prisoners. 

Anonymous. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxv. 
No  human  quality  is  so  well  wove 
In  warp  and  woof,  but  there's  some  flaw  in  it ; 
I've  known  a  brave  man  fly  a  shepherd's  cur, 
A  wise  man  so  demean  him,  drivelling  idiocy 
Had  well   m'gh   been   ashamed  on't.      For   your 

crafty. 
Your  worldly-wise  man,  he,  above  the  rest, 
Weaves  his  own  snares  so  fine,  he's  often  caught 


in  them. 


Old  Play. 


(7.) — Chap.  xxvi. 
When  Princes  meet,  astrologers  may  mark  it 
An  ominous  conjunctiiDu,  full  of  boding. 
Like  that  of  Mars  with  Saturn. 

Old  Play. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxix. 
Thy  time  is  not  yet  out — the  devil  thou  servest 
Has  not  as  yet  deserted  thee.     He  aids 
The  fi-iends  who  di-udge  for  him,  as  the  blind  man 
Was  aided  by  the  guide,  who  lent  his  shoulder 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  until  he  reach'd  the  brink 
Of  the  fell  precipice — then  hmTd  him  downward. 

Old  Play. 


' 


710 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(9.) — Chap.  xxx. 
Our  counsels  waver  like  the  unsteady  bark, 
Tliat  reels  amid  the  strife  of  meeting  currents. 

Old  Flay. 

(10.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
Hold    fast    thy   truth,    young    soldier.  —  Gentle 

maiden, 
Keep  you  your  promise  plight — leave  age  its  sub- 
tleties. 
And  gray-hair'd  policy  its  maze  of  falsehood ; 
But  be  you  candid  as  the  morning  sky, 
Ere  the  high  sun  sucks  vapors  up  to  stain  it. 

The  Trial. 


irom  St.  Uonan's  llUU. 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  ii. — The  Guest, 

Quis  novus  hie  hospes  ? 

Dido  apud  Virgilium. 

Ch'm-maid ! — The  German  in  the  front  parlor ! 
Boots's  free  Translation  of  tlie  Eneid. 

(2.)— Chap.  m. 
There  must  be  government  in  all  society — 
Bees  have  their  Queen,  and  stag  herds  have  their 

leader ; 
Rome  had  her  Consuls,  Athens  had  her  Archons, 
And  we,  sir,  have  our  Managing  Committee. 

Tlte  Album  of  St.  Honans. 

(3.)— Chat.  x. 
Come,  let  me  have  thy  coimsel,  for  I  need  it ; 
Thou  art  of  those,  "who  better  help  their  friends 
With  sage  advice,  than  usurers  ■with  gold. 
Or  brawlers  with  theh  swords — I'll  trust  to  thee, 
For  I  ask  only  from  thee  words,  not  deeds. 

Tfie  Devil  hath  met  his  Match. 


(4.) — Chap,  xl 
Nearest  of  blood  should  stiU  be  next  in  love ; 
And  when  I  see  these  happy  children  playing, 
WhUe  William  gathers  flowers  for  Ellen's  ringlets, 
And  Ellen  dresses  flies  for  William's  angle, 
I  scarce  can  think,  that  m  advancing  Ufe, 
Coldness,  unkindness,  interest,  or  suspicion, 
WiU  e'er  divide  that  unity  so  sacred, 
"Which  Nature  bound  at  birth. 

Anonymous.        j  —See  Life,  voU  vii.  p.  137. 


(5.) — Chap.  xxni. 
Oh !  you  would  be  a  vestal  maid,  I  warrant, 
The  bride  of  Heaven — Come — we  may  shake  your 

purpose : 
For  here  I  bring  in  hand  a  jolly  suitor 
Hath  ta'en  degrees  in  the  seven  sciences 
That  ladies  love  best — He  is  young  and  noble. 
Handsome  and  valiant,  gay  and  rich,  and  liberal. 

The  Nun. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxxn. 
It  comes — it  wrings  me  in  my  parting  hour. 
The  long-liid  crime — the  well-disguised  guilt. 
Bring  me  some  holy  priest  to  lay  the  spectre ! 

Old  Play 

(7.) — Chap.  xxxv. 
Scdet  post  equitem  afra  cura 

Still  though  the  headlong  cavalier, 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  in  wild  career, 

Seems  racing  with  the  wind ; 
His  sad  companion — ghastly  pale. 
And  darksome  as  a  widow's  veil, 

Care — keeps  her  seat  behind. 

Horace. 

(8.) — Chap,  xxxviu. 
What   sheeted  ghost   is  wandering  through   the 

storm  ? 
For  never  did  a  maid  of  middle  earth 
Choose  such  a  time  or  spot  to  vent  her  soitows. 

Old  Play. 

(9.) — Chap,  xxxix. 
Here  come  we  to  our  close — for  that  wliich  follows 
Is  but  the  tale  of  dull,  unvaried  misery. 
Steep  crags  and  headlong  lins  may  court  the  pencil 
Like  sudden  haps,  dark  plots,  and  strange  adven- 
tures ; 
But  who  would  paint  the  dull  and  fog-wrapt  moor. 
In  its  long  tract  of  sterile  desolation  ? 

Old  Play. 


a:j)e  Uannatjne  eiub.' 


1823. 

I. 

Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  Old  Books  and  Old  Wine, 
To  sing  in  the  praises  of  sage  Bannatyne, 

1  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  the  first  President  of  the  Club,  and 
wrote  these  verses  for  the  anniversary  dinner  of  March,  1823 


Who  left  such  a  treasure  of  old  Scottish  lore 
As  enables  each  age  to  priut  one  voliune  more. 
One  Tolume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more, 
"Well   ransack    old   Banny  for    one   volume 
more. 

II. 

And  first,  Allan  Ramsay,  was  eager  to  glean 
From  Bamiatyne's  Hortus  liis  bright  Evergreen ; 
Two  little  light  volumes  (intended  for  four) 
Stdl  leave  us  the  task  to  prmt  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  <fcc. 

III. 

His  ways  were  not  om's,  for  he  cared  not  a  pin 
How  much  he  left  out,  or  how  much  he  put  iu ; 
The   truth   of  the    reading  he   thought   was   a 

bore. 
So  this  accm'ate  age  calls  for  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  <fec. 

IV. 
Correct  and  sagacious,  then  came  my  Lord  Hailes, 
And  weigh'd  every  letter  in  critical  scales, 
But  left  out  some  brief  words,  which  the  prudish 

abhor, 
And  castrated  Banny  in  one  volume  more. 

,  One  volume  more,  my  friemis,  one  volume 
more. 
We'll  restore  Baimy's  manhood  in  one  volume 
more. 

V. 
John  Pinkerton  next,  and  I'm  truly  concern'd 
I  can't  call  that  worthy  so  candid  as  learn'd ; 
He  rail'd  at  the  plaid  and  blasphemed  the  clay- 
more, 
And  set  Scots   by  the  ears  in  his  one  volume 
more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more, 
Celt  and  Goth  shall  be  pleased  with  one  vol- 
ume more. 

1  In  accordance  with  Iiis  own  regimen,  Mr.  Ritson  published 
a  volume  entitled,  "  An  Essay  on  Abstinence  from  Animal 
Food  as  a  Moral  Duty.     1802." 

2  See  an  account  of  the  Metrical  Antiquarian  Researches  of 
Pinkerton,  Ritson,  and  Herd,  &c.  in  the  Introductory  Remarks 
on  Popular  Poetry,  ante,  p.  544,  et  seq. 

3  James  Sibbald,  editor  of  Scottish  Poetry,  &c.  "The 
Yeditur,"  was  the  name  given  him  by  the  late  Lord  Eldin, 
then  Mr.  John  Clerk,  advocate.  The  description  of  him  here 
is  very  accurate. 

<  David  Herd,  editor  of  Songs  and  Historical  Ballads.  2 
vols.  He  was  called  Greysteel  by  his  intimates,  from  having 
been  long  in  unsuccessful  quest  of  the  romance  of  that 
aame. 

0  This  clul)  was  instituted  in  the  year  1802,  for  the  publication 
or  reprint  of  rare  and  curious  works  connected  with  the  history 


VI. 

As  bitter  as  gall,  and  as  sharp  as  a  zazor. 
And  feeding  on  herbs  as  a  Nebuchadnezzar,' 
His  diet  too  acid,  his  temper  too  sour. 
Little  Ritson  came  out  with  his  two  volumes  more.* 
But  one  volume,  my  friends,  one  volimie  more, 
"We'U  dine  on  roast-beef  and  prmt  one  volume 
more. 

VIL 
The  stout  Gothic  yeditur,  next  on  the  roll,' 
With  liis  beard  like  a  brush  and  as  black  as  a  coal , 
And  honest  Greysteel*  that  was  true  to  the  core, 
Lent  thek  hearts  and  then-  hands  each  to  one  vol- 
ume more. 

One  volume  more,  <fec. 

VIIL 
Since  by  these  single  champions  what  wonders 

were  done. 
What  may  not  be  achieved  by  our  Thirty  and  One  ? 
Law,  Gospel,  and  Commerce,  we  count  in  oin-  corps, 
And  the  Trade  and  the  Press  join  for  one  volume 
more. 

One  volume  more,  <fec. 

IX. 

Ancient  hbels  and  contraband  books,  I  asstire  ye, 
We'll  print  as  secure  from  Exchequer  or  Jury ;    >■ 
Then  hear  yom-  Committee  and  let  them  count  o'er 
The  Chiels  they  intend  in  their  three  volumes  more. 
Three  voliunes  more,  &a. 

X. 

They'U  produce  you  King  Jamie,  the  sapient  and 

Sext, 
And  the  Rob  of  Dumblane  and  her  Bishops  come 

next ; 
One  tome  miscellaneous  they'll  add  to  your  store. 
Resolving  next  year  to  print  fom-  volumes  more. 
Four  volumes  more,  my  friends,  four  volumen 

more ; 
Pay  down  your  subscriptions  for  fom-  volumes 
more.* 

and  antiquities  of  Scotland.  It  consisted,  at  first,  of  a  very  few 
niemberSj^gradually  extended  to  one  liundred,  at  which  num- 
ber it  has  now  made  a  final  pause.  They  assume  the  name  of 
the  Bannatyne  Club  from  George  Bannatyne,  of  whom  little  is 
known  beyond  that  prodigious  effort  which  produced  his  pres- 
ent honors,  and  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  .««»igular  instances 
of  its  kind  which  the  literature  of  any  country  e.\liibit3.  His 
labors  as  an  amanuensis  w'ere  undertaken  during  the  time  of 
pestilence,  in  15(38.  The  dread  of  infection  had  induced  him 
to  retire  into  solitude,  and  under  such  circumstances  he  had 
the  energy  to  form  and  e.xecute  the  plan  of  saving  the  literature 
of  the  whole  nation  ;  and,  undisturbed  by  the  general  mourn- 
ing for  the  dead,  and  general  fears  of  the  living,  to  devote 
himself  to  the  task  of  collecting  and  recording  the  triumphs  of 
human  genius  in  the  poetry  of  his  age  and  country  ; — thus, 
amid  the  wreck  of  all  that  was  mortal,  employing  himself  ia 


712 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Eo  3f.  (K.  aocit!)art,  3Ssq. 

ON  THE  COMPOSITION   OF   MAIDa's  EPITAPH. 


1824. 


"  Maids  Marmorea  dormis  sub  imagine  Maida  1 
Ad  iannam  domini  sit  tibi  terra  levis." 

See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vii.  pp.  275-281. 

"  Dear  John, — I  some  time  ago  •wrote  to  inform  his 

Fat  ■worship  of  jaces,  misprinted  for  dormis  ; 

But  that  several  Southrons  assured  me  the  januam 

Was  a  twitch  to  both  eai-s  of  Ass  Priscian's  cra- 
niiim. 

Tou,  perhaps,  may  observe  that  one  Lionel  Ber- 
guer. 

In  defence  of  our  blunder  appears  a  stout  arguer : 

But  at  length  I  have  settled,  I  hope,  aU  these 
clatters. 

By  a  rowt  in  the  papers — fine  place  for  such 
matters. 

I  have,  therefore,  to  make  it  for  once  my  com- 
mand, sir. 

That  my  gudeson  shall  leave  the  whole  thing  in 
my  hand,  su-, 

And  by  no  means  accomplish  what  James  says 
you  threaten, 

Some  banter  in  Blackwood  to  claim  your  dog- 
Latin. 

I  have  various  reasons  of  weight,  on  my  word,  sir. 

For  pronouncing  a  step  of  this  sort  were  absurd, 
sir. — 

Firstly,  erudite  sir,  'twas  against  yom*  advising 

I  adopted  the  lines  this  monstrosity  lies  in ; 

For  you  modestly  hinted  my  English  translation 

"Would  become  better  far  such  a  dignified  station. 

Second — how,  in  God's  name,  would  my  bacon  be 
saved. 


By  not  having  writ  what  I  cleaidy  engraved  ? 

On  the  contrary,  I,  on  the  whole,  think  it  better 

To  be  whipp'd  as  the  thief,  than  his  lousy  re- 
setter. 

Thirdly — don't  you  perceive  that  I  don't  care  a 
boddle 

Although  fifty  false  metres  were  flimg  at  my 
noddle. 

For  my  back  is  as  broad  and  as  hard  as  Benlo- 
mon's, 

And  I  treat  as  I  please  both  the  Greeks  and  the 
Romans ; 

Whereas  the  said  heathens  might  rather  look 
serious 

At  a  kick  on  their  di-um  from  the  scribe  of  Va- 
lerius. 

And,  fourtlily  and  lastly — it  is  my  good  pleasure 

To  remain  the  sole  som-ce  of  that  murderous 
measure. 

So  stet  pro  ratione  voluntas — be  tractile. 

Invade  not,  I  say,  my  own  dear  Uttle  dactyl ; 

If  you  do,  you'U  occasion  a  breach  in  our  inter- 
com'se : 

To-morrow  will  see  me  in  town  for  the  winter- 
course, 

But  not  at  your  door,  at  the  usual  hour,  sir. 

My  own  pye-house  daughter's  good  prog  to  de- 
vom-,  sir. 

Ergo — ^peace ! — on  your  duty,  your  squeamishness 
throttle. 

And  we'll  soothe  Priscian's  spleen  with  a  canny 
tlui-d  bottle. 

A  fig  for  all  dactyls,  a  fig  for  all  spondees, 

A  fig  for  all  dunces  and  dominie  Grundys ; 

A  fig  for  dry  thrapples,  south,  north,  east,  and 
west,  sir, 

Speates  and  raxes'  ere  five  for  a  famishing  guest, 
sir; 


preserving  tlie  lays  by  which  mortality  is  at  once  given  to 
others,  and  obtained  for  the  writer  himself.  He  informs  ns  of 
some  of  the  numerous  difficulties  he  had  to  contend  with  in 
this  self-imposed  task.  The  volume  containing  his  labors, 
deposited  in  the  Library  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates  at  Edin- 
burgh, is  no  less  than  eight  hundred  pages  in  length,  and  very 
neatly  and  closely  written,  containing  nearly  all  the  ancient 
poetry  of  Scotland  now  known  to  exist. 

This  Caledonian  association,  which  boasts  several  names  of 
distinction,  both  from  rank  and  talent,  has  assumed  rather  a 
broader  foundation  than  the  parent  society,  the  Roxburghe 
Club  in  London,  which,  in  its  plan,  being  restricted  to  the 
reprinting  of  single  tracts,  each  executed  at  the  expense  of  an 
individual  member,  it  follows  as  almost  a  necessary  conse- 
quence, that  no  volume  of  considerable  size  has  emanated  from 
it,  and  its  range  has  been  thus  far  limited  in  point  of  utility. 
The  Bannatyne,  holding  the  same  system  with  respect  to  the 
ordinary  species  of  club  reprints,  levies,  moreover,  a  fund 
among  its  members  of  about  X500  a  year,  expressly  to  be 
applied  for  the  editing  and  printing  of  works  of  acknowledged 
importance,  and  likely  to  be  attended  with  expense  beyond 
the  reasonable  bounds  of  an  individual's  contribution.  In  this 
way  either  a  member  of  the  Club,  or  a  competent  person  under 


its  patronage,  superintends  a  particular  volume,  or  set  of  vol- 
umes. Upon  these  occasions,  a  very  moderate  number  of  copies 
are  thrown  off  for  general  sale ;  and  those  belonging  to  the 
Club  are  only  distinguished  from  the  others  by  being  printed 
on  the  paper,  and  ornamented  with  the  decorations,  peculiar  to 
the  Society.  In  this  way  several  useful  and  eminently  valua- 
ble works  have  recently  been  given  to  the  public  for  the  first 
time,  or  at  least  with  a  degree  of  accuracy  and  authenticity 
which  they  had  never  before  attained. — Abridged  from  the 
Quarterly  Review — Art.  Pitcairn's  Ancient  Criminal  Tri- 
als.    February,  1831. 

I  There  is  an  excellent  story  (but  tOi  iong  for  quotation)  in  the 
Memoircof  the  Somervilles  (vol.  i.  p.  240)  about  an  old  Lord 
of  that  family,  who,  when  he  wished  preparations  to  be  made 
for  high  feasting  at  his  Castle  of  Cowthally,  used  to  send  on  a 
billet  inscribed  witli  this  laconic  phrase,  "  Speates  and  raxes," 
i.  e.  spits  and  ranges.  Upon  one  occasion.  Lady  Somerville 
(being  newly  married,  and  not  yet  skilled  in  her  husband's 
hieroglyphics)  read  the  mandates  as  spears  and  jacks,  and 
sent  ibrth  200  armed  hoi'semen,  whose  appearance  on  the 
moors  greatly  alarmed  Lord  Somerville  and  his  guest,  who 
happened  to  be  no  less  a  person  than  King  James  III. — See 
Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose,  vol.  xxii.  p.  312. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


Tia 


And  as  Fatsman'  and  I  have  some  topics  for  ha- 
ver, he'll 

Be  invited,  I  hope,  to  meet  me  and  Dame  Pev- 
eril, 

Upon  vchom,  to  say  nothing  of  Ouiy  and  Anne, 
you  a 

Dog  shall  be  deem'd  if  you  fasten  your  Janua. 


2lf  nes, 


ADDRESSED    TO    MONSIEUU     ALEXANDRE,''    THE     CELE- 
BRATED VENTRILOQUIST. 


1S24. 


Of  yore,  in  old  England,  it  was  not  thought  good 

To  carry  two  visages  under  one  hood ; 

What  should  folk  say  to  you  ?  who  have  faces  such 

plenty. 
That  from  under  one  hood,  you  last  night  shoVd 

us  twenty ! 
Stand  forth,  arch  deceiver,  and  tell  us  iii  truth, 
Are  you  handsome  or  ugly,  in  age  or  in  youth  ? 
Man,  woman,  or  child — a  dog  or  a  mouse  ? 
Or  are  you,  at  once,  each  live  tiling  in  tlie  house  ? 
Each  live  thing,  did  I  ask  ? — each  dead  implement, 

too, 
A  work-shop   in  your   person, — saw,  chisel,  and 

screw ! 
Above  all,  are  you  one  individual  ?  I  know 
■  You  must  be  at  least  Alexandre  and  Co. 
But  I  think   you're  a  troop — an   assemblage — a 

mob. 
And  that  I,  as  the  Sheriff,  should  take  up  the 

job; 
And  instead  of  rehearsing  your  wonders  in  verse, 
Must  read  you   the  Riot-Act,  and  bid  you  dis- 
perse. 
Abbotsford,  23(i  Jipril.'^ 


1  Fntsman  was  one  of  Mr.  James  Ballantyne's  many  aliases. 
Another  (to  which  Constable  mostly  adhered)  was  Mr.  "  Bas- 
ketfiU" — an  allusion  to  the  celelirated  jirinler  BasUerville. 

2  "  fVken  Jlonsieur  JHeiaiidrc,  the  celebrated  ventrilo- 
quist, was  in  Scotland,  in  1824,  he  paid  a  visit  to  Mbots- 
ford,  where  he  entertained  his  distinguished  host,  and  the 
other  visitors,  with  his  unrivalled  imitations.  JVext  morn- 
ing; when  he  was  about  to  depart,  Sir  IValter  felt  a  good 
deal  embarrassed  as  to  the  sort  of  acknowlrdgmr.nt  he  should 
offer ;  but  at  length,  resolving  that  it  would  probably  be  most 
agreeable  to  the  young  foreigner  to  be  paid  in  professional 
coin,  if  in  any,  he  stepped  aside  fur  a  few  mi.iutes,  and  on 
returning,  presented  him  with  this  epigram.  The  reader 
need  hardly  be  reminded  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  held  the  of- 
fice of  Sheriff  of  the  county  of  Selkirh."— Scotch  newspaper, 
1830. 

2  The  lines,  with  this  date,  appeared  iu  tlie  Edinburgh  An- 
al Register  of  1824. 
90 


3Sptloflue 

TO  THE  DRAMA  FOUNDED  ON  "  ST.  RONAN's  WELT  " 


1824. 


"After  the  play,  the  folloioing  humorous  cddress 
[ascribed  to  an  eminent  literary  character)  was 
spoken  with  infinite  effect  by  Mr.  Mackay  in  the 
character  of  Meg  Dodds." — Edinburgh  Weekly 
Journal,  ^th  June,  1824. 

Enter  Meg  Dodds,  encircled  by  a  crovid  of  unruly 
boys,  whom  a  towii s-officer  is  driving  off. 

That's  right,  fiiend — di'ive  the  gaitUngs  back. 
And  lend  yon  muckle  ane  a  whack ; 
Your  Enibro'  bairns  are  grown  a  pack, 

Sae  proud  and  saucy, 
They  scarce  will  let  an  auld  wife  walk 

Upon  your  causey. 

Fve  seen  the  day  they  would  been  scaur'd 
Wi'  the  Tolbooth,  or  wi'  the  Guard, 
Or  maybe  wud  hae  some  regard 

For  Jamie  Laing — * 
Tlie  "Water -hole'  was  right  weel  wai-ed 

On  sic  a  gang. 

But  whar's  the  gude  Tolbooth*  gane  now 
Whar's  the  auld  Claught,''  wi'  red  and  blue  t 
Whar's  Jamie  Laing  ?  and  whar's  John  Doo  ?' 

And  whar's  the  Weigh-houseJ* 
Deil  hae't  I  see  but  what  is  new. 

Except  the  Playhouse  ! 

Yoursells  are  changed  frae  head  to  heel. 
There's  some  that  gar  the  causeway  reel 
With  clashing  hufe  and  rattling  wheel. 

And  horses  canterin', 
Wha's  fathers  daunder'd  hame  as  wee! 

Wi'  lass  and  lantern. 

*  James  Laing  was  one  of  the  Depute-Clerks  of  the  city  i' 
Edinburgh,  and  in  his  official  connection  witli  the  Police  and 
the  Council-Chamber,  his  name  was  a  constant  terror  to  er'l- 
doers.     He  died  in  February,  1806. 

5  The  Watch-hole. 

6  The  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh,  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian, 
was  pulled  down  in  1817. 

'  The  ancient  Town  Guard.  The  reduced  remnant  of  thi» 
body  of  police  was  finally  disbanded  in  1817. 

8  John  Doo,  or  Dhu — a  terrific-looking  and  high-spirited 
member  of  the  Town  Guard,  and  of  whom  there  is  a  print  by 
Kay,  etched  in  1784. 

9  Tne  Weigh-House,  situated  at  the  head  of  the  West  Bow, 
Lawnmarket,  and  which  had  long  been  looked  npon  as  an  en- 
cumbrance to  the  street,  was  demoiislied  in  order  to  make  way 
for  the  royal  jjrocession  to  the  Castle,  which  took  place  on  th» 
^d  of  August,  1822. 


714 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Mysell  being  in  the  public  line, 

I  look  for  howfs  I  kenn'd  lang  syne, 

Whar  gentles  used  to  drink  gude  wine, 

And  eat  cheap  dinners ; 
But  deil  a  soul  gangs  there  to  dine, 

Of  saints  or  sinners ! 

Fortune's'  and  Hunter's^  gane,  alas ! 
And  Bayle's'  is  lost  in  empty  space ; 
And  now  if  folk  would  splice  a  brace, 

Or  crack  a  bottle, 
They  gang  to  a  new-fangled  place 

They  ca'  a  Hottle. 

The  deevil  hottle  them  for  Meg ! 
They  are  sae  greedy  and  sae  gleg, 
That  if  ye're  served  but  wi'  an  egg 

(And  that's  puir  picldn'), 
In  comes  a  chiel  and  makes  a  leg. 

And  charges  chicken ! 

"  And  wha  may  ye  be,"  gin  ye  speer, 

"  That  brings  your  auld-warld  clavers  here  ?" 

Troth,  if  there's  onybody  near 

That  kens  the  roads, 
I'll  baud  ye  Bui'gundy  to  beer, 

He  kens  Meg  Dodds. 

I  came  a  piece  fiae  west  o'  Cm-rie ; 
And,  since  I  see  you're  in  a  hurry. 
Your  patience  I'll  uae  langer  worry. 

But  be  sae  crouse 
As  speak  a  word  for  ane  Will  Murray,* 

That  keeps  this  house. 

Plays  are  auld-fashion'd  things,  in  truth, 
And  ye've  seen  wonders  mair  uncouth ; 
Yet  actors  shouldna  suffer  drouth. 

Or  want  of  dramock. 
Although  they  speak  but  wi'  then-  mouth. 

Not  with  their  stamock. 

But  ye  tak  care  of  a'  folk's  pantry ; 

And  surely  to  hae  stooden  sentry 

Ower  this  big  house  (that's  far  fi-ae  rent-free), 

,  For  a  lone  sister, 

Is  claims  as  gude's  to  be  a  ventri — 

How'st  ca'd — loquister. 

1  Fortune's  Tavern — a  house  on  the  west  side  of  the  Old 
Stamp-office  Close,  High  Street,  and  which  was,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  last  centnry,  the  mansion  of  the  Earl  of  Eglintonn. 
— The  Lord  High  Commissioner  to  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  day  held  his  levees  and  dinners  in  this  tavern. 

2  Hunter's — another  once  much-frequented  tavern,  in  Wri- 
ter's Court,  Royal  Exchange. 

2  Bayle's  Tavern  and  Coffeehouse,  originally  on  the  North 
Bridge,  east  side,  afterwards  in  Shakspeare  Square,  bit  re- 
moved to  admit  of  the  opening  of  Waterloo  Place.  Such  was 
the  dignified  characlsi  of  this  liouse,  that  the  waiter  always 


Weel,  sirs,  gude'en,  and  have  a  care, 
The  bakns  mak  ftm  o'  Meg  nae  mair  ; 
For  gin  they  do,  she  tells  you  fair. 

And  without  failzie, 
As  sure  as  ever  ye  sit  there, 

She'U  tell  the  Bailie 


35  J)  1 1 0  jj  u  e  .* 


1824. 


The  sages — for  authority,  pray  look 

Seneca's  morals,  or  the  copy-book — 

The  sages  to  disparage  woman's  power. 

Say,  beauty  is  a  fair,  but  fading  flower  ; — 

I  cannot  tell — I've  small  philosophy — 

Yet,  if  it  fades,  it  does  not  surely  die. 

But,  like  the  violet,  when  decayed  in  bloom. 

Survives  through  many  a  year  in  rich  perftune. 

Witness  our  theme  to-night,  two  ages  gone, 

A  third  wanes  fast,  since  Mary  fill'd  the  throne. 

Brief  was  her  bloom,  with  scarce  one  sunny  day, 

'Twixt  Pinkie's  field  and  fatal  Fotheringay : 

But  when,  while  Scottish  heaits  and  blood  yoa 

boast. 
Shall  sympathy  with  Mary's  woes  be  lost  ? 
O'er  Mary's  mem'ry  the  learned  quarrel. 
By  Mary's  grave  the  poet  plants  his  laurel. 
Time's  echo,  old  tradition,  makes  her  name 
The  constant  burden  of  his  fault'ring  theme ; 
In  each  old  haU  his  gray-hair'd  heralds  teU 
Of  Mary's  picture,  and  of  Mary's  cell. 
And  show — ^my  fingers  tingle  at  the  thought — 
The   loads  of  tapestry  which  that   poor   Queen 

wrought. 
In  vain  did  fate  bestow  a  double  dower 
Of  ev'ry  iU  that  waits  on  rank  and  pow'r, 
Of  ev'ry  ill  on  beauty  that  attends — 
False  ministers,  false  lovers,  and  false  friends. 
Spite  of  thi'ee  wedlocks  so  completely  curst. 
They  rose  in  ill  from  bad  to  worse,  and  worst, 
In  spite  of  en-ors — I  dare  not  say  more. 
For  Duncan  Targe  lays  hand  on  his  claymore. 
In  spite  of  aU,  liowever,  humors  vary. 
There  is  a  talisman  in  that  word  Mary, 

appeared  in  full  dress,  and  nobody  was  admitted  who  bad  not 
a  white  neckcloth — then  considered  an  indispensable  inslgniam 
of  a  gentleman. 

4  Mr.  William  Murray  became  manager  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatre  iu  1815. 

6  "  I  recovered  the  above  with  some  difficnlty.  I  believe  U 
was  never  spoken,  but  written  for  some  play,  afterwards  with- 
drawn, in  which  Mrs.  H.  Siddons  was  to  have  spoken  it  in  the 
character  of  Clueen  Mary." — Extract  from  a  Letter  of  Sir 
Wal'.c-  Scott  to  Jilr.  Co7istable,  22d  October,  1824. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


lib 


That  unto  Scottish  bosoms  all  and  some 
Is  found  the  genuine  open  sesamum  ! 
In  history,  ballad,  poetry,  or  novel. 
It  charms  alike  tlie  castle  and  the  hovel, 
Even  you — forgive  me — ^who,  demure  and  shy, 
Gorge  not  each  bait,  nor  stir  at  every  fly, 
Must  rise  to  tliis,  else  in  her  ancient  reign 
The  Rose  of  Scotland  has  survived  in  vain. 


iTrom  HeiJgauntkt. 


1824. 


"  It  Tvas  but  three  nights  ago,  that,  worn 

out  by  the  uniformity  of  my  confinement,  I  had 
manifested  more  symptoms  of  despondence  than  I 
had  before  exhibited,  which  I  conceive  may  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  domestics,  through 
"whom  the  circumstance  might  transpne.  On  the 
next  morning,  the  following  lines  lay  on  my  table ; 
but  how  conveyed  there,  I  cannot  teU.  The  hand 
in  which  they  are  written  is  a  beautiful  Italian 
manuscript." — Dairsie  Latimer's  Journal,  Chap.  x. 

As  lords  their  laborers'  hire  delay, 
Fate  quits  om-  toil  with  hopes  to  come. 

Which,  if  far  short  of  present  pay. 
Still  owns  a  debt  and  names  a  sum. 

Quit  not  the  pledge,  frail  sufferer,  then. 
Although  a  distant  date  be  given; 

Despair  is  treason  towards  man, 
And  blasjjhemy  to  Heaven, 


Jrom  (^l)c  Bftrotljcli. 


1825. 


(1.)— SONG— SOLDIER,  WAKE. 


Soldier,  wake — the  day  is  peeping. 
Honor  ne'er  was  won  in  sleeping. 
Never  when  the  sunbeams  stiU 
Lay  unreflected  on  the  liill : 
'Tis  when  they  are  glinted  back 
From  axe  and  armor,  spear  and  jack, 
That  they  promise  future  story 
Many  a  page  of  deathless  glory. 
Shields  that  are  the  foeman's  teiTor, 
Ever  are  the  morning's  niu-ror. 


IL 

Arm  and  up — the  morning  beam 
Hath  caird  the  rustic  to  his  team, 
Hath  call'd  the  falc'ner  to  the  lake. 
Hath  caU'd  tlie  lumtsraan  to  the  brake  ■ 
The  early  student  ponders  o'er 
His  dusty  tomes  of  ancient  lore. 
Soldier,  wake — thy  harvest,  fame ; 
Thy  study,  conquest ;  war,  thy  game. 
Shield,  tliat  would  bo  foeman's  terror, 
StiU  should  gleam  the  morning's  mirror. 

HI 
Poor  hire  repays  the  rustic's  pain  ; 
More  paltry  still  the  sportsman's  gain: 
Vainest  of  all  the  student's  theme 
Ends  in  some  metaphysic  dream  : 
Yet  each  is  up,  and  each  has  toil'd 
Since  first  the  peep  of  dawn  has  smiled ; 
And  each  is  eagerer  in  his  aim 
Than  he  who  barters  life  for  fame. 
Up,  up,  and  arm  thee,  son  of  terror ! 
Be  thy  bright  shield  the  morning's  mirror. 

C}iap.  xix. 


(2.)— SONG— THE  TRUTH  OF  WOMAN. 


Woman's  faith,  and  woman's  trust — • 
Write  the  characters  in  dust ; 
Stamp  them  on  the  running  stream, 
Print  them  on  the  moon's  pale  beam, 
And  each  evanescent  letter 
Shall  be  clearer,  firmer,  better. 
And  more  permanent,  I  ween. 
Than  the  thing  those  letters  meaa 

IL 

I  have  straiu'd  the  spider's  tlu^ead 

'Gainst  the  promise  of  a  maid ; 

I  have  weigh'd  a  grain  of  sand 

'Gainst  her  plight  of  heart  and  hand  ; 

I  told  my  true-love  of  the  token, 

How  her  faith  proved  light,  and  her  word  was 

broken : 
Again  her  word  and  truth  she  plight. 
And  I  beUeved  them  again  ere  night. 

Chap.  XX 


(3.)— SONG— I  ASKED  OF  MT  HARP. 
"The  minstrel  took  from  his  side  a  rote. 


and  striking,  from  time  to  time,  a  Welsh  descant 


716 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Bung  at  others  a  lay,  of  •which  we  can  offer  otlj  a 
few  fragments,  literally  translated  from  the  an- 
cient language  in  which  they  were  chanted,  pre- 
mising that  they  are  in  that  excursive  syrnboUcal 
style  of  poetry,  which  TaUessin,  Llewarch,  Hen, 
and  other  bards,  had  derived  perhaps  from  the 
time  of  the  Druids." 

I  ask'd  of  my  harp,  "  "WTio  hath  injured  thy  chords  ?" 
And  she  rephed,  "The  crooked  finger,  which  I 

mocked  in  my  tune." 
A  blade  of  silver  may  be  bended — a  blade  of  steel 

abideth — 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

The  sweet  taste  of  mead  passeth  from  the  lips, 

But  they  are  long  corroded  by  the  juice  of  worm- 
wood; 

The  lamb  is  brought  to  the  shambles,  but  the  wolf 
rangeth  the  mountain ; 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endm-eth. 

I  ask'd  the  red-hot  iron,  when  it  glimmer'd  on  the 
anvil, 

"Wherefore  gloweSt  thou  longer  than  the  fire- 
brand ?" 

"  I  was  born  in  the  dark  mine,  and  the  brand  in 
the  pleasant  greenwood." 

Blindness  fadeth  a,way,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

I  ask'd  the  green  oak  of  the  assembly,  wherefore 

its  boughs  were  dry  and  sear'd  like  the 

horns  of  the  stag ; 
And  it  show'd  me  that  a  small  worm  had  gnaw'd 

its  roots. 
The  boy  who  remembered  the  scourge,  imdid  the 

wicket  of  the  castle  at  midnight. 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endui-eth. 

Lightning  destroyeth  temples,  though  their  spires 
pierce  the  clouds ; 

Storms  destroy  armadas,  though  their  saUs  inter- 
cept the  gale. 

He  that  is  in  his  glory  falleth,  and  that  by  a  con- 
temptible enemy. 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endm-eth. 

Chap.  xxxL 


(4.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  u. 
In  Madoc's  tent  the  clarion  sounds, 

With  rapid  clangor  hm-ried  far ; 
Each  hill  and  dale  the  note  reboimds, 

But  when  return  the  sons  of  war ! 
Thou,  born  of  stem  Necessity, 


Dull  Peace !  the  vaUey  yields  to  thee, 
And  owns  thy  melancholy  sway. 

Welsh  Poem, 

(2.) — Ch-u".  vn. 
O,  sadly  shines  the  morning  sun 

On  leaguer'd  castle  wall. 
When  bastion,  tower,  and  battlement, 


Seem  nodding  to  thek  fall. 


Old  Ballad. 


(3.) — Chap.  xn. 
Ifow  aU  ye  ladies  of  fair  Scotland, 

And  ladies  of  England  that  happy  would 
prove, 
Marry  never  for  houses,  nor  marry  for  land. 
Nor  marry  for  nothing  but  only  love. 

Family  Quarrels. 

(4.) — Chap.  xui. 
Too  much  rest  is  rust. 

There's  ever  cheer  in  changing ; 
We  tyne  by  too  much  trust, 
So  we'll  be  up  and  ranging. 

Old  Song. 

(5.) — Chap.  xvn. 
Ring  out  the  meny  beUs,  the  bride  approaches. 
The  blush  upon  her  cheek  has  shamed  the  morning 
For  that  is  dawning  palely.     Grant,  good  saints. 
These  clouds  betoken  naught  of  evil  omen  ! 

Old  Play. 


Julia. 


(6.) — Chap,  xxvu, 
Gentle  sir. 


You  are  our  captive — but  we'U  use  you  so, 
Tliat  you  shall  think  your  prison  joys  may  match 
Whate'er  your  hberty  hath  known  of  pleasm-e. 
Roderick.  No,  fairest,  we  have  trifled  here  too 
long ; 
And,  Ihigering  to  see  yoiu*  roses  blossom, 
Pve  let  my  laurels  wither. 

Old  Play. 


from  Slje  talisman.    . 


1825. 


(1.)— AHRIMAN. 

"  So  saying,  the  Saracen  proceeded  to  chant 

verses,  very  ancient  in  the  language  and  structure, 
which  some  have  thought  derive  tlieii'  source  fix)in 
the  worshippers  of  Arimanes,  the  Evil  Principle." 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


717 


Dark  ALriman,  whom  Irak  still 

Thou  rul'st  the  fate  of  men  ; 

Holds  origin  of  woe  and  iU ! 

Thine  are  the  pangs  of  Ufe's  last  hour. 

When,  bending  at  tliy  slii-ine, 

And — who  dare  answer  ? — is  thy  power. 

We  view  the  world  with  troubled  eye, 

Dai-k  Spu-it !  ended  Then  ? 

Where  see  we  'neath  the  extended  sky, 

Chap.  ilL 

An  empire  matching  thine  ! 

If  the  Benigner  Power  can  yield 

A  fountain  in  the  desert  field, 

Wiiere  weary  pilgrims  drink ; 

(2.)— SONG  OF  BLONDEL.— THE  BLOODY 

Thine  are  the  waves  that  lash  the  rock, 

VEST. 

Thine  the  tornado's  deadly  shock, 

Where  countless  navies  sink ! 

"  The  song  of  Blondel  was,  of  course,  in  the  Nor- 

man language ;   but  the  verses  which  follow  ex 

Or  if  He  bid  the  soil  dispense 

press  its  meaning  and  its  manner." 

Balsams  to  cheer  the  sinking  sense, 

How  few  can  they  deliver 

'TwAS  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent, 

From  hngering  pains,  or  pang  intense. 

When  the  sun  was  setting  on  bougli  and  bent, 

Eed  Fever,  spotted  Pestilence, 

And  knights  were  preparing  in  bower  and  tent. 

The  ari'ows  of  thy  quiver ! 

On  tlie  eve  of  the  Baptist's  tournament ; 

When  in  Lincoln-green  a  stripling  gent. 

Chief  in  Man's  bosom  sits  thy  sway, 

Well  seeming  a  page  by  a  princess  sent, 

And  frequent,  while  in  words  we  pray 

Wander'd  the  camp,  and,  stUl  as  lie  went. 

Before  another  tlirone, 

Inquired  for  the  Enghshman,  Thomas  a  Kent. 

Whate'er  of  specious  form  be  there. 

The  secret  meaning  of  the  prayer 

Far  hath  he  fared,  and  farther  must  fare. 

Is,  Ahriman,  thine  own. 

Till  he  finds  his  pavilion  nor  stately  nor  rare, — 

Little  save  iron  and  steel  was  there  ; 

Say,  hast  thou  feeling,  sense,  and  form, 

And,  as  lacking  the  coin  to  pay  armorer's  care, 

Thunder  thy  voice,  thy  garments  storm. 

With  his  sinewy  arms  to  the  shoulders  bare. 

As  Eastern  Magi  say ; 

The  good  knight  with  hammer  and  file  did  repair 

With  sentient  soul  of  hate  and  wrath. 

The  mail  that  to-morrow  must  see  him  wear, 

And  wings  to  sweep  thy  deadly  path, 

For  the  honor  of  Saint  John  and  his  lady  fair. 

And  fangs  to  tear  thy  prey  ? 

"  Thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  page  said  he. 

Or  art  thou  mix'd  in  Nature's  source. 

And  the  knight  bent  lowly  both  head  and  knee, 

An  ever-operating  force, 

"  She  is  Benevent's  Princess  so  high  in  degree. 

Converting  good  to  iU ; 

And  thou  art  as  lowly  as  knight  may  well  be — 

An  evil  principle  innate. 

He  that  would  climb  so  lofty  a  tree. 

Contending  with  our  better  fate. 

Or  spring  such  a  gulf  as  divides  her  from  thee. 

And  oh !  victorious  still  'i 

Must  dare  some  high  deed,  by  which  all  men  may 

Howe'er  it  be,  dispute  is  vain. 

see 
His  ambition  is  back'd  by  liis  high  chivalrie. 

On  all  without  thou  hold'st  thy  reign. 

Nor  less  on  all  within  ; 

"  Therefore  thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  fair  page  he 

Eacli  mortal  passion's  fierce  career, 

said. 

Love,  hate,  ambition,  joy,  and  fear, 

And  the  knight  lowly  louted  with  hand  and  with 

Thou  goadest  into  sin. 

head, 

"  Fling  aside  the  good  armor  in  which  thou  art  clad. 

W  hene'er  a  sunny  gleam  appears. 

And  don  thou  this  weed  of  her  night-gear  instead, 

To  brighten  up  our  vale  of  tears. 

For  a  hauberk  of  steel,  a  kutle  of  thread ; 

Thou  art  not  distant  f;xr  ; 

And  charge,  thus  attired,  in  the  tournament  dread. 

'Mid  such  brief  solace  of  our  lives. 

And  fight  as  thywont  is  where  most  blood  is  shed. 

Thou  whett'st  our  very  banquet-knives 

And  bring  honor  away,  or  remain  with  the  dead." 

To  tools  of  death  and  war. 

Untroubled  in  his  look,  and  untroubled  in  his  1  ireast, 

Thus,  from  the  moment  of  our  birth. 

The  knight  the  weed  hath  taken,  and  reverently 

Long  as  we  hnger  on  the  earth, 

hath  kiss'd : 

18 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  Ko-w  bless'd  be  the  moment,  the  messenger  be 

blest ! 
Much  honor 'd  do  I  hold  me  in  my  lady's  high  behest ! 
And  say  unto  my  lady,  in  tliis  deal-  night  weed 

dress'd. 
To  the  best  arm'd  champion  I  will  not  veil  my 

crest ; 
But  if  J  live  and  bear  me  well,  'tis  her  turn  to  take 

the  test." 
Here,  gentles,  ends  the  foremost  fytte  of  the  Lay 

of  the  Bloody  Vest. 


TEE  BLOODY  VEST. 


FYTTE  SECOND. 


The  Baptist's  fair  morrow  beheld  gallant  feats — 
There  was  winning  of  honor,  and  losing  of  seats — 
There  was  hewing  with  falchions,  and  splintering 

of  staves, 
The  victors  won  glory,  the  vanquish'd  won  graves. 
0,  many  a  knight  there  fought  bravely  and  well, 
Yet  one  was  accounted  his  peers  to  excel. 
And  'twas  he  whose  sole  armor  on  body  and  breast, 
Seem'd  the  weed  of  a  damsel  when  boune  for  her 

rest. 

There  were  some    dealt  him  wounds   that  were 

bloody  and  sore. 
But  others  respected  his  plight,  and  forbore. 
"  It  is. some  oath  of  honor,"  they  said,  "  and  I  trow, 
'Twere  unknightly  to  slay  him  achieving  his  vow." 
Then  the  Pruice,  for  his  sake,  bade  the  tournament 

cease. 
He  flung  down  his  warder,  the   trumpets    simg 

peace ; 
And  the  judges  declare,  and  competitors  yield, 
That  the  Ivnight  of  the  N^ight-gear  was  first  in  the 

field. 

The  feast  it  was  nigh,  and  the  mass  it  was  nigher, 
When  before  the  fair  Princess  low  louted  a  squire. 
And  deliver'd  a  garment  imseemly  to  view. 
With  sword-cut  and  spear-thrust,  all  hack'd  and 

pierced  through ; 
All  rent  and  all  tatter'd,  all  clotted  with  blood. 
With  foam  of  the  horses,  with  dust,  and  with  mud, 
Xot  the  point  of  that  lady's  small  finger,  I  ween, 
Coidd  have  rested  on  spot  was  imsulhed  and  clean. 

"  This  token  my  master.  Sir  Thomas  a  Kent, 
Restores  to  the  Princess  of  fair  Benevent ; 
He  that  chmbs  the  tall  tree  has  won  right  to  the 
fruit,  [suit ; 

He  that  leaps  the  wide  gulf  should  prevail  in  his 
TTirough  life's  utmost  peril  the  prize  I  have  won. 


And  now  must  the  faith  of  mymistrfess  be  shown 
For  she  who  prompts  knights  on  such  danger  to  run 
Must  avouch  his  true  service  in  front  of  the  sun. 

" '  I  restore,'  says  my  master,  '  the  garment  I've 

worn, 
And  I  claim  of  the  Princess  to  don  it  in  turn ; 
For  its  stains  and  its  rents  she  should  prize  it  the 

more, 
Smce  by  shame  'tis  unsulUed,  though  crimson'd 

with  gore.' "  [press'd 

Then  deep  blush'd  the  Princess — yetkiss'd  she  and 
The  blood-spotted  robes  to  her  Ups  and  her  breast. 
"  Go  tell  my  true  knight,  church  and  chamber  shall 

show 
If  I  value  the  blood  on  this  garment  or  no." 

And  when  it  was  time  for  the  nobles  to  pass, 
In  solemn  procession  to  minster  and  mass. 
The  first  walk'd  the  Princess  in  purple  and  pall, 
But  the  blood-besmear'd  night-robe  she  wore  ovei 

all; 
And  eke,  in  the  hall,  where  they  all  sat  at  dine 
"VNTien  she  knelt  to  her  fiither  and  proffer'd  the  wine, 
Over  all  her  rich  robes  and  state  jewels,  she  wore 
That  wimple  unseemly  bedabbled  with  gore. 

Tlien  lords  wliisper'd  ladies,  as  well  you  may  think, 
And  ladies  rephed,  with  nod,  titter,  and  wmk  ; 
And  the  Prince,  who  in  anger  and  shame  had  look'd 

down,  [a  frown : 

Turn'd  at  length  to  his  daughter,  and  spoke  with 
"  Now  since  thou  hast  publish'd  thy  folly  and  guilt. 
E'en  atone  with  thy  hand  for  the  blood  thou  hast 

spilt ; 
Yet  sore  for  your  boldness  you  both  will  repent. 
When  you  wander  as  exiles  from  fair  Benevent." 

Then  out  spoke  stout  Thomas,  in  haU  where  he 

stood, 
Exhausted  and  feeble,  but  dauntless  of  mood : 
"  The  blood  that  I  lost  for  this  daughter  of  thine, 
I  poiu-'d  forth  as  freely  as  flask  gives  its  wine ; 
And  if  for  my  sake  she  brooks  penance  and  blame, 
Do  not  doubt  I  will  save  her  from  suffering  and 

shame ; 
And  light  wdl  she  reck  of  thy  yirinctdom  and  rent, 
When  I  hail  her,  in  England,  the  Countess  of  Kent." 

Cliap.  xxvi. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ix. 
This  is  the  Prince  of  Leeches  ;  fever,  plague, 
Cold  rheum,  and  hot  podagra,  do  but  look  on  him 
And  quit  their  grasp  upon  the  tortured  sinews. 

Anonymoiis. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


719 


(2.) — Chap.  xi. 
One  thing  is  certain  in  our  Northern  land, 
Allow'  that  bu-th,  or  valor,  wealth,  or  wit, 
Give  each  precedence  to  their  possessor, 
Euvy,  that  follows  on  such  eminence, 
As  comes  the  lyme-hound  on  the  roebuck's  trace, 
Shall  puU  them  down  each  one. 

Sir  David  Lindsay. 

(3.) — Chap.  xiii. 
You  talk  of  Gayety  and  Innocence  ! 
The  moment  when  the  fatal  fruit  was  eaten, 
They  parted  ne'er  to  meet  again  ;  and  MaUce 
Has  ever  since  been  playmate  to  light  Gayety 
From  the  first  moment  when  the  smiling  infant 
Destroys  the  flower  or  butterfly  he  toys  Avith, 
To  the  last  chuckle  of  the  dying  miser, 
Who  on  his  deathbed  laughs  his  last  to  hear 
His  wealthy  neighbor  has  become  a  bankrupt. 

Old  Flay. 

(4.) — Chap.  xvr. 
'Tis  not  her  sense — for  siu-e,  in  that 

There's  nothing  more  than  common  ; 
And  all  her  wit  is  only  chat. 

Like  any  other  woman.  Song. 

(5.) — Chap.  xvii. 
Were  every  hair  upon  his  head  a  life. 
And  every  Ufe  were  to  be  supplicated 
By  numbers  equal  to  those  hahs  quadrupled. 
Life  after  hfe  should  out  like  waning  stars 
Before  the  daybreak — or  as  festive  lamps, 
Which  have  lent  lustre  to  the  midnight  revel. 
Each  after  each  are  quench'd  when  guests  depart. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xrx. 
Must  we  then  sheath  our  still  victorious  sword ; 
Tmii  back  our  forward  step,  wliich  ever  trode 
O'er  foemen's  necks  the  onward  path  of  glory  ; 
Unclasp  the  mail,  which  with  a  solemn  vow, 
Li  God's  own  house  we  hung  upon  our  shoulders ; 
That  vow,  as  unaccompUsh'd  as  the  promise 
Which  village  nurses  make  to  still  their  children. 

And  after  think  no  more  of  ? 

Tlie  Crusade,  a  Tragedy. 

(Y.) — Chap.  xx. 
When  beauty  leads  the  lion  in  her  toils. 
Such  are  her  charms,  he  dare  not  raise  liis  mane. 
Far  less  expand  the  terror  of  his  fangs. 
So  great  Alcides  made  his  club  a  distaff, 
And  spun  to  please  fair  Omphale.        Anonymous. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxin. 

'Mid  these  wild  scenes  Enchantment  waves  her 

hand. 
To  change  the  face  of  the  mysterious  land ; 


Till  the  bewildering  scenes  around  us  seem 
The  vain  productions  of  a  feverish  dream. 

Astolpho,  a  Romance. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxiv. 

— A  orain  of  dust 


Soiling  our  cup,  will  make  our  sense  reject 
Fastidiously  the  di'aught  which  we  did  thirst  for , 
A  rusted  nail,  placed  near  the  faithful  compass. 
Will  sway  it  from  the  truth,  and  wreck  the  argosy 
Even  this  small  cause  of  anger  and  disgust 
Will  break  the  bonds  of  amity  'mongst  princes, 
And  wreck  thek  noblest  pm-poses. 

Tlie  Crusadf 

(10.) — Chap.  xxvi. 
Tlie  tears  I  shed  must  ever  fall ! 

I  weep  not  for  an  absent  swain. 
For  time  may  happier  hours  recall, 

And  parted  lovers  meet  again. 

I  weep  not  for  the  silent  dead, 

Their  pains  are  past,  their  sorrows  o'er, 

And  those  that  loved  their  steps  must  treac 
When  death  shall  join  to  part  no  more. 

But  worse  than  absence,  worse  than  death, 
She  wept  her  lover's  sullied  fame. 

And,  fired  with  all  the  pride  of  birth. 
She  wept  a  soldier's  injured  name. 

Ballad 


3Lltz  of  Napoleon. 


June,  1825. 


While  Scott  was  engaged  in  writing  the  hfe  of 
Napoleon,  Mr.  Lockhart  says,  — "  The  rapid  ac- 
cumidation  of  books  and  MSS.  was  at  once  flatter- 
ing and  alarming ;  and  one  of  his  notes  to  me, 
about  the  middle  of  June,  had  these  rhymes  by 
way  of  postscript : — 

When  with  Poetry  deahng 
Room  enouE^h  in  a  sliielino- ; 
Neither  cabin  nor  hovel 
Too  small  for  a  novel : 
Though  my  back  I  should  rub 
On  Diogenes'  tub. 
How  my  fancy  could  prance 
In  a  dance  of  romance  ! 
But  my  house  I  must  swap 
With  some  Brobdignag  chap. 
Ere  I  grapple,  God  bless  me  !  with  Empero* 
Nap." 

Life,  vol.  vii.  p.  391, 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


JTrom  lUoobstock. 


1826. 


(1.)— Alf  HOUR  WITH  THEE. 

Ax  Lour  with  tbec  !— "S^Tien  earliest  day 
Dapplea  with  gold  the  eastern  gray, 
Oil,  what  can  frame  my  mind  to  beai 
The  toQ  and  turmoil,  cark  and  care, 
New  griefs,  wliich  coming  hom-s  imfold, " 
And  sad  remembrance  of  the  old  ? 

One  hour  with  thee. 

One  horn-  with  thee  ! — When  burning  June 

Waves  his  red  flag  at  pitch  of  noon ; 

^liat  shfiU  repay  the  fmthful  swain, 

His  hiboi  on  the  sultry  plain ; 

And  more  than  cave  or  sheltering  bough. 

Cool  feverish  blood,  and  throbbing  brow  ? — 

One  hour  with  thee. 

One  hour  with  thee ! — TVTien  sun  is  set, 

O,  what  can  teach  me  to  forget 

The  thankless  labors  of  the  day ; 

The  hopes,  the  wishes,  flung  away ; 

The  increasing  wants,  and  lessening  gains, 

The  master's  pride,  who  scorns  my  pains  ? — 

One  hour  with  thee. 
Chap.  xxvL 


(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  n. 

CoiTE  forth,  old  man — Thy  daughter's  side 

Is  now  the  fitting  place  for  thee : 
"^Mien  Time  hath  quell'd  the  oak's  bold  pride, 
The  youthful  tendril  yet  may  hide 

The  ruins  of  the  parent  tree. 

(2.) — Chap.  ni. 
Now,  ye  wild  blades,  that  make  loose  inns  your 

stage, 
To  vapor  forth  the  acts  of  this  sad  age, 
Stout   EdgehiU   fight,   the   Kewberries  and    the 

West, 
And  northern  clashes,  where  you  still  fought  best ; 
Your  strange  escapes,  yom-  dangers  void  of  fear, 
When  bullets  flew  between  the  head  and  ear. 
Whether  you  fought  by  Damme  or  the  Spirit, 
Of  you  I  speak. 

Legend  of  Captain  Jones. 


(3.)— Chap.  it. 
Yon  path  of  greensward 


Wmds  round  by  sparry  grot  and  gay  paviliJn ; 
There  is  no  flint  to  gall  thy  tender  foot, 
There's  ready  shelter  from  each  breeze  or  show- 
er.— 
But  Duty  guides  not  that  way — see  her  stand. 
With  wand  entwined  with  amaranth,  near   yon 

cliffs. 
Oft  where  she  leads  thy  blood  must  mark  thy  foot- 
steps. 
Oft  where    she    leads  thy  head  must  bear  the 

storm. 
And    thy  shi'unk    form    endm^e    heat,   cold,  and 

hunger ; 
But  she  will  guide  thee  up  to  noble  heights. 
Which  he  who  gains  seems  native  of  the  sky, 
While  earthly  things  lie   stretch'd    beneath    his 
feet, 

Diminishd,  shrunk,  and  valueless 

Anonymous. 

(4.)— Chap.  v. 
My  tongue  pads  slowly  under  this  new  language, 
And  starts  and  stumbles  at  these  uncouth  phra- 
ses. 
They  may  be  great  in  worth  and  weight,  but  hang 
Upon  the  native  glibness  of  my  language 
Like  Saul's  i^late-armor  on  the  shepherd  boy. 
Encumbering  and  not  arming  him. 


J.B. 


(5.) — Chap.  ic. 
Here  we  have  one  head 


Upon  two  bodies — your  two-headed  bullock 

Is  but  an  ass  to  such  a  prodigy. 

These  two  have   but  one  meaning,  thought,  and 

counsel ; 
And  when  the  single  noddle  has  spoke  out, 
The  four  legs  scrape  assent  to  it. 

Old  Play. 


(6.) — Chap.  xiv. 
Deeds  are  done  on  earth, 


earth 


Which    have    their    pimishment    ere    the 

closes 
Upon  the  perpetrators.     Be  it  the  working 
Of  the  remorse-stirr'd  fancy,  or  the  vision. 
Distinct  and  real,  of  imearthly  being, 
All  ages  witness,  that  beside  the  couch 
Of  the  fell  homicide  oft  stalks  the  ghost 
Of  him  he  slew,  and  shows  the  shadowy  wound. 

Old  Play. 

(7.) — Chap.  xvn. 
We  do  that  in  our  zeal. 
Our  calmer  moments  are  afraid  to  answer. 

Anonymout. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


•721 


(8.) — Chap.  xxiv. 
The    deadliest    snakes   are    those  which,   twined 

'mongst  flowers, 
Blend  their  bright  coloring  with  the  varied  blos- 


soms, 


Their  fierce  eyes  glittering  like  the  spangled  dew- 
drop  ; 
In  all  so  like  what  nature  has  most  harmless, 
That  sportive  innocence,  which  dreads  no  danger, 

Is  poison'd  unawares. 

Old  Flay. 


Jlincs  to   Sir  ffiutjiert  Sljarp, 


1827. 


"  Sm  CuTHBEET  Shakp,  wlio  had  been  particu-^ 
larly  kind  and  attentive  to  Scott  when  at  Sunder- 
land, happened,  in  writing  to  liim  on  some  matter 
of  business,  to  say  he  hoped  he  had  not  forgotten 
his  friends  in  that  quarter.  Sir  Walter's  answer 
to  Sir  Cuthbert  (who  had  been  introduced  to  him 
by  his  old  and  dear  friend  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mains- 
forth)  begins  thus :" — 

Forget  thee  ?     Wo  !  my  worthy  fere  ! 
Forget  blithe  mirth  and  gallant  cheer ! 
Death  sooner  stretch  me  on  my  bier ! 

Forget  thee  ?     No. 

Forget  the  iiniversal  shout* 

When  "  canny  Sunderland"  spoke  out — 

A  truth  which  knaves  affect  to  doubt — 

Forget  thee  ?     No. 

Forget  you  ?     No — though  now-a-day 
Tve  heard  yom:  knowing  people  say, 
Disown  the  debt  you  cannot  pay. 
You'll  find  it  far  the  thriftiest  way — 

But  I  ?— 0  no. 

Forget  your  kindness  found  for  all  room. 

In  what,  though  large,  seem'd  still  a  small 

room. 
Forget  my  Surtees  in  a  ball-room — 

Forget  you  ?     No. 

Forget  your  sprightly  dumpty-diddles, 
And  beauty  tripping  to  the  fiddles. 
Forget  my  lovely  friends  the  Liddells — 

Forget  you  ?    No. 

1  An  allnsion  to  the  enthnsiastic  reception- of  the  Dnke  of 
Wellington  at  Sunderland. — Ed. 
*  This  lay  has  been  set  to  beautiful  music  b    a  lady  whose 
91 


"  So  much  for  oblivion,  my  dear  Sir  C. ;  and 
now,  having  dismounted  from  my  Pegasus,  who  is 
rather  spavined,  I  charge  a-foot,  like  an  old  dra- 
goon as  I  am,"  <fec.  (fee. — Life  of  Scott,  voL  ix.  p.  165. 


iTrom  (Jlljronklcs  of  tlje  (Hanongatc. 


182'7. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

Chap.  n. 

Were  ever  such  two  loving  friends ! — 

How  could  they  disagree  ? 
0  thus  it  was  he  loved  him  dear, 

And  thought  how  to  requite  him, 
And  having  no  friend  left  but  he, 

He  did  resolve  to  fight  him. 

Duke  upon  Duke. 


(2.)— MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR 

There  are  times 
When  Fancy  plays  her  gambols,  in  despite 
Even  of  our  watchful  senses,  when  in  sooth 
Substance  seems  shadow,  shadow  substance  seems, 
When  the  broad,  palpable,  and  marked  partition, 
'Twixt  that  which  is  and  is  not,  seems  dissolved. 
As  if  the  mental  eye  gain'd  power  to  gaze 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  existing  world. 
Such  hours  of  shadowy  dreams  I  better  love 
Than  all  the  gross  realities  of  life. 

Aiionymous 


Jrom  tl)£  Jair  iHaii)  of  Ptrtl). 


1828. 


(1.)— THE  LAY  OF  POOR  LOUISE." 

Ah,  poor  Louise !  the  livelong  day 
She  roams  from  cot  to  castle  gay  •, 

composition,  to  say  nothing  of  her  singing,  might  make  any 
poet  proud  of  his  verses,  Mrs.  Robert  Arkwright,  bnm  Miss 
Kemble. 


722 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"1 


And  still  her  voice  and  viol  say, 

Ab,  maids,  beware  the  -woodland  way, 

Think  on  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  The  sun  was  high, 
It  smu-ch'd  her  cheek,  it  dimm'd  her  eye, 
The  woodland  walk  was  cool  and  nigh, 
Wiere  birds  with  chiming  streamlets  vie 

To  cheer  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  The  savage  bear 
Made  ne'er  that  lovely  grove  his  lair  ; 
The  wolves  molest  not  paths  so  fair — 
But  better  far  had  such  been  there 

For  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  Li  woody  wold 
She  met  a  huntsman  fair  and  bold ; 
His  baldi-ic  was  of  silk  and  gold. 
And  many  a  watching  tale  he  told 

To  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  Small  cause  to  pine 
Hadst  thou  for  treasures  of  the  mine  ; 
Por  peace  of  rmnd  that  gift  divine, 
And  spotless  innocence,  were  tliine, 

Ah,  poor  Lomse  1 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  Thy  treasure's  reft ! 
I  know  not  if  by  force  or  theft. 
Or  part  by  violence,  part  by  gift ; 
But  misery  is  all  that's  left 

To  poor  Louise. 

Let  poor  Louise  some  succor  have ! 
She  will  not  long  yom*  bounty  crave, 
Or  tire  the  gay  with  warning  stave — 
For  heaven  has  grace,  and  earth  a  grave. 

For  poor  Louise. 

Ohap.  X. 


(2.)— DEATH  CHANT. 

t 

"  Ere  he  guessed  where  he  was  going,  the 

leech  was  hm-ried  into  the  house  of  the  late  Ohvcr 
Proudfute,  from  which  he  heard  tlie  chant  of  the 
women,  as  they  swathed  and  cb-essed  the  corpse 
■>{  the  umquliile  Bonnet-maker,  for  the  ceremony 
of  next  morning ;  of  which  chant,  the  following 
rerses  may  be  received  as  a  modern  imitation  :" — 


TiEWLESS  Essence,  thin  and  bare, 

Wellnigh  melted  into  air  ; 

Still  with  fondness  hovering  near 

The  earthly  form  thou  once  didst  wear  ; 


2. 
Pause  upon  thy  pinion's  flight. 
Be  thy  coiu-se  to  left  or  right ; 
Be  thou  doom'd  to  soar  or  sink. 
Pause  upon  the  awful  briiik. 

3. 

To  avenge  the  deed  expelling 
Thee  untimely  from  thy  dwelling. 
Mystic  force  thou  shalt  retain 
O'er  the  blood  and  o'er  the  brain. 


TVIien  the  form  thou  shalt  espy 
That  darken'd  on  thy  closing  eye ; 
When  the  footstep  thou  shalt  hear. 
That  thrill'd  upon  thy  dying  ear ; 

5. 

Then  strange  sympathies  shall  wake, 
The  flesh  shall  thrill,  the  nerves  .shall  quake 
The  wounds  renew  their  clotter'd  flood. 
And  every  di'op  cry  blood  for  blood. 

Chap.  xxii. 


(3.)— SOXG  OF  THE  GLEE-MAIDEK 

"She  sung  a  melancholy  dirge  in  Norman 
French ;  the  words,  of  which  the  following  is  an 
imitation,  were  united  to  a  tune  as  doleful  as  they 
are  themselves," 

1. 

Yes,  thou  mayst  sigh, 
And  look  once  more  at  aU  around, 
At  stream  and  bank,  and  sky  and  ground. 
Thy  life  its  final  covirse  has  found, 

And  thou  must  die. 

2. 

Yes,  lay  thee  down. 
And  while  thy  struggling  pulses  flutter. 
Bid  the  gray  monk  liis  soul-mass  mutter. 
And  the  deep  bell  its  death-tone  utter — 

Thy  life  is  gone. 


Be  not  afraid. 
'Tis  but  a  pang,  and  then  a  thrill, 
A  fever  fit,  and  then  a  chill ; 
And  then  an  end  of  human  ill. 

For  thou  art  dead. 

Chap.  XXX. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


723 


(4.)— M  0  T  T  0  E  S . 

( 1 .) — INTRODUCTORT. 

The  ashes  here  of  murder'd  Kings 

Beneath  my  footsteps  sleep ; 
And  yonder  lies  the  scene  of  death, 

Where  Mary  learn'd  to  weep. 

Captam  Marjoribanhs. 

(2.)— Chap.  i. 
"  Behold  the  Tiber  !"  the  vam  Roman  cried, 
Viewing  the  ample  Tay  from  Baiglie's  side  ; 
But  wherc's  the  Scot  that  would  the  vaunt  repay, 
And  hail  the  puny  Tiber  for  the  Tay  ? 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xi. 
Fiur  is  the  damsel,  passing  fail' — 

Sunny  at  distance  gleams  her  smile  1 
Approach — the  cloud  of  woeful  care 
Hangs  trembling  in  her  eye  the  while. 

I4icinda,  a  Ballad. 

(4.) — Cn^u".  XV. 
0  for  a  draught  of  power  to  steep 
The  soul  of  agony  in  sleep  ! 

Bertha. 

(5.) — Chap.  xxin. 
Lo  !  where  he  Ues  cmbahn'd  in  gore, 

His  wound  to  Heaven  cries  ; 
The  floodgates  of  his  blood  implore 
For  vengeance  from  the  skies. 

Uranus  and  Psyche. 


Sibe  Beati)  of  licelKar 


1828. 


Percy  or  Percival  Rede  of  Trochend,  in  Redes- 
ttale,  Northmnberland,  is  celebrated  in  tradition  as 
a  huntsman,  and  a  soldier.  He  was,  ujion  two 
occasions,  singularly  unfortunate ;  once,  when  an 
:u-row,  which  he  had  discharged  at  a  deer,  killed 
liis  celebrated  dog  Keeldar ;  and  again,  when,  be- 
ing on  a  hunting  party,  he  was  betrayed  into  the 
hands  of  a  clan  called  Crossar,  by  whom  he  was 
murdered.  Mr.  Cooper's  painting  of  the  first  of 
these  incidents,  suggested  the  following  stanzas.^ 

1  These  stanzas,  accompanying  an  engraving  from  JFr.  Coop- 
er's subject,  "  Tlie  Deatli  of  Keeldar,"  appeared  in  The  Gem 
of  1829,  a  literary  journal  edited  by  Thomas  Hood,  Esq.  In 
the  acknowledgment  to  his  contributors,  Mr.  Hood  says,  "  To 
Sir  Walter  Scott — not  merely  a  literary  feather  in  my  cap,  but 


Up  rose  the  sun,  o'er  moor  and  mead ; 
Up  with  the  sun  rose  Percy  Rede ; 
Brave  Keeldar,  from  liis  couples  freed, 

Career'd  along  the  lea ; 
The  Palfrey  sprung  with  sprightly  bound, 
As  if  to  match  the  gamesome  hound  ; 
His  horn  the  gallant  huntsman  wound : 

They  were  a  jovial  three  ! 

Man,  hound,  or  horse,  of  higher  fame, 
To  wake  the  wild  deer  never  came. 
Since  Alnwick's  Earl  pursued  the  game 

On  Cheviot's  rueful  day ; 
Kceldai-  was  matchless  iu  his  speed. 
Than  Tarras,  ne'er  was  stancher  steed, 
A  peerless  archer,  Percy  Rede : 

And  right  dear  friends  were  they. 

The  chase  engross'd  their  joys  and  woes, 
Together  at  the  dawn  they  rose. 
Together  shared  the  noon's  repose. 

By  fountain  or  by  stream  ; 
And  oft,  when  evening  skies  were  red, 
The  heather  was  their  common  bed. 
Where  each,  as  wildering  fancy  led, 

Still  hunted  in  his  dream. 

Now  is  the  thrilling  moment  near. 
Of  silvan  hope  and  silvan  fear, 
Yon  thicket  holds  the  harbor'd  deer, 

The  signs  the  hunters  know  ; — 
With  eyes  of  flame,  and  quivering  ears, 
The  brake  sagacious  Keehlar  nears ; 
The  restless  palfrey  paws  and  rears ; 

The  archer  strings  his  bow. 

The  game's  afoot ! — Halloo !  HaUoo ! 
Hunter,  and  horse,  and  hound  pursue ; — 
But  woe  the  shaft  that  erring  flew — 

That  e'er  it  left  the  string ! 
And  ill  betide  the  faithless  yew  1 
The  stag  bounds  scatheless  o'er  the  dew, 
And  gallant  Keeldar's  life-blood  true 

Has  di'ench'd  the  gray-goose  wing. 

The  noble  hound — he  dies,  he  dies. 
Death,  death  has  glazed  his  fixed  eyes, 
Stiff  on  the  bloody  heath  he  Ues, 

Without  a  groan  or  quiver. 
Now  day  may  break  and  bugle  sound, 
And  whoop  and  hallow  ring  around, 
And  o'er  his  couch  the  stag  may  bound. 

But  Keeldar  sleeps  for  ever. 

a  whole  plnrae  of  them— I  owe,  and  with  the  hand  of  my  heart 
acknowledge,  a  deep  obligation.  A  poem  from  his  pen  is  like- 
ly to  confer  on  the  book  that  contains  it,  if  not  perpetuity,  at 
least  a  very  Old  Mortality." — Preface,  p.  4.  The  original 
jiainting  by  Cooper,  remains  at  Abbotsford.  -Ed. 


1    724                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                              I 

Dilated  nostrils,  staring  eyes, 

tlie  Black  Friars  of  Saint  Francis's  Order,  wearing 

Mark  the  poor  palfrey's  mute  sm-prise. 

their  cowls  drawn  over  their  heads,  so  as  to  con- 

He knows  not  that  his  comrade  dies. 

ceal  their  features.     They  appeared  anxiously  en- 

Nor what  is  death — but  still 

gaged  in  measm-ing  off  a  portion  of  the  apartment ; 

Hifl  aspect  hath  expression  di'ear 

and,  while  occupied  in  that  employment,  they  sung, 

Of  grief  and  wonder,  mix'd  with  fear. 

in  the  ancient  German  language,  rhymes  more  rude 

Tiike  startled  children  when  they  hear 

than  Pliilipson  could  well  understand,  but  which 

Some  mystic  tale  of  ill. 

may  be  imitated  thus :" — 

But  he  that  bent  the  fatal  bow, 

Measurers  of  good  and  evil. 

Can  well  the  sum  of  evil  know, 

Bring  the  square,  the  line,  the  level, — 

^nd  o'er  his  favorite,  bending  low, 

Rear  the  altar,  dig  the  trench, 

In  speechless  grief  recline ; 

Blood  both  stone  and  ditch  shall  di-ench. 

Can  think  he  hears  the  senseless  clay, 

Cubits  six,  from  end  to  end, 

In  nnreproachful  accents  say. 

Must  the  fatal  bench  extend, — 

"  The  hand  that  took  my  life  away, 

Cubits  six,  from  side  to  side. 

Dear  master,  was  it  thine  ? 

Judge  and  culprit  must  divide. 

On  the  east  the  Court  assembles. 

"  And  if  it  be,  the  shaft  be  bless'd. 

On  the  west  the  Accused  trembles — 

Which  sui-e  some  erring  aim  address'd, 

Answer,  brethren,  all  and  one, 

Since  in  yom*  service  prized,  caress'd 

Is  the  ritual  rightly  done  ? 

I  in  yom-  service  die ; 

And  you  may  have  a  fleeter  hound. 

On  life  and  soul,  on  blood  and  bone, 

To  match  the  dun-deer"s  merry  boxmd. 

One  for  all,  and  all  for  one. 

But  by  your  couch  will  ne'er  be  foimd 

We  warrant  this  is  rightly  done. 

So  true  a  guard  as  I." 

How  wears  the  night  ? — Doth  morning  shine 

And  to  his  last  stout  Percy  rued 

In  early  radiance  on  the  Rhine  ? 

The  fatal  chance,  for  when  he  stood 

What  music  floats  upon  his  tide  ? 

'Gainst  fearful  odds  in  deadly  feud, 

Do  bu-ds  the  tardy  morning  cliide  ? 

And  fell  amid  the  fray. 

Brethren,  look  out  from  hill  and  height. 

E'en  with  liis  dying  voice  he  cried. 

And  answer  true,  how  wears  the  night  ? 

"  Had  Keeldar  but  been  at  my  side. 

Your  treacherous  ambush  had  been  spied — 

Tlie  night  is  old ;  on  Rliine's  broad  breast 

I  had  not  died  to-day  !" 

Glance  drowsy  stars  whicli  long  to  rest. 

No  beams  are  twinkling  in  the  east. 

Remembrance  of  the  erring  bow 

There  is  a  voice  upon  the  flood. 

Long  since  had  joind  the  tides  which  flow. 

The  stern  still  call  of  blood  for  blood ; 

Conveying  human  bliss  and  woe 

'Tis  time  we  listen  the  behest. 

Down  dark  oblivion's  river ; 

But  Art  can  Time's  stern  doom  arrest. 

Up,  then,  up !     "VMien  day's  at  rest. 

And  snatch  his  spoil  from  Lethe's  breast. 

'Tis  time  that  such  as  we  are  watchers ; 

And,  in  her  Cooper's  colors  drest. 

Rise  to  judgment,  brethren,  rise  I 

The  scene  shall  live  for  ever. 

Vengeance  knows  not  sleepy  eyes, 

He  and  night  are  matchers. 

Chap.  XX, 

JTrom  ^une  of  (S^icrsteln. 

(2.)— MOTTOES 
(1.) — Chap.  ra. 

1829. 

Cursed  be  the  gold  and  silver,  which  pers>uade 
Weak  man  to  follow  far  fatiguing  trade. 

(1.)— THE  SECRET  TRIBUNAL. 

Tlie  lily,  peace,  outshines  the  silver  store. 

And  life  is  dearer  than  the  golden  ore. 

"  Philipson  could  perceive  that  the  lights 

Yet  money  tempts  us  o'er  the  desert  brown, 

proceeded  from  many  torches,  borne  by  men  muf- 

To every  distant  mart  and  wealthy  town. 

fled  in  black  cloaks,  like  mourners  at  a  funeral,  or 

Hassan,  or  the  Camcl-Drivw. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


725 


(2.)— Chap.  v. 


I  was  one 


Who  loved  the  green-wood  bank  and  lowing  herd, 
The  russet  prize,  the  lowly  peasant's  hfe, 
Season'd  with  sweet  content,  more  than  the  halls 
Wliere  revellers  feast  to  fever -height.    Believe  me, 
There  ne'er  was  poison  mix'd  in  maple  bowl. 

A7ionymous. 

(3.) — Ch.\p.  VI. 
"When  wc  two  meet,  we  meet  like  rushing  torrents ; 
Like  warring  winds,  like  flames  from  various  points, 
That  mate  each  other's  fury — there  is  naught 
Of  elemental  strife,  were  fiends  to  guide  it, 
Can  match  the  wrath  of  man. 

Frenaud. 

(4.) — Chap.  x. 
We  know  not  when  we  sleep  nor  when  we  wake. 
Visions  distinct  and  perfect  cross  our  eye, 
Which  to  the  slumberer  seem  reahties; 
j^d  while  they  waked,  some  men  have  seen  such 

sights 
As  set  at  naught  the  evidence  of  sense, 
And  left  them  well  persuaded  they  were  di-eaming. 

Anoni/mous. 

(5.) — Chap.  xi. 
These  be  the  adept's  doctrines — every  element 
Is  peopled  with  its  separate  race  of  spirits. 
The  airy  Sylphs  on  the  blue  ether  float ; 
Deep  in  the  earthy  cavern  skulks  the  Gnome ; 
The  sea-gi-een  Naiad  skims  the  ocean-billow, 
And  the  fierce  fii'e  is  yet  a  friendly  home 
To  its  pecuhar  sprite — the  Salamander. 

Anonymous. 

(6.) — Chap.  xvrn. 
Upon  the  Rhine,  upon  the  Rhine  they  cluster, 

The  gi-apes  of  juice  divine, 
Which  make  the  soldier's  jovial  com^age  miK'+er ; 
0,  blessed  be  the  Rhine ! 

Drinking  Song} 

(7.) — Chap.  sxii. 
Tell  me  not  of  it — I  could  ne'er  abide 
The  mummery  of  all  that  forced  civility. 
"  Pray,  seat  yom'self,  my  lord."    With  cringing  hams 
The  speech  is  spoken,  and  with  bended  knee. 
Heard  by  the  smiling  corn-tier. — "  Before  you,  sir  ? 
It  must  be  on  the  earth,  then."     Hang  it  aU  I 
The  pride  which  cloaks  itself  in  such  poor  fashion 
Is  sctu'cely  fit  to  swell  a  beggai-'s  bosom. 

Old  Play. 

1  This  is  one  of  tlie  best  and  most  popular  of  the  German 
ditties  • — 

"  Am  Rhein,  am  Rhein,  da  -wachsen  nnscre  Reben, 


(8.) — Chap,  xxvni. 
A  mirthful  man  he  was — the  snows  of  age 
Fell,  but  they  did  not  chill  him.     Gayety, 
Even  in  Ufe's  closing,  touch'd  his  teeming  brain 
With  such  wild  visions  as  the  setting  sim 
Raises  in  front  of  some  hoar  glacier, 
Painting  the  bleak  ice  with  a  thousand  hues. 

,  Old  Play. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxx. 
Ay,  this  is  he  who  wears  the  wreath  of  bays 
Wove  by  ApoUo  and  the  Sisters  Nine, 
Which  Jove's  dread  hghtning  scathes  not.    He  hath 

doft 
The  cumbrous  helm  of  steel,  and  flung  aside 
The  yet  more  galling  diadem  of  gold ; 
While,  with  a  leafy  circlet  round  his  brows, 
He  reigns  the  King  of  Lovers  and  of  Poeta. 

(10.) — Chap.  xxxi. 

■  Want  you  a  man 


Experienced  in  the  world  and  its  affairs  ? 
Here  he  is  for  yom'  purpose. — He's  a  monk. 
He  hath  forsworn  the  world  and  all  its  work — 
The  rather  that  he  knows  it  passuig  weU, 
'Special  the  worst  of  it,  for  he's  a  monk. 

Old  Play. 

(11.) — Chap,  xxxin. 
Toll,  toU  the  beU ! 
Greatness  is  o'er. 
The  heart  has  broke. 
To  ache  no  more  ; 
An  unsubstantial  pageant  aU — 
Drop  o'er  the  scene  the  funeral  paU, 

Old  Poem, 

(12.) — Chap.  xxxv. 
-Here's  a  weapon  now. 


Shall  shake  a  conquering  general  in  his  tent, 
A  monarch  on  his  throne,  or  reach  a  prelate. 
However  holy  be  his  offices, 
E'en  while  he  serves  the  altar. 

Old  Play 


SET  TO  MCSIO  BY  JOHN  "WHITEFIELD,  MUS.  DOC.  CAST. 


1830. 


The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has  been  spread, 
And  the  last  flask  of  wine  in  our  goblet  is  red , 

Gesegnet  sei  der  Rhein,"  &c. 
2  Set  to  mnsic  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Collection,  pnb" 
lished  in  1830. 


126 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Up !  ui),  my  brave  Idnsmen !  belt  s^w^or  Js  and  be- 
gone, 

There  are  dangers  to  dare,  and  there's  spoil  to  be 
won. 

The  eyes,  that  so  lately  mis'd  glances  "vrith  oui"s, 
For  a  space  must  be  dim,  ;is  they  gaze  from  the 

towers. 
And  strive  to  distingmsh  thi'ough  tempest  and 

gloom, 
The  prance  of  the  steed,  and  the  toss  of  the  plume. 

The  rain  is  descending ;  the  -wind  rises  loud ; 
And  the  moon  her  red  beacon  has  veil'd  with  a 

cloud ; 
Tis  the  better,  my  mates !  for  the  warder's  dull 

eye 
Shall  in  confidence  slumber,  nor  dream  wc  are  nigh. 

Our  steeds  are  impatient !  I  hear  my  blithe  Gray ! 
There  is  life  in  his  hoof-clang,  and  hope  in  his  neigh ! 
Like  the  flash  of  a  mcteoi",  the  glance  of  his  mane 
Shall  marshal  yom*  march  through  the  darkness 
and  rain. 

The  drawbridge  has  dropp'd,  the  bugle  has  blown ; 

One  pledge  is  to  quaff  yet — then  moirnt  and  be- 
gone ! — 

To  their  honor  and  peace,  that  shall  rest  with  the 
slain ; 

To  then*  health  and  their  glee,  that  see  Teviot 
again! 


finscrijjtion 

FOE  THE  M0>TJMENT  OF  THE  HEV.  GEOEGE  SCOTT  ' 


1830. 


To  youth,  to  age,  alilie,  this  tablet  pale 
Tells  the  brief  moral  of  its  tragic  tale. 
Art  thou  a  parent  ?  Reverence  tliis  bier, 
The  parents'  fondest  hopes  lie  buried  here. 
Art  thou  a  youth,  prepared  on  life  to  start, 
"With  opening  talents  and  a  generous  heart. 
Fair  hopes  and  flattering  prospects  all  thine  own  ? 
Lo  !  here  their  end — a  monumental  stone. 
But  let  submission  tame  each  sorrowing  thought. 
Heaven  crown'd  its  champion  ere  the  fight  was 
fought. 

1  This  yonng  genfi  eman,  a  son  of  the  author's  friend  and 
relation,  Hugh  Scott  of  Harden,  Esq.  (now  Lord  Polwartli), 
became  Rector  of  Kentisbeare,  in  Devonshire,  in  1828,  and 
died  there  the  9th  of  June,  1830.  This  epitaph  appears  on  his 
tomb  i ;  the  chancel  there. 


3Liiics  oil  JFoftunc, 


1831. 


"  By  the  advice  of  Dr.  Ebenezer  Clarkson,  Sir 
Walter  consulted  a  skilful  mechanist,  by  nam.j  for- 
tune, about  a  contrivance  for  the  support  of  tlie  lame 
limb,  which  had  of  late  given  hhn  mudi  ptiin,  as  well 
as  inconvenience.  Mr.  Fortune  produced  a  clever 
piece  of  handiwork,  and  Sir  Walter  felt  at  firat 
great  relief  from  the  use  of  it :  insomuch  that  his 
spuitsrosc  to  quite  the  old  pitch,  and  liis  letter  to 
me  upon  the  occtision  overflows  with  merry  ap- 
plications of  sundry  maxims  and  verses  about 
Fortune.  'Fortes  Fortuna  adjuvat' — he  says — 
'  never  more  sing  I  ' 

" '  FoRTUXE,  my  Foe,  why  dost  thou  frown  on  me  ? 
And  will  my  Fortune  never  better  be  ? 
"Wilt  thou,  I  say,  for  ever  breed  my  pain  ? 
And  wilt  thou  ne'er  retm'n  my  joys  again  ^^ 

No — let  my  ditty  be  henceforth — 

Fortune,  my  Friend,  how  well  thou  favorest  me ! 

A  kinder  Fortune  man  did  never  see  ! 

Tliou  propp'st  my  thigli,  tliou  rid'st  my  knee  of 

pain, 
I'll  walk,  I'll  motmt — Pll  be  a  man  again.'  " — 

-Life,  vol.  X.  p.  38. 


iTrom  Count  Uobcrt  of  Paris. 


1831. 


Othus. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  u. 

Tliis  superb  successor 


Of  the  earth's  mistress,  as  thou  vainly  speakest, 
Stands  'midst  these  ages  as,  on  the  wide  ocean, 
The  last  spared  fragment  of  a  spacious  land. 
That  in  some  grand  and  awful  ministration 
Of  mighty  nature  has  engulfed  been. 
Doth  lift  aloft  its  dark  and  rocky  cliffs 
O'er  the  wild  waste  ai'ound,  and  sadly  frowns 
In  lonely  majesty. 

Constantine  Paleologus,  Scene  I. 

2  "  I  believe  this  is  the  only  verse  of  the  old  song  (often  pl- 
luded  to  by  ShalvS])eare  and  his  contemporaries)  that  has  ai 
yet  been  recovered." — Lockhart,  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  x. 
p.  38. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                       I2'i 

(2.)^CiiAP.  in. 

To  meet  a  lover's  onset. — But  though  Nature 

Here,  youth,  thy  foot  unbrace, 

Was  outraged  thus,  she  was  not  overcome. 

Here,  youth,  thy  brow  unbraid, 

Feudal  Times 

Each  tribute  that  may  grace 

The  threshold  here  be  paid. 

(8.)— Chap.  xi. 

Walk  with  the  stealthy  pace 

Without  a  ruin,  broken,  tangled,  cumbrous, 

Which  Nature  teaches  deer, 

Within  it  was  a  little  paradise, 

When,  echoing  in  the  chase, 

"^liere  Taste  had  made  her  dwcUing.     Statuary, 

The  hunter's  horn  they  hear. 

Fh-st-born  of  human  art,  moulded  her  images. 

The  Court. 

And  bade  men  mark  and  worship. 

Anonymous. 

(3.)— Chap.  v. 

The  storm  increases — 'tis  no  sunny  shower, 

(9.) — Chap.  xii. 

Foster'd  in  the  moist  breast  of  March  or  April, 

The  parties  met.     The  wily,  wordy  Greek, 

Or  such  as  parched  Summer  cools  his  lip  with ; 

Weighing  each  word,  and  canvassing  each  syllable ; 

Heaven's  windows   are   flung  wide  ;   the  inmost 

Evading,  arguing,  equivocating. 

deeps 

And  the  stern  Frank   came  with   his   two-hand 

CaU  in  hoarse  greeting  one  upon  another ; 

sword. 

On  comes  the  flood  in  aU  its  foaming  horrors. 

Watching  to  see  which  way  the  balance  sways, 

And  Where's  the  dike  shall  stop  it ! 

That  he  may  throw  it  in,  and  turn  the  scales. 

The  Dehige,  a  Poem. 

Palestine. 

See  Life,  vol.  x.  p.  37. 

(10.)— Chap.  xvi. 

(4.) — Chap.  vi. 

Strange  ape  of  man !  who  loathes  thee  while  be 

Vain  man  !  thou  mayst  esteem  thy  love  as  fair 

scorns  thee ; 

As  fond  hyperboles  suffice  to  raise. 

Half  a  reproach  to  us  and  half  a  jest. 

She  may  be  all  that's  matchless  m  her  person. 

What  fancies  can  be  ours  ere  we  have  pleasure 

And  all-divine  in  soul  to  match  her  body  ; 

In  viewing  our  own  form,  our  pride  and  passions, 

But  take  this  from  me — thou  shalt  never  call  her 

Reflected  in  a  shape  grotesque  as  thine ! 

Superior  to  her  sex,  while  one  sm'vives. 

Anonymous. 

And  I  am  her  true  votary. 

Old  Play. 

(11.) — Chap.  xvn. 

'Tis  strange  that,  in  the  dark  sulphiu-eous  mine, 

(5.) — Chap.  Yin. 

Where  wild  ambition  piles  its  ripening  stores 

Through  the  vain  webs  which  puzzle  sophists'  skill, 

Of  slumbering  thunder,  Love  will  interpose 

Plain  sense  and  honest  meaning  work  their  way ; 

His  tiny  torch,  and  cause  the  stern  explosion 

So  sink  the  varying  clouds  upon  the  hill. 

To  burst,  when  the  deviser's  least  aware. 

When  the  clear  dawning  brightens  into  day. 

Anonymous. 

Br.  Watts. 

* 

(12.) — Chap.  xxrv. 

(6.)— Chap.  ix. 

All  is  prepared — the  chambers  of  the  mine 

Between  the  foaming  jaws  of  the  white  torrent, 

Ai-e  cramm'd  with  the  combustible,  which,  barm- 

The  skilful  artist  draws  a  sudden  mound ; 

less 

By  level  long  he  subdivides  their  strength, 

While  yet  unkindled,  as  the  sable  sand. 

Stealing  the  waters  from  then*  rocky  bed. 

Needs  but  a  spark  to  change  its  nature  so, 

First  to  diminish  what  he  means  to  conquer ; 

That  he  who  wakes  it  from  its  slumbrous  mood, 

Then,  for  the  residue  he  forms  a  road, 

Dreads  scarce   the   explosion  less  than  he  who 

Easy  to  keep,  and  painful  to  desert, 

knows 

And  guiding  to  the  end  the  planner  aim'd  at. 

Tha,t  'tis  his  towers  which  meet  its  fury. 

The  Engineer. 

Anonymous. 

(1.)— Chap.  x. 

(13.) — Chap.  xxv. 

These  were  wild  times — the  antipodes  of  ours  : 

Heaven  knows  its  time ;  the  bullet  has  its  bUlet, 

Ladies  were  there,  who  oftener  saw  themselves 

Arrow  and  javelin  each  its  destined  purpose  ; 

In  the  broad  lustre  of  a  foeman's  shield 

The  fated  beasts  of  Nature's  lower  strain 

Than  in  a  mirror,  and  who  rather  sought 

Have  each  their  separate  task. 

To  match  themselves  in  battle,  than  in  dalliance 

Old  Play. 

"28 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Irom  dTastU  SJancjerous. 


1831. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 
A.  TALE  of  sorrow,  for  your  eyes  may  "weep ; 
A  tale  of  horror,  for  your  flesh  may  tingle ; 
A  tale  of  wonder,  for  the  eyebrows  arch, 
And  the  flesh  cm-dies  if  you  read  it  rightly. 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap,  xi. 
Where  is  he  ?   Has  the  deep  earth  swallow'd  him  ? 
Or  hath  he  melted  like  some  airy  phantom 
That  shuns  the  approach  of  morn  and  the  young  sun  ? 
Or  hath  he  wrapt  him  in  Cimmerian  darkness. 
And  pass'd  beyond  the  circuit  of  the  sight 
"With  things  of  the  night's  shadows  ? 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xiv. 
The  way  is  long,  my  children,  long  and  rough — 
Hie  moors  are  di-eary,  and  the  woods  are  dark ; 


But  he  that  creeps  from  cradle  on  to  grave, 
UnskUl'd  save  in  the  velvet  course  of  fortimc, 
Hath  miss'd  the  discipline  of  noble  hearts. 

Old  Play. 

(4.) — Chap.  xvni. 
His  talk  was  of  another  world — his  bodements 
Strange,   doubtful,   and  mysterious  •,    those   who 

heard  him 
Listen'd  as  to  a  man  in  feverish  dreams. 
Who  speaks  of  other  objects  than  the  present. 
And  mutters  like  to  him  who  sees  a  vision. 

Old  Play. 

(5.) — Chap.  xx. 
Cry  the  wild  war-note,  let  the  champions  pass, 
Do  bravely  each,  and  God  defend  the  right ; 
Upon  Saint  Andrew  thrice  can  they  thus  cry, 
And  thrice  they  shout  on  height, 
.    And  then  marked  them  on  the  Englishmen, 
As  I  have  told  you  right. 
Saint  George  the  bright,  our  ladies'  knight, 
To  name  they  were  full  fain ; 
Our  Englishmen  they  cried  on  height, 
And  thi'ice  they  shout  again. 

Old  Ballad. 


DRAMATIC    PIECES. 


t)  a  1  i  i  0  n     15  H I  f 

A    DRAMATIC    SKETCH    FROM    SCOTTISH    HISTORY. 


PEEFACE. 

Though  the  Public  seldom  feel  much  interest  in 
such  communications  (nor  is  there  any  reason  why 
they  should),  the  Author  takes  the  liberty  of  stat- 
ing, that  these  scenes  were  commenced  with  the 
purpose  of  contributmg  to  a  miscellany  projected 
by  a  much-esteemed  friend.''  But  instead  of  being 
confined  to  a  scene  or  two,  as  intended,  the  work 
gradually  swelled  to  the  size  of  an  independent 
publication.  It  is  designed  to  illustrate  military 
antiquities,  and  the  manners  of  cliivalry.  The 
di-ama  (if  it  can  be  termed  one)  is,  in  no  particular, 
either  designed  or  calcxilated  for  the  stage.^ 

The  subject  is  to  be  found  m  Scottish  history ; 
but  not  to  overload  so  slight  a  publication  with 
antiquarian  research,  or  quotations  from  obscure 
chronicles,  may  be  sufficiently  illustrated  by  the 
following  passage  from  Pinkerton's  History  of 
Scotland,  vol.  i.  p.  72. 

"The  Governor  (anno  1402)  dispatched  a  con- 
siderable force  under  Murdac,  liis  eldest  son :  the 
Earls  of  Angus  and  Moray  also  jomed  Douglas, 
who  entered  England  with  an  army  of  ten  thou- 
sand men,  carrying  terror  and  devastation  to  the 
walls  of  Newcastle. 

"Hemy  IV.  was  now  engaged  in  the  Welsh 
war   against  Owen  Glendom* ;   but  the  Earl  of 

1  Published  by  Constable  &  Co.,  June,  1822,  in  8vo.     6s. 

2  The  author  alhules  to  a  collection  of  small  pieces  in  verse, 
edited,  for  a  charitable  purpose,  by  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. — See 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vii.  pp.  7,  18,  169-70. 

s  In  the  first  edition,  the  te-^t  added,  "  In  case  any  attempt 
shall  be  made  to  produce  it  in  action  (as  has  happened  in  simi- 
lar cases),  the  author  takes  the  present  opportunity  to  in- 
timate, that  it  shall  be  at  the  peril  of  those  who  make  such 
an  experiment."  Adverting  to  this  passage,  the  ,Vew  Edin- 
burgh Kcview  (July,  1822)  said, — "  We,  nevertheless,  do  not 
believe  that  any  thing  more  essentially  dramatic,  in  so  far  as 
it  goes,  more  cajjable  of  stage  effect,  has  appeared  in  England 
since  the  days  of  her  greatest  genius  ;  and  giving  Sir  Walter, 
therefore,  full  credit  for  his  coyness  on  the  present  occasion, 
we  ardently  hope  that  he  is  but  trying  his  strength  in  the 
Host  arduous  of  all  literary  enterprises,  and  that,  ere  loug,  he 
0* 


Northumberland,  and  Ms  son,  the  Hotspur  Percy 
with  the  Earl  of  March,  collected  a  numerous  array 
and  awaited  the  retm-n  of  the  Scots,  impeded  with 
spoil,  near  Milfield,  m  the  north  part  of  Northum- 
berland. Douglas  had  reached  Wooler,  in  his  re- 
ttmi ;  and,  perceiving  the  enemy,  seized  a  strong 
post  between  the  two  armies,  called  Homildon- 
hill.  In  this  method  he  rivalled  his  predecessor  at 
the  battle  of  Otterburn,  but  not  with  like  success. 
The  Enghsh  advanced  to  the  assault,  and  Hemy 
Percy  was  about  to  lead  them  up  the  hill,  when 
March  caught  Ms  bridle,  and  adWsed  him  to  ad- 
vance no  farther,  but  to  pour  the  dreadful  shower 
of  English  arrows  into  the  enemy.  This  advice 
was  followed  by  the. usual  fortune  ;  for  in  all  ages 
the  bow  was  the  English  instrument  of  victory ; 
and  though  the  Scots,  and  perhaps  the  French, 
were  superior  m  the  use  of  the  spear,  yet  this 
weapon  was  useless  after  the  distant  bow  had  de- 
cided the  combat.  Robert  the  Great,  sensible  of 
this  at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  ordered  a  pre- 
pared detachment  of  cavalry  to  rush  among  the 
English  archers  at  the  commencement,  totally  to 
disperse  them,  and  stop  the  deadly  effusion.  But 
Douglas  now  used  no  such  precaution,  and  the  con- 
sequence was,  that  his  people,  drawn  up  on  the 
face  of  the  hUl,  presented  one  general  mark  to  the 
enemy,  none  of  whose  aiTOws  descended  in  Tain. 

will  demonstrate  his  right  to  the  liighest  honors  of  the  tragic 
muse."  The  British  Critic,  for  October,  1822,  says,  on  the 
same  head,  "  Though  we  may  not  accede  to  the  author's  dec- 
laration, that  it  is  'in  710  parfjcu/nr  calculated  for  the  stage, 
we  must  not  lead  our  readei-s  to  look  for  any  thing  amounting 
to  a  regular  drama.  It  would,  we  think,  form  an  underplot 
of  very  great  interest,  in  an  historical  play  of  customary  length  ; 
and  although  its  incidents  and  personages  are  mixed  up,  >n 
these  scenes,  with  an  event  of  real  history,  there  is  nothing  in 
either  to  prevent  their  being  interwoven  in  the  plot  of  »ry 
drama  of  which  the  action  should  lie  in  the  confines  of  Eng.ano 
and  Scotland,  at  any  of  the  very  numerous  periods  of  Border 
warfare.  The  whole  interest,  indeed,  of  the  story,  ia  engrossed 
by  two  characters,  imagined,  as  it  appears  to  us,  with  great 
force  and  probability,  and  contrasted  with  considerable  skill 
and  eifect." 


730 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Scots  fell  without  fight,  and  unrevenged,  till 
a  spu-ited  Ipught,  Swinton,  exclaimed  aloud, '  0  my 
brave  countrymen!  -what  fascination  has  seized 
you  to-day,  that  you  stand  like  deer  to  be  shot,  in- 
stead of  indulging  your  ancient  courage,  and  meet- 
ing your  enemies  hand  to  hand  ?  Let  those  who 
will,  descend  with  me,  that  we  may  gain  victory, 
or  life,  or  fall  like  men.'^  Tliis  being  heard  by 
Adam  Gordon,  between  whom  and  Swinton  there 
remained  an  ancient  deadly  feud,  attended  with 
the  mutual  slaughter  of  many  followers,  he  in- 
stantly fell  on  his  knees  before  Swinton,  begged 
his  pardon,  and  desired  to  be  dubbed  a  knight  by 
him  whom  he  must  now  regard  as  the  wisest  and 
the  boldest  of  that  order  in  Britain.  The  ceremony 
performed,  Swinton  and  Gordon  descended  the 
hill,  accompanied  only  by  one  hmidred  men ;  and 
a  desperate  valor  led  the  whole  body  to  death. 
Had  a  similar  spirit  been  shown  by  the  Scottish 
army,  it  is  jjrobable  that  the  event  of  the  day 
would  have  been  different.  Douglas,  who  was  cer- 
tainly deficient  in  the  most  important  qualities  of 
a  general,  seeing  his  army  begin  to  disperse,  at 
length  attempted  to  descend  the  liill;  but  the 
Eng'lish  archers,  retiring  a  little,  sent  a  flight  of  ar- 
rows so  sharp  and  strong,  that  no  armor  could 
withstand  ;  and  the  Scottish  leader  himself,  whose 
panoply  was  of  remarkable  temper,  fell  under  five 
wounds,  though  not  mortal.  The  English  men-of- 
arms,  knights,  or  squires,  did  not  strike  one  blow,. 
but  remained  spectators  of  the  rout,  which  was 
now  comjjlete.  Great  numbers  of  the  Scots  were 
filain,  and  ne;ir  five  hundred  perished  in  the  river 
Tweed  upon  their  flight.  Among  the  illustrious 
captives  was  Douglas,  whose  chief  wound  deprived 
him  of  an  eye ;  Murdac,  son  of  Albany ;  the  Earls 
of  Moray  and  Angus  ;  and  about  twenty -four  gen- 
tlemen of  eminent  rank  and  power.  The  chief 
slain  were,  Swinton,  Gordon,  Livingston  of  Calen- 
dar, Ramsay  of  Dalliousie,  Walter  Sinclair,  Roger 
Gordon,  Walter  Scott,  and  others.  Such  was  the 
issue  of  the  unfortunate  battle  of  Homildon." 

It  may  be  proper  to  observe,  that  the  scene  of 
action  has,  in  the  following  pages,  been  transferred 
from  Homildon  to  Halidon  Hill.  For  this  there 
was  an  obvious  reason ; — for  who  would  again  ven- 
ture to  introduce  upon  the  scene  the  celebrated 
Hotspiu-,  who  commanded  the  English  at  the  for- 
mer battle  ?  There  ai'e,  however,  several  coinci- 
dences which  may  reconcile  even  the  severer  anti- 
quary to  the  substitution  of  HaUdon  Hill  for 
Homildon.  A  Scottish  army  was  defeated  by  the 
English  on  both  occasions,  and  imder  nearly  the 

•  "  Miles  magnnnimns  dominus  Johannes  Swinton,  tanquam 
voce  horrida  prieconis  exclamavit,  dioens,  O  commilitones 
inclyti  !  quis  vos  hodie  fasoinavit  non  indnlgere  solita  probi- 
tati,  quod  nee  dextris  conseritis,  nee  ut  viri  corda  erigitis,  ad 

vadendum  semulos,  qui  vos,  tanquam  damulos  vel  hinnulos 


same  circumstances  of  address  on  the  part  of  the 
victors,  and  mismanagement  on  that  of  the  van- 
quished, for  the  English  long-bow  decided  the  day 
in  both  cases.  In  both  cases,  also,  a  Gordon  was 
left  on  the  field  of  battle ;  and  at  Halidon,  as  a* 
Homildon,  the  Scots  were  commanded  by  an  ill- 
fated  representative  of  the  great  house  of  Douglas. 
He  of  Homildon  was  surnamed  Tincman,  i.  e.  Lose- 
man,  from  his  repeated  defeats  and  miscarriages ; 
and,  with  all  the  personal  valor  of  his  race,  seems 
to  have  enjoyed  so  small  a  portion  of  their  saga- 
city, as  to  be  unable  to  learn  military  experience 
from  reiterated  calamity.  I  am  far,  however,  from 
intimating,  that  the  traits  of  imbecility  and  envy 
attributed  to  the  Regent  in  the  following  sketch, 
are  to  be  historically  ascribed  either  to  the  elder 
Douglas  of  Halidon  Hill,  or  to  him  called  Tineman, 
who  seems  to  have  enjoyed  the  respect  of  his 
countiymen,  notwithstanding  that,  like  the  cele- 
brated Anne  de  Montmorency,  he  was  either  de- 
feated, or  womided,  or  made  prisoner,  in  every 
battle  which  he  fought.  The  Regent  of  the  sketch 
is  a  character  purely  imaginary. 

The  tradition  of  the  Swinton  family,  which  still 
survives  in  a  lineal  descent,  and  to  which  the  au- 
thor has  the  honor  to  be  related,  avers,  that  the 
Swinton  who  fell  at  Homildon  in  the  manner  re- 
lated in  the  preceding  extract,  had  slain  Gordon's 
father;  which  seems  sufficient  ground  for  adopting 
that  cu"cumstance  into  the  following  di'amatic 
sketch,  though  it  is  rendered  improbable  by  other 
authorities. 

If  any  reader  will  take  the  trouble  of  looking  at 
Froissart,  Fordun,  or  other  historians  of  the  period, 
he  will  find,  that  the  character  of  the  Lord  of 
Swinton,  for  strength,  corn-age,  and  conduct,  is  by 
no  means  exaggerated. 

W.  S. 

Abbotsfoed,  1822. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 


Scottish  Cldefs  and  Nohlet, 


SCOTTISH. 
The  Regent  of  Scotland. 
Gordon, 
Swinton, 
Lexnox, 
suthekland, 
Ross, 
Max'well, 
Johnstone, 
Lindesay, 

imparcatos,   sagittarnm   jacnlis    perdere    festinant.      Descen 
dant  mecum  qui  velint,  et  in  nomine  Domini  hostes  penetra- 
bimus,  nt  vel  sic  vita  potiamur,  vel  saltern  ut  milites  cum  ho- 
nore  oeeumbaraus,"  &c. — FoRDUN,  Scoti-CUronicon,  vol   ii 
p.  434. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


7-31 


Adam  de  Vipont,  a  Knight  Ter.tplar. 

The  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

Retnald,  Swinfon's  Squire. 

Hob  Hattely,  a  Border  Moss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
King  Edward  III. 

ClIANDOS,  ^ 

PERcr,  /•  JSnglisJi  and  Norman  Nobles. 

RiBAUMONT,         } 

The  Abbot  of  "Waithamstow. 


iJalUon    ^ill. 


ACT  I— SCENE  I. 

The  northern  side  of  the  eminence  of  Halidon.  The 
back  Scene  represents  the  summit  of  the  ascent, 
occupied  by  the  Rear-guard  of  the  Scottish  army. 
Bodies  of  armed  3fen  appear  as  advancing  from 
different  points,  to  join  the  main  Body. 

Enter  De  Vipont  and  the  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

ViP.  No  fiu'ther,  Father — here  I  need  no  guid- 
ance— 
I  have  akeady  brought  your  peaceful  step 
Too  near  the  verge  of  battle. 

Pri.  Fain  would  I  see  you  join  some  Baron's 
banner, 
Before  I  say  fareweU.     The  honor'd  sword 
That  fought  so  well  in  Syi'ia,  should  not  wave 
Amid  the  ignoble  crowd. 

Vip.  Each  spot  is  noble  in  a  pitched  field, 
So  that  a  man  has  room  to  fight  and  fall  on't. 
But  I  shall  find  out  friends.    'Tis  scarce  twelve 

years 
Since  I  left  Scotland  for  the  wars  of  Palestine, 
And  then  the  flower  of  aU  the  Scottish  nobles 
"Were  known  to  me ;  and  I,  in  my  degree, 
Not  aU  unknown  to  them. 

Pri.  Alas  !  there  have  been  changes  since  that 
time  ! 
The  Royal  Bruce,  with  Randolph,  Douglas,  Gra- 

hame. 
Then  shook  in  field  the  banners  which  now  moulder 
Over  their  graves  i'  the  chancel. 

ViP.  And  thence  comes  it, 
That  while  I  look'd  on  many  a  well-known  crest 
And  blazon'd  shield,'  as  hitherward  we  came, 
The  faces  of  the  Barons  who  display'd  them 

»  MS. — "  I've  look'd  on  many  a  well-known  pennon 
Playing  the  air,"  &c. 


"Were  all  unknown  to  me.     Brave   youths   tliey 

seem'd ; 
Yet,  surely,  fitter  to  adorn  the  tilt-yard. 
Than  to  be  leaders  of  a  war.     Then-  followers, 
Young  like  themselves,  seem  like  themselves  un- 
practised— 
Look  at  their  battle-rank. 

Pri.  I  cannot  gaze  on't  with  undazzled  eye, 
So  thick  the  rays  dai"t  back  from  shield  and  hel- 
met. 
And  sword  and  battle-axe,  and  spear  and  pennon. 
Sure  'tis  a  gallant  show !     The  Bruce  himself 
Hath  often  conquer'd  at  the  head  of  fewer 
And  worse  appointed  followers. 

Vip.  Ay,  but  'twas  Bruce  that  led  them.     Rev- 
erend Father, 
'Tis  not  the  falchion's  weight  decides  a  combat ; 
It  is  the  strong  and  skilful  hand  that  wields  it. 
Ill  fate,  that  we  should  lack  the  noble  King, 
And  aU  his  champions  now  !  Time  caU'd  them  not. 
For  when  I  parted  hence  for  Palestine, 
The  brows  of  most  were  free  from  gi-izzled  hair. 
Pri.  Too  true,  alas !   But  well  you  know,  in  Scot- 
land 
Few  bail's  are  silver'd  underneath  the  helmet ; 
'Tis  cowls  like  mine  wliich  hide  them.     'Mongst 

the  laity, 
"War's  the  rash  reaper,  who  thrusts  in  his  sickle 
Before  the  grain  is  white.     Li  thi-eescore  yea!:= 
And  ten,  wliich  I  have  seen,  I  have  outhved 
Wellnigh  two  generations  of  our  nobles. 
The  race  which  holds^  yon  summit  is  the  third. 
Vip.  Thou  mayst  outhve  them  also. 
Pri.  Heaven  forfend ! 

My  pfayer  shall  be,  that  Heaven  will  close  my 

eyes, 
Before  they  look  upon  the  wi-ath  to  come. 

Vip.  Retire,   retire,   good   Father !  —  Pray  for 
Scotland — 
Think  not  on  me.    Here  comes  an  ancient  friend, 
Brother  in  arms,  with  whom  to-day  I'll  join  me. 
Back  to   yom'  chou',  assemble  all   yom-   brother- 
hood, 
And  weary  Heaven  with  prayers  for  victory.' 

Pri.  Heaven's  blessing  rest  with  thee. 
Champion  of  Heaven,  and  of  thy  suffering  country ! 
\^Exit  Prior.     Vipont  draws  a  little  aside 
and  lets  down  the  beaver  of  his  helme, 

Enter  SvnsTON,  followed  by  Retnald  and  others,  to 
whom  he  speaks  as  he  enters. 

Swi.  Halt  here,  and  plant  my  pennon,  tiU  the 
Regent 
Assign  our  band  its  station  in  the  host. 


2  MS.—"  The  youths  who  hold,"  &c.  "  are." 

3  MS. "  with  prayers  for  Scotland's  weal  " 


732 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Rey.  That  must  be  by  the  Standard.     We  have 
had 
Tliat  right  since  good  Saint  David's  reign  at  least. 
Fiiin  would  I  see  the  Marcher  would  dispute  it. 
Swi.  Peace,  Reynald !  Where  the  general  plants 
the  soldier, 
Tliere  is  his  place  of  honor,  and  there  only 
His  valor  can  win  worship.     Thou'rt  of  those, 
Who  woidd  have  war's  deep  art  bear  the  wild  sem- 
blance 
Of  some  disorder'd  hunting,  where,  pell-mell, 
Each  trusting  to  the  swiftness  of  liis  liorse, 
Gallants  press  on  to  see  the  quarry  fall. 
Yon  steel-clad  Southrons,  Reynald,  are  no  deer ; 
And  England's  Edward  is  no  stag  at  bay. 

ViP.  {advancing)  Tliere  needed  not,  to  blazon 
forth  the  Swinton, 
His  ancient  burgonet,  the  sable  Boar 
Chain'd  to  the  gnarl'd  oak,' — nor  liis  proud  step. 
Nor  giant  stature,  nor  the  ponderous  mace. 
Which  only  he,  of  Scotland's  realm,  can  wield : 
His  discijoline  and  wisdom  mark  the  leader. 
As  doth  his   frame  the   champion.      Hail,  brave 
Swinton  1 
Swi.  Brave  Templar,  thanks !    Such  your  cross'd 
shoulder  speaks  you ; 
But  the  closed  visor,  wMch  conceals  your  features, 
Forbids  more  knowledge.     TJmfraville,  perhaps — 
Vip.  {imclosinr/  his  helmet.)  No ;  one  less  worthy 
of  our  sacred  Order. 
Yet,  unless  Syrian  sims  have  scorch'd  my  features 
Swart  as  my  sable  visor,  Alan  Swinton 
Will  welcome  Symon  Vipont. 

Swi.  (embracing  him.)  As  the  blithe  reaper 
Welcomes  a  practised  mate,  when  the  ripe  harvest 
Lies  deep  before  liim,  and  the  sun  is  liigh  ! 
Thou'lt  foUow  yon  old  pennon,  wilt  thou  not  ? 
'Tis  tatter'd  since   thou  aaw'st  it,  and  the  Boar- 
heads 
Look  as  if  brought  from  off  some  Christmas  board, 
Where  knives  had  notch'd  them  deeply. 

Vip.  Have  with  them,  ne'ertheless.   The  Stuai-t's 
Chequer, 
Tlie  Bloody  Heart  of  Douglas,  Ross's  Lymphads, 
Sutherland's  Wild-cats,  nor  the  royal  Lion, 
Rampant  in  golden  treasm-e,  wins  me  from  them. 
We'll  back  the  Boar-heads  bravely.     I  see  round 

them 
A  chosen  band  of  lances — some  well  known  to  me. 
Where's  the  main  body  of  thy  followers  ? 

Swi.  Symon  de  Vipont,  thou  dost  see  them  all 
Tliat  Swinton's  bugle-horn  can  call  to  battle. 
However  loud  it  rings.     There's  not  a  boy 
Left  in  my  halls,  whose  arm  has  strength  enough 

I  "  The  armorial  bearings  of  the  ancient  family  of  Swinton 
are  sable,  a  cheveron,  or,  between  three  boars'  heads  erased, 
argent.  Crest — a  boar  cliained  to  a  tree,  and  above,  on  an 
iseroll,  J'espere.     Supporters — two  boars  standing  on  a 


To  bear  a  sword — there's  not  a  man  behind, 
However  old,  who  moves  without  a  staff. 
Striplings  and  graybeards,  every  one  is  here. 
And  here  all  should  be — Scotland  needs  them  all 
And  more  and  better  men,  were  each  a  Hercules, 
And  yonder  handful  centuplied. 

Vip.  a  thousand  followers — such,  with  friends 

and  kinsmen, 
Allieo  and  vassals,  thou  wert  wont  to  lead — 
A  thousand  followers  shrunk  to  sixty  lances 
In  twelve  years'  space  ? — And  thy  brave  sons,  Sir 

Alan? 
Alas !  I  feai'  to  ask. 

Swi.  All  slain,  De  Vipont.     In  my  empty  home 
A  puny  babe  lisps  to  a  widow'd  mother, 
"  Where    is    my  grandsu'e  !    wherefore    do   you 

weep  ?" 
But  for  that  prattler,  Lyulph's  house  is  heirless. 
I'm  an  old  oak,  from  which  the  foresters 
Have  hew'd  four  goodly  boughs,  and  left  beside 

me 
Only  a  sapling,  which  the  fawn  may  crush 
As  he  springs  over  it. 
Vip.  All  slain  ? — alas ! 

Swi.  Ay,  all,  De  Vipont.     And  their  attributes, 
John  with  the  Long  Speai- — Archibald  with  the 

Axe — 
Richard  the  Ready — and  my  youngest  darling, 
My  Fair-hair'd  William — do  but  now  survive 
In  measm'es  which  the  gray-hair'd  minstrels  sing, 
Wlien  thej^  make  maidens  weep. 

Vip.  These  wars  with  England,  thej  have  rooted 

out 
The  flowers  of  Christendom.     Bj.ights,  who  might 

win 
Tlie  sepidchre  of  Christ  from  fho  rude  heathen. 
Fall  in  unholy  warfare  ! 

Swi.  Unlioly  warfare  ?  ay,  "veil  hast  thou  named 

it; 
But  not  with  England — would  her  cloth-yard  shafts 
Had  bored  theu-  cuirasses. !     Their  lives  had  been 
Lost  like  their  grandslre's,  in  the  bold  defence 
Of  their  dear  country* — but  in  private  feud 
With    the  proud  Gordon,  fell    my  Long-spear'd 

John, 
He  with  the  Axe,  and  he  men  call'd  the  Ready, 
Ay,  and  my  Fair-haii-"d  Will — the  Gordon's  wrath 
Devour'd  my  gallant  issue. 

Vip.  SiiiCe  thou  dost  weep,  their  death  is  im- 

avenged  ? 
S  >.vi.  Templar,  what    thiuk'st    thou  me  ? — See 

yonder  rock. 
From  which  the  fountain  gushes — is  it  less 
Compact  of  adamant,  though  waters  flow  from  it  ? 

compartment,  whereon  are  the  words,  Je  Fense." — Douglas'l 
Baronage,  p.  13"2. 

2  MS.—"  Of  the  dear  land  that  nnrsed  them— but  in  fend. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


733 


Firm    hearts    have    moister    eyes.  —  They   are 

avenged ; 
I  -wept  not  till  they  -were — till  the  proud  Gordon 
Had  with  his  hfe-blood  dyed  my  father's  sword, 
In  guerdon  that  he  thinn'd  my  father's  lineage, 
And  then  I  wept  my  sons ;  and,  as  the  Gordon 
Lay  at  my  feet,  there  was  a  tear  for  him, 
Which    muigled  with  the  rest.      We  had    been 

fi-iends. 
Had  shared  the  banquet  and  the  chase  together. 
Fought  side  by  side, — and  our  cause  of  strife. 
Woe  to  the  pride  of  both,  was  but  a  light  one ! 
Vrp.  Tou  are  at  feud,  then,  with  the  mighty 

Gordon  ? 
Svn.   At  deadly  feud.     Here  in  tliis  Border- 
land, 
Where  the  sire's  quarrels  descend  upon  the  son. 
As  due  a  part  of  his  inheritance, 
As  the  strong  castle  and  the  ancient  blazon. 
Where  private  Vengeance  holds  the  scales  of  jus- 
tice. 
Weighing  each  drop  of  blood  as  scrupulously 
As  Jews  or  Lombards  balance  silver  pence, 
Kot  in  this  land,  'twist  Solway  and  Saint  Abb's, 
Rages  a  bitterer  feud  than  mine  and  theirs, 
The  Swinton  and  the  Gordon. 

ViP.  You,  with  some  threescore  lances — and  the 
Gordon 
Leading  a  thousand  followers. 

SwT.   You  rate  him  far  too  low.     Since   you 
sought  Palestine, 
He  hath  had  grants  of  baronies  and  lordships 
In  the  far-distant  North.     A  thousand  horse 
His  southern  friends  and  vassals  always  number'd. 
Add  Badenoch  kerne,  and  horse  from  Dey  and 

Spey, 
He'll  count  a  thousand  more. — And  now,  De  Vi- 

pont, 
If  the  Boar-heads  seem  in  your  eyes  less  worthy 
For  lack  of  followers — seek  yonder  standard — 
The  bounding  Stag,  with  a  brave  host  around  it ; 
There  the  young  Gordon  makes  liis  earliest  field. 
And  pants  to  win  his  spurs.  His  father's  friend. 
As  well  as  mine,  thou  wert — go,  join  his  pennon, 
And  grace-  him  with  thy  presence. 

ViP.  When  you  were  friends,  I  was  the  friend 
of  both. 
And  now  I  can  be  enemy  to  neither ; 
But  my  poor  person,  though  but  sUght  the  aid, 
Joins  on  this  field  the  banner  of  the  two 
Which  hath  the  smallest  following. 

Swi.  Spoke  like  the  generous  Knight,  who  gave 
up  all. 
Leading  and  lordship,  in  a  heathen  land 
To  fight,  a  Chi'istian  soldier  I     Yet,  in  earnest, 

1  MS.— "  Sharply." 

2  MS. — "  As  we  do  pass,"  &c. 


I  pray,  De  Vipont,  you  would  join  the  Gordon 

In  this  high  battle.     'Tis  a  noble  youth, — 

So  fame  doth  vouch  him, — amorous,  quick,  and 

valiant ; 
Takes  knighthood,  too,  this  day,  and  well  may  use 
His  spurs  too  rashly'  in  the  wish  to  win  them. 
A  friend  like  thee  beside  him  in  the  fight. 
Were  worth  a  hundi'ed  spears  to  rein  his  valor 
And  temper  it  with  prudence : — 'tis  the  aged  eagle 
Teaches  his  brood  to  gaze  upon  the  sun. 
With  eye  undazzled. 

Vip.  Alas  1  brave  Swinton !  Wouldst  thou  train 

the  hunter 
That  soon  must  bring  thee  to  the  bay  ?     Your 

custom, 
Your  most  unchristian,  savage,  fiend-hke  custom, 
Binds  Gordon  to  avenge  his  father's  death. 

Swi.  Why,  be  it  so !  I  look  for  nothing  else : 
My  part  was  acted  when  I  slew  his  father. 
Avenging  my  four  sons — Young  Gordon's  sword, 
K  it  should  find  my  heart,  can  ne'er  inflict  there 
A  pang  so  poignant  as  liis  father's  did. 
But  I  would  perish  by  a  noble  hand. 
And  such  will  his  be  if  he  bear  him  nobly, 
Nobly  and  wisely  on  this  field  of  HaUdou. 

Enter  a  Puesutvant. 
Pub.  Sir  Kjiights,  to  Coimcil ! — 'tis  the  Regent's 
order. 
That  knights  and  men  of  leading  meet  him  in- 
stantly 
Before  the  royal  standard.     Edward's  army 
Is  seen  from  the  hiU-simamit. 

Swi.  Say  to  the  Regent,  we  obey  his  orders. 

[^Exit  PuBSmVANT. 
[To  Retnaxd.]   Hold  thou  my  casque,  and  furl 
my  pennon  up 
Close  to  the  staff.     I  wUl  not  show  my  crest. 
Nor  standard,  tiU  the  common  foe  shall  challenge 

them. 
I'll  wake  no  civil  strife,  nor  tempt  the  Gordon 
With  aught  that's  like  defiance. 

Vip.  Will  he  not  know  your  features  ? 
Swi.  He  never  saw  me.     In  the  distant  North, 
Against  his  will,  'tis  said,  his  friends  detain'd  him 
Diu-ing  his  nurture — caring  not,  belike. 
To  trust  a  pledge  so  precious  near  the  Boar-tusks. 
It  was  a  natural  but  needless  caution : 
I  wage  no  war  with  children,  for  I  think 
Too  deeply  on  mine  own. 

Vip.   I  have  thought  on  it,  and  \nil  see  the 
Gordon 
As  we  go  hence^  to  council.     I  do  bear 
A  cross,  which  binds  me  to  be  Christian  priest. 
As  well  as  Chiistian  champion.^     God  may  grant, 

3  MS. — "  The  cross  I  wear  appoints  me  Cliristian  priest 
As  well  as  Christian  warrior,"  &c 


"734 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Tliat  I,  at  once  his  father's  friend  and  yours, 
May  make  some  peace  betwixt  you.' 

Swi.  When  that  yom-  priestly  zeal,  and  knightly 
valor, 
ShaU  force  the  grave  to  render  up  the  dead. 

[Sxeurd  severally. 


SCENE  IL 


The  summit  of  Halidon  Hill,  before  the  Regent's 
Tent.     The  Royal  Standard  of  Scotland  is  seen  \ 
in  the  background,  loith  the  Pennons  and  Ban- 
ners of  the  principal  Nobles  -around  it. 

Council  of  Scottish  Nobles  and  Chiefs.  Suther- 
land, Ross,  Lennox,  Maxwell,  and  other  No- 
bles of  the  highest  rank,  are  close  to  the  Regent's 
person,  and  in  the  act  of  keen  debate.  Vipont 
with  Gordon  and  others,  remain  grouped  at  some 
distance  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Stage.  On  the 
left,  standing  also  apart,  is  Swinton,  alone  and 
hare-headed.  The  Nobles  are  dressed  in  Highland 
or  Lowland  habits,  as  historical  costume  requires. 
Trumpets,  Herald%,  &c.  are  in  attendance, 

Len.    Nay,  Lordings,  put  no  shame  upon  my 
counsels. 
I  did  but  say,  if  we  retired  a  little. 
We  should  have  fairer  field  and  better  vantage. 
I've  seen  King  Robert — ay,  The  Bruce  liimself — 
Retreat  six  leagues  in  length,  and  think  no  shame 
on't. 
Reg.   Ay,  but  King  Edward  sent  a  haughty 
message. 
Defying  us  to  battle  on  this  field, 
Tliis  very  hill  of  Halidon ;  if  we  leave  it 
TJnfought  withal,  it  squares  not  with  our  honor. 
Swi.  {apart.)  A  perilous  honor,  that  allows  the 
enemy, 
And  such  an  enemy  as  this  same  Edward, 
To  choose  our  field  of  battle  !     He  knows  how 
To  make  our  Scottish  pride  betray  its  master 
Into  the  pitfall. 

[During  this  speech  the  debate  among  the  No- 
bles is  continued. 
SuTH.  (aloicd.)  We  will  not  back  one  fmdong — 
not  one  yard, 
Nc,  nor  one  inch  ;  where  er  we  find  the  foe, 
Or  where  the  foe  finds  us,  there  will  we  fight  him. 
Retreat  will  dull  the  spirit  of  our  followers, 
Who  now  stand  prompt  for  battle. 

Ross.  My  Lords,  methinks  great  Morarchat"  has 
doubts. 
That,  if  his  Northern  clans  once  turn  the  seam 

1  In  the  MS.  the  scene  terminates  with  this  line. 

2  Morarohate  is  the  ancient  Gaelic  designation  of  the  Earls 
«kf  Sutherland.     See  ante,  page  704,  note. 


Of  then-  check'd  hose  behind,  it  will  be  hard 
To  halt  and  rally  them. 

SuTH.  Say'st  thou,  MacDonnell  ? — Add  another 
falsehood, 
And  name  when  Morarchat  was  coward  or  traitor  ? 
Thine  island  race,  as  chronicles  can  tell, 
Were  oft  afiianced  to  the  Southron  cause  ; 
Loving  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  gold, 
More  than  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  steel. 

Reg.  Peace,  my  Lords,  ho ! 

Ross   {throwing  down  his  Glove.)    MacDonnell 
will  not  peace !     There  hes  my  pledge. 
Proud  Morarchat,  to  witness  thee  a  har. 

Max.  Brought  I  all  Nithsdale  from  the  Western 
Border ; 
Left  I  my  towers  exposed  to  foraymg  England, 
And  tliieving  Annandale,  to  see  such  misrule  ? 

JouN.  Who  speaks  of  Annandale  ?     Dare  Max- 
well slander 
The  gentle  House  of  Lochwood  ?^ 

Reg.  Peace,  Lordings,  once  again.   We  represent 
The  Majesty  of  Scotland — in  our  presence 
Brawhng  is  treason. 

SuTH.  Were  it  in  presence  of  the  King  himself 
What  should  prevent  my  saying — 

Enter  Lindesay  I 

Lin.  You  must  determine  quickly.  Scarce  a  mile 

Parts  our  vanguard  from  Edward's.     On  the  plain 

Bright  gleams  of  armor  flash  through  clouds  of  dust. 

Like  stars  through  frost-mist — steeds  neigh,  and 

■weapons  clash — 
And  arrows  soon  will  wliistle — the  worst  sound 
That  waits  on  English  war. — You  must  determine. 
Reg.  We  are  determined.   We  wiU  spare  proud 
Edward 
Half  of  the  ground  that  parts  us. — Onward,  Lords , 
Saint  Andrew  strike  for  Scotland  !     We  will  lead 
The  middle  ward  ourselves,  the  Royal  Standard 
Display'd  beside  us ;  and  beneath  its  shadow 
Shall  the  young  gallants,  whom  we  knight  this  day, 
Fight  for  their  golden  spurs. — Lennox,  thou'rt  wise, 
And  wilt  obey  conmiand — lead  thou  the  reai-. 
Len.  The  rear ! — why  I  the  rear  ?  The  van  were 
fitter 
For  him  who  fought  abreast  with  Robert  Bruce. 
Swi.  {apart)  Discretion  hath  forsaken  Lenncx 
too ! 
The  wisdom  he  was  forty  years  in  gathering 
Has  left  him  in  an  mstant.     'Tis  contagious 
Even  to  witness  phrensy. 

SuTH.  The  Regent  hath  determined  well     Thij 
rear 
Suits  him  the  best  who  counseU'd  our  retreat. 

3  Lochwood  Castle  was  the  ancient  seat  of  the  Johnstone*, 
Lorils  of  Annandale. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


V35 


Len.  Proud  Northern  Thane,  the  van  were  soon 
the  rear, 
Were  thy  disorder'd  followers  planted  there. 

SuTH.  Then,  for  that  very  word,  I  make  a  vow 
By  my  broad  Earldom,  and  my  fother's  soul, 
That,  if  I  have  not  leading  of  the  van, 
I  wiU  not  fight  to-day ! 

Ross.  Morarchat !  thou  the  leading  of  the  van ! 
Not  whilst  MacDonnell  Uves. 

Swi.  (apart.)  Nay,  then  a  stone  would  speak. 
[Addresses  the  Regent.]  May't  please  your  Grace, 
And  you,  great  Lords,  to  hear  an  old  man's  counsel. 
That  hath  seen  fights  enow.  These  open  bickerings 
Dishearten  all  our  host.     If  that  your  Grace, 
With  these  great  Earls  and  Lords,  must  needs 

debate. 
Let  the  closed  tent  conceal  your  disagreement ; 
Else  'twill  be  said,  ill  fares  it  with  the  flock. 
If  shepherds  wrangle,  when  the  wolf  is  nigL 
Reg.  The  old  Knight  counsels  well.     Let  every 
Lord, 
Or  Chief,  who  leads  five  hundred  men  or  more. 
Follow  to  coimcd — others  are  excluded — • 
We'U  have  no  vulgar  censurers  of  our  conduct — 

\_Looking  at  Swinton. 
Young  Gordon,  yom*  high  rank  and  numerous  fol- 
lowing 
Give  you  a  seat  with  us,  though  yet  unknighted. 
GoEDON.  I  pray  you,  pardon  me.     My  youth's 
unfit 
To  sit  in  council,  when  that  Knight's  gray  hairs 
And  wisdom  wait  without. 

Reg.  Do  as  you  wUl ;  we  deign  not  bid  you  twice. 
[The   Regent,   Ross,    Sutherland,    Lennox, 
Maxwell,  etc.  enter  the  Tent.     The  rest  re- 
main grouped  about  the  Stage. 
Goa.   {observing    Swi.)     That    helmetless    old 
Knight,  his  giant  stature, 
His  awful  accents  of  rebuke  and  wisdom. 
Have  caught  my  fancy  strangely.     He  doth  seem 
Like  to  some  vision'd  form  which  I  have  droam'd  of, 
But  never  saw  with  waking  eyes  tiU  now. 
I  will  accost  him. 

ViP.  Pray  you,  do  not  so ; 
Anon  I'U  give  you  reason  why  you  should  not. 

There's  other  work  in  hand 

GoR.  I  win  but  ask  his  name.     There's  in  his 
presence 
Sometliing  that  works  upon  me  hke  a  spell, 
Or  like  the  feeling  made  my  childish  ear 
Dofe  upon  tales  of  superstitious  dread. 
Attracting  while  they  chill'd  my  heart  with  fear. 
Now,  born  the  Gordon,  I  do  feel  right  weU 
I'm  bound  to  fear  naught   earthly — and   I  fear 
naught. 


'  "  A  name  nnmnsical  to  Volscian  ears. 

And  harsli  in  sound  to  thine." — Coriolanus. 


I'll  know  who  this  man  is 

[Accosts  SWTNTON. 

Sir  Knight,  I  pray  you,  of  your  gentle  courtesy, 
To  tcU  your  honor'd  name.     I  am  ashamed, 
Being  unknown  in  arms,  to  say  that  mine 
Is  Adam  Gordon. 

Swinton  [shon's  emotion,  but  instantly  subdues  it.) 
It  is  a  name  that  soundeth  in  my  ear 
Like  to  a  death-kneU — ay,  and  hke  the  call 
Of  the  slu'ill  trumpet  to  the  mortal  hsts ; 
Yet,  'tis  a  name  which  ne'er  hath  been  dishonor'd. 
And  never  will,  I  trust — most  sm-ely  never 
By  such  a  youth  as  thou. 

GoR.  There's  a  mysterious  courtesy  in  tliis, 
And  yet  it  yields  no  answer  to  my  question. 
I  trust  you  hold  the  Gordon  not  unworthy 
To  know  the  name  he  asks  ? 

Swi.  Worthy  of  aU  that  openness  and  honor 
May  show  to  friend  or  foe — but  for  my  name, 
Vipont  will  show  it  you  ;  and,  if  it  sound 
Harsh  in  your  eai-,'  remember  that  it  kneUs  there 
But  at  your  own  request.     This  day,  at  least. 
Though  seldom  wont  to  keep  it  in  concealment. 
As  there's  no  cause  I  should,  you  had  not  heard  it 

GoR.  This  strange 

ViP.  The  mystery  is  needful.     Follow  me. 

[They  retire  behind  the  side  scene, 

SwL  {looking  after  them.)  'Tis  a  brave  youth. 
How  blush'd  his  noble  cheek. 
While  youthful  modesty,  and  the  embarrassment 
Of  cmiosity,  combined  with  wonder. 
And  half  suspicion  of  some  slight  intended. 
All  mingled  in  the  flush  ;  but  soon  'twill  deepen 
Into  revenge's  glow.     How  slow  is  Vipont ! — 
I  wait  the  issue,  as  I've  seen  sj)ectators 
Suspend  the  motion  even  of  the  eyelids, 
"WTien  the  slow  gumier,  with  his  lighted  match, 
Approach'd  the  charged  cannon,  in  the  act 
To  waken  its  dread  slumbers. — Now  'tis  out ; 
He  draws  his  sword,  and  rushes  towards  me, 
Who  wUl  nor  seek  nor  shun  him. 

Enter  Goedox,  withheld  by  Vipont. 
ViP.  Hold,  for  the  sake  of  Heaven !    0,  for  the 
sake  [youi-  father, 

Of  your  dear  country,  hold ! — Has  Swmton  slain 
And  must  you,  therefore,  be  yourself  a  parricide. 
And  stand  recorded  as  the  selfish  traitor. 
Who,  in  her  hour  of  need,  his  country's  cause 
Deserts,  that  he  ma^  wreak  a  private  wrong  ? 
Look  to  yon  banner — that  is  Scotiaud's  standard ; 
Look  to  the  Regent — he  is  Scotland's  general ; 
Look  to  the  English — they  are  Scotland's  foemenl 
Betliink  thee,  then,  thou  art  a  son  of  Scotland, 
And  think  on  naught  beside.'' 

2  In  the  MS.  the  five  last  lines  of  Vipont's  speech  are  inter •■ 
polated. 


730 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


GoE.  He  hath  come  here  to  brave  me! — Off! 
mihand  me ! 
Thou  canst  not  be  my  father's  ancient  friend, 
That  stands  'twixt  me  and  liim  who  slew  my  father. 

Vir.  You  kno-v?-  not  Swinton.     Scarce  one  pass- 
ing thought 
Of  his  liigh  mind  was  with  you ;  now,  his  soul 
Is  fix'd  on  this  day's  battle.     You  might  slay  him 
At  unawares  before  he  saw  your  blade  drawn. — 
Stand  stiU,  and  watch  him  close.' 

Enter  Maxwell /ro??i  the  tent. 

Swi.  How  go  om*  councils.  Maxwell,  may  I  ask  ? 

Max.  As  wild  as  if  the  very  wind  and  sea 
With  every  breeze  and  every  billow  battled 
For  their  precedence.^ 

Swi.  Most  sm-e  they  are  possess'd !     Some  evil 
spirit. 
To  mock  their  valor,  robs  them  of  discretion. 
Fie,  fie  upon't ! — 0,  that  Dunfermline's  tomb 
Could  render  up  The  Bruce  !  that  Spain's  red  shore 
Could  give  us  back  the  good  Lord  James  of  Doug- 
las ! 
Or  that  fierce  Randolph,  with  his  voice  of  terror. 
Were  hero,  to  awe  these  brawlers  to  submission ! 

ViP.  to  GoR.  Tliou  hast  perused  him  at  more 
leisure  now. 

GoR.  I  see  the  giant  form  which  all  men  speak  of. 
The  stately  port — but  not  the  sullen  eye, 
Not  the  bloodthu-sty  look,  that  should  belong 
To  liim  that  made  me  orphan.     I  shall  need 
To  name  my  father  twice  ere  I  can  strike 
At  such  gray  hairs,  and  face  of  such  command ; 
Yet  my  hand  clenches  on  my  falchion  hilt, 
In  token  he  shall  die. 

Vir.  Need  I  again  remind  you,  that  the  place 
Permits  not  private  quarrel. 

GoR.  I'm  calm.     I  will  not  seek — nay,  I  will 
shun  it — 
And  yet  metliiiiks  that  such  debate's  the  fashion. 
You've  heard  how  taunts,  reproaches,  and  the  lie, 
The  lie  itself,  have  flown  from  mouth  to  mouth ; 
As  if  a  band  of  peasants  were  disputing 
About  a  foot -ball  match,  rather  than  Chiefs 
Were  ordering  a  battle.     I  am  young, 
And  lack  experience ;  tell  me,  brave  De  Yipont, 
Is  such  the  fasliion  of  your  wars  in  Palestine  ? 

ViP.  Such  it  at  times  hath  been ;  and  then  the 
Cross 
Hath  sunk  before  the  Crescent.     Heaven's  cause 
Won  us  not  victory  where  wisdom  was  not. — 
Behold  yon  Enghsh  host  come  slowly  on. 
With  equal  front,  rank  marshall'd  upon  rank. 
As  if  one  spirit  ruled  one  moving  body  ; 

'  MS. — "  You  must  not  here — not  where  the  Royal  Standard 
Awaits  the  attack  of  Scotland's  enemies, 
Against  the  common  foe — wage  private  quarrel. 
He  braves  you  not — his  thought  is  on  the  event 


The  leaders,  in  their  places,  each  prepared 
To  charge,  support,  and  rally,  as  the  fortun« 
Of  changeful  battle  needs :  then  look  on  ours. 
Broken,  disjointed,  as  the  tumbling  surges 
Which  the  winds  wake  at  random.     Look  on  both, 
And  dread  the  issue  ;  yet  there  might  be  succor. 

GoR.  We're  fearfully  o'erraatch'd  in  discipline ; 
So  even  my  inexperienced  eye  can  judge. 
What  succor  save  in  Heaven  ? 

ViP.  Heaven  acts  by  hiunan  means.     The  art- 
ist's skill 
Supplies  in  war,  as  in  mechanic  crafts. 
Deficiency  of  tools.     There's  courage,  wisdom. 
And  skill  enough,  Uve  in  one  leader  here. 
As,  flung  into  the  balance,  might  avail 
To  counterj)oise  the  odds  'twixt  that  ruled  host 
And  our  wild  multitude. — I  must  not  name  him. 

GoR.  I  guess,  but  dai-e  not  ask. — What  band  is 
yonder, 
Arranged  so  closely  as  the  English  discipline 
Hath  mar.shall'd  their  best  files  ? 

Vip.  Know'st  thou  not  the  pennon  ? 
One  day,  perliaps,  thou'lt  see  it  all  too  closely ; — 
It  is  Sir  Alan  Swinton's. 

GoR.   These,  then,  are   his, — the   relics   of  his 
power ; 
Yet  worth  an  host  of  ordinary  men. — 
And  I  must  slay  my  coimtry's  sagest  leader. 
And  crush  by  numbers  that  determined  handful. 
When  most  my  country  needs  their  practised  aid^ 
Or  men  will  say,  "  There  goes  degenerate  Gordon 
His  father's  blood  is  on  the  Swinton's  sword, 
And  his  is  in  his  scabbard  !"  [^Muses. 

ViP.  (apart.)  High  blood  and  mettle,  mix' d  with 
early  wisdom, 
Sparkle  in  this  brave  youth.     If  he  survive 
This  evil-omeu'd  day,  I  pawn  my  word 
That,  in  the  ruin  wluch  I  now  forbode, 
Scotland  has  treasure  left. — How  close  he  eyes 
Each  look  and  step  of  Swinton !     Is  it  hate. 
Or  is  it  admiration,  or  are  both 
Connningled  strangely  in  that  steady  gaze  ? 
[Swinton  a7id  Maxwell  return  from  the  bottom 
of  the  stage. 

Max.  The  storm  is  laid  at  length  amongst  thes* 
counsellors ; 
See,  they  come  forth. 

S^VI.  And  it  is  more  than  time ; 
For  I  can  mark  the  vanguard  archery 
Himdling  their  quivers — bending  up  their  bows. 

Enter  the  Regent  and  Scottish  Lords. 
Reg.  Thus  shall  it  be,  then,  since  we  may  no 
better : 

Of  this  day's  field.     Stand  still  and  watch  him 
closer." 
2  "  Mad  as  the  sea  and  wind,  when  both  contend 
Wliicb  is  the  rai>;htier." — Hamlet. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


73: 


And,  since  no  Lord  will  yield  one  jot  of  way 
To  this  liigli  urgency,  or  give  the  vanguard 
Up  to  another's  guidance,  we  will  abide  them 
Even  on  tliis  bent ;  and  as  our  troops  are  rank'd. 
So  shall  they  meet  the  foe.     Chief,  nor  Thane, 
Nor  Nol  le,  can  complain  of  the  precedence 
Which  c  lance  has  thus  assign'd  liim. 

Swi.  {apart.)  0,  sage  discipUne, 
That  leaves  to  chance  the  marshalling  of  a  battle ! 

GoR.  Move  him  to  speech,  De  Vipont. 

\''ip.  Move  Idm ! — Move  whom  ? 

GoR.  Even  him,  whom,  but  brief  space  since, 
My  hand  did  burn  to  put  to  utter  silence.  ' 

ViP.  I'll  move  it  to  him. — Swiuton,  speak  to 
them, 
They  lack  tliy  counsel  sorely. 

Swi.  Had  I  the  thousand  spears  which  once  I  led, 
I  had  not  thus  been  silent.     But  men's  wisdom 
Is  rated  by  their  meaijs.     From  the  poor  leader 
Of  sixty  lances,  who  seeks  words  of  weight  ? 

GoE.  {steps  forward.)  Swiuton,  there's  that  of 
wisdom  on  thy  brow. 
And  valor  in  thine  eye,  and  that  of  peril 
In  this  most  urgent  hour,  that  bids  me  say, — 
Bids  me,  thy  mortal  foe,  say, — Swinton,  speak, 
For  King  and  Country's  sake  ! 

Swi.  Nay,  if  that  voice  commands  me,  speak  I 
will ; 
It  sounds  as  if  the  dead  lays  charge  on  me. 

Reg.  {To  Lennox,  with  wltom  he  has  been  consult- 
ing.) 
'Tis  better  than  you  tliink.     This  broad  hUl-side 
Affords  fair  compass  for  our  power's  display, 
Rank  above  rank  rising  in  seemly  tiers ; 
So  that  the  rearward  stands  as  fair  and  open 

Swi.  As  e'er  stood  mark  before  an  English  archer. 

Reg.  Who  dares  to  say  so  ? — Who  is't  dare  im- 
peach 
Our  rule  of  discipline  ? 

Swi.  a  poor  Knight  of  these  Marches,  good  my 
Lord  ; 
Alan  of  Swinton,  who  hath  kept  a  house  here. 
He  and  his  ancestry,  since  the  old  days 
Of  Malcolm,  called  the  Maiden. 

Reg.  You  have  brought  here,  even  to  this  pitched 
field, 
In  which  the  Royal  Banner  is  display'd, 
I  think  some  sixty  spears.  Sir  Knight  of  Swinton ; 
Our  musters  name  no  more. 

Swi.  I  brought  each  man  I  had ;  and  Chief,  or 
Earl, 
Thane,  Duke,  or  dignitary,  brings  no  more ; 
And  with  them  brought  I  what  may  here  be  use- 
ful— 
An  aged  eye ;  which,  what  in  England,  Scotland, 
Spain,  Franco,  and  Flanders,  hath  seen  fifty  battles. 
And  ta'en  soLie  judgment  of  them ;  a  stark  hand 

too,  1 

93 


Which  plays  as  with  a  straw  with  this  same  mace, 
Which  if  a  young  arm  here  can  wield  more  Hghtly, 
I  never  more  will  offer  word  of  counsel. 

Len.  Hear  lum,  my  Lord  ;  it  is  the  noble  Swin- 
ton— 
He  hath  had  high  experience. 

Max.  He  is  noted 

The  wisest  warrior  'twixt  the  Tweed  and  Solway, — 
I  do  beseech  you,  hear  him. 

John.  Ay,  hear  the  Swiuton — hear  stout  old  Sir 
Alan; 
Maxwell  and  Johnstone  both  agree  for  once 

Reg.  Wliere's  your  impatience  now  ? 
Late  you  were  all  for  battle,  would  not  hear 
Ourself  pronounce  a  word — and  now  you  gaze 
On  yon  old  warrior  in  his  antique  armor. 
As  if  he  were  arisen  from  the  dead. 
To  bring  us  Bruce's  counsel  for  the  battle. 

Swi.  'Tis  a  proud  word  to  speak ;  but  he  who 
fought 
Long  under  Robert  Bruce,  may  something  guess, 
Without  communication  with  the  dead. 
At  what  he  would  have  counseU'd. — Bruce  had 

bidden  ye 
Review  your  battle-order,  marshall'd  broadly 
Here  on  the  bare  hill-side,  and  bidden  you  mark 
Yon  clouds  of  Southron  archers,  bearing  down 
To  the  green  meadow-lands  which  stretch  beneath— 
The  Bruce  had  warn'd  you,  not  a  shaft  to-day 
But  shall  find  mark  witliin  a  Scottish  bosom, 
If  thus  our  field  be  order'd.     The  callow  boys, 
Who  draw  but  four-foot  bows,  shall  gall  our  front, 
Wliile  on  our  mainward,  and  upon  the  rear. 
The  cloth-yard  shafts  shall  fall  like  death's  own 

darts, 
And,  though  blind  men  discharge  them,  find  a  mark. 
Thus  shall  we  die  the  death  of  slaughter'd  deer, 
Which,  driven  into  the  toils,  are  shot  at  ease 
By  boys  and  women,  wliile  they  toss  aloft 
All  idly  and  in  vain  then-  branchy  horns, 
As  we  shall  shake  om*  unavailing  spears. 

Reg.  Tush,  tell  not  me !  If  their  shot  fall  like 
hail. 
Our  men  have  MQan  coats  to  bear  it  out. 

Swi.  Never  did  armorer  temper  steel  on  stithy 
That  made  sure  fence  against  an  English  arrow ; 
A  cobweb  gossamer  were  guard  as  good^ 
Against  a  wasp-sting. 

Reg.  Who  fears  a  wasp-sting  ? 

Swi.  '  I,  my  Lord,  fear  none 

Yet  should  a  wise  man  brush  the  insect  off. 
Or  he  may  smart  for  it. 

Reg.  We'll  keep  the  hUl;  it  is  the  vantage- 
ground 
'\(STien  the  main  battle  joins. 

Swi.  It  ne'er  will  join,  while  their  light  archerv 


IMS.- 


"  guard  as  thick." 


738 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Can  foil  our  spearmen  and'  our  barbed  horse. 
To  hope  Plantagenet  -would  seek  close  combat 
When  he  can  conquer  riskless,  is  to  deem 
Sagacious  Eilward  .simpler  than  a  babe 
In  battle-knowledge.     Keep  the  hill,  my  Lord, 
"With  the  main  body,  if  it  is  your  pleasure ; 
Ihit  let  a  botly  of  your  chosen  horse 
Make  execution  on  yon  -waspish  archers. 
I've  done  such  -work  before,  and  love  it  -well; 
If  'tis  your  pleasure  to  give  me  the  leading, 
The  dames  of  Sher-wood,  Ingle-wood,  and  Weardale, 
Shall  sit  in  -wido-whood  and  long  for  venison. 
And  long  in  vain.     Whoe'er  remembers  Bannock- 
burn, — 
And  -when  shall  Scotsman,  tiU  the  last  loud  trumpet. 
Forget  that  stirring  word ! — knows  that  great  battle 
Even  thus  was  fought  and  won. 

Lex.  This  is  the  shortest  road  to  bandy  blows ; 
For  when  the  bills  step  forth  and  bows  go  back, 
Tlien  is  the  moment  that  our  hardy  spearmen, 
With  their  strong  bodies,  and  their  stubborn  hearts, 
And  limbs  well  knit  by  mountain  exercise, 
At  the  close  tug  shall  foil  the  short-breath'd  South- 
run. 

Swi.  I  do  not  say  the  field  will  thus  be  won ; 
The  EngUsh  host  is  numerous,  brave,  and  loyal ; 
Their  Monarch  most  accompHsh'd  in  war's  art, 
Skill'd,  resolute,  and  wary 

Reg.  And  if  your  scheme  secm-e  not  victory,* 
What  does  it  promise  us  ? 

Swi.  This  much  at  least — 

Darkling  we  shall  not  die  :  the  peasant's  shaft, 
Loosen'd  perchance  without  an  aim  or  purpose. 
Shall  not  drink  up  the  hfe-bloo.l  we  derive 
From  those  famed  ancestors,  wlio  made  their  breasts 
This  frontier's  barrier  for  a  thousand  years. 
We'U  meet  these  Southron  bravely  hand  to  hand. 
And  eje  to  eye,  and  weapon  against  weapon ; 
Each  man  who  falls  shall  see  the  foe  who  strikes 

him. 
While  our  good  blades  are  faithful  to  the  hilts, 
And  our  good  hands  to  these  good  blades  are  faith- 
ful. 
Blow  shall  meet  blow,  and  none  fall  imavenged — 
We  shall  not  bleed  alone. 

Reg.  And  this  is  all 

Your  wisdom  hath  devised  ? 

S-wi.  Not  all ;  for  I  would  pray  you,  noble  Lords 
(If  one,  among  the  gudty  guiltiest,  might). 
For  this  one  day  to  charm  to  ten  hours'  rest 
The  never-dying  worm  of  deadly  feud, 

1  "  Tlie  generous  abandonment  of  private  dissension,  on  the 
part  of  Gor.lon,  which  the  historian  lias  described  as  a  momen- 
tary impulse,  is  depicted  by  the  dramatist  witli  great  skill  and 
knowledge  of  liunian  feeling,  as  the  result  of  many  powerful 
and  conflicting  emotions.  He  has,  we  think,  been  very  suc- 
cessful in  liis  attempt  to  express  the  hesitating,  and  sometimes 
tetrograde  movements  of  a  young  and  ardent  mind,  in  its  tran- 
■ition  from  the  first  glow  sf  indignation  aga  nst  his  hereditary 


That  gnaws  our  vexed  hearts — think  no  one  foe 

Save  Edward  and  his  host : — days  will  remain,' 

Ay,  days  by  far  too  many  will  remain. 

To  avenge  old  feuds  or  struggles  for  precedence ;-  - 

Let  this  one  day  be  Scotland's. — For  myself, 

If  there  is  any  here  may  claim  from  me 

(As  well  may  chance)  a  debt '  i  blood  and  hatred, 

My  life  is  his  to-morrow  unres  sting, 

So  he  to-day  will  let  me  do  the  best 

That  my  old  arm  may  achieve  for  the  dear  country 

That's  motlier  to  us  both. 

[Gordon  shows  much  emotion  diirincj  this 
and  the  preceding  speech  of  SwI^TO^^ 
Reg.  It  is  a  dream — a  vision  I — if  one  troop 
Rush  down  upon  the  archers,  all  will  follow. 
And   order  is  destroy'd — we'll  keep  the  battle- 
rank 
Oiu"  fathers  wont  to  do.     No  more  on't. — Ho ! 
"Wliere  be  those  youths  seek  knighthood  from  our 
sword  ? 
Her.  Here  are  the  Gordon,  Somerville,  and  Hay, 
And  Hepburn,  with  a  score  of  gallants  niore. 
Reg.  Gordon,  stand  forth. 

GoR.  I  pray  your  Grace,  forgive  me. 

Reg.  How  !  seek  you  not  for  knighthood  ? 
GoK.  I  do  tliirst  for't. 

But,  pardon  me — 'tis  from  another  sword. 

Reg.  It  is  your  Sovereign's — seek  you  for  a  wor- 
thier ? 
GoR.  Who  would  drink  purely,  seeks  the  secret 
fountain, 
How  small  soever — not  the  general  stream, 
Though  it  be  deep  and  wide.     My  Lord,  I  seek 
The  boon  of  knighthood  from  the  honor'd  weapon 
Of  the  best  knight,  and  of  the  sagest  leader, 
That  ever  graced  a  ring  of  chivalry. 
— Therefore,  I  beg  the  boon  on  bended  knee. 
Even  from  Sir  Alan  Swinton.  [^Jineels. 

Reg.  Degenerate  boy !     Abject  at  once  and  in- 
solent ! — 
See,  Lords,  he  kneels  to  liim  that  slew  his  father ! 
GoR.  {starting  up)  Shame  be  on  him,  who  speaks 
such  shameful  word  ! 
Shame  be  on  hun,  whose  tongue  would  sow  dissen- 
sion, 
T\lien  most  the  time  demands  that  native  Scotsmen 
Forget  each  private  wrong ! 

Swi.  {interrupting  him.)  Youth,  since  you  crave 
me 
To  be  your  su'e  in  cliivahy,  I  remina  you 
War  has  its  duties.  Office  has  its  reverence 

foeman,  the  mortal  antagonist  of  his  father,  to  the  no  less  warm 
and  generous  devotion  of  feeling  wliich  is  inspired  in  it  by  tlio 
contemplation  of  that  foeman's  valor  and  virtues." — British 
Critic. 
2  MS. — "  For  this  one  day  to  cliase  our  country's  curse 

From  your  vex'd  bosoms,  and  think  no  one  enemy 
But  those  in  yonder  army — days  enow, 
Ay  days,"  &c. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


739 


Wlio  governs  in  the  Sovereign's  name  is  Sover- 
eign ;— 
Crave  tlie  Lord  Regent's  pardon. 

GoE.  You  task  me  justly,  and  I  crave  his  pardon, 

[i?0(ps  to  the  Regent. 
His  and  these  noble  Lords' ;  and  pray  them  all 
Bear  witness  to  my  Tvords. — Ye  noble  presence, 
Here  I  remit  unto  the  Knight  of  Swiuton 
All  bitter  memory  of  my  father's  slaughter, 
All  thoughts  of  malice,  hatred,  and  revenge : 
By  no  base  fear  or  composition  moved, 
But  by  the  thought,  that  in  our  country's  battle 
All  hearts  should  be  as  one.     I  do  forgive  him 
As  freely  as  I  pray  to  be  forgiven. 
And  once  more  kneel  to  him  to  sue  for  knighthood. 

Swi.  {affected,  and  drawincf  his  sword.) 
Alas !  brave  youth,  'tis  I  should  kneel  to  you. 
And,  tendering  thee  the  hilt  of  the  fell  sword 
That  made  thee  fatherless,  bid  thee  use  the  point 
After  thine  own  discretion.     For  thy  boon — 
Trumpets  be  ready — In  the  Holiest  name. 
And  in  Our  Lady's  and  Saint  Andrew's  name, 

[Touching  his  shoulder  with  his  sword. 
I  dub  thee  Knight ! — Arise,  Sir  Adam  Gordon ! 
Be  faithful,  brave,  and  0,  be  fortunate. 
Should  this  iU  hour  permit ! 

[The  trumpets  sound;  the  Heralds  cry 
"  Largesse,"  and  the  Attendants  shout 
"A  Gordon!     A  Gordon  !" 

Reg.  Beggars  and  flatterers !  Peace,  peace,  I  say ! 
We'll  to  the  Standard ;  knights  shall  there  be  made 
"Wlio  will  with  better  reason  crave  your  clamor. 

Lex.  What  of  Swinton's  coimsel  ? 
Here's  Maxwell  and  myself  think  it  worth  noting. 

Reg.   (ivith  concentrated  indignatioji!) 
Let  the  best  knight,  and  let  the  sagest  leader, — 
So  Gordon  quotes  the  man  who  slew  his  father, — 
With  his  old  pedigree  and  heavy  mace. 
Essay  the  adventure  if  it  pleases  him, 
With  liis  fair  threescore  horse.     As  for  ourselves, 
We  will  not  peril  aught  upon  the  measure. 

GoE.  Lord  Regent,  you  mistake ;  for  if  Sir  Alan 
Shall  venture  such  attack,  each  man  who  calls 
The  Gordon  chief,  and  hopes  or  fears  from  him 
Or  good  or  evil,  follows  Swinton's  banner 
In  this  achievement. 

Reg.  Why,  God  ha'  mercy !  This  is  of  a  piece. 
Let  yoimg  and  old  e'en  follow  their  own  counsel, 
Since  none  will  list  to  mine. 

Ross.   The  Border  cockerel  fain  would  be  on 
horseback ; 
'Tis  safe  to  be  prepared  for  fight  or  flight : 
And  this  comes  of  it  to  give  Northern  lands 
To  the  false  Norman  blood. 

GoR.  Hearken,  proud  Cliief  of  Isles !     Within 
my  stalls 
I  have  two  hundi'ed  horse ;  two  hundred  riders 
Moimt  guard  upon  my  castle,  who  would  tread 


Into  the  dust  a  thousand  of  your  Redshanks, 
Nor  coimt  it  a  day's  service. 

Swi.  Hear  I  this 

From  thee,  young  man,  and  on  the  day  of  battle  ? 
And  to  the  brave  MacDonnell  ? 

GoR.  'Twas  he  that  urged  me;  but  I  am  re- 
buked. 
Reg.  He  crouches  like  a  leash-hound  to  his  mas- 
ter !' 
SwL  Each  hound  must  do  so  that  would  head 
the  deer — 
'Tis  mongrel  curs  that  snatch  at  mate  or  master. 
Reg.  Too  much  of  this.    Sks,  to  the  Royal  Stand- 
ard! 
I  bid  you  in  the  name  of  good  King  David. 
Sound  trumpets — sound  for  Scotland   and  King 
David ! 
[The  Regent  and  the  rest  go  off,  and  the 
Scene  closes.     Maiient  Gordon,  Swtx- 
TON,  and  ViPONT,  with  Retnald  and  fol- 
lowers.     Lennox  follows   the  Regent; 
hut  returns,  and  addresses  Swinton. 
Lex.  0,  were  my  western  horsemen  but  come  up, 
I  would  take  part  with  you  ! 

Swi.  Better  that  you  remain. 

They  lack  discretion ;  such  gray  head  as  yours 
May  best  supply  that  want. 
Lennox,  mine  ancient  friend,  and  honor'd  lord, 
Farewell,  I  think,  for  ever ! 

Len.  Farewell,  brave    friend  !  —  and  farewell, 
noble  Gordon, 
Whose  sun  will  be  eclipsed  even  as  it  rises ! — 
The  Regent  will  not  aid  you. 

Swi.  We  will  so  bear  us,  that  as  soon  the  blood- 
hound 
Shall  halt,  and  take  no  part,  wliat  time  his  com- 
rade 
Is  gi'appling  with  the  deer,  as  he  stand  still. 
And  see  us  overmatch'd. 

Len.  Alas !  thou  dost  not  know  how  mean  liis 
pride  is. 
How  strong  his  envy.  [him. 

Swi.  Then  we  will  die,  and  leave  the  shame  with 

[Exit  Lennox. 
ViP.  (to  Gordon.)  What  ails  thee,  noble  youth  ? 
Wliat  means  this  pause  ? 
Thou  dost  not  rue  thy  generosity  ? 

GoR.  I  have  been  hurried  on  by  strong  impulse, 
Like  to  a  bark  that  scuds  before  the  storm, 
Till  driven  upon  some  strange  and  distant  coast, 
Which  never  pilot  dream'd  of. — Have  I  not  for- 
given ? 
And  am  I  not  still  fatherless  ? 

Swi.  Gordon,  no ; 

For  while  we  live  I  am  a  father  to  thee.  [be. 

GoR.  Thou,  Swinton  ? — no ! — that  cannot,  cannot 

'  In  the  MS.  this  speech  and  the  next  are  interpolated 


740 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Swi.  Then    change    the  phrase,  and  say,  that 
while  we  live, 
Gordon  shall  be  my  son.     If  thou  art  fatherless. 
Am  I  not  childless  too  ?     Bethink  thee,  Gordon, 
Our  death-feud  was  not  like  the  household  fire, 
"Which  the  poor  peasant  hides  among  its  embers, 
To  smoulder  on,  and  Avait  a  time  for  wakhig. 
Ours  was  the  conflagration  of  the  forest, 
"Which,  in  its  fury,  spares  nor  sprout  nor  stem. 
Hoar  oak,  nor  sapling — not  to  be  extinguish'd. 
Till  Heaven,  in  mercy,  sends  down  all  her  waters ; 
But,  once  subdued,  its  flame  is  quench'd  for  ever ; 
And  spring  shall  hide  the  tract  of  devastation,* 
With    fohage    and  with  flowers. — Give  me  thy 
hand. 
GoE.  My  hand  and  heart ! — And  freely  now ! — 

to  fight ! 
ViP.  How  will  you  act  ?  [TbSwixTON.]  The  Gor- 
don's band  and  tliiue 
Are  in  the  rearward  left,  I  think,  in  scorn — 
lU  post  for  them  who  wish  to  charge  the  foremost ! 
Swi.  AYe'll  turn  that  scorn  to  vantage,  and  de- 
scend 
Sidelong  the  hill — some  winding  path  there  must 

be— 
O,  for  a  well-skill'd  guide  ! 

[Hob  Hattely  starts  up  from  a  Tliickct. 
Hob.  So  here  he  stands. — An  ancient  fi'iend,  Sir 
Alan. 
Hob  Hattely,  or,  if  you  like  it  better, 
Hob  of  tlie  Heron  Plume,  here  stands  your  guide. 
Swi.  An    ancient    friend  ?  —  a   most   notorious 
knave, 
"Whose  throat  I've  destined  to  the  dodder'd  oak 
Before  my  castle,  these  ten  months  and  more. 
"Was  it  not  you  who  drove  from  Simprim-mains, 
And  Swinton-quarter,  sixty  head  of  cattle  ? 

Hob.  "What   then,   if  now  I   lead    your   sixty 
lances 
Upon  the  English  flank,  where  they'll  find  spoil 
Is  worth  six  hundred  beeves  ? 

Swi.  "Why,  thou  canst  do  it,  knave.    I  would  not 
trust  thee 
"With  one  poor  bullock ;  yet  would  risk  my  life. 
And  aU  my  followers,  on  thine  honest  guidance. 

Hob.  There  is  a  dingle,  and  a  most  discreet  one 
(I've  trod  each  step  by  star-hght),  that  sweeps 

round 
The  rearward  of  this  lull,  and  opens  secretly 
Upon  the  archers'  flank. — Will  not  that  serve 
Your  present  turn.  Sir  Alan  ? 

Swi.  Bravely,  bravely ! 

GoR.  Mount,  sirs,  and  cry  my  slogan. 
Let  all  who  love  the  Gordon  follow  me ! 

Swi.  Ay,  let  all  follow — but  in  sUence  follow. 


*  MS. — "  Bnt,  once  extinguish'd,  it  is  quench'd  for  ever, 

And  spring  shall  hide  the  blackness  of  its  ashes." 


Scare  not  the  hare  that's  couchant  on  her  form— 
The  cushat  from  her  nest — brush  not,  if  possible, 
The  dew-drop  from  the  spray — 
Let  no  one  whisper,  until  I  cry,  "  Havoc !" 
Then  shout  as  loud 's  ye  will. — On,  on,  brave  Hob ; 
On,  thou  false  thief,  but  yet  most  faithful  Scots- 
man 1 

\ExeunL 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

A  rising  Gi'ound  immediately  in  front  of  tlie  Posi- 
tion of  the  English  Main  Body.  Percy,  ChandoS; 
RiBAUMOxT,  and  other  English  and  Norman  No- 
bles, are  grouped  on  the  Stage. 

Per.  The  Scots  still  keep  the  hUl — the  sun  grows 

high. 
Would  that  the  charge  would  sound. 

CuA.  Thou  scent'st  the  slaughter,  Percy. — "Whc 

comes  here  ? 

Enter  the  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 
Now,  by  my  life,  the  holy  priest  of  Walthamstow 
Like  to  a  lamb  among  a  herd  of  wolves ! 
See,  he's  about  to  bleat. 

Ab.  The  Eling,  methinks,  delays  the  onset  long. 

Cha.  Your  general.  Father,  like  your  rat-catcher 
Pauses  to  bait  his  traps,  and  set  his  snares. 

Ab.  The  metaphor  is  decent. 

Cha.  Reverend  sir, 

I  will  uphold  it  just.     Om*  good  King  Edward 
Will  presently  come  to  this  battle-field, 
And  speak  to  you  of  the  last  tilting  match, 
Or  of  some  feat  he  did  a  twenty  years  since  ; 
But  not  a  word  of  the  day's  work  before  him. 
Even  as  the  artist,  sir,  whose  name  offends  you, 
Sits  prosing  o'er  his  can,  until  the  trap  fall. 
Announcing  that  the  vermin  are  secured, 
And  then  'tis  up,  and  on  them. 

Per.  Chandos,  you  give  your  tongue  too  oold  a 
license. 

Cha.  Percy,  I  am  a  necessary  evil. 
King  Edward  would  not  want  me,  if  he  could, 
And  could  not,  if  he  would.     I  know  my  value. 
My  heavy  hand  excuses  my  light  tongue. 
So  men  wear  weighty  swords  in  their  defence, 
Although  they  may  offend  the  tender  shin. 
When  the  steel-boot  is  doff  'd. 

Ab.  jMy  Lord  of  Chandos, 

This  is  but  idle  speech  on  brink  of  battle. 
When  Christian  men  should  think  upon  their  sins ; 
For  as  the  tree  falls,  so  the  trunk  must  lie, 
Be  it  for  good  or  evil.     Lord,  bethink  thee, 
Tliou  hast  withheld  from  our  most  reverend  house 
The  tithes  of  Everingham  and  Settleton ; 


HALIDON  HILL. 


(41 


Wilt  thou  make  satisfaction  to  the  Ch-orch 
Before  her  thunders  strike  thee  ?     I  do  warn  thee 
In  most  paternal  sort. 

Cha.  I  thank  you,  Father,  fihaUy. 
riiough  but  a  truant  son  of  Holy  Church, 
I  would  not  choose  to  imdergo  her  censures, 
When  Scottish  blades  are  waving  at  my  throat. 
I'll  make  fair  composition. 

Ab.  No  composition ;  111  have  all,  or  none. 

Cha.  None,  then — 'tis  soonest  spoke.     I'll  take 
my  chance. 
And  trust  my  sinful  soul  to  Heaven's  mercy, 
Rather  than  risk  my  worldly  goods  with  thee — 
My  hour  may  not  be  come. 

Ab.  Impious — inipenitent- 


Per. 


Hush  !  the  King — the  King ! 


Enter  King  Edward,  attended  hg  Baliol  and 
others. 
King  {apart  to  Cha.)  Hark  hither,  Chandos ! — 
Have  the  Yorkshire  archers 
Tet  join'd  the  vanguard  ? 

Cha.  They  are  marching  thither. 
K.  Ed.  Bid  them  make  haste,  for  shame — send 
a  quick  rider. 
The  loitering  knaves  !  were  it  to  steal  my  venison. 
Then"  steps  were  light  enough. — How  now,  Sk 

Abbot? 
Say,  is  your  Reverence  come  to  study  with  us 
The  princely  art  of  war  ? 

Ab.  I've  had  a  lectm-e  from  my  Lord  of  Chandos, 
In  wliich  he  term'd  your  Grace  a  rat-catcher. 
K.  Ed.  Chandos,  how's  this  ? 
Cha.  0,  I  wiU  prove  it,  sir! — These  skipping 
Scots 
Have  changed  a  dozen  times  'twixt  Bruce  and 

BaUol, 
Qmttuig  each  House  when  it  began  to  totter ; 
They're  fierce  and  cunning,  treacherous,  too,  as 

rats, 
And  we,  as  such,  will  smoke  them  in  their  fast- 
nesses. 
K.  Ed.  These  rats  have  seen  your  back,  my  Lord 
of  Chandos, 
And  noble  Percy's  too. 

Per.  Ay  ;  but  the  mass  which  now  hes  welter- 
ing 
On  yon  hiU  side,  like  a  Leviathan 
That's  stranded  on  the  shallows,  then  had  soul 

in't, 
Order  and  discipline,  and  power  of  action. 
Now  'tis  a  headless  corpse,  wliich  only  shows, 
By  wild  convulsions,  that  some  hfe  remains  in't. 
IL  Ed,  True,  they  had  once  a  head ;  and  'twas  a 
wise. 
Although  a  rebel  head. 

Ab.  {bowing  to  the  King.)  Would  he  were  here ! 
we  should  find  one  to  match  him. 


K.  Ed.  There's  something  in  that  wish  which 
wakes  an  echo 
Within  my  bosom.     Tet  it  is  as  well, 
Or  better,  that  The  Bruce  is  in  his  grave. 
We  have  enough  of  powerful  foes  on  earth, — 
No  need  to  summon  them  from  other  worlds. 
Per.  Your  Grace  ne'er  met  The  Bruce  ? 
K.  Ed.  Never  liimself ;  but  in  my  eai-Uest  field, 
I  did  encounter  witli  his  famous  captains, 
Douglas  and  Randolph.     Faith !  they  press'd  me 
hard. 
Ab.  My  Liege,  if  I  might  m-ge  you  with  a  ques- 
tion, 
WiU  the  Scots  fight  to-day  ? 

K.  Ed.  {sharply.)  Go  look  yom-  breviary. 
Cha.  {apart)  The  Abbot  has  it — Edward  wiU 
not  answer 
On  that  nice  point.     We  must  ^observe  his  hu- 
mor.— 

[Addresses  the  King. 
Your  first   campaign,  my  Liege  ? — That  was  in 

Weardale, 
When  Douglas  gave  om-  camp  yon  midnight  ruflie. 
And  tm-n'd  mens  beds  to  biers  ? 

K.  Ed.  Ay,  by  Saint  Edward  ! — I  escaped  right 
nearly. 
I  was  a  soldier  then  for  holidays, 
And  slept  not  in  mine  armor :  my  safe  rest 
Was  startled  by  the  cry  of  "  Douglas !  Douglas  1" 
And  by  my  couch,  a  grisly  chamberlain. 
Stood  Alan  Swinton,  with  his  bloody  mace. 
It  was  a  churchman  saved  me — my  stout  chaplain. 
Heaven  quit  liis  spuit !  caught  a  weapon  up, 
And  grappled  with  the  giant. — How  now,  Louis  ? 

Enter  an  Officer,  who  ichispers  the  King. 

K.  Ed.  Say  to  him, — thus — and  thus 

[  WJiispers. 
Ab.  That  Swinton's  dead.     A  monk  of  oui-s  re- 
ported. 
Bound  homeward  firom  St.  Ninian's  pilgrimage, 
The  Lord  of  Gordon  slew  him. 

Per.  Father,  and  if  your  house  stood  on  oui 
borders. 
You  might  have  cause  to  know  that  Swinton  lives, 
And  is  on  horseback  yet. 

Cha,  He  slew  the  Gordon, 

That's  all  the  difierence — a  very  trifle. 

Ab.  Trifling  to  those  who  wage  a  war  more 
noble 
Than  with  the  arm  of  flesh. 

Cha.  {apart)  The  Abbot's  vex'd.  111  rub  the 
sore  for  him. — 
{Aloud)  I  have  seen  priests  that  used  that  arm  of 

flesh, 
And  used  it  sturdily. — Most  reverend  Father, 
What  say  you  to  the  chaplain's  deed  of  arms 
In  the  King's  tent  at  Weardale  ? 


742 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ab.  It  -was  most  sinful,  being  against  the  canon 
Prohibiting  all  churchmea  to  bear  weapons ; 
And  as  he  fell  in  that  unseemly  guise, 
Perchance  his  soul  may  rue  it. 
K.  Ed.  {overhearing  the  last  words.)  Who  may 
rue? 
And  what  is  to  be  rued  ? 

Cha.  (apart.)  I'll  match  Ms  Reverence  for  the 
tithes  of  Everuigham. 
— The  Abbot  says,  my  Liege,  the  deed  was  sinful, 
By  which  your  chajDlain,  wielding  secular  weap- 
ons, 
Seciu-ed  your  Grace's  Hfe  and  liberty, 
And  tliat  he  suffers  for't  in  purgatory. 
K.  Ed.  (to  the  Abbot.)  Say'st  thou  my  chaplain 

is  in  piu-gatory  ? 
Ab.  It  is  the  canon  speaks  it,  good  my  Liege. 
K.  Ed.  In  purgatory !  thou  shalt  pray  him  out 
on't, 
Or  I  wiU  make  thee  wish  thyself  beside  him. 

Ab.  My  Lord,  perchance  his  soul  is  past  the  aid 
Of  all  the  Church  may  do — there  is  a  place 
Fiom  which  there's  no  redemption. 

K.  Ed.  And  if  I  thought  my  faithful  chaplain 
there, 
Tliou  shouldst  there  join  him,  priest ! — Go,  watch, 

fast,  pray, 
And  let  me  have  such  prayers  as  wiU  storm  Heav- 
en— 
Kone  of  your  maim'd  and  mutter'd  hunting  masses. 
Ab.  {apart  to  Cha.)  For  God's  sake  take  him  off. 
Cha.  Wilt  thou  compound,  then. 
The  tithes  of  Everingh:un  ? 

K.  Ed.  I  tell  thee,  if  thou  bear'st  the  keys  of 
Heaven, 
Abbot,  thou  shalt  not  tiu-n  a  bolt  with  them 
'Gainst  any  weU-deserving  English  subject. 

Ab.  {to  Cha.)  We  will  compound,  and  grant  thee, 
too,  a  share 
r  the  next  indulgence.     Tliou  dost  need  it  much. 
And  greatly  'twUl  avail  thee. 

Cha.  Enough — we're  fi-iends,  and  when  occasion 
serves, 

I  will  strike  in. 

l^Looks  as  if  towards  the  Scottish  Army. 
K.  Ed.  Answer,  proud  Abbot ;  is  my  chaplain's 
soul. 
If  thou  knowest  aught  on't,  in  the  evil  place  ? 
Cha.  My  Liege,  the  Yorkshire  men  have  gain'd 
the  meadow. 
I  see  the  pennon  green  of  merry  Sherwood. 

K.  Ed.  Then  give  the  signal  mstant !  We  have 
lost 
But  too  much  time  already. 

>  MS. — "  The  viewless,  the  resistless  plagne,"  &c. 
The  well-known  expression  by  which  Robert  Brace  cen- 


Ab.  My   Liege,   your    holy  chaplain's  blessed 

soul — 
K.  Ed.  To  hell  with  it  and  thee !  Is  this  a  time 
To  speak  of  monks  and  chaplains  ? 

\_Flourish  of  Trumpets,  answered  by  a 
distant  sound  of  Bugles. 
See,  Chandos,  Percy — Ha,  Saint  George!   Saint 

Edward ! 
See  it  descending  now,  the  fatal  haU-shower, 
The  storm  of  England's  wratn — sure,  swi/t,  resist- 
less, 
Which  no  mail-coat  can  brook.  —  Brave   English 

hearts ! 
How  close  they  shoot  together ! — as  one  eye 
Had  aim'd  five  thousand  shafts — as  if  one  hand 
Had  loosed  five  thousand  bow-strings ! 

Pee.  The  thick  voUey 

Darkens  the  air,  and  hides  the  sun  from  us. 

K.  Ed.  It  falls  on  those  shall  see  the  stm  no 
more. 
Tlie  winged,  the  resistless  plague*  is  with  them. 
How  their  vex'd  host  is  reeling  to  and  fro. 
Like  the  chafed  whale  with  fifty  lances  in  him, 
They  do  not  see,  and  cannot  shun  the  woimd. 
The  storm  is  viewless,  as  death's  sable  wing, 
Unerruig  as  liis  scythe. 

Pei^  Horses  and  riders  are  going  down  together. 
'Tis  almost  pity  to  see  nobles  fall. 
And  by  a  j^easant's  arrow. 

Bal.  I  could  weep  them, 

Although  they  are  my  rebels. 

Cha.  {aside  to  Peb.)  His  conquerors,  he  means, 
who  cast  him  out 
From  his  usurped  kingdom. — {Aloud.)  'Tis  the 

worst  of  it, 
Tliat  knights  can  claim  small  honor  in  the  field 
Which  archers  win,  unaided  by  our  lances. 

K.  Ed.  The  battle  is  not  ended.     [Looks  toward* 
the  field. 
Not    ended?  —  scarce   begun!     "V\Tiat  horse    are 

these. 
Rush  fi-om  the  tliicket  underneath  the  hill  ? 

Per.  They're  Hainaulters,  the  followers  of  Queen 

IsabeL 
K.  Ed.  {hasfiJi/.)  Hainaulters ! — thou  art  blind — 
wear  Hainaidters 
Saint   Andrew's   silver    cross?  —  or  would  they 

charge 
Full  on  our  archer-s,  and  make  havoc  of  them  ? — 
Bruce  is  ahve  again — ^ho,  rescue !  rescue  ! — 
Who  was't  sm-vey'd  the  grotmd  ? 
Riba.  Most  royal  Liege — 
K.  Ed.  a  rose  hath  fallen  from   thy  chaplet, 
Ribaumont. 

snred  the  negligence  of  Randolph,  for  permitting  an  English 
body  of  cavalry  to  pass  his  flank  on  th*  lay  preceding  tne 
battle  o"Baiinockburn 


HALIDON  HILL. 


Y43 


Ribs.  Ill  win  it  back,  or  lay  my  head  beside  it. 

[Uxit. 
K.  Ed.  Saint  George  I  Saint  Edward !  Gentle- 
men, to  horse, 
And  to  tlie  rescue  ! — Percy,  lead  the  bill-men ; 
Chundo3,  do  thou  bring  up  the  men-at-arms. — 
If  yonder  numerous  host  should  now  bear  down 
Bold  as  their  vanguard  (to  the  Abbot),  thou  mayst 

pray  for  us, 
We  may  need  good  men's  prayers. — To  the  rescue. 
Lords,  to  the  rescue  !  ha,  Saint  George  !  Saint  Ed- 
ward !' 

l^Uxeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

A  part  of  (he  Field  of  Battle  betwixt  tne  two  Main 
Armies.  Tumults  behind  the  scenes ;  alarums, 
and  cries  of  "  Gordon,  a  Gordon,"  "  Swinton,"  &c. 

Enter,  as  victorious  over  the  English  vanguard, 
ViPONT,  Reynald,  and  others. 

Vip.  'Tis  sweet  to  hear  these  war-cries  sound 
together, — 
Gordon  and  Swinton. 

Rey.  'Tis    passing    pleasant,   yet   'tis    strange 
withal. 
Faith,  when  at  first  I  heard  the  Gordon's  slogan 
Sounded  so  near  me,  I  had  nigh  struck  down 
The  knave  who  cried  it." 

Enter  Swinton  and  Gordon. 

Swi.  Pitch  down  my  pennon  in  yon  holly  bush. 

Gor.  Mine  in  the  thorn  beside  it ;  let  them  wave, 
As  fought  this  morn  their  masters,  side  by  side. 

Swi.  Let  the  men  raUy,  and  restore  their  ranks 
Here  in  this  vantage-ground — disorder'd  chase 
Leads   to  disorder'd   flight;  we  have  done    our 

part. 
And  if  we're  succor'd  now,  Plantagenet 
Must  turn  his  bridle  southward. — 
Reynald,  spm'  to  the  Regent  with  the  basnet 
Of  stout  De  Grey,  the  leader  of  their  vanguard ; 
Say,  that  m  battle-front  the  Gordon  slew  him, 
And  by  that  token  bid  him  send  us  succor. 


1  "  III  the  second  act,  after  the  English  nobles  have  aninsed 
themselves  in  some  trifling  conversation  with  the  Abbot  of 
Walthamstow,  Edward  is  introduced  ;  and  his  proud  coura- 
geous temper  and  short  manner  are  very  admirably  delineated  ; 
though,  if  our  historical  recollections  do  not  fail  us,  it  is  more 
completely  the  picture  of  Longshanks  than  that  of  the  third 

Edward We  conceive  it  to  be  extremely  probable 

that  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  resolved  to  commemorate  some  of 
the  events  in  the  life  of  Wallace,  and  had  already  sketched 
that  hero,  and  a  Templar,  and  Edward  the  First,  when  his 
eye  glanced  over  the  description  of  Homildon  Hill,  in  Pinkei-- 
ton's  History  of  Scotland  ;  that,  being  pleased  with  the  char- 
acters of  Swinton  and  Gordon,  he  transferred  ins  Wallace  to 
Swiaton ;  and  tliat,  for  \Ma  sake  of  retaining  his  portrait  of 


GoR.  And  tell  him  that  when  Selby's  headlong 
charge 
Had  welluigh  borne  me  down,  Su-  Alan  smote  him 
I  cannot  send  his  helmet,  never  nutshell 
Went  to  so  many  shivers. — Harkye,  grooms ! 

[7b  those  behind  the  scenes. 
Wliy  do  you  let  my  noble  steed  stand  stiffening 
After  so  hot  a  course  ? 

Swi.  Ay,  breathe  your  horses,  they'll  have  worV 
anon. 
For  Edward's  men-at-arms  will  soon  be  on  us, 
The  flower  of  England,  Gascony,  and  Flanders ; 
But  with  swift  succor  we  wiU  bide  them  bravely.— 
De  Vipont,  thou  look'st  sad  ?^ 

Vip.  It  is  because  I  hold  a  Templar's  sword 
Wet  to  the  crossed  hilt  with  Clmstian  blood. 

Swi.  The  blood  of  English  arcliers — what  can 
gild 
A  Scottish  blade  more  bravely  ? 

Vip.  Even  therefore  grieve  I  for  those  gaUan*. 
yeomen, 
England's  peculiar  and  appropriate  sons, 
Known  in  no  other  laud.     Each  boasts  his  hearth 
And  field  as  free  as  the  best  lord  Ids  barony, 
Owing  subjection  to  no  human  vassalage, 
Save  to  their  King  and  law.     Hence  ai-e  they  reso- 
lute. 
Leading  the  van  on  every  day  of  battle, 
As  men  who  know  the  blessings  they  defend- 
Hence  are  they  frank  and  generous  in  peace, 
As  men  who  have  their  portion  in  its  plenty. 
No  other  kingdom  shows  such  worth  and  happi 

ness 
Veil'd   in   such  low   estate — therefore   I   mourn 
them. 

Swi.  Ill  keep  my  sorrow  for  our  native  Scots, 
Who,  spite  of  hardship,  jpoverty,  oppression. 
Still  follow  to  the  field  their  Chieftain's  banner. 
And  die  in  the  defence  on't. 

GoR.  And  if  I  live  and  see  my  halls  again, 
They  shall  have  portion  in  the  good  they  fight 

for. 
Each  hardy  follower  shall  have  his  field. 
His  household  hearth  and  sod-built  home,  as  free 
As  ever  Southron  had.     They  shall  be  happy ! — 

Edward,  as  there  happened  to  be  a  Gordon  and  a  Douglas  at 
the  battle  of  Halidoun  in  the  time  of  Edward  the  Third,  and 
there  was  so  much  similarity  in  the  circumstances  of  the  con- 
test, he  preserved  his  Edward  as  Edward  the  Third,  retaining 
also  his  old  Knight  Templar,  in  defiance  of  the  anachronism." 
— Monthly  Review,  July,  1822. 

2  The  MS.  adds — "  such  was  my  surprise." 

3  "  While  thus  enjoying  a  breathing  time,  Swinton  observe* 
the  thoughtful  countenance  of  De  Vipont.  See  what  follows 
Were  ever  England  and  Englishmen  more  nobly,  more  beauti- 
fully, more  justly  characterized,  than  by  the  latter,  or  was 
patriotic  feeling  ever  better  sustained  than  by  the  former  and 
his  brave  companion  in  arms  V — JWiO  Edinburgh  Revieie, 


144: 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  my  Elizabeth  shall  smile  to  see  it ! — ' 
I  have  betray'd  myself. 

Swi.  Do  not  believe  it. — 

Vipont,  do  thou  look  out  from  yonder  height, 
And  see  what  motion  in  the  Scottish  host, 
And  ill  King  Edward's. — 

[&it  ViPOXT. 
Now  will  I  coimsel  thee ; 
The  Tnmplar's  ear  is  for  no  tale  of  love, 
Being  wedded  to  his  Order.     But  I  tell  thee, 
The  brave  young  knight  tliat  hath  no  lady-love 
Is  like  a  lamp  unlighted ;  liis  brave  deeds. 
And  its  rich  painting,  do  seem  then  most  glorious, 
"When  the  pure  ray  gleams  through  them. — 
Hath  thy  Elizabeth  no  other  name  P 

GoR.  Must  I  then  speak  of  her  to  you.  Sir  Alan  ? 
Tlie  thought  of  thee,  and  of  thy  matchless  strength. 
Hath  conjured  phantoms  up  amongst  her  dreams. 
The  name  of  Swinton  hath  been  spell  sufficient 
To  chase  the  rich  blood  from  her  lovely  cheek, 
And  wouldst  thou  now  know  hers  ? 

Swi.  I  would,  nay  must. 

Thy  father  in  the  paths  of  chivalry, 
Should  know  the  load-star  thou  dost  rule  thy  course 

by. 

GoE.  Nay,  then,  her  name  is — hark 

[  Wldspers. 

Swi.  I  know  it  well,  that  ancient  northern  house. 

GoR.  0,  thou  shalt  see  its  fairest  grace  and  honor 
In  my  Ehzabeth.     And  if  music  touch  thee 

Swi.  It  did,  before  disasters  had  imtuned  me. 

GoR.  0,  her  notes 
Shall  liush  each  sad  remembrance  to  oblivion, 
Or  melt  them  to  sucli  gentleness  of  feeling, 
That  grief  shall  have  its  sweetness.    Wlio,  but  she, 
Knows  the  wild  hai'pings  of  our  native  land  ? 
Whether  they  luU  the  sligpherd  on  his  hill. 
Or  wake  the  knight  to  battle  ;  rouse  to  merriment. 
Or  soothe  to  sadness ;  she  can  touch  each  mood. 
Princes  and  statesmen,  cliiefs  renown'd  in  arms. 
And  gray-hair'd  bards,  contend  which  shall  the  first 
And  clioicest  homage  render  to  the  enchantress. 

Swi.  You  speak  her  talent  bravely. 

GoR.  Though  you  smUe, 

I  do  not  speak  it  half.     Her  gift  creative. 
New  measures  adds  to  every  air  she  wakes  ; 
Varying  and  gi-acing  it  with  liquid  sweetness, 
Like  the  wild  modulation  of  the  lark ; 
Now  leaving,  now  returning  to  the  strain ! 
To  hsten  to  her,  is  to  seem  to  wander 
In  some  enchanted  labyrinth  of  romance. 
Whence  nothing  but  the  lovely  fairy's  wiU, 

1  "  Tliere  wanted  but  a  little  of  the  tender  passion  to  make 
ibis  youth  every  way  a  hero  of  romance.  Bui  the  poem  has 
no  ladies.  How  admirably  is  this  defect  sup^died!  In  his 
enthasiastic  anticipation  of  prosperity,  he  allows  a  name  to 
pscape  him." — AViO  Edinburgh  Review. 

2  "  Amid  tl.B  confusion  and  din  of  the  battle,  tte  reader  is 


"Who  wove  the  spell,  can  extricate  the  wanderer. 
Methinks  I  hear  her  now ! — 

Swi.  Bless'd  privilege 

Of  youth !    There's  scarce  three  minutes  to  decide 
'Twixt  death  and  life,  'twixt  triumph  and  defeat, 
Tet  all  his  thoughts  are  in  his  lady's  bower, 

List'ning  her  hai'ping  ! 

[JSnter  Vipont. 
Where  ai"e  thine,  De  Vipont  f 

Vip.  On  death — on  judgment — on  eternity ! 
For  time  is  over  with  us. 

Swi.  There  moves  not,  then,  one  pennon  to  oui 
aid. 
Of  all  that  flutter  yonder ! 

ViP.  From  the  main  English  host  come  rushing 
forward 
Pennons  enow — ay,  and  their  Royal  Standard. 
But  ours  stand  rooted,  as  for  crows  to  roost  on. 

Swi.  (to  himself.)    I'U  rescue  him  at  least. — 
Young  Lord  of  Gordon, 
Spur  to  the  Regent — show  the  instant  need 

GoR.  I  penetrate  thy  purpose  ;  but  I  go  not.     • 

Swi.  Not  at  my  bidding?    I,  thy  ske  in  chiv- 
alry— 
Tliy  leader  in  the  battle  ? — I  command  thee. 

GoR.  No,  thou  wilt  not  command  me  seek  my 
safety, — 
For  such  is  thy  kind  meaning — at  the  expense 
Of  the  last  hope  which  Heaven  reserves  for  Scot- 
land. 
While  I  abide,  no  follower  of  mine 
Will  tm-n  his  rein  for  life  ;  but  were  I  gone, 
Wliat  power  can  stay  them  ?  and,  our  band  dis- 
persed, 
"WTiat  swords  shall  for  an  instant  stem  yon  host. 
And  save  the  latest  chance  for  victory  ? 

Vip.  The  noble  youth  speaks  truth ;  and  were 
he  gone. 
There  will  not  twenty  spears  be  left  with  us. 

GoR.  No,  bravely  as  we  have  begim  the  field, 
So  let  us  fight  it  out.     The  Regent's  eyes. 
More  certain  than  a  thousand  messages, 
Shall  see  us  stand,  the  barrier  of  his  host 
Against  yon  bursting  storm.     If  not  for  honor, 
If  not  for  warlike  rule,  for  shame  at  least 
He  must  bear  down  to  aid  us. 

Swi.  Must  it  be  so  ? 

And  am  I  forced  to  yield  the  sad  consent. 
Devoting  thy  young  life  ?'     0,  Gordon,  Gordon  I 
I  do  it  as  the  patriarch  doom'd  his  issue  ; 
I  at  my  country's,  he  at  Heaven's  command ; 
But  I  seek  vainly  some  atoning  sacrifice,* 

unexpectedly  greeted  witli  a  dialogue,  which  breathes  indeed 
the  soft  sounds  of  the  lute  in  the  clang  of  trumpets." — Monthf 
ly  Review. 

3  MS. — "  And  am  I  doom'd  to  yield  the  sad  consent 
That  thus  devotes  thy  life  t" 

*  MS. — "  O,  could  there  be  some  lesser  sacrifice." 


H  ALIO  ON  HILL. 


14a 


Rather  than  such  a  victim ! — (^Trumpets.)     Hark, 

they  come ! 
That  music  sounds  not  like  thy  lady's  lute. 

GoR.  Tet  shall  my  lady's  name  mix  with  it 
gayly.— 
Mount,  vassals,  couch  your  lances,  and  cry,  "  Gor- 
don ! 
Gordon  for  Scotland  and  Ehzabeth !" 

\_Exeunt.    Loud  Alarums. 


SCENE  III. 

Another  part  of  the  Field  of  Battle,  adjacent  to  the 
former  Scene. 

Alarums.    Enter  ^vrrsToy,  followed  by 
Hob  Hattelt, 

Swi.  Stand  to  it  yet !  The  man  who  flies  to-day, 
May  bastards  warm  them  at  his  household  liearth ! 
Hob.  That  ne'er  shall  be  my  curse.  My  Magdalen 
Is  trusty  as  my  broadsword. 

Swi.  Ha,  thou  knave,' 

Art  thou  dismounted  too  ? 

Hob.  I  know,  Sh-  Alan, 

You  want  no  homeward  guide  ;  so  threw  my  reins 
Upon  my  palfrey's  neck,  and  let  him  loose. 
Within  an  hour  he  stands  before  my  gate  ; 
And  Magdalen  wiU  need  no  other  token 
To  bid  the  Melrose  Monks  say  masses  for  me. 
Swi.  Thou  art  resolved  to  cheat  tlie  halter,  then  ? 
Hob.  It  is  my  purpose. 

Having  lived  a  thief,  to  die  a  brave  man's  death ; 
And  never  had  I  a  more  glorious  chance  for't. 
Swi.  Here  lies  the  way  to  it,  knave. — Make  in, 
make  in, 
And  aid  young  Gordon ! 

\Exeunt.  Loud  and  long  Alarums.  Af- 
ter which  the  hack  Scene  rises,  and 
discovers  SwrxxoN  on  the  ground, 
Gordon  supporting  hi-m  ;  both  much 
wounded. 
Bwi.  All  are  cut  down — the  reapers  have  pass'd 
o'er  us. 
And  hie  to  distant  harvest. — My  toil's  over  ; 
There  hes  my  sickle.  [Dropping  his  sivord.J    Hand 

of  mine  again 
Shall  never,  never  wield  it !' 

Gor.  0  vahant  leader,  is  thy  light  extinguish'd ! 
That  only  beacon-flame  which  promised  safety 
In  this  day's  deadly  wrack  1 

Swi.  My  lamp  hath  long  been  dun !     But  thine, 
young  Gordon, 


1  This  speech  of  Swinton's  is  interpolated  on  the  blank  page 
of  the  mannscrij)!. 
94 


Just  kindled,  to  be  quench  d  so  suddenly, 

Ere  Scotland  saw  its  splendor ! 

GoR.  Five  thousand  horse  hung  idly  on  yon  hill. 
Saw  us  o'erpower'd,  and  no  one  stirr'd  to  aid  us ! 
Swi.  It  was  the  Regent's  envy. — Out ! — alas ' 
Why  blame  I  him  ! — It  was  our  civil  discord, 
Our  selfish  vanity,  our  jealous  hatred. 
Which  framed  this  day  of  dole  for  our  poor  coun 

try. — 
Had  thy  brave  father  held  yon  leading  stafl^, 
As  weU  his  rank  and  valor  might  have  claim'd  it. 
We  had  not  fall'n  unaided. — How,  0  how 

Is  he  to  answer  it,  whose  deed  prevented 

Gor.  Alas  !  alas !  the  author  of  the  death-feud 

He  has  his  reckoning  too !  for  had  your  sons 

And  num'rous  vassals  lived,  we  had  lack'd  no  aid. 

Swi.  May  God  assoil  the   dead,  and  him  who 

follows ! 

We've  drank  the   poison'd  beverage   wliieh  we 

brew'd : 
Have  sown  the  wind,  and  reap'd  the  tenfold  whirl- 
wind ! — 
But  thou,  brave  youth,  whose  nobleness  of  heart 
Pour'd  oil  upon  the  wounds  our  hate  inflicted  ; 
Thou,  who  hast  done  no  wrong,  need'st  no  forgive- 
ness,— 
Why  should'st  thou  share  our  punishment ! 

GoR.  All  need  forgiveness — [distant  alarum.'] — 
Hark,  in  yonder  shout 
Did  the  mam  battles  counter ! 

Swi.  Look  on  the  field,  brave  Gordon,  if  thou 
ca^nst. 
And  tell  me  how  the  day  goes. — But  I  guess, 

Too  surely  do  I  guess 

GoR.  All's  lost !  all's  lost  1— Of  the  main  Scot- 
tish host. 
Some  wildly  fly,  and  some  rush  wildly  forward  ; 
And  some  there  are  who  seem  to  turn  thek  spears 
Against  their  countrymen. 

Swi.  Rashness,  and  cowardice,  and  secret  trea- 
son, 
Combine  to  ruin  us ;  and  om-  hot  valor, 
•Devoid  of  discipline,  is  madmen's  strength. 
More  fatal  unto  friends  than  enemies  ! 
I'm  glad  that  these  dim  eyes  shaU  see  no  more 

on't. — 
Let  thy  hands  close  them,  Gordon — I  will  dream 
My  fair-hair'd  WiUiam  renders  me  that  oflice  ! 

[  Dies. 
Gor.  And,  Swinton,  I  will  think  I  do  that  duty 
To  my  dead  father. 

Enter  De  Vipont. 
Vip.  Fly,  fly,  brave  youth  ! — A  handful  of  thy 
followers, 
Tlie  scatter'd  gleaning  of  this  desperate  day, 
Still  hover  yonder  to  essay  thy  rescue. — • 
0  linger  not ! — I'll  be  yom-  guide  to  them. 


146 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


GoE.  Look  there,  and  bid  me  fly ! — The  oak  has 
fall'n ; 
And  the  young  ivy  bush,  -which  learn'd  to  climb 
By  its  support,  must  needs  partake  its  fall. 

ViP.  Swinton  ?     Alas !   the  best,  the  bravest, 
strongest, 
And  sagest  of  our  Scottish  chivalry  !  ' 
Forgive  one  moment,  if  to  save  the  living. 
My  tongue  should  wrong  the  dead. — Gordon,  be- 
think thee, 
Thou  dost  but  stay  to  perish  with  the  corpse' 
Of  him  who  slew  thy  father. 

GoE.  Ay,  but  he  was  my  sire  in  chivalry. 
He  taught  my  youth  to  soar  above  the  promptings 
Of  mean  and  selfish  vengeance  ;  gave  my  youth 
A  name  that  shall  not  die  even  on  this  death- 
spot. 
Records  shall  tell  this  field  had  not  been  lost, 
Had  all  men  fought  Uke  Swinton  and  like  Gordon. 

[Trumpets. 
Save    thee,    De   Vipont. — Hark!    the    Southron 
trumpets. 
Yip.  ISTay,  without  thee,  I  stir  not. 

£nter  Edwaed,  Chandos,  Percy,  Bauol,  dx. 
GoE.  Ay,  they  come  on — the  Tyrant  and  the 
Traitor, 
Workman  and  tool,  Plantagenet  and  Bahol. — 
O  for  a  moment's  strength  in  this  poor  arm. 
To  do  one  glorious  deed  ! 

[He  rushes  on  the  English,  but  is  made 
prisoner  %nth  Vipoxt. 
K.  Ed.  Disann  them — harm  them  not ;  though 
it  was  they 
Made  havoc  on  the  archers  of  our  vanguard. 
They  and  that  bulky  champion.     Where  is  he  ? 
Chan.  Here  lies  the  giant !  Say  his  name,  young 

Knight  ? 
GoR.  Let  it  sufiice,  he  was  a  man  this  morning.'* 
Cha.  I  question'd  thee  in  sport.     I  do  not  need 
niy  information,  youth.     Who  that  has  fought 
Thi-ough  all  these  Scottish  wars,  but  knows  his 
crest. 


1  MS. — "  Thou  hast  small  cause  to  tarry  with  the  corpse." 

2  In  his  narrative  of  events  on  the  day  after  the  battle  of 
Sheriffmuir,  Sir  Walter  Scott  says,  "  Amongst  the  gentlemen 
who  fell  on  this  occasion,  were  several  on  both  sides,  alike 
eminent  for  birth  and  character.  The  body  of  the  gallant 
yonng  Earl  of  Strathmore  was  found  on  the  field  watched  by 
a  faithful  old  domestic,  who,  being  asked  the  name  of  the  per- 
son whose  body  he  waited  upon  with  so  much  care,  made  this 
Etriking  reply,  'He  was  a  man  yesterday.'" — Tales  of  a 
Orandfather. 

3  MS. — "  Stood  arm'd  beside  ray  couch,"  &c. 

■•  "  The  character  of  Pwinton  is  obviously  a  favorite  with 
the  author,  to  which  circumstance  we  are  probably  indebted 
fortlie  strong  relief  in  which  it  is  given,  and  the  perfect  verisi- 
PA.litude  which  belongs  to  it.  The  stately  commanding  figure 
of  the  veteran  warrior,  whom,  by  the  illusion  of  his  art,  the 


The  sable  boar  chain'd  to  the  leafy  oak. 
And  that  huge  mace  still  seen  where  war  waa 
wildest ! 
King  Ed.  'Tis  Alan  Swinton ! 
Grim  chamberlain,  who  in  my  tent  at  Weardale, 
Stood  by  my  startled  couch^  with  torch  and  mace. 
When   the   Black   Douglas'   war-cry  waked   my 
camp. 
GoR.  {sinking  down.)  If  thus  thou  know'st  him, 
Thou  wilt  respect  his  corpse.* 

K.  Ed.  As  belted  Knight  and  crowned  King,.  I 

will. 
GoR.  And  let  mine 
Sleep  at  his  side,  in  token  that  our  death 
Ended  the  feud  of  Swinton  and  of  Gordoa 

K.  Ed.  It  is  the  Gordon  I — Is  there  aught  beside 
Edward  can  do  to  honor  bravery, 
Even  in  an  enemy  ? 

GoE.  Nothing  but  this : 
Let  not  base  Baliol,  with  his  touch  or  look. 
Profane  my  corpse  or  Swinton's.    I've  some  breath 

still, 
Enough  to  say — Scotland — Elizabeth !  [Dies. 

Cha.   Baliol,   I  would   not   brook  such    dying 
looks. 
To  buy  the  crovra  you  aim  at. 

K.  Ed.  (to  ViP.)  Vipont,  thy  crossed  shield  shows 
iU  in  warfare 
Against  a  Christian  King. 

ViP.  That  Christian  King  is  warring  upon  Scot- 
land. 
I  was  a  Scotsman  ere  I  was  a  Templar,* 
Sworn  to  my  country  ere  I  knew  my  Order. 
K.  Ed.  I  will  but  know  thee  as  a  Christian  cham 
pion. 
And  set  thee  free  vmransom'd. 

Enter  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 
Ab.  Heaven  grant  your  Majesty 
Many  such  glorious  days  as  tliis  has  been  I 

K.  Ed.  It  is  a  day  of  much  and  high  advan- 
tage ; 
Glorious  it  might  have  been,  had  aU  our  foes 

author  has  placed  in  veritable  presentment  before  us  ; — hiu  ven 
erable  ase,  superior  prowess,  and  intuitive  decision  ; — tli-i  broils 
in  which  he  had  engaged,  the  misfortunes  he  had  suffered,  and 
the  intrepid  fortitude  with  which  he  sustained  them, — together 
with  that  rigorous  control  of  temper,  not  to  be  shaken  even 
by  unmerited  contumely  and  insult ; — these  qualities,  grouped 
and  embodied  in  one  and  the  same  character,  render  it  morally 
in""^ossible  that  we  should  not  at  once  sympathize  and  admire. 
The  inherent  force  of  his  character  is  finely  illustrated  in  the 
eflect  produced  upon  Lord  Gordon  by  the  first  appearance  of 
the  man  'who  had  made  him  fatherless.*"  —  Edinburgh 
Magazine,  July,  1822. 

5  A  Venetian  General,  observing  his  soldiers  testified  some 
unwillingness  to  fight  against  those  of  the  Pope,  whom  they 
regarded  a."  father  of  the  Church,  addressed  them  in  terms  of 
similar  encouragement, — "Fight  on!  we  were  Venetians  be- 
fore we  were  Christians." 


HALIDON  HILL. 


741 


Fought  like  these  two  brave  champions. — Strike 

the  drums, 
Soimd  trumpets,  and  pursue  the  fugitives, 

'  "  It  is  generally  the  case  that  much  expectation  ends  in 
disappointment.  The  free  delineation  of  cliaractcr  in  some  of 
the  recent  Scottish  Novels,  and  the  admirable  conversations 
interspersed  througliout  them,  raised  hopes  that,  when  a  regu- 
lar drama  should  be  attempted  by  the  person  veho  was  con- 
sidered as  their  author,  the  success  would  be  eminent.  Its 
announcement,  too,  in  a  solemn  and  formal  manner,  did  not 
diminish  the  interest  of  the  public.  The  drama,  however, 
which  was  expected,  turns  out  to  be  in  fact,  and  not  only  in 
name,  merely  a  dramatic  sketch,  which  is  entirely  deficient  in 
plot,  and  contains  but  three  characters,  Swinton,  Gordon,  and 
Edward,  in  whom  any  interest  is  endeavored  to  be  e.xcited. 
With  some  exceptions,  the  dialogue  also  is  flat  and  coarse ; 
and  for  all  these  defects,  one  or  twe  vigorous  descriptions  of 
battle  scenes  will  scarcely  make  sutiicient  atonement,  except 
m  the  eyes  of  very  enthusiastic  friends." — Monthly  Review. 


"  Halidon  Hill,  we  understand,  unlike  the  earlier  poems  of 
its  author,  has  not  been  received  into  the  ranks  of  popular 
favor.  Such  rumoR,  of  course,  have  no  effect  on  our  critical 
judgment ;  but  we  cannot  forbear  saying,  that,  thinking  as  we 
do  very  highly  of  the  spirit  and  taste  with  which  an  interest- 
ing tale  is  here  sketched  in  natural  and  energetic  verse,  we 
are  yet  far  from  feeling  surprised  that  the  approbation,  which 
it  is  our  pleasing  duty  to  bestow,  should  not  have  been  antici- 
pated by  the  ordinary  readers  of  the  work  before  us.  It  bears, 
in  truth,  no  great  resemblance  to  the  narrative  poems  from 


Till  the  Tweed's  eddies  whelm  them.    Berwick's 

render'd —  > 
These  wars,  I  trust,  will  soon  find  lasting  close.' 

which  Sir  Walter  Scott  derived  liis  first  and  high  reputation, 
and  by  which,  for  the  present,  his  genius  must  be  character- 
ized. It  is  wholly  free  from  many  of  their  most  obvious  faults 
— their  carelessness,  their  irregularity,  and  their  inequality  both 
of  conception  and  of  execution  ;  but  it  wants  likewise  no  incon- 
siderable portion  of  their  beauties — it  has  less.'  pomp  and  cit^ 
cumslance,'  less  picturesque  description,  romantic  association, 
and  chivalrous  glitter,  less  sentiment  and  reflection.  less  per- 
haps of  all  their  striking  charms,  with  the  single  exception  of 
that  one  redeeming  and  sufficing  quality,  which  forms,  in  our 
view,  the  highest  recommendation  of  all  the  author's  works 
of  imagination,  their  nnaflected  and  unflagging  vigor.  This 
perha|)S,  after  all,  is  only  saying  that  we  have  before  us  a 
dramatic  poem,  instead  of  a  metrical  tale  of  romance,  and 
that  the  author  has  had  too  much  taste  and  discretion  to  be- 
dizen his  scenes  with  inappropriate  and  encumbering  orna 
ment.  There  is,  however,  a  class  of  readers  of  poetry,  and  a 
pretty  large  class,  too,  who  have  no  relish  for  a  work,  however 
naturally  and  strongly  the  characters  and  incidents  may  be 
conceived  and  sustained — however  appropriate  and  manly  may 
be  the  imagery  and  diction — from  which  they  cannot  select 
any  isolated  passages  to  store  in  their  memories  or  their  com- 
monplace books,  to  whisper  into  a  lady's  ear,  or  transcribe  into 
a  lady's  album.  With  this  tea-table  and  watering-place  school 
of  critics,  '  Halidon  Hill'  must  expect  no  favor  ;  it  has  no  rant 
— no  mysticism — and,  worst  otTence  of  all,  no  aflectation."- 
British  Critic,  October,  1822. 


74S 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ittarlDxtff's  €xobb. 


INTRODUCTION. 

These  few  scenes  had  the  honor  to  be  induded 
m  a  jVIiscellany,  published  in  the  year  1823,  bj  Mrs. 
Joanna  Baillie,  and  are  here  reprinted,  to  unite 
them  with  the  trifles  of  the  same  kind  which  owe 
their  birth  to  the  author.  The  singular  history  of 
the  Cross  and  Law  of  Clan  MacDuff  is  given,  at 
length  enough  to  satisfy  the  keenest  antiquary,  in 
The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border}  It  is  here 
only  necessary  to  state,  that  the  Cross  was  a  place 
of  refuge  to  any  person  related  to  MacDuff,  within 
the  ninth  degree,  who,  having  committed  homicide 
in  sudden  quarrel,  should  reach  this  place,  prove 
his  descent  from  the  Thane  of  Fife,  and  pay  a  cer- 
tain penalty. 

The  shaft  of  the  Cross  was  destroyed  at  the 
Reformation.  The  huge  block  of  stone  which 
served  for  its  pedestal  is  still  in  existence  near 
tlie  town  of  Newbm-gh,  on  a  kind  of  pass  which 
commands  the  county  of  Fife  to  the  southward, 
and  to  the  north,  the  wmdmgs  of  the  magnificent 
Tay  and  fertile  country  of  Angus-shire.  The  Cross 
bore  an  inscription,  which  is  transmitted  to  us  in 
an  unintelhgible  form  by  Sir  Robert  Sibbald, 

Abbotsford,  January,  1830. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

>•     Monks  of  Lindores. 

>•   Scottish  Barons, 


NiNIAN. 

"Waldhave 

LiNDESAY. 

Mauuiok  Berkeley. 


TO 


MRS.  JOANNA  BAILLIE, 

AUTHORESS  OK 

"THE   PLAYS   ON  THE  PASSIONS." 


PRELUDE. 


Nay,  smile  not.  Lady,  when  I  speak  of  witchcraft. 
And  say,  that  stiU  there  Im'ks  amongst  om*  glens 
Some  touch  of  strange  enchantment. — Mark  that 
fragment, 

1  Vol.  iv.  p.  2G6,  in  the  Appendix  to  Lord  Sonlis,  "  Law  of 
Clan  MacDuff." 


I  mean  that  rough-hewn  block  of  massive  stone 
Placed  on  the  summit  of  this  mountain-pass, 
Conxmanding  prospect  wide  o'er  field  and  fell, 
And  peopled  village  and  extended  moorland, 
And  the  wide  ocean  and  majestic  Tay, 
To  the  far  distant  Grampians. — Do  not  deem  it 
A  loosen'd  portion  of  the  neighboring  rock, 
Detach'd  by  storm  and  tliunder — 'twas  the  pedestal 
On  which,  in  ancient  times,  a  Cross  was  rear'd, 
Carved  o'er  with  words  which  foil'd  philologists; 
And  the  events  it  did  commemorate 
Were  dark,  remote,  and  undistinguishable, 
As  were  the  mystic  characters  it  bore. 
But,  mark, — a  wizard,  born  on  Avon's  bank, 
Tuned  but  his  harp  to  this  wild  northern  theme, 
And,  lo !  the  scene  is  hallow'd.     None  shall  pas^ 
Now,  or  in  after  days,  beside  that  stone. 
But  he  shall  have  strange  visions ;  thoughts  and 

words. 
That  shake,  or  rouse,  or  thrill  the  human  heart, 
Shall  rush  upon  liis  memory  when  he  hears 
The  spirit-stirring  name  of  this  rude  symbol ; — 
Oblivious  sages,  at  that  simple  spell. 
Shall  render  back  their  terrors  with  their  woes, 
Alas !    and   with   their   crimes  —  and  the  proud 

phantoms 
Shall  move  with  step  familiar  to  his  eye. 
And  accents  which,  once  heard,  the  ear  forgets  nc^ 
Though  ne'er  again  to  list  them.     Siddons,  tliine, 
Thou  matchless  Siddons  !  thrill  upon  our  ear ; 
And  on  om-  eye  thy  lofty  Brother's  form 
Rises  as  Scotland's  monarch. — But,  td  thee, 
Joanna,  why  to  thee  speak  of  such  visions  ? 
Thine  own  wild  wand  can  raise  them. 

Yet  since  thou  wilt  an  idle  tale  of  mine. 
Take  one  which  scarcely  is  of  worth  enough 
To  gif  e  or  to  withhold. — Our  time  creeps  on, 
Fancy  gi-ows  colder  as  the  silvery  hair 
TeUs  the  advancing  winter  of  ovu'  hfe. 
But  if  it  be  of  worth  enough  to  please. 
That  worth  it  owes  to  her  who  set  the  task ; 
If  otherwise,  the  fault  rests  with  the  author. 


illacDuff'0  (llros0. 

SCENE  L 

The  summit  of  a  Rocky  Pass  near  to  N'ewburpk, 
about  two  miles  from  the  ancient  Abbey  of  Lin- 
dores, in  Fife.    In  the  centre  is  MacDuff 's  Cros^ 


MACDUFF'S  CROSS. 


749 


an  antique  iloninnent ;  and,  at  a  sinall  distance, 
OH  one  side,  a  Chapel,  loilli  a  Lamp  burning. 

Enter,  as  having  ascended  the  Pass,  Niniax  and 
Waldiiave,  Monks  of  Lindores.  Ninian  crosses 
himself,  and  seems  to  recite  his  devotions.  \Yald- 
HAVE  stands  gazing  on  the  prospect,  as  if  in  deep 
contemplation. 

NiN.  Here  stands  the  Cross,  good  brother,  conse- 
crated 
By  the  bold  Thane  unto  his  patron  saint 
Magridius,  once  a  brother  of  our  house. 
Canst  thou  not  spare  an  ave  or  a  creed  ? 
Or  hath  the  steep  ascent  exhausted  you  ?      Lsorae. 
You  trode  it  stoutly,  though  'twas  rough  and  toil- 

Wal.  I  have  trode  a  rougher. 

NiN.  On  the  Highland  hills — 

Scarcely  within  our  sea-girt  jjroviuce  here, 
Unless  upon  the  Lomonds  or  Bennarty. 

Wal.  I  spoke  not  of  the  literal  path,  good  father. 
But  of  the  road  of  life  which  I  have  travell'd. 
Ere  I  assumed  tliis  habit ;  it  was  bounded. 
Hedged  in,  and  hmited  by  earthly  prospects, 
As  ours  beneath  was  closed  by  dell  and  thicket. 
Here  we  see  wide  and  far,  and  the  broad  sky. 
With  wide  horizon,  opens  full  around, 
While  earthly  objects  dwindle.     Brother  Ninian, 
Faiu  would  I  hope  that  mental  elevation 
Could  raise  me  equally  o'er  worldly  thoughts. 
And  place  me  nearer  heaven. 

NiN.  'Tis  good  morality. — But  yet  forget  not. 
That  though  we  look  on  heaven  from  this  high  em- 
inence. 
Yet  doth  the  Prince  of  all  the  airy  space. 
Arch  foe  of  man,  possess  the  realms  between. 

Wal.  Most  true,  good  brother;  and  men  may 
be  farther 
From  the  bright  heaven  they  aim  at,  even  because 
Tliey  deem  themselves  secure  on't. 

NiN.  {after  a  pause.)  You  do  gaze — 

Strangers  are  wont  to  do  so — on  the  prospect. 
Yon  is  the  Tay  roll'd  down  from  Highland  hills, 
Tliat  rests  his  waves,  after  so  rude  a  race. 
In  the  fair  plains  of  Gowrie — further  westward. 
Proud  Stirling  rises — yonder  to  the  east, 
Dundee,  the  gift  of  God,  and  fair  Montrose, 
And  still  more  northward  lie  the  ancient  towers — 

Wal.  OfEdzell. 

NiN.         How  ?  know  you  the  towers  of  Edzell  ? 

Wal.  I've  heard  of  them. 

NiN.  Then  have  you  heard  a  tale, 

Which  when  he  tells,  the  peasant  shakes  his  head. 
And  shuns  the  mouldering  and  deserted  walls. 

Wal.  Why,  and  by  whom,  deserted  ? 

NiN.                                              Long  the  tale, — 
Enough  to  say  that  the  last  Lord  of  Edzell, 
Bold  Louis  Lindesay,  had  a  wife,  and  found 


Wal.   Enough   is   said,  indeed — since   a   weak 
woman, 
Ay,  and  a  tempting  fiend,  lost  Paradise, 
When  man  was  innocent. 

Ni.y.  They  feU  at  strife. 

Men  say,  on  slight  occasion :  that  fierce  Lindesay 
Did  bend  his  sword  against  J)e  Beikeley's  breast 
And  that  the  lady  threw  herself  between  : 
That  then  De  Berkeley  dealt  the  Baron's  death- 
wound. 
Enough,  that  from  that  tune  De  Berkeley  bore 
A  spear  in  foreign  wars.     But,  it  is  said. 
He  hath  return'd  of  late  ;  and,  therefore,  brother, 
The  Prior  hath  ordain'd  our  vigil  here. 
To  watch  the  privilege  of  the  sauctuaiy, 
And  rights  of  Clan  MacDufF. 

Wal.  What  rights  are  these  1 

NiN.  Most  true  !  you  arc  but  newly  come  fi-on: 
Rome, 
And  do  not  know  our  ancient  usages. 
Know  then,  when  fell  Macbeth  beneath  the  arm 
Of  the  predestined  knight,  unborn  of  woman, 
Three  boons  the  victor  ask'd,  and  thrice  did  MaV- 

cokn. 
Stooping  the  sceptre  by  the  Thane  restored, 
Assent  to  his  request.     And  hence  the  rule. 
That  first  when  Scotland's  King  assumes  the  crown, 
MacDuff's  descendant  rings  liis  brow  with  it: 
And  hence,  when  Scotland's  King  calls  forth  hia 

host, 
MacDuff's  descendant  leads  the  van  in  battles 
And  last,  in  guerdon  of  the  crown  restored, 
Red  with  the  blood  of  the  usurping  tyrant, 
The  right  was  granted  in  succeeding  time, 
Tliat  if  a  kinsman  of  the  Thane  of  Fife 
Commit  a  slaughter  on  a  sudden  impulse. 
And  fly  for  refuge  to  tliis  Cross  MacDufF, 
For  the  Thane's  sake  he  shall  find  sanctuary ; 
For  here  must  the  avenger's  step  be  staid. 
And  here  the  panting  homicide  find  safety. 

Wal.  And  here  a  brother  of  your  order  watcher 
To  see  the  custom  of  the  place  observed  ? 

Nis.  Even  so ; — such  is  our  convent's  holy  right, 
Since  Saint  Magridius — blessed  be  liis  memory  I— 
Did  by  a  vision  warn  the  Abbot  Eadmii-. — 
And  chief  we  watch,  when  there  is  bickering 
Among  the  neighboring  nobles,  now  most  likely 
From  this  return  of  Berkeley  from  abroad, 
Having  the  Lindesay 's  blood  upon  liis  hand. 

Wal.  The  Lindesay,  then,  was  loved  among  hia 
friends  ? 

NiN.  Honor'd   and  fear'd  he   was  —  but  little 
loved ; 
For  even  liis  bounty  bore  a  show  of  sternness ; 
And  when  his  passions  waked,  he  was  a  Sathan 
Of  wi'ath  and  injury. 

Wal.  How  now,  Su-  Priest !  {fiercely) — Forgive 
me  {recollecting  himself) — I  was  dreaming 


750 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Of  an  old  baron,  who  did  bear  about  him 
Some  touch  of  your  Lord  Reynold. 

NiN.  Lindesay's  name,  my  brother, 
Indeed  was  Reynold; — and  mcthmks,  moreover. 
That,  as  you   spoke  even  now,  he  would  have 

spoken. 
I  brought  liun  a  petition  from  our  convent : 
He  granted  straight,  but  in  such  tone  and  manner, 
By  my  good  saint !  I  thought  myself  scarce  safe,     ■ 
Till  Tay  roU'd  broad  between  us.     I  must  now 
Unto  the  chapel — meanwliile  the  watch  is  thine ; 
And,  at  thy  word,  the  hurrying  fugitive, 
Shoidd  such  arrive,  must  here  find  sanctuary  ; 
And,  at  thy  word,  the  fiery-paced  avenger 
Must  stop  his  bloody  course — e'en  as  swoln  Jordan 
Controllxl  his  waves,  soon  as  they  touch'd  the  feet 
Of  those  who  bore  the  ark. 

"Wal.  Is  this  my  charge  ? 

Nix.  Even  so ;  and  I  am  near,  should  chance  re- 
quire me. 
At  midnight  I  relieve  you  on  your  watch, 
When  we  may  taste  together  some  refreshment: 
I  have  cared  for  it ;  and  for  a  flask  of  wine — 
There  is  no  sin,  so  that  we  drink  it  not 
Until  the  midnight  hour,  when  lauds  have  toU'd. 
Farewell  a  while,  and  peaceful  watch  be  with  you  ! 

[Sxit  tmvards  the  Chapel. 

"Wal.  It  is  not  with  me,  and  alas !  alas  ! 
I  know  not  where  to  seek  it.     Tliis  monk's  mind 
Is  with  Ms  cloister  match'd,  nor  lacks  more  room. 
Its  petty  duties,  formal  ritual. 
Its  humble  pleasures  and  its  paltry  troubles, 
rill  np  his  round  of  life  ;  even  as  some  reptiles, 
They  say,  are  moulded  to  the  very  shape, 
And  all  the  angles  of  the  rocky  crevice, 
In  which  they  live  and  die.     But  for  myself. 
Retired  in  passion  to  the  narrow  cell, 
Coucliing  my  tked  limbs  in  its  recesses, 
So  ill-adapted  am  I  to  its  limits, 

That  every  attitude  is  agony. 

How  now !  what  brings  him  back  1 

Re-enter  Ninian. 
NiN.  Look  to  your  watch,  my  brother;  horse- 
men come : 
I  heard  their  tread  when  kneeling  in  the  chapel. 
Wal.  [looking  to  a  distance.)  My  thoughts  have 
rapt  me  more  than  thy  devotion. 
Else  had  I  heard  the  tread  of  distant  horses 
Farther  than  thou  couldst  hear  the  sacring  bell ; 
But  now  in  truth  they  come : — flight  and  pmsuit 
Are  sights  I've  been  long  strange  to. 

K"iN.  See  how  they  gallop  down  the  opposing 
hill! 
Yon  gray  steed  bounding  down  the  headlong  path, 
As  on  the  level  meadow  ;  while  the  black. 
Urged  by  the  rider  with  his  naked  sword. 
Stoops  on  his  prey,  as  I  have  seen  the  falcon 


Dashing  upon  the  heron. — Thou  dost  frown 
And  clench  thy  hand,  as  if  it  grasp'd  a  weapon  ? 
Wal.  'Tis  but  for  shame  to  see  a  man  fly  thus 
While  only  one  pursues  htm.     Coward,  turn! — 
Turn  thee,  l  say !  thou  art  as  stout  as  he, 
And  well  mayst  match  thy  single  sword  with  his — 
Shame,  that  a  man  should  rein  a  steed  like  thee, 
Yet  fear  to  tm-n  his  front  against  a  foe  !— 
I  am  ashamed  to  look  on  them. 

NiN.  Yet  look  again ;  they  quit  their  horses  now, 
Unfit  for  the  rough  path :  the  fugitive 
Keeps  the  advantage  still. — They  strain  towards 
us. 
Wal.  I'll  not  believe  that  ever  the  bold  Thane 
Rear'd  up  his  Cross  to  be  a  sanctuary 
To  the  base  coward,  who  shunu'd  an  equal  com- 
bat- 
How's  this  ? — ^that  look — that  mien — mine  eyes 
grow  dizzy  ! — 
NiN.  He   comes ! — thou   art   a  novice   on   tlis 
watch, — 
Brother,  I'll  take  the  word  and  speak  to  him. 
Pluck  down  thy  cowl;   know,  that  we  spi»-itunl 

champions 
Have  honor  to  maintain,  and  must  not  seem 
To  quail  before  the  laity. 

[Waldhave   lets  do^vii  his  cowl,  ana 
steps  back. 

Enter  LIaurice  Berkeley. 
Nix.  Who  art  thou,  stranger  ?  speak  thy  name 

and  purpose. 
Ber.  I  claim  the  privilege  of  Clan  MacDuff. 
My  name  is  Maurice  Berkeley,  and  my  lineage 
Allies  me  nearly  with  the  Thane  of  Fife. 

Nrx.  Give  us  to  know  the  cause  of  sanctuary  ? 
Ber.  Let  him  show  it, 

Against  whose  violence  I  claim  the  privilege. 

Enter  Lixdesat,  i"ith  his  stnord  drawn.    He  rushes 
at  Beukele"  :  Nixian  iriterposes. 

NiN.  Peace,  in  the  name  of  Saint  Magridius ! 
Peace,  in  our  Prior's  name,  ard  in  the  name 
Of  that  dear  symbol,  whici.  dia  purch.<ise  peace 
And  good-will  towards  man  !  i  do  command  thee 
To  sheath  thy  sword,  and  stir  no  contest  her:. 

Lix.  One  charm  I'll  try  first. 
To  lure  the  craven  from  the  enchanted  circle 
Which  he  hath  harbor'd  in. — Hear  you,  De  Eerke 

ley, 
This  is  my  brother's  sword — the  hand  it  arms 
Is  weapon'd  to  avenge  a  brother's  death : — 
If  thou  hast  heart  to  step  a  furlong  off, 
;  And  change  three  blows, — even  for  so  short  a  spaco 
As  these  good  men  may  say  an  ave-marie, — 
So,  Heaven  bo  good  to  me  !  I  wUl  forgive  thee 
Thy  deed  and  all  its  consequences.  [thought 

Ber.  Were  not  my  right  hand  fetter'd  by  the 


MACDUFF'S  CROSS. 


751 


Tliat  slaying  thee  were  but  a  double  guilt 
In  wbich  to  steep  my  soul,  no  bridegroom  ever 
Stepp'd  forth  to  trip  a  measure  with  his  bride, 
More  joyfully  than  I,  young  man,  would  rush 
To  meet  thy  challenge. 

Tjin.   He  quails,  and  shuns  to  look   upon  my 
weapon. 
Yet  boasts  himself  a  Berkeley ! 

Bee.  Lindesay,  and  if  there  were  no  deeper  cause 
For  shunning  thee  than  terror  of  thy  weapon, 
That  rock-hewu  Cross  as  soon  should  start  and  stir, 
Because  a  shepherd-boy  blew  horn  beneath  it, 
As  I  for  brag  of  tliine. 

NiN.  I  charge  you  both,  and  in  the  nam'e  of 
Heaven, 
Breathe  no  defiance  on  this  sacred  spot. 
Where  Christiai:  men  must  bear  them  peacefully. 
On  pain  of  the  Church  thunders.     Calmly  tell 
Your  cause  of  difference ;  and.  Lord  Lindesay,  thou 
Be  first  to  speak  them. 

Lin.  Ask  the  blue  welkin — ask  the  silver  Tay, 
The  northern  Grampians  —  all  things  know  my 

wrongs ; 
But  ask  not  me  to  teU  them,  while  the  villain. 
Who  wrought  them,  stands  and   listens  with  a 
smile. 

Kin.  It  is  said — 
Since  you  refer  us  thus  to  general  fame — 
That  Bei'kcley  slew  thy  brother,  the  Lord  Louis, 
In  his  own  halls  at  Edzell 

liiN.  Ay,  in  his  halls — 
In  his  own  halls,  good  father,  that's  the  word. 
In  his  own  halls  he  slew  liim,  while  the  wine 
Pass'd  on  the  board  between !     The  gallant  Thane, 
Who  wroak'd  Macbeth's  inhospitable  murder, 
Rear'd  not  yon  Cross  to  sanction  deeds  hke  these. 

Beh.  Thou  say'st  I  came  a  guest ! — I  came  a 
victim, 
A  destined  victim,  train'd  on  to  the  doom 
His  frantic  jealousy  prepared  for  me. 
He  fix'd  a  quarrel  on  me,  and  we  fought. 
Can  I  forget  the  form  that  came  between  us, 
And  perish'd  by  his  sword  ?     'Twas  then  I  fought 
For  vengeance, — until  then  I  guarded  Ufe, 
But  then  I  sought  to  take  it,  and  prevail'd. 

LiN.  Wretch !  thou  didst  first  dishonor  to  thy 
victim. 
And  then  didst  slay  him  ! 

Ber.  There  is  a  busy  fiend  tugs  at  my  heart. 
But  I  will  struggle  with  it ! — Youthful  knight. 
My  heart  is  sick  of  war,  my  hand  of  slaughter  ; 
I  come  not  to  my  lordships,  or  my  land. 
But  just  to  seek  a  spot  in  some  cold  cloister, 
Wliich  I  may  kneel  on  living,  and,  when  dead. 
Which  may  suffice  to  cover  me. 
Forgive  me  that  I  caused  your  brother's  death ; 
And  I  forgive  thee  tlie  injurious  terms 
With  which  thou  taxest  me. 


JjTs.  Take  worse  and  blacker. — Murderer,  adult 
erer  ! — 
Ai  fc  thou  not  moved  yet  ? 

Ber.  Do  not  press  me  further. 

Tlie  hunted  stag,  even  when  he  seeks  the  thicket, 
Compell'd  to  stand  at  bay,  gi-ows  dangerous  1 
Most  true  thy  brother  perish'd  by  my  hand. 
And  if  you  term  it  murder — I  must  bear  it. 
Thus  far  my  patience  can ;  but  if  thou  brand 
The  purity  of  yonder  martyr'd  saint. 
Whom  then  my  sword  but  poorly  did  avenge, 
With  one  injurious  word,  come  to  the  valley. 
And  I  will  show  thee  how  it  shall  be  auswer'd ! 

jSTix.  This  heat.  Lord  Berkeley,  doth  but  ill  ac 
cord 
With  tliy  late  pious  patience. 

Bee.  Father,  forgive,  and  let  me  stand  excused 
To  Heaven  and  thee,  if  patience  brooks  no  more. 
I  loved  this  lady  fondly — truly  loved — 
Loved  her,  and  was  beloved,  ere  yet  her  father 
Conferr'd  her  on  another.     "WTiile  she  hved. 
Each  thought  of  her  was  to  my  soul  as  haUow'd 
As  those  I  send  to  Heaven ;  and  on  her  grave. 
Her  bloody,  early  grave,  wliile  this  poor  hand 
Can  hold  a  sword,  shall  no  one  cast  a  scorn. 

Lix.  Follow  me.     Thou  shalt  hear  me  call  tha 
adulteress 
By  her  right  name. — I'm  glad  there's  yet  a  spur 
Can  rouse  thy  sluggard  mettle. 

Ber.  Make  then  obeisance  to  the  blessed  CrosS;, 
For  it  shall  be  on  earth  thy  last  devotion. 

[They  are  going  off. 

Wal.  (rushing  forward.)  Madmen,  stand ! — 
Stay  but  one  second — an,swer  but  one  question. — 
Tliere,  Maurice  Berkeley,  canst  thou  look  upon 
That  blessed  sign,  and  swear  thou'st  spoken  truth  ? 

Ber.  I  swear  by  Heaven, 
And  by  the  memory  of  that  murder'd  innocent, 
Each  seeming  charge  against  her  was  as  false 
As  our  bless'd  Lady's  spotless.     Hear,  each  saint  I 
Hear  me,  thou  holy  rood  !  hear  me  from  heaven. 
Thou  martyr'd  excellence ! — Hear  me  from  penal 

fire 
(For  sure  not  yet  thy  guilt  is  expiated) ! 
Stern  ghost  of  her  destroyer  ! 

Wal.   {throws   back  his   cowl.)   He   hears !    he 
hears !     Thy  spell  hath  raised  the  dead. 

LiN.  My  brother !  and  ahve  ! — 

Wal.  Alive, — but   yet,  my   Richard,   dead  to 
thee, 
Wo  tie  of  kindred  binds  me  to  the  world  ; 
All  were  renounced,  when,  with  reviving  hfe, 
Came  the  desire  to  seek  the  sacred  cloister. 
Alas,  in  vain  !  for  to  that  last  retreat. 
Like  to  a  pack  of  bloodhounds  in  full  chase, 
My  passion  and  my  wrongs  have  follow'd  me, 
Wrath  and  remorse — and,  to  fill  up  the  cry, 
Thou  hast  brought  vengeance  hither. 


752 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Lin.  I  but  sought 

To  do  t?ie  act  and  duty  of  a  brother. 

Wal.  I  ceased  to  be  so  when  I  left  the  world  • 
But  if  he  can  forgive  as  I  forgive, 
God  sends  me  here  a  brother  in  mine  enemy, 
To  pray  for  me  and  witli  me.     If  thou  canst, 
De  Berkeley; give  thine  hand. — 

Bee.  (^ives  his  hand.)  It  is  the  will 


Of  Heaven,  made  manifest  in  thy  preservation, 
To  inliibit  farther  bloodshed ;  for  De  Berkeley, 
The  votary  Maurice  lays  the  title  down. 
Go  to  his  halls,  Lord  Richard,  where  a  maiden. 
Kin  to  liis  blood,  and  daughter  in  affection. 
Heirs  his  broad  lands ; — If  thou  canst  love  her 

Lindesay, 
Woo  her,  and  be  successful. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


753 


®l)e   iHoom   of  f^tvox%ox[. 


PREFACE 

The  first  of  these  dramatic  pieces*  was  long 
Since  written,  for  tlie  purpose  of  obliging  the  late 
Mr.  Terry,  then  Manager  of  the  Adelplii  Theatre, 
for  whom  tlie  Author  had  a  particular  regard.  The 
manner  in  wliich  the  mmiic  goblins  of  Devorgoil 
are  intermixed  with  the  supernatural  machinery, 
was  found  to  be  objectionable,  and  the  production 
had  other  faults,  which  rendered  it  imfit  for  rep- 
resentation.^ I  have  called  the  jjiece  a  Melo- 
drama, for  want  of  a  better  name  ;  but,  as  I  learn 
from  the  unquestionable  authority  of  Mr.  Colman's 
Random  Records,  that  one  species  of  the  drama  is 
termed  an  extravaganza,  I  am  sorry  I  was  not 
sooner  aware  of  a  more  appropriate  name  than 
that  which  I  had  selected  for  Devorgoil. 

The  Author's  Pubhshers  thought  it  desirable, 
that  the  scenes,  long  condemned  to  oblivion, 
should  be  united  to  similar  attempts  of  the  same 
kind  ;  and  as  he  felt  indifferent  on  the  subject, 
they  are  printed  in  the  same  volume  with  Hali- 
don  Hill  and  MacDuff's  Cross,  and  thrown  off  in 
a  separate  form,  for  the  convenience  of  those  who 
possess  former  editions  of  the  Author's  Poetical 
Works. 

The  general  story  of  the  Doom  of  Devorgoil  is 
founded  on  an  old  Scottish  tradition,  the  scene  of 
wliich  lies  in  Galloway.  The  crime  supposed  to 
have  occasioned  the  misfortunes  of  tliis  devoted 
house,  is  similar  to  that  of  a  Lord  Herries  of 
Hoddam  Castle,  who  is  the  principal  personage 
of  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe's  interesting 
ballad,  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border, 
■vol.  iv.  p.  307.  In  remorse  for  liis  crime,  he 
built  the  singular  monument  called  the  Tower 
of  Repentance.  In  many  cases  the  Scottish  super- 
Btitions  allude  to  the  fairies,  or  those  who,  for 


1  "The  Doom  of  Devorgoil,"  and  "  Auchindrane,"  were 
pnblished  together  in  an  octavo  volume,  in  the  spring  of  1830. 
For  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  first,  see  Life  of  Scott,  vol. 

pp.  .z97-i>04,  285-6. 
Mr  DnnM  Terry,  the  comedian,  distinguished  for  a  very 


sins  of  a  nailder  description,  are  permitted  to 
wander  with  the  "  rout  that  never  rest,"  as  they 
were  termed  by  Dr.  Leydcn.  They  imitate  hu- 
man labor  and  human  amusements,  but  their  toil 
is  useless,  and  without  any  advantageous  result ; 
and  their  gaycty  is  unsubstantial  and  hoUow.  The 
pliantom  of  Lord  Erick  is  sujjjjosed  to  be  a  spectre 
of  tliis  character. 

•  The  story  of  the  Ghostly  Barber  is  told  in  many 
countries  ;  but  the  best  narrative  founded  on  the 
passage,  is  the  tale  called  Stumme  Liebe,  among 
the  legends  of  MuscBus.  I  tliink  it  has  been  ia- 
troduced  upon  the  English  stage  in  some  panto- 
mime, wliich  was  one  objection  to  bruigiug  it  ujion 
the  scene  a  second  time. 
Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON.^. 

Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  a  decayed  Scottish  Baron, 

Leomard,  a  Ranger. 

DuRWARD,  a  Palmer. 

Lancelot  Blackthorn,  a  Companion  of  Leonard, 

in  love  with  Katlecn. 
GuLLCRAMMER,  a  Conceited  Student. 
Owlspiegle  and  )  Maskers,  represented  by  Black 
CocKLEDEMOY,       ^  tkom  and  Katleen. 

Spirit  of  Lord  Erick  of  Devorgoil. 
Peasants,  Shepherds,  and  Vassals  of  inferior  rank. 

Eleanor,    Wife  of  Oswald,  descended  of  obscure 

Parentage. 
Flora,  Daxighter  of  Oswald. 
Katleen,  Niece  of  Eleanor. 

peculiar  style  of  humor  on  the  stage,  and,  moreover,  by 
personal  accomplishments  of  various  sorts  not  generally  share-J 
by  members  of  his  profession,  was,  during  many  years,  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  Sir  Walter  Scott.  He  died  22d  Juno 
1829. 


154 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


®l)e  Poom  of  Pccorgoil. 

ACT  I— SCEIfE  I. 

The  Scene  represents  a  wild  and  hilly,  but  not  a 
mountainous  Country,  in  a  frontier  District  of 
8.  otland.  The  flat  Scene  exhibits  the  Castle  of 
Devorgoil,  decayed,  and  partly  ruinous,  situated 
upon  a  Lake,  and  contiected  with  the  Land  by  a 
Drawbridfje,  which  is  lowered.     Time — Sunset. 

Floea  enters  from  the  Castle,  looks  timidly  around, 
then  comes  forward  and  speaks. 

He  is  not  here — those  pleasm-es  are  not  ours 
Wliich  placid  evening  brings  to  all  tilings  else. 

SOXG.^ 

The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low, 

The  wUd  birds  hush  their  song, 
The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow, 

Tet  Leonard  tan-ies  long. 
Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care 

From  home  and  love  divide. 
In  the  calm  simset  may  repair 

Each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 

The  noble  dame  on  tmret  high. 

Who  waits  her  gallant  knight, 
Looks  to  tlie  western  beam  to  spy 

The  flash  of  armor  bright. 
The  village  maid,  with  band  on  brow, 

The  level  ray  to  shade, 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now 

For  Culiu's  darkening  plaid. 

Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row, 

By  day  they  swam  apai-t. 
And  to  the  thicket  wanders  slow 

The  hind  beside  the  hart. 
The  woodlark  at  his  partner's  side. 

Twitters  his  closing  song — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide. 

But  Leonard  tai-ries  long. 

[Katleen  has  come  out  of  the  Castle 
while  Flora  was  singing,  and  speaks 
when  the  Song  is  ended. 

Kat.  Ah,  my  dear  coz ! — if  that  your  mother's 
niece 
May  so  presume  to  call  your  father's  daughter — 
All  these  fond  things  have  got  some  home  of  com- 
fort 


1  The  author  fhonght  of  omitting  this  song,  which  was,  in 
facl,  abridged  into  one  in  "  Qnentin  Durward,"  termed  Connty 
Guy.     [See  ante,   page  709.]     It  seemed,   however,   neces- 


To  tempt  their  rovers  back — the  lady's  bower, 
The  shepherdess's  hut,  the  wild  swan's  couch 
Among  the  rushes,  even  the  lark's  low  nest. 
Has  that  of  promise  which  lures  home  a  lover,— 
But  we  have  naught  of  tliis. 

Flo.  How  call  you,  then,  this  castle  of  my  sire. 
The  towers  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Kat.  Dungeons  for  men,  and  palaces  for  owls ; 
Tet  no  wise  owl  would  change  a  farmer's  barn 
For  yonder  hungry  hall — our  latest  mouse. 
Our  last  of  mice,  I  tell  you,  has  been  found 
Starved  in  the  pantry ;  and  the  reverend  spider. 
Sole  Uving  tenant  of  the  Baron's  halls. 
Who,  train'd  to  abstinence,  lived  a  whole  summer 
Upon  a  single  fly,  he's  famish'd  too  ; 
The  cat  is  ia  the  kitchen-chimney  seated 
Upon  our  last  of  fagots,  destined  soon 
To  dress  our  last  of  suppers,  and,  poor  soul. 
Is  starved  with  cold,  and  mewhng  mad  with  hunger 

Flo.  D'ye  mock  our  misery,  Katleen  ? 

Kat.  No,  but  I  am  hysteric  on  the  subject. 
So  I  must  laugh  or  cry,  and  laughing's  lightest. 

Flo.  Why  stay  you  with  us,  then,  my  merry 
cousin  ? 
From  you  my  sij-e  can  ask  no  filial  duty. 

Kat.  No,  thanks  to  Heaven  ! 
No  noble  in  wide  Scotland,  rich  or  poor. 
Can  claim  an  interest  in  the  vulgar  blood 
That  dances  in  my  veins  ;  and  I  might  wed 
A  forester  to-morrow,  nothing  fearing 
The  wrath  of  high-born  kindred,  and  far  less 
That  the  dry  bones  of  lead-lapp'd  ancestors 
Would  clatter  in  their  cerements  at  the  tidings. 

Flo.  My  mother,  too,would  gladly  see  you  places 
Beyond  the  verge  of  our  unliappiness," 
Which,  Uke  a  witch's  circle,  bUghts  and  taint? 
WTiatever  comes  within  it. 

Kat.  Ah  !  my  good  aunt ! 

She  is  a  careful  kinswoman  and  prudent. 
In  all  but  marrying  a  ruin'd  baron. 
When  she  could  take  her  choice  of  honest  yeomen  • 
And  now,  to  balance  this  ambitious  error. 
She  presses  on  her  daughter's  love  the  suit 
Of  one,  who  hath  no  touch  of  nobleness. 
In  manners,  birth,  or  mind,  to  recommend  bun, — 
Sage    Master    Gullcrammer,    the    new-dubb'd 
preacher. 

Flo.  Do  not  name  him,  Katleen  ! 

Kat.  Ay,  but  I  must,  and  with  some  gratitude. 
I  said  but  now,  I  saw  our  last  of  fagots 
Destined  to  dress  our  last  of  meals,  but  said  not 
That  the  repast  consisted  of  choice  dainties. 
Sent  to  our  larder  by  that  Uberal  suitor. 
The  kind  Melchisedek. 


sary  to  the  sense,  that  the  original  stanzas  shonld  be  retained 
here. 
'  MS. — "  Beyond  the  circle  of  our  wretchednes*." 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


I  Oil 


Flo.  "Were  famishing  the  word, 

I'd  famish  ere  I  tasted  them — the  fop, 
The  fool,  tlie  low-born,  low-bred,  pedant  coxcomb ! 

Kat.  There  spoke  the  blood  of  long-descended 
sir 08 ! 
My  cottage  wisdom  ought  to  echo  back, — 

0  the  snug  parsonage  !  the  well-paid  stipend  ! 
The  yew-hedged  garden  1  beehives,  pigs,  and  poul- 
try! 

But,  to  speak  honestly,  the  peasant  Katleen, 
Valuing  these  good  thuigs  justly,  stUl  would  scorn 
To  wed,  for  such,  the  paltry  Gullcrammer, 
As  much  as  Lady  Flora. 

Flo.  Mock  me  not  with  a  title,  gentle  cousin, 
Which  poverty  has  made  ridicidous. — 

[Trumpets  far  off. 
Hark !  they  have  broken  up  the  weapon-shawing ; 
The  vassals  are  dismiss'd,  and  marchmg  homeward. 

Kat.  Comes  your  sire  back  to-night  ? 

Flo.  He  did  purpose 

To  tarry  for  the  banquet.     This  day  only, 
Summon'd  as  a  king's  tenant,  he  resumes 
The  right  of  rank  his  bii-th  assigns  to  him. 
And  mingles  with  the  proudest. 

Kat.  To  return 

To  his  domestic  wretchedness  to-morrow — 

1  envy  not  the  privilege.     Let  us  go 

To  yonder  height,  and  see  the  marksmen  practise : 
They  shoot  their  match  down  in  the  dale  beyond. 
Betwixt  the  Lowland  and  the  Forest  district. 
By  ancient  custom,  for  a  tun  of  wine. 
Let  us  go  see  which  wias. 

Flo.  Tliat  were  too  forward. 

Kit.  Why,  you  may    drop  the   screen  before 
your  face, 
Wluch  some  chance  breeze  may  haply  blow  aside 
Just  when  a  youth  of  special  note  takes  aim. 
It  chanced  even  so  that  memorable  morning. 
When,  nutting  in  the  woods,  we  met  young  Leon- 
ard ; — 
And  in  good  time  here  comes  his  sturdy  comrade, 
The  rough  Lance  Blackthorn. 

Enter  Lancelot  Blackthorn,  a  Forester,  with  the 
Carcass  of  a  Deer  on  his  back,  and  a  Gun  in  his 
hand. 

Bla.  Save  you,  damsels  1 

Kat.  Godden,  good  yeoman. — Come  you  from 

the  Weaponshaw  ? 
Bla.  Not  I,  indeed ;  there  lies  the  mark  I  shot  at. 

[Laj/s  down  the  Deer. 
Tlie  time  has  been  I  had  not  miss'd  the  sport. 
Although  Lord  Nithsdale's  self  had  wanted  ven- 
ison; 
But  this  same  mate  of  mine,  young  Leonard  Dacre, 
Makes  me  do  what  he  lists ; — he'll  win  the  pri^e, 

though : 
The  Forest  district  will  not  lose  i^s  honor, 


And  that  is  all  I  care  for — {some  shouts  are  heard.) 

Hark !  they're  at  it. 
I'll  go  see  the  issue. 

Flo.  Leave  not  here 

The  produce  of  your  hunting. 

Bla.  But  I  must,  though. 

This  is  his  lair  to-night,  for  Leonard  Dacre 
Charged  me  to  leave  the  stag  at  Devorgoil ; 
Then  show  me  qxiickly  where  to  stow  the  quarry, 
And  let  me  to  the  sports — (more  shots.)    Come, 
hasten,  damsels ! 
Flo.  It  is  impossible — we  dare  not  take  it. 
Bla.  There  let  it  lie,  then,  and  I'll  wind  my 
bugle, 
That  all  within  these  tottermg  walls  may  know 
That  here  lies  venison,  whoso  likes  to  hft  it. 

[A  'jout  to  blow. 
Kat.  {to  Flo.)  He  will  alarm  your  mother  ;  and, 
besides. 
Our  Forest  proverb  teaches,  that  no  question 
Should  ask  where  venison  comes  from. 
Your  careful  mother,  with  her  wonted  prudence, 
WiU  hold  its  presence  plead  its  own  apology. — 
Come,  Blackthorn,  I  will  show  you  where  to  stow  it. 
[Uxeunt  Katleen  a7id  Blackthorn  into 
the  Castle — more  shooting — then  a  dis- 
tant shout — Stragglers,  armed  in  differ- 
ent ways,  jjass  over  the  Stage,  as  if  from 
the  Weaponshaw. 
Flo.  The  prize  is  won ;  that  general  shout  pro- 
claim'd  it. 
The  marksmen  and  the  vassals  are  dispersing. 

[She  drau's  back. 
First  Vassal  {a  peasant.)  Ay,  ay, — ^"tis  lost  and 
won, — ^the  Forest  have  it. 
'Tis  they  have  aU  the  luck  on't. 

Second  Vas.  {a   shepherd.)    Luck,   sayst  thou, 

man  ?     'Tis  practice,  skill,  and  cuiming. 
Third  Vas.  'Tis  no  such  thing. — I  had  hit  the 
mark  precisely. 
But  for  this  cursed  flint ;  and,  as  I  fired, 
A  swallow  cross'd  mine  eye  too — Will  you  tell  me 
That  that  was  but  a  chance,  mine  honest  shepherd  ? 
First  Vas.  Ay,  and  last  year,  when  Lancelot 
Blackthorn  won  it, 
Because  my  powder  happen'd  to  be  damp. 
Was  there  no  luck  in  that  ? — The  worse  luck  mine. 
Second  Vas.  Still  I  say  'twas  not  chance ;  it 

might  be  witchcraft. 
First  Vas.  Faith,  not  unlikely,  neighbors ;  for 
these  foresters 
Do  often  haunt  about  this  ruin'd  castle.         [ere, — 
I've  seen  myself  this  spark, — young  Leonard  Da 
Come  stealing  like  a  ghost  ere  break  of  day, 
And  after  sunset,  too,  along  tliis  path  ; 
And  well  you  know  the  haimted  towera  of  Do 

vorgoil 
Have  no  good  reputation  in  the  land. 


156 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Shep.  That  have  they  not.     I've  heard  my  fa- 
ther say, — 
Ghosts  dance  as  lightly  in  its  moonlight  halls, 
As  ever  maiden  did  at  Midsummer 
Upon  the  village-green. 
First   Vas.    Those   that  frequent   such  spirit- 
haunted  ruins 
Must  needs  know  more  than  simple  Christians  do. — 
See,  Lance  this  blessed  moment  leaves  the  castle, 
And  comes  to  triumph  over  us. 

[Blackthorn  enters  from  the  Castle,  and 
cwnes  forward  while  they  speak. 
Third  Vas.  A  mighty  triumph !     What  is't,  af- 
ter all, 
Except  the  driving  of  a  piece  of  lead, — 
As  learned  Master  Gullcrammer  defined  it, — 
Just  tlirough  the  middle  of  a  painted  board. 

Black.  And  if  he  so  define  it,  by  your  leave, 
Tour  learned  Master  GuUcrammer's  an  ass. 

Third  Vas.  {angrily?)  He  is  a  preacher,  hunts- 
man, under  favor. 
Second  Vas.    No   quarrelling,  neighbors — you 
may  both  be  right. 

Enter  a  Fourth  Vassal,  with  a  gallon  stovp  ofzcine. 
Fourth  Vas.  Why  stand  you  brawling  here  ? 
Young  Leonard  Dacre 
Has  set  abroach  the  tun  of  wine  he  gain'd. 
That  all  may  drink  who  list.     Blackthorn,  I  sought 

you; 
Your  comrade  prays  you  wiU  bestow  this  flagon 
Where  you  have  left  the  deer  you  kill'd  this  morn- 
ing. 
Black.  And  that  I  will ;  but  first  we  will  take 
toll 
To  see   if  it's  worth  carriage.      Shepherd,   thy 

horn. 
There  must  be  due  allowance  made  for  leakage, 
And  that  wiU  come  about  a  draught  apiece. 
Skink  it  about,  and,  when  our  tlu'oats  are  liquor'd, 
We'll  merrily  trowl  our  song  of  weaponshaw. 

{They  drink  about  out  of  the  Shefheed's 
horn,  and  then  »ing. 

SONG. 

We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the  drum's 

rattle, 
They  call  us  to  sport,  and  they  call  us  to  battle  ; 
And  old  Scotland  shall  laugh  at  the  threats  of  a 

stranger, 
WhUe  our  comrades  in  pastime  are  coim-ades  in 

danger. 

If  there's  mirth  in  our  house,  'tis  our  neighbor  that 

shares  it — 
If  peril  approach,  'tis  our  neighbor  that  dares  it ; 
And  when  we  lead  off  to  the  pipe  and  the  tabor. 
The  fair  band  we  press  is  the  hand  of  a  neighbor. 


Tlien  close  your  ranks,  comrades,  the  bands  that 
combine  them. 

Faith,  friendship,  and  brotherhood,  join'd  to  en- 
twine them ; 

And  we'll  laugh  at  the  threats  of  each  insolent 
stranger, 

"^Tiile  our  comrades  ui  sport  are  our  comrades  in 
danger. 

Black.  Well,  I  must  do  mine  errand.     Master 
flagon 

[Shaki?ig  it. 
Is  too  consumptive  for  another  bleeding. 
Shep.  I  must  to  my  fold. 

Third  Vas.  I'll  to  the  butt  of  wine, 

And  see  if  that  has  given  up  the  ghost  yet. 
First  Vas.  Have  witli  you,  neighbor. 

[Blackthorn  enters  tfie  Castle,  the  rest  ex- 
eunt severally.    Melchisedek  Gullcram- 
mer watches  them  off  the  stage,  and  then 
enters  from  a  side-scene.    His  costume  is 
a  Geneva  cloak  and  hand,  toith  a  high- 
crowned  hat ;  the  rest  of  his  dress  in  the 
fashion  of  James  the  First's  time.    He 
looks  to  the  windows  of  the  Castle,  then 
draws  back  as  if  to  escape  observation, 
while  he   brushes   his   cloak,   drives   th-e 
white  threads  from  his  waistcoat  with  his 
wetted  thiimb,  and  dusts   his  shoes,    all 
with  the  air  of  one  who  would  not  will- 
ingly be  observed  engaged  in  these  offices. 
He   then   adjusts   his   collar    and   hand, 
comes  forward  and  speaks. 
Gull.  Right  comely  is  thy  garb,  Melchisedek ; 
As  well  beseemeth  one,  whom  good  Saint  Mungo, 
The  patron  of  our  land  and  university. 
Hath    graced  with    license   both   to  teach    and 

preach — 
Who  dare  opine  thou  hither  plod'st  on  foot  ? 
Trim  sits  thy  cloak,  unruffled  is  thy  band, 
And  not  a  speck  upon  tliine  outward  man, 
Bewrays  the  labors  of  thy  weary  sole. 

[Touches  his  shoe,  and  smiles  complacently. 
Quaint  was  that  jest  and  pleasant ! — Now^wiU  I 
Approach  and  liail  tlie  dwellers  of  this  fort ; 
But  specially  sweet  Flora  Devorgoil, 
Ere  her  proud  sire  return.     He  loves  me  not, 
Mocketh  my   lineage,   flouts   at    mine    advance- 
ment— 
Sour  as  the  fruit  the  crab-tree  furnishes, 
And  hard  as  is  the  cudgel  it  supplies ; 
But  Flora — she's  a  lily  on  the  lake, 
And  I  must  reach  her,  though  I  risk  a  ducking. 

[As  Gullcrammer  moves  towards  the  draw 

bridge,  Bauldie  Dltiward  enters,  and  in 

terposes  himself  betwixt  him  and  the  Cas 

tie.     Gullcrammer  stops  and  speaks. 

Whom  have  we  hore  ? — that  ancient  fortune-tellejr 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEYORGOIL. 


76V 


Papist  and  sorcerer,  and  stcrdy  beggar, 
Old  Bauldie  Durward !  "Would  I  were  -well  past 
liim! 

[Durward  advanced,  partly  in  the  dress  of  a 
paltner,  partly  in  that  of  an  old  Scottish 
mendicant,  having  coarse  blue  cloak  and 
badge,  white  beard,  dec. 
DuR.  The  blessing  of  the  evening  on  your  wor- 
ship, 
And  on  your  taff'ty  doublet.     Much  I  marvel 
Yoiu:  wisdom  chooseth  such  trim  garb,'  when  tem- 
pests 
Are  gathering  to  the  bm-sting. 
GuiLCEAMiLER  {looks  to  Ms  dress,  and  then  to  the 
sky,  with  some  appreheiision.) 

Surely,  Bauldie;, 
Thou  dost  belie  the  evening — in  the  west 
The  light  sinks  down  as  lovely  as  this  band 
Drops   o'er  this  mantle — Tush,  man!    'twill  be 
fair. 
DuR.  Ay,  but  the  stonn  I  bode  is  big  with  blows, 
Horsewliips  for  liailstones,  clubs  for  thunderbolts ; 
And  for  the  wailing  of  the  midnight  wind,  ' 
The  unpitied  howling  of  a  cudgell'd  coxcomb. 
Come,  come,  I  know  thou  seek'st  fair  Flora  Devor- 
goil. 
(tCL.  And  if  I  did,  I  do  the  damsel  gi-ace. 
jlei  mother  thinks  so,  and  she  has  accepted 
At  these  poor  hands  gifts  of  some  consequence. 
And  curious  dainties  for  the  evening  cheer. 
To  which  I  am  invited — She  respects  me. 

DtJR.  But  not  so  doth  her  father,  haughty  Os- 
wald. 

Bethink  thee,  he's  a  baron 

GuL.  And  a  bare  one  ; 

Construe  me  that,  old  man! — The  crofts  of  Muc- 

klewhame — 
Destined  for  mine  so  soon  as  heaven  and  earth 
Have  shared  my  uncle's  soul  and  bones  between 

them — 
The  crofts  of  Mucklewhame,  old  man,  which  nour- 
ish 
Three  scores  of  sheep,  three  cows,  with  each  her 

follower, 
A  female  palfrey  eke — I  will  be  candid. 
She  is  of  that  meek  tribe  whom,  in  derision, 
Our  wealthy  southern  neighbors   nickname  don- 
keys  

Due.  She  hath  her  follower  too, — when  thou  art 

there. 
Gui.  I  say  to  thee,  these  crofts  of  Mucklewhame, 
In  the  mere  tything  of  their  stock  and  produce. 
Outvie  whatever  patch  of  land  remains 
To  this  old  rugged  castle  and  its  owner. 
Well,  therefore,  may  Melchisedek  Gullcrammer, 
Yoimger  of  Mucklewhame,  for  such  I  write  me, 

1  MS. — "  That  yon  should  walk  in  such  trim  guise." 


Master  of  Arts,  by  grace  of  good  Saint  Andrew, 

Preacher,  in  brief  expectance  of  a  ku-k. 

Endow' d  with  ten  score  Scottish  pounds  per  au- 

num. 
Being  eight  pounds  seventeen  eight   in  sterling 

coin — 
Well,  then,  I  say,  may  tliis  Melchisedek, 
Tlius  highly  graced  by  fortune — and  by  nature 
E'en  gifted  as  thou  seest — aspire  to  woo 
The  daughter  of  the  beggar 'd  DevorgoiL 

DcR   Credit  an  old  man's  word,  kind  Master 

Gullcrammer, 
You  wUl  not  find  it  so. — Come,  sir,  I've  known 
The  hospitahty  of  Mucklewhame ; 
It  reach'd  not  to  profuseness — yet,  in  gratitude 
For  the  pm-e  water  of  its  living  well. 
And  for  the  barley  loaves  of  its  fair  fields. 
Wherein  chopp'd  straw  contended  with  the  grain 
Which  best  should  satisfy  the  appetite, 
I  would  not  see  the  hopeful  heir  of  Mucklewhame 
Thus  fling  himself  on  danger. 

GuL.  Danger !  what  danger  ? — Know'st  thou  not, 

old  Oswald 
This  day  attends  the  muster  of  the  shii-e. 
Where  the  crown-vassals  meet  to  show  their  arms, 
And  their  best   horse  of  service? — 'Twas  good 

sport 
(And  if  a  man  had  dared  but  laugh  at  it) 
To  see  old  Oswald  with  his  rusty  morion. 
And  huge   two-handed  sword,  that  might  have 

seen 
The  field  of  Bannockburn  or  Chevy-Chasa, 
Without  a  squire  or  vassal,  page  or  groom. 
Or  e'en  a  single  pikeman  at  his  heels. 
Mix  with  the  proudest  nobles  of  the  county. 
And  claim  precedence  for  his  tatter'd  person 
O'er  armors  double  gilt  and  ostrich  plumage. 
DuR.  Ay !  'twas  the  jest  at  which  fools  laugh 

the  loudest. 
The  downfall  of  our  old  nobility — 
Which  may  forerun  the  ruin  of  a  kingdom. 
I've  seen  an  idiot  clap  his  hands,  and  shout 
To  see  a  tower  like  yon  {points  to  a  part  of  the 

Castle)  stoop  to  its  base 
In  headlong  ruin ;  while  the  wise  look'd  round, 
And  fearful  sought  a  distant  stance  to  watch 
What  fragment  of  the  fabric  next  should  foUow  ; 
For  when  the  tmrets  fall,  the  walls  are  tolteriug 
GuL.  {after  pondering.)  If  that  means  aught,  it 

means  thou  saw'st  old  Oswald 
Expell'd  from  the  assembly. 

DuR.  Thy  sharp  wit 

Hath  glanced  unwittingly  right  nigh  the  trutL 
ExpeU'd  he  was  not,  but,  his  claim  denied 
At  some  contested  point  of  ceremony. 
He  left  the  weaponshaw  in  high  displeasure. 
And  hither  comes — his  wonted  bitter  temper 
Scarce  sweeten'd  by  the  chances  of  the  day. 


758 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


'Twere  much  like  rashness  should  you  wait  his 
And  thither  tends  my  counsel.  [coming, 

GuL.  And  I'll  take  it ; 
Good  Bauldie  Dm-ward,  I  Tvill  take  thy  counsel,    ', 
Vnd  will  requite  it  with  this  minted  farthing, 
That  bears  our  sovereign's  head  m  purest  copper. 

Due.  Thanks  to  thy  bounty — Haste  thee,  good 
young  master ; 
Oswald,  besides  the  old  two-handed  sword, 
3ears  m  his  hand  a  staff  of  potency. 
To  charm  intruders  from  his  castle  purlieus, 

Gdl.  I  do  abhor  all  charms,  nor  will  abide 
To  hear  or  see,  far  less  to  feel  then-  use. 
Behold,  I  have  departed. 

[Uxit  hastily. 
Manent  Durwaed. 

DuR.  Thus  do  I  play  the  idle  part  of  one 
ySHio  seeks  to  save  the  moth  from  scorching  him 
In  the  bright  taper's  iiame — And  Flora's  beauty' 
Must,  not  unlike  that  taper,  waste  away. 
Gilding  the  rugged  walls  that  saw  it  kindled. 
Tliis  was  a  shard-born  beetle,  heavy,  drossy,^ 
Tliough  boasting  his  dull  drone  and  gilded  wing. 
Here  comes  a  flutterer  of  another  stamp, 
V\'hom  the  same  ray  is  charming  to  his  ruin. 

Enter  Leonard,  dressed  as  a  huntsmati ;  he  pauses 
before  the  Tovicr,  and  whistles  a  note  or  two  at 
intervals — drawing  back,  as  if  fearful  of  obser- 
vation— yet  waiting,  as  if  expecting  some  reply. 
DuRW^uiD,  whom  he  had  not  observed,  'moves 
ro2md,  so  as  to  front  Leoxaed  unexpectedly. 

Leox.  I  am  too  late — it  was  no  easy  task 
To  rid  myself  from  yonder  noisy  revellers. 
Flora ! — I  fear  she's  angry — Flora — Flora !' 

SO.VG. 

Admire  not  that  I  gain'd  the  prize 

From  all  the  village  crew ; 
How  could  I  fail  with  hand  or  eyes. 

When  heart  and  faith  were  true  ? 

And  when  in  floods  of  rosy  wine 
My  comrades  drown'd  their  cares, 

I  thought  but  that  thy  heart  was  mine. 
My  own  leapt  hght  as  theirs. 


1  iWS.- 


-"  And  Flora's  years  of  beauty.' 


'■i  MS. — "  This  was  an  eartli-born  beetle,  dull,  and  drossy." 

3  From  the  MS.,  the  following  song  appears  to  have  been  a 
recent  interpolation. 

4  The  MS.  here  adds  : — 

;'  Leonard.    But  mine  is  not  misplaced — If  1  sought 
beauty, 
Resides  it  not  with  Flora  Devorgoil  t 
If  piety,  if  sweetness,  if  discretion, 
Patience  beneath  ill-suited  tasks  of  labor. 
And  filial  tenderness,  that  can  beguile 
He'  mooly  sire'?  Hirk  thoughts,  as  the  soft  moonshine 


My  brief  delay  then  do  not  blame, 
Kor  deem  your  swain  untrue  ; 

My  form  but  linger'd  at  the  game, 
My  soul  was  still  with  you. 

She  hears  not ! 

Due.  But  a  friend  hath  heard — Leonard,  I  pity 
thee. 

Leox.  {starts,  but  recovers  himself ^y  Pity,  good 
father,  is  for  those  in  want. 
In  age,  in  sorrow,  in  distress  of  mind, 
Oi  agony  of  body.     I'm  in  health — 
Can  match  my  limbs  against  the  stag  in  chase, 
Have  means  enough  to  meet  my  sunple  wants, 
And  am  so  free  of  soul  that  I  can  carol 
To  woodland  and  to  wild  in  notes  as  lively 
As  are  my  joUy  bugle's. 

DuR.  Even  therefore  dost  thou  need  my  pity, 
Leonard, 
And  therefore  I  bestow  it,  paying  thee, 
Before  thou  foel'st  the  need,  my  mite  of  pity. 
Leonai-d,  thou  lovest ;  and  in  that  little  word 
There  lies  enough  to  claim  the  sympathy 
Of  men  who  wear  such  hoary  locks  as  mine. 
And  know  what  misplaced  love  is  sure  to  end  in.* 

Leon.  Good  father,  thou  art  old,  and  even  thy 
youth. 
As  thou  hast  told  me,  spent  in  cloister'd  cells, 
Fits  thee  but  ill  to  judge  the  passions, 
Whicli  are  the  joy  and  charm  of  social  life. 
Press  me  no  farther,  then,  nor  waste  those  momenta 
Whose  worth  thou  canst  not  estimate. 

[As  turning  from  him. 

Due.  (detains  him.)  Stay,  young  man  T 
'Tis  seldom  that  a  beggar  claims  a  debt; 
Yet  I  bethink  me  of  a  gay  young  stripling. 
That  owes  to  these  white  locks  and  hoary  beard 
Something  of  reverence  and  of  gratitude 
More  than  he  wills  to  pay. 

Leon.  Forgive  me,  father.     Often  hast  ti^ou  told 
me. 
That  in  the  ruin  of  my  father's  house 
You  saved  the  orphan  Leonard  in  his  cradle ; 
And  well  I  know,  that  to  thy  care  alone — 
Care  seconded  by  means  beyond  thy  seeming— 
I  owe  whate'er  of  nurture  I  can  boast. 

Due.  Then  for  thy  life  preserved, 

Illumes  the  clond  of  night — if  I  seek  these, 
Are  they  not  all  with  Flora  1    Number  me 
The  list  of  female  virtues  one  by  one. 
And  I  will  answer  all  with  Flora  Devorgoil. 

"  Dur.  This  is  the  wonted  pilch  of  youthful  passion  , 
And  every  woman  who  hath  had  a  lover, 
However  now  deem'd  crabbed,  cross,  and  canker'd, 
And  crooked  both  in  temper  and  in  shape. 
Has  in  her  day  been  thought  the  purest,  wisest, 
Gentlest,  and  best  condition'd — and  o'er  all 
Fairest  and  liveliest  of  Eve's  numerous  daughtere, 

"  Leonard.  Good  father,  thou  art  old,"  &c. 


Aad  for  the  means  of  Isnowledge  I  have  furnish'd 
(Which  lacking,  man  is  levell'd  with  the  brutes), 
Grant  me  this  boon : — Avoid  these  fatal  walls ! 
A  curse  is  on  them,  bitter,  deep,  and  heavy. 
Of  power  to  split  the  massiest  tower  they  boast 
From  pimiacle  to  dungeon  vault.     It  rose 
Upon  the  gay  horizon  of  proud  Devorgoil, 
As  unregarded  as  the  fleecy  cloud. 
The  first  forerunner  of  the  hurricane. 
Scarce  seen  amid  the  welkin's  shadeless  blue, 
Dark  grew  it,  and  more  dark,  and  still  the  fortunes 
Of  this  doom'd  fiimily  have  darken'd  with  it. 
It  hid  their  sovereign's  fovor,  and  obscured 
The  lustre  of  theu-  service,  gender'd  hate 
Betwixt  them  and  the  mighty  of  the  land ; 
Till  by  degrees  the  waxing  tempest  rose, 
And  stripp'd  the  goodly  tree  of  fruit  and  flowers, 
And  buds,  and  boughs,  and  branches.     There  re- 
mains 
A  rugged  trunk,  dismember'd  and  unsightly, 
Waiting  the  bursting  of  the  final  bolt 
To  splinter  it  to  shivers.    Novr,  go  pluck 
Its  single  tendi'il  to  enwreath  thy  brow, 
And  rest  beneath  its  shade — to  share  the  ruin ! 

Leox.  Tliis  anathema. 
Whence  should  it   come  ? — How  merited  ! — and 
when  ? 

Due.            'Twas  in  the  days 
Of  Oswald's  gi'andsire, — 'mid  Galwegian  chiefs 
The  fellest  foe,  the  fiercest  champion. 
His  blood-red  pennons  scared  the  Cumbrian  coasts, 
And  wasted  towns  and  manors  mark'd  his  progress. 
His  galleys  stored  with  treasure,  and  then  decks 
Crowded  with  EngUsh  captives,  who  beheld, 
With  weeping  eyes,  their  native  shores  retire. 
He  bore  him  homeward ;  but  a  tempest  rose 

Leon.  So  far  I've  heard  the  tale. 
And  spare  thee  the  recital. — The  grijn  chief, 
Markuig  his  vessels  labor  on  the  sea. 
And  loth  to  lose  his  treasure,  gave  command 
To  plunge  his  captives  in  the  raging  deep. 

Den.  There  sunk  the  lineage  of  a  noble  name. 
And  the  wild  waves  boom'd  over  sire  and  son. 
Mother  and  nxu-sling,  of  the  House  of  Aglionby,* 
Leaving  but  one  frail  tendril. — Hence  the  fate 
That  hovers  o'er  these  tui-rets, — hence  the  peasant, 
Belated,  hying  homewards,  di-eads  to  cast 
A  glance  upon  that  portal,  lest  he  see 
The  imshrouded  spectres  of  the  murder'd  dead  f 
x)r  the  avenging  Angel,  with  his  sword. 
Waving  destruction ;  or  the  gi'isly  phantom 
Of  that  fell  Chief,  the  doer  of  the  deed, 
Which  still,  they  say,  roams  through  his  empty 

halls, 
And  mom-ns  their  wasteness  and  then-  lonelihood. 

1  MS. "  House  of  Ehrenwald." 

s  MS. —    "  spectres  of  the  nmrder'd  ca^t/lves." 
MS. "  their  painted  limbs." 


Leon.  Such  is  the  dotage 
Of  superstition,  father,  ay,  and  the  cant 
Of  hoodwihk'd  prejudice. — Not  for  atonement 
Of  some  foul  deed  done  in  the  ancient  warfare, 
When  wiu'  was  butchery,  and  men  were  wolves, 
Doth  Heaven  consign  the  innocent  to  suffering 
I  tell  thee.  Flora's  virtues  might  atone 
For  all  the  massacres  her  sires  have  done, 
Since  first  the  Pictish  race  their  stained  limbs* 
Array 'd  in  wolf's  skin. 

DuR.  Leonard,  ere  yet  this  beggar's  scrip  and 
cloak 
Supplied  the  place  of  mitre  and  of  crosier ,"* 
Which  in  these  alter'd  lauds  must  not  be  worn, 
I  was  superior  of  a  brotherhood 
Of  holy  men, — the  Prior  of  Lanercost. 
Nobles  then  sought  my  footstool  many  a  league. 
There  to  unload  their  sins — questions  of  conscience 
Of  deepest  import  were  not  deem'd  too  nice 
For  my  decision,  youth. — But  not  even  then, 
With  mitre  on  my  brow,  and  aU  the  voice 
Which  Rome  gives  to  a  father  of  her  church, 
Dared  I  pronoimce  so  boldly  on  the  ways 
Of  hidden  Providence,  as  thou,  young  man, 
"'rtTiose  chiefest  knowledge  is  to  track  a  stag, 
Or  wind  a  bugle,  hast  presumed  to  do. 

Leon.  Nay,  I  pray  forgive  me, 
Father ;  thou  know'st  I  meant  not  to  presume 

Dor.  Can  I  refuse  thee  pardon  ? — Thou  art  all 
That  war  and  change  have  left  to  the  poor  Dor- 
ward. 
Thy  father,  too,  who  lost  his  life  and  fort"  me 
Defending  Lanercost,  when  its  fan-  aisles 
Were  spoil'd  by  sacrilege — I  bless'd  his  banner, 
And  yet  it  prosper'd  not.     But — all  I  could — 
Thee  from  the  wreck  I  saved,  and  for  thy  sake 
Have  still  di'agg'd  on  my  life  of  pilgrimage 
And  penitence  upon  the  hated  shores 
I  else  had  left  for  ever.     Come  with  me, 
And  I  wiU  teach  thee  there  is  healing  in 
The  woimds  which  friendship  gives.  [^Exeunt. 


SCENE  n. 


77ie  Scene  changes  to  the  interior  of  the  Castle.  An 
apartment  is  discovered,  in  which  there  is  much 
appearance  of  present  poverty,  mixed  with  some 
relics  of  former  grandeur.  On  the  wall  hangs, 
amongst  other  things,  a  suit  of  ancient  armor ; 
by  the  table  is  a  covered  basket ;  behind,  and  con- 
cealed by  if,  the  carcass  of  a  roe-deer.  There  is 
a  small  latticed  window,  which,  appearing  to  per- 
forate a  wall  of  great  thickness,  is  supposed  to 

4  MS.—"  Supplied  the  i  ''''"^^  i  of  palmer's  cowl  and  staff  " 
' '  I  waut  i 


760 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  ^VORKS. 


look  ont  towards  the  drawbridge.    It  is  in  the 
shape  of  a  loop-hole  for  mushetry  ;  and,  as  is  not 
I  unusual  in  old  buildi^igs,  is  placed  so  high  up  in 

I  the  wall,  that  it  is  only  approached  by  Jive  or  six 
narrow  stone  steps. 
Eleanor,  the  wife  of  Oswald  of  Deyorgoil,  Flora 
and  Katleex,  her  Daughter  and  Niece,  are  dis- 
covered at  work.  The  former  spins,  the  latter  are 
embroidering  Eleakor  quits  her  own  labor  to 
examine  the  manner  in  which  Flora  is  exe- 
cuting her  task,  and  shakes  her  head  as  if  dis- 
satisjied. 

Ele.  Fj  on  it,  Flora ;  this  botch'd  work  of  thine 
Shows  that  thy  mind  is  distant  from  thy  task. 
The  finest  tracery  of  our  old  cathedral 
Had  not  a  richer,  freer,  bolder  pattern, 
Than  Flora  once  could  trace.     Thy  thoughts  are 
wandering. 

Flo.  They're  with  my  father.     Broad  upon  the 
lake 
The  evening  sun  sunk  down ;  huge  piles  of  clouds, 
Crimson  and  sable,  rose  upon  his  disk. 
And  quench'd  him  ere  his  setting,  like  some  cham- 
pion 
In  his  last  conflict_,  losing  all  his  glory. 
Sure  signals  those  of  storm.     And  if  my  father 
Be  on  liis  homeward  road 

Ele.  But  that  he  wiU  not. 
Baron  of  DevorgoU,  tliis  day  at  least 
He  banquets  with  the  nobles,  who  the  next 
Would  scarce  vouchsafe  an  alms  to  save  his  house- 
hold 
Fi;om  want  or  famine.     Thanks  to  a  Idnd  friend. 
For  one  brief  space  we  shall  not  need  their  aid. 

Flo.  {joyfully)  "Wliat !  knew  you  then  his  gift  ? 
How  silly  I  that  would,  yet  durst  not  tell  it ! 
I  fear  my  father  will  condemn  us  both, 
That  easUy  accepted  such  a  present. 

Kat.  Now,  here's  the  game  a  bystander  sees 
better 
Than  those  who  play  it. — My  good  aunt  is  pon- 
dering 
On  the  good  cheer  which  Gullcrammer  has  sent  us. 
And  Flora  thinks  upon  the  forest  venison.    [Aside. 

Ele.  {to  Flo.)  Thy  father  need  not  know  on't — 
'tis  a  boon 
Comes  timely,  when  fi-ugahty,  nay,  abstinence, 
Might  scarce  avail  us  longer.     I  had  hoped 
Ere  now  a  visit  from  the  youthful  donor, 
That  we  might  thaiJc  his  bounty ;  and  perhaps 
My  Flora  thought  the  same,  when  Simday's  ker- 
chief 
And  the  best  kirtle  were  sought  out,  and  donn'd 
To  grace  a  work-day  evening. 

Flo.  Nay,  mother,  that  is  judging  all  too  close  ! 
My  work-day  gown  was  torn — my  kerchief  sulhed ; 
And  thus — But,  think  you,  will  the  gallant  come  ? 


Ele.  He  wDI,  for  with  these  dainties  came  a 
message 
From  gentle  Master  Gullcranamer,  to  intimate 

Flo.  {greatly  disappointed)  Gullcrammer  ? 

Kat.  There  btirst  the  bubble — down  fell  house 
of  cards, 
And  cousin's  like  to  cry  for't !  [Aside. 

Ele.   Gidlcrammer  ?    ay,   Gullcrammer  —  thou 
scorn'st  not  at  him  ? 
'Twere  something  short  of  wisdom  in  a  maiden, 
Who,  like  the  poor  bat  in  the  Grecian  fable, 
Hovers  betwixt  two  classes  in  the  world, 
And  is  disclaim'd  by  both  the  mouse  and  bird. 

Kat.  I  am  the  poor  mouse, 

And  may  go  creep  into  what  hole  I  hst. 
And  no  one  heed  me — Yet  Fll  waste  a  word 
Of  counsel  on  my  betters. — Kind  my  aunt, 
And  you,  my  gentle  cousin,  were't  not  better 
We  thought  of  dressing  this  same  gear  for  supper, 
Than  quarrelling  about  the  worthless  donor  ? 

Ele.  Peace,  minx ! 

Flo.  Thou  hast  no  feeling,  cousin  Katleen, 

Kat.  Soh!  I  have  brought  them  both  on  my 
poor  shoulders 
So  meddling  peace-makers  ai'c  still  rewarded : 
E'en  let  them  to't  again,  and  fight  it  out. 

Flo.  Mother,  were  I  disclaim'd  of  every  class, 
I  would  not  tlicrefore  so  disclaim  myself. 
As  even  a  passing  thought  of  scorn  to  waste 
On  cloddish  Gullcrammer. 

Ele.  List  to  me,  love,  and  let  adversity 
IncUne  thine  ear  to  wisdom.     Look  around  thee — • 
Of  the  gay  youths  who  boast  a  noble  name. 
Which  will  inchue  to  wed  a  dowerless  damsel? 
And  of  the  yeomanry,  who  thuik'st  thou.  Flora, 
Would  ask  to  share  the  labors  of  liis  farm 
A  high-born  beggar? — This  young  man  is  mod- 
est  

Flo.  Silly,  good  mother ;  sheepish,  if  you  wdl  it. 

Ele.  E'en  call  it  what  you  hst — the  softer  tem- 
per, 
The  fitter  to  endure  the  bitter  sallies 
Of  one  whose  wit  is  all  too  sharp  for  mine. 

Flo.  Mother,  you  cannot  mean  it  as  you  say ; 
You  cannot  bid  me  prize  conceited  folly  ? 

Ele.  Content  thee,  child — each  lot  has  its  own 
blessings. 
This  youth,  with  his  plain-deahng,  honest  suit, 
Proffers  thee  quiet,  peace,  and  competence, 
Redemption  from  a  home,  o'er  which  fell  Fate 
Stoops  like  a  falcon. — 0,  if  thou  couldst  choose 
(As  no  such  choice  is  given)  'twixt  such  a  mate 
And  some  proud  noble ! — Who,  in  sober  judgment. 
Would  hke  to  navigate  the  heady  river. 
Dashing  in  fury  from  its  parent  mountain. 
More  than  the  waters  of  the  quiet  lake  ? 

K.\T.   Now  can  I  hold  no  longer — Lake,  good 
aunt? 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


vai 


Niiy,  iu  the  name  of  truth,  say  mill-pond,  liorse- 

ponil ; 
Or  if  there -be  a  pond  more  miry, 
More  sluggish,  mean-derived,  and  base  than  either. 
Be  such  Gullcrammer's  emblem — and  his  portion  ! 

Flo.  I  would  that  he  or  I  were  in  our  grave. 
Rather  than  thus  liis  suit  sliould  goad  me ! — Mother, 
Flora  of  Devorgoil,  though  low  m  fortunes. 
Is  still  too  high  in  mind  to  join  her  name 
With  such  a  base-bom  churl  as  Gullcramraer. 

Ele.  You  are  trim  maidens  both ! 
{To  Flora.)  Have  you  forgotten, 

Or  did  you  mean  to  call  to  my  remembrance 
Thy  father  chose  a  wife  of  peasant  blood  ? 

Flo.  WiU  you  speak  thus  to  me,  or  think  the 
stream 
Can  mock  the  fountain  it  derives  its  source  from  ? 
My  venerated  mother,  in  that  name 
Lies  all  on  earth  a  chUd  should  chiefest  honor ; 
And  with  that  name  to  mix  reproach  or  taimt. 
Were  only  short  of  blasphemy  to  Heaven. 

Ele.  Then  hsten,  Flora,  to  that  mother's  counsel. 
Or  rather  profit  by  that  mother's  fate. 
Yoiii-  father's  fortunes  were  but  bent,  not  broken. 
Until  he  listen'd  to  his  rash  affection. 
Means  were  afforded  to  redeem  his  house. 
Ample  and  large — the  hand  of  a  rich  heu'ess 
Awaited,  almost  courted,  his  acceptance ; 
He  saw  my  beauty — such  it  then  was  caU'd, 
Or  such  at  least  he  thought  it — the  wither'd  bush, 
Whate'er  it  now  may  seem,  had  blossoms  then, — 
And  he  forsook  the  proud  and  wealthy  hekess, 
To  wed  with  me  and  ruin 

Kat.  (aside.)  The  more  fool, 

Say  I,  apart,  the  peasant  maiden  then, 
Who   might  have  chose  a  mate  fi-om  her   own 
hamlet. 

Ele.  Friends  fell  off. 
And  to  his  own  resom'ces,  his  own  counsels, 
Abandon'd,  as  they  said,  the  thoughtless  prodigal, 
Wlio  had  exchanged  rank,  riches,  pomp,  and  honor, 
For  the  mean  beauties  of  a  cottage  maid. 

Flo.  It  was  done  like  my  father, 
Who  scorn'd  to  seU  what  wealth  can  never  buy — 
True  love  and  free  affections.     And  he  loves  you  ! 
If  you  have  suffer'd  in  a  weary  world. 
Your  sorrows  have  been  jointly  borne,  and  love 
Has  made  the  load  sit  Ughter. 

Ele.  Ay,  but  a  misplaced  match  hath  that  deep 

curse  in't, 

That  can  embitter  e'en  "the  purest  streams 

Of  true  affection.     Thou  hast  seen  me  seek. 

With  the  strict  caution  early  habits  taught  me, 

To  match  our  wants  and  means — hast  seen  thy 

father, 

With  aristocracy's  high  brow  of  scorn, 

Spurn  at  economy,  the  cottage  vktue. 

As  best  befitting  her  whose  sires  were  peasants ; 
96 


Nor  can  I,  when  I  see  my  lineage  scorn'd. 
Always  conceal  in  what  contempt  I  hold 
The  fancied  claims  of  rank  he  clings  to  fondly. 
Flo.  Why  will  you  do  so  ? — well  you  know  it 

chafes  liim. 
Ele.  Flora,  thy  mother  is  but  mortal  woman, 
Nor  can  at  all  times  check  an  eager  tongue. 
Kat.  (aside)  Tliat's  no  new  tidiugs  to  her  niece 

and  daughter. 
Ele.  0  mayst  thou  never  know  the  spited  feel- 
ings 
That  gender  discord  in  adversity 
Betwixt  the  dearest  friends  and  truest  lovers ! 
In  the  chUl  dampmg  gale  of  poverty. 
If  Love's  lamp  go  not  out,  it  gleams  but  palely. 
And  twinkles  in  the  socket. 

Flo.  But  tenderness  can  screen  it  with  her  veil,* 
Till  it  revive  again.    By  gentleness,  good  mother. 
How  oft  I've  seen  you  soothe  my  father's  mood ! 
Kat.  Now  there  speak  youthful  hope  and  fan- 
tasy !  [Aside. 
Ele.  Tliat  is  an  easier  task  in  youth  than  age ; 
Our  temper  hardens,  and  our  charms  decay. 
And  both  are  needed  in  that  art  of  soothing. 
ILiT.  And  there  speaks  sad  experience.    [Aside. 
Ele.  Besides,  since  that  our  state  was  utter 
desperate, 
Darker  his  brow,  more  dangerous  grow  liis  words , 
Fain  would  I  snatch  thee  fi-om  the  woe  and  wi-ath 
Which  darken'd  long  my  Ufe,  and  soon  must  end  it. 
[A  knocking  without ;  Eleanor  shows  alarm. 
It  was  thy  father's  Icnock,  haste  to  the  gate. 

[Exeunt  Flora  and  K^atleen. 
What  can  have  happ'd  ? — he  thought  to  stay  the 

night. 
This  gear  must  not  be  seen. 

[As  she  is  about  to  remove  the  basket,  she 
sees  the  body  of  the  roe-deer. 
What  have  we  here  ?  a  roe-deer ! — as  I  fear  it, 
This  was  the  gift  of  which  poor  Flora  thought. 
The   young   and   handsome  hunter  ;  —  but   time 
presses. 

[She  removes  the  basket  and  the  roe  into 
a  closet.     As  she  has  done — 

Enter  Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  Flora,  and  Katleen. 
[He  is  dressed  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  which  should 
seem  worn  and  old — a  headpiece,  and  old- 
fashioned  sword — the  rest  of  ir's  dress  that 
of  a  peasant.  His  countenance  and  man- 
ner  should  express  tha  moody  and  irritable 
haughtiness  of  a  proud  man  involved  in  ca- 
lamity, and  who  has  been  exposed  to  recent 
insult. 
Osw.  (addressing  his  icife)  The  sun  hath  set- 
why  is  the  di-awbridge  lower'd  ? 

1  MS. — "  Ay,  but  the  veil  of  tenderness  can  screen  it." 


■(32 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  AVORKS. 


Ele.   The  counterpoise  has  fail'd,  and  Flora's 
strength, 
Katleen's,  and  mine  united,  could  not  raise  it. 

Osw^.  Flora  and  thou !     A  goodly  garrison 
To  hold  a  castle,  which,  if  fame  say  true, 
OJice  foil'd  the  King  of  Worse  and  all  his  rovers. 

Ele.  It  might  be  so  in  ancient  times,  but  now — 

Osw.  A  herd  of  deer  might  storm  proud  De- 
vorgoil. 

ILat.  (aside  to  Flo.)  Tou,  Flora,  know  full  well 
one  deer  already 
Has  enter'd  at  the  breach ;  and,  what  is  worse. 
The  escort  is  not  yet  march'd  off,  for  Blackthoi-n 
Is  still  within  the  castle. 

Flo.  In  Heaven's  name,  rid  him  out  on't,  ere 
my  father 
Discovers  he  is  here !     Why  went  he  not 
Before  ? 

K.\T.  Because  I  staid  him  on  some  little  Lasiness ; 
I  had  a  plan  to  scare  poor  paltry  Gullcrammer 
Out  of  his  l^altry  wits. 

Flo.  Well,  haste  ye  now, 

And  try  to  get  him  off. 

Kat.  I  will  not  promise  that. 

I  would  not  turn  an  honest  hunter's  dog, 
So  well  I  love  the  woodcraft,  out  of  shelter 
In  such  a  night  as  tliis — far  less  his  master : 
But  111  do  tliis,  I'll  try  to  hide  him  for  you. 

Osw.  (whom  his  wife  has  assisted  to  take  off  his 
cloak  and  feathered  cap)  Ay,  take  them  off, 
and  bring  my  peasant's  bonnet 
And  peasant's  plaid — I'U  noble  it  no  farther. 
Let  them  erase  my  name  from  honor's  hsts, 
And  drag  my  scutcheoji  at  their  horses'  heels ; 
I  have  deserved  it  all,  for  I  am  poor, 
And  poverty  hath  neither  right  of  bnth, 
Nor  rank,  relation,  claim,  nor  privilege, 
To  match  a  new-coin'd  viscount,  whose  good  grand- 
sire. 
The  Lord  be  with  him,  was  a  careful  skipper. 
And  steer'd  bis  paltry   skiff  'twixt   Leith  and 

Campvcre — 
Marry,  sk,  he  could  buy  Geneva  cheap. 
And  knew  the  coast  by  moonlight. 

Flo.    Mean  you  the  Viscount  EUondale,   my 
father  ? 
V\"hat  strife  has  been  between  you  ? 

Osw.  O,  a  trifle !  . 

Not  worth  a  wise  man's  thinking  twice  about — 
Precedence  is  a  toy — a  superstition 
About  a  table's  end,  joint-stool,  and  trencher. 
Somethmg  was  once  thought  due  to  long  descent. 
And  something  to  Galwegia's  oldest  baron, — 
But  let  that  pass — a  dream  of  the  old  time. 

Ele.  It  is  indeed  a  dream. 


>  MS. "  Yet,  I  know,  for  minds 

Of  nobler  stamp  earth  has  no  dearer  motive." 


Osw.  (turning  upon  her  rather  quickly.)   Ha ! 
said  ye  !  let  me  hear  these  words  more  plain. 
Ele.  Alas !  they  are  but  echoes  of  your  own. 
Match'd  with  the  real  woes  that  hover  o'er  us, 
What  are  the  idle  visions  of  precedence, 
But,  as  you  term  them,  dreams,  and  toys,  and  trifles, 
Not  worth  a  wise  man's  thinking  twice  upon  ? 
Osw.  Ay,  'twas  for  you  I  fjramed  that  conso- 
lation, 
The  true  philosophy  of  clouted  shoe 
And  linsey-woolsey  kirtle.     I  know,  that  minds 
Of  nobler  stamp  receive  no  dearer  motive' 
Than  what  is  link'd  with  honor.     Ribands,  tassels, 
Which  are  but  shreds  of  silk  and  spangled  tinsel — ' 
The  right  of  place,  which  in  itself  is  momentary — 
A  word,  wliich  is  but  au* — may  in  themselves, 
And  to  tlie  nobler  file,  be  steep'd  so  richly 
In  that  elixir,  honor,  that  the  lack 
Of  things  so  very  trivial  in  themselves 
Shall  be  misfortvme.     One  shall  seek  for  them' 
O'er  the  wild  waves — one  in  the  deadly  breach 
And  battle's  headlong  front — one  in  the  paths 
Of  midnight  study ;  and,  in  gaining  these 
Emblems  of  honor,  each  wUl  hold  liimself 
Repaid  for  all  liis  labors,  deeds,  and  dangers. 
Wliat  then  should  he  tlunk,  knowing  them  his  own, 
Wlio  sees  what  warriors  and  what  sages  toil  for. 
The  formal  and  establish'd  marks  of  honor, 
Usurp'd  from  him  by  upstart  insolence  ? 

Ele.  (who  has  listened  to  the  last  speech  with  some 
impatience.)  This  is  but  empty  declamation, 
Oswald. 
The  fragments  left  at  yonder  full-spread  banquet, 
Nav,  even  the  poorest  crust  swept  from  the  table, 
Ought  to  be  far  more  precious  to  a  father, 
Whose  family  lacks  food,  than  the  vain  boast, 
He  sate  at  the  board-head. 

Osw.  Thou'lt  drive  me  frantic ! — I  wiU  tell  tuee, 
woman — 
Yet  why  to  thee  ?     There  is  another  ear 
Which  that  tale  better  suits,  and  he  shall  hear  it. 
\ Looks  at  his  sic<  rd,  %vhich  he  has  unbuckled, 
and  addresses  the  rest  of  the  speech  to  it. 
Yes,  trusty  friend,  my  father  knew  thy  worth. 
And  often  proved  it — often  told  me  of  it — 
Though  thou  and  I  be  now  held  lightly  of. 
And  want  the  gilded  hatchments  of  the  time, 
I  think  we  both  may  prove  true  metal  stUl. 
'Tis  thou  shalt  tell  this  story,  right  this  wrong: 
Rest  thou  till  time  is  fitting.    [Hangs  up  the  sword. 
[The  women  look  at  each  other  with  anxiety 
during  this  speech,  whicii  theg  partly  over- 
hear.    They  both  approach  Oswald. 
Ele.  Oswald — my  dearest  husband  ! 
Flo.  My  dear  father  1 


2  M?. 
3MS- 


'  tinsell'd  spangle." 

'  One  shall  seek  these  emblenn. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


763 


Osw.  Peace,  both ! — we  speak  no  more  of  this. 
I  go 
To  heave  the  drawbridge  up.  [Exit. 

Katleen  mounts  the  steps  towards  the  loop-hole, 
looks  out,  and  speaks. 
The  storm  is  gathering  fiist ;  broad,  heavy  drops 
Fall  plasliing  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
And  dash  its  inky  surface  into  chcles  ; 
The  distant  liills  are  hid  in  wreaths  of  darkness. 
Twill  be  a  fearful  night. 

Oswald  re-enters,  and  throws  himself  into  a  seat. 

Ele.  More-  dark  and  dreadful 

Than  is  our  destiny,  it  cannot  be. 

Osw.  {to  Flo.)  Such  is  Heaven's  will — it  is  our 
part  to  bear  it. 
We're  warranted,  my  child,  from  ancient  story 
And  blessed  wi-it,  to  say,  that  song  assuages 
The  gloomy  cares  that  prey  upon  our  reason, 
And  wake  a  strife  betwixt  our  better  feelings 
And  the  fierce  dictates  of  the  headlong  passions. 
Sing,  then,  my  love ;  for  if  a  voice  have  influence 
To  mediate  peace  betwixt  me  and  my  destiny, 
Flora,  it  must  be  thine. 

Flo.  My  best  to  please  you  ! 

SONG. 

When  the  tempest's  at  the  loudest, 

On  its  gale  the  eagle  rides ; 
Wlien  the  ocean  rolls  the  proudest. 

Through  the  foam  the  sea-bird  gUdes — 
All  the  rage  of  wind  and  sea 
Is  subdued  by  constancy. 

Gnawing  want  and  sickness  pining. 

All  the  ills  that  men  endure ; 
Each  their  vai'ious  pangs  combining, 

Constancy  can  find  a  cure — 
Pain,  and  Fear,  and  Poverty, 
Are  subdued  by  constancy. 

Bar  me  from  each  wonted  pleasure. 
Make  me  abject,  mean,  and  poor  ; 

Heap  on  insults  without  measm-e, 
Chain  me  to  a  dungeon  floor — 

m  be  happy,  rich,  and  free. 

If  endow'd  with  constancy. 


ACT  n.— SCENE  L 

A  Chamber  in  a  distant  part  of  the  Castle.  A 
large  Windoio  in  the  fat  scene,  supposed  to  look 
on  the  Lake,  which  is  occasionally  illuminated  by 
lightning.  There  is  a  Couch-bed  in  the  Room, 
tmd  an  antique  Cabinet, 


Enter  Katleen,  introdticing  Blackthorn.' 
Kat.  This  was  the    destined   scene  of  action. 
Blackthorn, 
And  here  our  properties.     But  all  in  vain, 
For  of  Gullcranmier  we'll  see  naught  to-night. 
Except  the  dainties  that  I  told  you  of 

Bla.  O,  if  he's  left  that  same  hog's  face  and  sai 
sages, 
He  will  try  back  upon  them,  never  fear  it. 
The  cur  will  opeti  on  the  trail  of  bacon. 
Like  my  old  brach-hound. 

Kat.  And  should  that  hap,  we'll  play  our  come- 

dy,- 

Shall  we  not.  Blackthorn  ?     Thou  shalt  be  Owla- 
piegle 

Bla.  And  who   may  that   hard-named  person 
be? 

Kat.  I've  told  you  nine  times  over. 

Bla.  Yes,  pretty  Katleen,  but  my  eyes  were 
busy 
In  looking  at  you  all  the  time  you  were  talking ; 
And  so  I  lost  the  tale. 

Kat.  Then  shut  your  eyes,  and  let  yom*  goodly 
ears 
Do  their  good  office. 

Bla.  That  were  too  hard  penance. 

Tell  but  thy  tale  once  more,  and  I  wiU  hearken 
As  if  I  were  tin-own  out,  and  Usteniug  for 
My  bloodhound's  distant  bay. 

Kat.  a  civil  simUe  ! 

Then,  for  the  tenth  time,  and  the  last — be  told, 
Owlspiegle  was  of  old  the  wicked  bai-ber 
To  Erick,  wicked  Lord  of  DevorgoU. 

Bla.  The  cliief  who  drown'd  his  captives  in  the 
Sol  way — 
We  all  have  heard  of  him. 

Kat.  a  hermit  hoar,  a  venerable  man — 
So  goes  the  legend — came  to  wake  repentance 
In  the  fierce  lord,  and  tax'd  him  with  his  guilt; 
But  he,  heart-hardenYl,  turn'd  into  derision 
The  man  of  heaven,  and,  as  his  dignity 
Consisted  much  in  a  long  reverend  beard, 
Wliich  reach'd  his  girdle,  Erick  caused,  his  barber, 
This  same  Owlsj^iegle,  violate  its  honors 
With  sacrilegious  razor,  and  clip  his  hair 
After  the  fashion  of  a  roguish  fool. 

Bla.  This  was  reversing  of  our  ancient  proverb 
And  shaving  for  the  devil's,  not  Jpr  God's  sake. 

KL\T.  True,  most  grave  Blackthorn ;  and  in  punish 
ment 
Of  this  foul  act  of  scorn,  the  barber's  ghost 
Is  said  to  have  no  resting  after  death, 
But  haunts  these  halls,  and  chiefly  this  same  cham 

ber, 
Wliere  the  profanity  was  acted,  trimming 
And  clipping  all  such  guests  as  sleep  within  it. 

1  The  MS.  thronghont  the  Eirst  Act  reads  Buckthtm. 


f64 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Such  is  at  least  the  tale  our  elders  tell, 
W  ith  many  others,  of  this  haiinted  castle. 

Bla.  Aud  you  -would  have  me  take  this  shape 
of  Owlspiegle, 
And  trim  the  wise  Melchisedek ! — I  "womiot. 
Kat.  You  will  not ! 

Bla.  No — imless  you  bear  a  part. 

Kat.  Wliat !    can  yeu  not  alone  play  such  a 

farce  ? 
Bla.  Not  I — I'm  dull      Besides,  we  foresters 
»*till  hunt  our  game  in  couples.     Look  you,  Kat- 

leen, 
We  danced  at  Shrovetide  —then  you  were  my  part- 
ner; 
We  sung  at  Christmas — ^you  kept  time  with  me  ; 
And  if  we  go  a  mumming  in  this  business, 
By  heaven,  you  must  bo  o  le,  or  Master  Gullcram- 
mer 

Is  like  to  rest  unshaven 

ICat.  Why,  you  fool, 

What  end  can  this  serve  ? 

Bla.  Nay,  I  know  not,  I. 

But  if  we  keep  this  wont  of  being  partners, 
Why,  use  makes  perfect — who  knows  what  may 
happen  ? 
Ivat.  Tliou  art  a  foolish  patch — But  sing  our 
carol, 
As  I  have  alter'd  it,  with  some  few  words 

To  suit  the  characters,  and  I  will  bear 

[  Gives  a  paper. 
Bla.  Part  in  the  gambol.     I'll  go  study  quickly. 
Is  there  no  other  ghost,  then,  haunts  the  castle, 
But  this  same  barber  shave-a-penny  goblin  ? 
I  thought  they  glanced  iu  every  beam  of  moon- 
shine, 
As  frequent  as  the  bat. 

IL\T.  I've  heard  my  aunt's  high  husband  teU  of 
prophecies. 
And  fates  impending  o'er  the  house  of  DevorgoU ; 
Legends  first  coin'd  by  ancient  superstition. 
And  render'd  current  by  credulity 
And  pride  of  lineage.     Five  years  have  I  dwelt, 
And  ne'er  saw  any  thing  more  mischievous 
Than  what  I  am  myself. 

Bla.  And  that  is  quite  enough   I  warrant  yoxi. 
But,  stay,  where  shall  I  find  a  dress 
To  play  this — what  d'ye  call  him — Owlspiegle  ? 
Kat.  (takes  dresses  out  of  the  cabinet.)   Why, 
there  are  his  own  clothes. 
Preserved  with  other  trumpery  of  the  sort, 
For  we  have  kept  naught  but  what  is  good  for 
naught. 
\_She  drops  a  cap  as  she  draws  otd  the  clothes. 
Blackthorn  lifts  it,  and  gives  it  to  her. 
Nay,  keep  it  for  thy  pains — it  is  a  coxcomb ; 
So  call'd  in  ancient  limes,  in  ours  a  fool's  cap ; 
For  you  must  know  they  kept  a  Fool  at  Devor- 
goU 


In  former  days ;  but  now  are  well  contented 
To  play  the  fool  themselves,  to  save  expenses ; 
Yet  give  it  me,  I'll  find  a  worthy  use  for't. 
I'll  take  this  page's  dress,  to  play  the  page 
Cockledemoy,  who  waits  on  ghostly  Owlspiegle ; 
And  yet  'tis  needless,  too,  for  GuHcrammer 
Will  scarce  be  here  to-night. 

Bla.  I  tell  you  that  he  wUl — I  will  uphold 
His  plighted  faith  and  true  allegiance 
Unto  a  sous'd  sow's  face  and  sausages, 
And  such  the  damties  that  you  say  he  sent  you- 
Agaiust  all  other  likings  whatsoever, 
Except  a  certain  sneaking  of  affection, 
Which  makes  some  folks  I  know  of  play  the  fool. 
To  please  some  other  folks. 

Kat.  Well,  I  do  hope  he'll  come — there's  first  a 
chance 
He  will  be  cudgell'd  by  my  noble  uncle — 
I  cry  his  mercy — by  my  good  aunt's  husband. 
Who  did  vow  vengeance,  knowing  naught  of  him 
But  by  report,  and  by  a  Umping  sonnet 
Wliich  he  had  fashion'd  to  my  cousin's  glory, 
And  forwarded  by  blind  Tom  Long  the  carrier ; 
So  there's  the  chance,  first  of  a  hearty  beating, 
Which  failing,  we've  this  after-plot  of  vengeance. 
Bla.  Kind  ckmsel,  how  considerate  and  merci- 
ful! 
But  how  shall  we  get  off,  oiu-  parts  being  play'd  ? 
Kat.  For  that  we  are  well  fitted ;  here's  a  trap- 
door 
Siuks   with  a  comiterpoise  —  you   shall  go  that 

way. 
I'll  make  my  exit  yonder — 'neath  the  window, 
A  balcony  communicates  with  the  tower 
Tliat  overhangs  the  lake. 

Bla.  'Twere  a  rare  place,  this  house  of  Devor- 
goil, 
To  play  at  hide-and-seek  in — shall  we  try, 
One  day,  my  pretty  Katleen? 
Kat.  Hands  off,  rude  ranger  1 
hawk 
To  stoop  to  lure  of  yom-s. — But  bear  you  gal- 
lantly ; 
This  GuHcrammer  hath  vex'd  my  cousin  much, 
I  fain  would  have  some  vengeance. 

Bla.  I'U  bear  my  part  with  glee ; — ^he  spoka 
UTeverently 
Of  practice  at  a  mark ! 

Kat.  That  cries  for  vengeance. 

But  I  must  go ;  I  hear  my  aunt's  shrill  voice  I 
My  cousin  and  her  father  will  scream  next. 
Ele.  {at  a  distance)  Katleen !  Katleen ! 
Bla.  Hark  to  old  Sweetlips  1 

Away  with  you  before  the  full  cry  open — 
But  stay,  what  have  you  there  ? 

Kat.  {with  a  bundle  she  has  taken  from  the  ward- 
robe.) My  .dress,  my  page's  dress — ^let  it 
alone. 


I'm  no  managed 


Bla.  Your  tii-ing-room  is  not,  I  hope,  far  dis- 
tant ; 
You're  inexperienced  in  these  new  habUiments — 
I  am  most  ready  to  assist  your  toilet. 
Kai.  Out,  you  great  ass  !  was  ever  such  a  fool ! 

[^Jiuns  off. 

Bla.  (sinffs.) 
0,  Robin  Hood  was  a  bowman  good, 

And  a  bowman  good  was  he, 
And  he  met  with  a  maiden  in  merry  Sherwood, 

All  under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  said  lie, 
For  there  never  came  maid  into  merry  Sher- 
wood, 

But  she  paid  the  forester's  fee. 

I've  coursed  this  twelvemonth  tliis  sly  puss,  young 

Katleen, 
And  she  has  dodged  me,  tm-n'd  beneath  my  nose, 
And  flung  me  out  a  score  of  yards  at  once ; 
If  this  same  gear  fadge  right,  I'll  cote  and  mouth 

her, 
And  then  !  whoop !  dead  !  dead  !  dead  ! — She  is 

the  met^ 

To  make  a  woodsman's  wife  of ! 

[Pauses  a  moment. 
WeU — I  can  find  a  hare  upon  her  form 
With  any  man  in  Nithsdale — stalk  a  deer. 
Run  Reynard  to  the  earth  for  all  his  doubles, 
Reclaim  a  haggard  hawk  that's  wild  and  wayward. 
Can  bait  a  wild-cat, — sure  the  devil's  in't 
But  I  can  match  a  woman — I'll  to  study. 

l_Sits  down  on  the  couch  to  examine  the  paper. 


SCENE  II. 

iS'cewe  changes  to  the  inhabited  apartment  of  the 
Castle,  as  in  the  last  Scene  of  the  preceding  Act. 
A  fire  is  kindled,  by  which  Oswald  sits  in  an 
attitude  of  deep  and  melancholy  thought,  tuithout 
paying  attention  to  what  jmsses  aroimd  him. 
Eleanor  is  busy  in  covering  a  table  ;  Flora  goes 
out  and  re-enters,  as  if  busied  in  the  kitchen. 
There  should  be  some  by-play — the  women  whis- 
pering together,  and  watching  the  state  of  Os- 
wald ;  theii,  separating,  and  seeking  to  avoid  his 
observation,  when  he  casually  raises  his  head,  and 
drops  it  again.  This  must  be  left  to  taste  and 
management.  The  women,  in  the  first  part  of 
the  scene,  talk  apart,  and  as  if  fearful  of  being 
overheard;  the  by-play  of  stopping  occasionally, 
and  attending  to  Oswald's  movements,  will  give 
liveliness  to  the  Scene. 


Ele.  Is  all  prepared  ? 

Flo.  Ay  ;  but  I  doubt  the  issue 

Will  give  my  sire  less  pleasure  than  you  liope  for. 

Ele.  Tush,  maid — I  know  tliy  fathers  humor 
better. 
He  was  higli-bred  in  gentle  luxuries  ; 
And  when  our  griefs  began,  I've  wept  apart, 
Wliile  lordly  cheer  and  high-fill'd  cups  of  wine 
Were  blinding  him  against  the  woe  to  come. 
He  has  turn'd  his  back  upon  a  pi«ncely  banquet : 
We  will  not  spread  liis  board — tins  night  at  least 
Since  chance  hath  better  furnish' d — with  dry  bread, 
And  water  fi-om  the  well. 

Enter  Katleen,  and  hears  the  last  speech. 
Kat.  (aside.)  Considerate  aunt  1  she  deems  that 
a  good  supper 
Were  not  a  thing  indifferent  even  to  him 
Who  is  to  hang  to-morrow.     Since  she  tliinks  so, 
AVe  must  take  care  the  venison  has  due  honor — 
So  much  I  owe  the  sturdy  knave,  Lance  Black- 
thorn. 
Flo.  Mother,  alas !  when  Grief  turns  reveller, 
Despair  is  cup-bearer.    "^Tiat  shall  hap  to-morrow  ? 
Ele.  I  have  learn'd  carelessness  from  fruitless 
care. 
Too  long  I've  watch'd  to-morrow ;  let  it  come 
And  cater  for  itself — Thou  hear'st  the  thunder. 

[iow  and  distant  thunder. 
This  is  a  gloomy  night — within,  alas  ! 

[Looking  at  her  husbana. 
Still  gloomier  and  more  threatening — Let  us  use 
Whatever  means  we  have  to  drive  it  o'er. 
And  leave   to   Heaven  to-morrow.     Trust    me. 

Flora, 
'Tis  the  pliilosophy  of  desperate  want 
To  match  itself  but  with  the  present  evil. 
And  face  one  grief  at  once. 
Away,  I  wish  thine  aid  and  not  thy  counsel. 

[As  Flora  is  about  to  go  off,  Gullcraji- 
mer's  voice  is  heard  behind  the  fiat  scene, 
as  if  from  the  drawbridge. 
Gul.  {behind.)  Hillo — ^hillo — ^liilloa — boa — ^lioa  1 
[Oswald  raises  himself  and  listens ;  El- 
eanor goes  tip  the  steps,  and  opens  the 
window  at  the  loop-hole;    Gulloram- 
mer's  voice  is  then  heardmore  distinctly. 
Gul.    Kind   Lady   Devorgoil — sweet    ilistress 
Flora  !— 
The  night  grows  fearful,  I  have  lost  my  way. 
And  wander'd  till  the  road  turn'd  round  with  me. 
And  brought  me  back — For  Heaven's  sake,  give 
me  shelter  I 
Kat.  {aside.)  Now,  as  I  live,  the  voice  of  GuU- 
crammer ! 
Now  shall  om-  gambol  be  play'd  off  with  spirit ; 
I'll  swear  I  am  the  only  one  to  whom 
That  screech-owl  whoop  was  e'er  acceptable 


7G6 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Osw.  What  bawling  knave  is  this  that  takes  our 
dwelling 
For  some  Ledge-inn,  the  haunt  of  lated  drunkards  ? 

Ele.  What  shall  I  say  ? — Go,  Katleen,  speak  to 
him. 

Kat.  (aside.)  The  game  is  in  my  hands — I  mil 
say  something 
Will  fret  the  Baron's  pride — and  then  he  enters. 
(She  speaks  from  the  window.)  Good  sir,  be  patient ! 
We  are  poor  folks — it  is  but  six  Scotch  miles 
To  the  next  borough  town,  where  your  Reverence 
May  be  accommodated  to  your  wants  ; 
We  are  poor  folks,  an't  please  your  Reverence, 
And  keep  a  narrow  househcjld — there's  no  track 
To  lead  your  steps  astray —  —  [l^'lj. 

GuL.  Nor  none  to  lead  them  right. — You  kill  me. 
If  you  deny  me  harbor.     To  budge  from  hence, 
And  in  my  weary  phght,  were  sudden  death. 
Interment,  funeral-sermon,  tombstone,  epitaph. 

Osw.  Who's  he  that  is  thus  clamorous  without  ? 
(To  Ele.)     Tliou  know'st  him  ? 

Ele.  (confused)  I  know  him  ? — no — yes — 'tis  a 
worthy  clergyman, 
Eenighted  on  his  way  ; — but  think  not  of  him. 

E_\T.  The  morn  will  rise  wlien  that  the  tempest's 
past. 
And  if  he  miss  the  marsh,  and  can  avoid 
The  crags  upon  the  left,  the  road  is  plain. 

Osw.  Then  tliis  is  all  your  piety  ! — to  leave 
One  whom  the  holy  duties  of  his  office 
Have  summon'd  over  moor  and  wilderness, 
To  pray  beside  some  dying  wretch's  bed, 
^VIio  (erring  mortal)  still  would  cleave  to  life, 
Or  wake  some  stubborn  sinner  to  repentance, — 
To  leave  him,  after  offices  like  these, 
To  choose  his  way  in  darkness  'twixt  the  marsh 
And  dizzy  precipice  ?' 

Ele.  Wliat  can  I  do  ? 

Osw.  Do  what  thou  canst — the  wealthiest  done 
more — 
And  if  so  much,  'tis  well.     These  crumbling  walls, 
While  yet  they  bear  a  roof,  shall  now,  as  ever. 
Give  shelter  to  the  wanderer^ — Have  we  food  ? 
He  shall  partake  it — Have  we  none  ?  the  fast 
Shall  be  accounted  with  the  good  man's  merits 
And  our  misfortunes 


[He  goes  to  the  loop-hole  while  he  speaks, 
and  places  himself  there  in  room  of  his 
Wife,  u'ho  comes  down  with  reluctance. 
GuL.  (ivithout.)  Hillo — hoa — hoa  ! 
By  my  good  faith,  I  caoiot  plod  it  farther ; 
The  attempt  were  death. 

Osw.  (speaks  from,  the   window.)  Patience,    my 
friend,  I  come  to  lower  tlie  drawbridge. 

[Descends,  and  exit. 

1  MS. — "  And  headlong  dizzy  precipice.' 

2  MS. "  shall  give,  as  eret, 


Ele.  0,  that  the  screaming  bittern  had  his  couch 
Where  lie  deserves  it,'  in  the  deepest  mar\li ! 

Kat.  I  would  not  give  this  sport  for  all  tl>e  reiit 
Of  Devorgoil,  when  DevorgoU  was  richest ! 
(To  Ele.)    But  now  you  chided  me,  my  dearest 

aunt. 
For  wishing  him  a  horse-pond  for  his  portion  ? 

Ele.  Yes,  saucy  girl ;  but,  an  it  please  you,  then 
He  was  not  fretting  me  ;  if  he  had  sense  enough. 
And  skill  to  bear  him  as  some  casual  stranger, — 
But  he  is  duU  as  eaith, and  every  hint  » 
Is  lost  on  liim,  as  hail-shot  on  the  cormorant. 
Whose  hide  is  proof  except  to  musket-bullets  ? 

Flo.  (apart.)  And  yet  to  such  a  one  would  my 
kind  mother. 
Whose  chiefest  fault  is  loving  me  too  fondly. 
Wed  her  poor  daughter ! 

Enter  GuLLCEAjniER,  his  dress  damaged  by  the. 
storm ;  Eleanor  runs  to  meet  him,  in  order  to 
explain  to  him  that  she  vnshed  him  to  behave  as 
a  stranger.  Gullcrammer,  mistaking  her  ap- 
proach for  an  invitation  to  familiarity,  advances 
with  the  air  of  pedantic  conceit  belonging  to  his 
character,  when  Oswald  enters, — Eleanor  recov- 
ers herself,  and  afisumes  an  air  of  distance — 
Gullcrammer  is  confounded,  anS  does  not  know 
what  to  make  of  it. 

Osw.  The  counterpoise  has  clean  given  way ;  the 
bridge 
Must  e'en  remain  unraised,  and  leave  us  open, 
For  this  night's  course  at  least,  to  passing  visit- 
ants.— 
What  have  we  here  ? — is  this  the  reverend  man  ? 
[He   takes  vp    the   candle,   and  surveys 
Gullcrammer,  who  strives  to  sustain 
the  inspection  with  confidence,  while  fear 
obviously  contends  with  conceit  and  de- 
sire to  show  himself  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. 
GuL.  Kind  sir — or,  good  my  lord — my  band  is 
ruffled, 
But  yet 'twas  fresh  this  morning.   This  fell  shower 
Hath  somewhat  smirch'd  my  cloak,  but  you  may 

note 
It  rates  five  marks  per  yard ;  my  doublet 
Hath  faudy  'scaped — 'tis  three-piled  taffeta. 

[Opens  his  cloak,  and  displays  hix  doublet. 
Osw.  A  goodly  inventory — Art  thou  a  preacher  J 
GuL.  Yea — I  laud  Heaven  and  good  Siiint  Muu 

go  for  it. 
Osw.  'Tis  the  time's  plague,  when  those  that 
should  weed  follies 
Out  of  the  common  field,  have  their  own  minds 

Their  shelter  to  the    |  "^^'ly  \ 

I  wanderer.  '  > 

3  MS.—"  Where  it  is  fittest,"  &ia. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEYORGOIL. 


767 


O'errun  ■with  foppeiy — Envoys  'twixt  heaven  and 

earth, 
Example  should  -with  precept  join,  to  show  us 
How  we  may  scorn  the  world  with  all  its  vanities. 

GuL.  Nay,  the  high  heavens  forefend  that  I  were 
vain ! 
When  GUI'  learn'd  Principal  such  sounding  laud 
Gave  to  mine  Essay  on  the  liidden  qualities 
Of  the  sulphuric  mineral,  I  disclaim'd 
All  self-exaltment.     And  {turning  to  the  women) 

when  at  the  dance. 
The  lovely  Saccharissa  Kirkencroft, 
Daughter  to  Kirkencroft  of  Khkencroft, 
Graced  me  with  her  soft  hand,  credit  me,  ladies, 
That  still  I  felt  myself  a  mortal  man, 
Though  beauty  smiled  on  me. 

Osw.  Come,  sir,  enough  of  this.  [heavens, 

That  you're  our  guest  to-night,  thank  the  rough 
And  all  our  worser  fortunes ;  be  conformable 
Unto  my  rules ;  these  are  no  Saccharissas 
To  gild  with  comjjUments.     There's  in  your  pro- 
fession. 
As  the  best  grain  will  have  its  piles  of  chaff, 
A  certain  whiffler  who  hath  dared  to  bait 
A  noble  maiden  with  love  tales  and  sonnets ; 
And  if  I  meet  him,  his  Geneva  cap 
May  scarce  be  jiroof  to  save  his  ass's  ears. 

Kat.  (aside.)       Umph — I  am  strongly  tempted  ; 
And  yet  I  think  I  will  be  generous, 
And  give  his  brains  a  chance  to  save  his  bones. 
Then  there's  more  humor  in  our  goblin  plot. 
Than  in  a  simple  drubbing. 

Ele.  (apart  to  Flo.)  What  shall  we  do  ?     If  he 
discover  him, 
He'll  fling  him  out  at  window. 

Flo.  My  father's  hint  to  keep  himself  unknown 
Is  all  too  broad,  I  think,  to  be  neglected. 

Ele.  But  yet  the  fool,  if  we  produce  his  bounty. 
May  claim  the  merit  of  presenting  it ; 
And  then  we're  but  lost  women  for  accepting 
A  gift  our  needs  made  timely. 

K.\T.  Do  not  produce  them. 

E'on  let  the  fop  go  supperless  to  bed, 
And  keep  his  bones  whole. 

Osw.  {to  his  Wife.)  Hast  thou  aught 

To  place  before  him  ere  he  seek  repose  ? 

Ele.  Alas !  too  well  you  know  our  needful  fare 
Is  of  the  narrowest  now,  and  knows  no  surplus. 

Osw.  Shame  us  not  with  thy  niggard  housekeep- 
ing* * 
He  is  a  stranger — were  it  our  last  crust, 
And  he  the  veriest  coxcomb  ere  wore  taffeta, 
A  pitch  he's  little  short  of — lie  must  share  it, 
Though  all  should  want  to-morrow. 

GuL.  {partlji   overhearing   what  passes   between 
tJiem)     Nay,  I  am  no  lover  of  your  sauced 
'  dainties : 
Plain  food  and  plenty  is  my  motto  still. 


Tour  mountain  air  is  bleak,  and  brings  an  appetite : 
A  soused  sow's  face,  now,  to  my  modest  thinking, 
Has  ne'er  a  fcUow.     What  think  these  fair  ladies 
Of  a  sow's  face  and  sausages  ? 

[^ilakes  signs  to  Eleanoe. 
Flo.  Plague  on  the  vulgar  hind,  and  on  his  cour- 
tesies. 
The  whole  truth  will  come  out ! 

Osw.  What  should  they  think,  but  that  you're 
like  to  lack 
Your  favorite  cUshes,  sir,  unless  perchance 
You  bring  such  dainties  with  you. 

GuL.  No,  not  with  me ;  not,  indeed. 
Directly  with  me ;  but — Aha  !  fair  ladies ! 

\2Iakes  signs  again. 
Kat.  He'U  draw  the  beating  down — Were  that 
the  worst. 
Heaven's  wiU  be  done  !  [Aside, 

Osw.  (apart.)  "Wliat  can  he  mean  ? — this  is  the 
veriest  dog-whelp — 
Stm  he's  a  stranger,  and  the  latest  act 
Of  hospitality  in  this  old  mansion 
Shall  not  be  sulhed. 

GuL.  Troth,  SU-,  I  think,  under  the  ladies'  favor, 
Without  pretending  skUl  in  second  sight, 

Those  of  my  cloth  being  seldom  conjurers 

Osw.  I'U  take  my  Bible-oath  that  thou  art  none. 

[Aside. 
Glt..  I  do  opine,  still  with  the  ladies'  fiivor. 
That  I  could  guess  the  nature  of  our  supper : 
I  do  not  say  in  such  and  such  precedence 
The  dishes  will  be  placed ;  housewives,  as  you  know, 
On  such  forms  have  their  fancies ;  but,  I  say  stUl, 

That  a  sow's  face  and  sausages 

Osw.  Peace,  sir! 

O'er-driven  jests  (if  this  be  one)  are  insolent. 
Flo.  {apart,  seeing  her  mother  uneasy.)  The  old 
saw  stni  holds  true — a  chvu-l's  benefits, 
Sauced  with  his  lack  of  feeling,  sense,  and  courtesy. 
Savor  like  iiijuries. 

[A  horn  is  winded  without ;  then  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  gate. 
Leo.  {without.)  Ope,  for  the  sake  of  love  and 
charitv ! 

[Oswald  goes  to  the  loop-hole. 
Gul.  Heaven's  mercy!   should  there  come  an- 
other stranger, 
And  he  half  starved  with  wandering  on  the  wolds, 
The  sow's  face  boasts  no  substance,  nor  the  sausage^ 
To  stand  om*  reinforced  attack  !     I  judge,  too. 
By  tliis  starved  Baron's  language,  there's  no  hope 
Of  a  reserve  of  victuals. 

Flo.  Go  to  the  casement,  cousin. 
Kat.  Go  yourself. 

And  bid  the  gallant  who  that  bugle  winded 
Sleep  in  the  storm-swept  waste ;  as  meet  for  him 
As  for  Lance  Blackthorn. — Come,  I'll  not  distreaa 
you, 


768 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS, 


I'll  get  admittance  for  this  second  suitor, 

And  we'll  play  out  this  gambol  at  cross  purposes. 

But  see,  your  father  has  prerented  me. 

Osw.  {seems  to  have  spoken  viith  those  without, 
and  answers.)    Well,  I  wUl  ope  the  door ; 
one  guest  already, 
Driven  by  the  storm,  has  claim'd  my  hospitality. 
And  you,  if  you  -were  fiends,  were  scarce  less  wel- 
come 
To  this  my  mouldering  roof,  than  empty  ignorance 
And  rank  conceit — I  hasten  to  admit  you.     [Exit. 
Elf.  {to  Flo.)  The  tempest  thickens.     By  that 
winded  bugle, 

I  guess  the  guest  that  next  will  honor  us. 

Little  deceiver,  that  didst  mock  my  troubles, 
'Tis  now  thy  turn  to  fear  ! 

Flo.  Mother,  if  I  knew  less  or  more  of  this 
Unthought-of  and  most  perilous  visitation, 
I  would  your  wishes  were  fulfilled  on  me, 
And  I  were  wedded  to  a  thing  like  yon. 
GuL.  {approaching.)  Come,  ladies,  now  you  see 
the  jest  is  thi-eadbare. 
And  you  must  own  that  same  sow's  face  and  sau- 
sages  

Re-enter  Oswald  v'ith  Leonard,  supporting  Baul- 
DiE  DiTRWARD.     OswALD  takes  a  view  of  them,  as 
formerly  of  Gullceammee,  then  speaks. 
Osw.  {to  Leo.)  By  thy  green  cassock,  himting- 
spear  and  bugle, 
I  guess  thou  art  a  huntsman  ? 

Leo.  {bowing  with  respect.)  A  ranger  of  the  neigh- 
boring royal  forest. 
Under  the  good  Lord  Mthsdale ;  himtsman,  there- 
fore. 
In  time  of  peace,  and  when  the  land  has  war. 
To  my  best  powers  a  soldier. 

Osw.   Welcome,  as  either.      I  have  loved  the 
chase. 
And  was  a  soldier  once. — This  aged  man, 
What  may  he  be  ? 

DuR.  {recovering  his  breath.)  Is  but  a  beggar,  sir, 
an  humble  mendicant. 
Who  feels  it  passing  strange,  that  from  this  roof. 
Above  all  others,  he  should  now  crave  shelter. 
Osw.  Why  so  ?    You're  welcome  both — only  the 
word 
WaiTauts  more  comiesy  than  our  present  means 
Permit  us  to  bestow.     A  huntsman  and  a  soldier 
May  be  a  prince's  comrade,  much  more  mine  ; 
And  for  a  beggar — friend,  there  httle  lacks, 
Save   that   blue   gown   and  badge,  and   clouted 

pouches. 
To  make  us  comrades  too  ;  then  welcome  both. 
And  to  a  beggar's  feast.     I  fear  brown  bread. 
And  water  from  the  spring,  wOl  be  the  best  on't ; 
For  we  had  cast  to  wend  abroad  this  evening, 
And  left  om-  larder  empty. 


GuL.  Yet,  if  some  kindly  fairy, 

In  our  behalf,  would  search  its  hid  recesses, — 
{Apart.)  We'U  not  go  supperless  now — we're  threcr 
to  one. — 

Still  do  I  say,  that  a  soused  face  and  sausages 

Osw.  {looks  sternly  at  him,  then  at  his  wife.) 
There's  something  under  this,  but  that  the 
present 
Is  not  a  time  to  question.  (ToEle.)  Wife,  my  mood 
Is  at  such  height  of  tide,  that  a  turn'd  feather 
Would  make  me  frantic  now,  with  mirth  or  fury  I 
Tempt  me  no  more — but  if  thou  hast  the  things 
This  carrion  crow  so  croaks  for,  bring  them  forth ; 
For,  by  my  father's  beard,  if  I  stand  caterer, 
'Twill  be  a  fearfid  banquet ! 

Ele.  Your  pleasure  be  obey'd — Come,  aid  me 
Flora.  [Exeiint 

{During  the  following  speeches  the  Women 
place  dishes  on  the  table.) 
Osw.  (to  Due.)  How  did  you  lose  your  path  ? 
Due.  E'en  when  we  thought  to  find  it,  a  wUd 
meteor 
Danced  in  the  moss,  and  led  our  feet  astray. — 
I  give  small  credence  to  the  tales  of  old. 
Of  Friars-lantern  told,  and  Will-o'-Wisp, 
Else  would  I  say,  that  some  malicious  demon 
Guided  us  in  a  round ;  for  to  the  moat. 
Which  we  had  pass'd  two  hours  since,  were  we 

led. 
And  there  the  gleam  flicker'd  and  disappear'd. 
Even  on  your  drawbridge.     I  was  so  worn  down. 
So  broke  with  laboring  through  marsh  and  moor. 
That,  wold  I  nold  I,  here  my  young  col  duct  or 
Would  needs  implore  for  entrance ;  eLsu,  believe 

me, 
I  had  not  troubled  you. 

Osw.   And  why   not,   father? — have   you   e'er 
heard  aught. 
Or  of  my  house  or  me,  that  wanderers, 
Whom  or  their  roving  tradt.  or  sudden  circumstance 
Oblige  to  seek  a  shelter,  should  avoid 
The  house  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Due.  Sir,  I  am  English  born — 

Native  of  Cumberland.     Enough  is  said 
Why  I  should  shun  those  bowers,  whose  lords  were 

hostile 
To  English  blood,  and  unto  Cimiberland 
Most  hostile  and  most  MaL 

Osw.  Ay,  father.     Once  my  grandsire  plough'd, 
and  harroVd, 
And  sow'd  with  salt  the  streets  of  your  fair  towns ; 
But  what  of  that  ? — you  have  the  'vantage  now. 

DtJE.  True,  Lord  of  Devorgoil,  and  well  believe  I, 
Tliat  not  in  vain  we  sought  these  towers  to-night, 
So  strangely  guided,  to  behold  then-  state. 

Osw.  Ay,  thou  wouldst  say,  'twas  fit  a  Cumbriai 
beggar 
Should  sit  an  equal  guest  in  his  proud  halls, 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


703 


Wliose  fathers  beggar'd  Cumberland — Graybeard, 

let  it  be  so, 
rU  not  dispute  it  with  thee. 

{To  Leo.,  who  was  speaking  to  Flora,  but 
on   being   surprised,   occupied  Mmsclf 
with  the  suit  of  armor.) 
What  makest  tiiou  there,  young  man  ? 
Leo.  I  marvell'd  at  tliis  harness ;  it  is  larger 
Tlian  arms  of  modern  days.     How  richly  carved 
With  gold  inlaid  on  steel — how  close  the  rivets — 
How  justly  fit  the  joints !     I  tliink  the  gauntlet 
Would  swallow  twice  my  hand. 

\_IIe  is  about  to  take  down  some  part  of  the 
Armor ;  Oswald  interferes. 
Osw.  Do  not  di.splace  it. 

My  grandsire,  Erick,  doubled  human  strength, 
And  almost  human  size — and  human  knowledge, 
And  human  vice,  and  human  virtue  also, 
As  storm  or  sun.shine  chanced  to  occupy 
His  mental  hemisphere.     After  a  fatal  deed, 
He  hung  his  armor  on  the  wall,  forbidding 
It  e'er  should  be  ta'en  down.    There  is  a  prophecy. 
That  of  itself  'twill  fall,  upon  the  night 
When,  in  the  fiftieth  year  from  his  decease, 
Devorgoil's  feast  is  fuU.     This  is  the  era ; 
But,  as  too  well  you  see,  no  meet  occasion 
Will  do  the  downfall  of  the  armor  justice. 
Or  grace  it  witli  a  feast.     There  let  it  bide. 
Trying  its  strength  with  the  old  waUs  it  hangs  on. 
Which  shall  fall  soonest. 

DtTE.  {looking  at  the  trophy  with  a  mixture  of 
feeling.)   Then  there  stern  Erick's  harness 
hangs  untouch'd. 
Since  liis  last  fatal  raid  on  Cumberland ! 

Osw.  Ay,  waste  and  want,  and  recklessness — a 
comrade 
Still  yoked  with  waste  and  want — have  stripp'd 

these  walls 
Of  every  other  trophy.     Antler'd  skulls, 
Whose  branches  vouch'd  the  tales  old  vassals  told 
Of  desperate  chases — partisans  and  spears — 
Knights'  barred  helms  and  shields— the  shafts  and 

bows, 
Axes  and  breastplates  of  the  hardy  yeomanry — 
The  bamiers  of  the  vanquish'd — signs  these  arms 
Were  not  assumed  in  vain,  have  disappear'd. 
Yes,  one  by  one  they  all  have  di.'sappear'd ; 
And  now  Lord  Erick's  harness  hangs  alone, 
'Midst  miplements  of  vulgar  husbandry 
And  mean  economy ;  as  some  %\d  wan-ior. 
Whom  want  hatli  made  an  inmate  of  an  alms-house, 
Shows,  mid  the  beggar'd  spendthrifts,  base  me- 
chanics. 
And  bankrupt  pedlars,  with  whom  fate  has  mix'd 
liim-  [liouse, 

Due.  Or  rather  like  a  pirate,  whom  the  prison- 

MS.— "Mingled  with  peaceful  men,  broken  in  fortunes." 

97  ' 


Prune  leveller  next  the  grave,  hath  for  the  first  time 
Mingled  with  peaceful  captives,  low  in  fortunes,' 
But  fair  in  innocence. 

O.SW.    (looking  at  Due.  with  surprise.)    Friend, 

thou  art  bitter ! 
Due.  Plain  truth,  sir,  like  the  vulgar  copper 
coinage, 
Despised  amongst  the  gentry,  still  finds  value 
And  currency  with  beggars. 

Osw.  Be  it  so. 

I  win  not  trench  on  the  immunities 
I  soon  may  claim  to  share.     Tliy  features,  too. 
Though  weather-beaten,  and  tliy  strain  of  language, 
Eehsh  of  better  days.^     Come  liither,  friend, 

[They  speak  apart. 
And  let  me  ask  thee  of  thine  occupation. 

[Leoxard  looks  round,  and,  seeing  Oswald 
engaged  with  Duewaed,  and  Gullceam- 
MEE  with  Eleanoe,  approaches  towards 
Flora,  who  must  give  him  a  i  opportunity 
of  doing  so,  with  obvious  attention  on  her 
part  to  give  it  the  air  of  chance.  The  by- 
play here  will  rest  u'ith  the  Lady,  viho 
must  engage  the  attention  of  the  audience 
by  playing  off  a  little  female  hypocrisy 
and  simple  coquetry. 

Leo.  Flora 

Flo.  Ay,  gallant  huntsman,  may  she  deign  to 
question 
Why  Leonard  came  not  at  the  appointed  hour ; 
Or  why  he  came  at  midnight  ? 

Leo.  Love  has  no  certain  loadstar,  gentle  Flora, 
And  oft  gives  up  tlie  helm  to  wayward  pilotage. 
To  say  the  sooth — A  beggar  forced  me  hence, 
And  Will-o'-wisp  did  guide  us  back  again. 

Flo.  Ay,  ay,  yom-  beggar  was  tlie  faded  spectre 
Of  Poverty,  that  sits  upon  the  threshold 
Of  tliese  our  ruin'd  walls.     Pve  been  unwise, 
Leonard,  to  let  you  speak  so  oft  with  me ; 
And  you  a  fool  to  say  what  you  have  said. 
E'en  let  us  here  break  short ;  and,  wise  at  length. 
Hold  each  our  sejjarate  way  through  life's  wide 
ocean. 
Leo.  Nay,  let  us  rather  join  our  course  together. 
And  share  the  breeze  or  tempest,  doubling  joys, 
Relieving  sorrows,  warding  evils  off 
With  mutual  eS"ort,  or  endm'ing  them 
With  mutual  patience. 
Flo.  This  is  but  flattering  counsel — sweet  and 
baneful ; 
But  mine  had  wholesome  bitter  in't. 

Kat.  Ay,  ay ;  but  hke  the  sly  apothecary, 
You'll  be  the  last  to  take  the  bitter  drug 
That  you  prescribe  to  others. 

[They  whisper.    Eleaxoe  advances  to  in- 
terrupt them,  followed  by  GuLLCEAioiEB. 

'  MS. — "  Botli  smack  of  better  days,"  &o. 


770 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ele.  Wiat,  maid,  no  household  cares  ?     Leave 
to  your  elders 
The  task  of  filling  passing  strangers'  ears 
With  thri  due  notes  of  welcome. 

GuL.  Be  it  thine, 

0,  Mistress  Flora,  the  more  useful  talent 
Of  filling  strangers'  stomachs  with  substantials ; 
That  is  to  say — for  learn'd  commentators 
Do  so  expound  substantials  in  some  places, — 
With  a  sous'd  bacon-face  and  sausages. 

Flo.  {apart.)  Would  thou  wert  sous'd,  intoler- 
able pedant. 
Base,  greedy,  perverse,  interruptuig  coxcomb  ! 

Kat.  Hush,  coz,  for  we'll  be  well  avenged  on  him, 
And  ere  this  night  goes  o'er,  else  woman's  wit 
Cannot  o'ertake  her  wishes. 

[^She  proceeds  to  arrange  seats.    Oswald  and 
DuEWAED  come  forward  in  conversation. 
Osw.   I   like   thine  himior   well. — So   all  men 

beg 

Dub.  Yes — I  can  make  it  good  by  proof.     Your 
soldier 
Begs  for  a  leaf  of  laurel,  and  a  line 
In  the  Gazette.     He  brandishes  his  sword 
To  back  his  suit,  and  is  a  sturdy  beggar — 
The  corn-tier  begs  a  riband  or  a  star. 
And,  hke  our  gentler  mumpers,  is  provided 
With  false  certificates  of  health  and  fortune 
Lost  in  the  pubUc  service.     For  your  lover, 
Who  begs  a  sigh,  a  smile,  a  lock  of  hair, 
A  buskin-point,  he  maunds  upon  the  pad, 
With  the  true  cant  of  pure  mendicity, 
"  The  smallest  trifle  to  reheve  a  Christian, 

And  if  it  like  your  Ladyship !"' 

[/n  a  begging  tone. 
Kat.  (apart.)  This  is  a  cunning  knave,  and  feeds 
the  humor 
Of  my  aunt's  husband,  for  I  must  not  say 
Mine  honor'd  uncle.     I  will  try  a  question. — 
YoTu-  man  of  merit  though,  who  serves  the  com- 
monwealth, 
Nor  asks  for  a  requital  ? 

[To  DtlEWAUD. 

Dub..  Is  a  dumb  beggar. 

And  lets  his  actions  speak  like  signs  for  him, 
Cliallenging  double  guerdon. — Now,  I'll  show 
How  your  true  beggar  has  the  foir  advantage 
O'er  all  the  tribes  of  cloak'd  mendicity 
I  have  told  over  to  you. — Tlie  soldier's  laurel. 
The  statesman's  riband,  and  the  lady's  favor, 
Once  won  and  gain'd,  are  not  held  worth  a  farthing 
By  such  as  longest,  loudest,  canted  for  them  ; 
Whereas  your  charitable  halfpenny,' 
Which  is  the  scope  of  a  true  beggar's  suit, 
Is  worth  two  farthings,  and,  in  times  of  plenty. 
Will  buy  a  crust  of  bread. 

1  MS. — "  Whereas  yonr  yennine  copper  halfpenny." 


Flo.  {interrupting  him,  and  addretsing  her  fa- 
ther.) Sir,  let  me  be  a  beggar  with  the  time, 
And  pray  you  come  to  supper. 

Ele.  {to  Oswald,  apart.)  Must  he  sit  with  us  ? 

[Looking  at  Duewaed 
Osw.  Ay,  ay,  what  else — since  we  are  beggars 
aU? 
Wlien  cloaks  are  ragged,  sure  their  worth  is  equal 
"WHiether  at  first  they  were  of  sUk  or  wooUen. 

Ele.  Thou  art  scarce  consistent. 
This  day  thou  didst  refuse  a  princely  banquet. 
Because  a  new-made  lord  was  placed  above  thee ; 

And  now 

Osw.  Wife,  I  have  seen,  at  public  executions, 
A  wretch,  that  could  not  brook  the  hand  of  violence 
Should  push  him  from  the  scaffold,  pluck  up  cour- 
age, 
And,  with  a  desperate  sort  of  cheerfulness, 
Take  the  fell  plunge  himself — 
Welcome  then,  beggars,  to  a  beggar's  feast ! 

Glt..  {zi'ho  has  in  the  mean  while  seated  himself!) 
But  tills  is  more. — A  better  countenance, — ■ 
Fair  fall  the  hands  that  sous'd  it ! — than  this  hog's, 
Or  prettier  provender  than  these  same  sausages, 
(By  what  good  friend  sent  hither,  shall  be  name- 
less, [fuse,) 
Doubtless  some  youth  whom  love  hath  made  pro- 
[Smiling  significantly  at  Eleanoe  and  Flora 
No  prince  need  wish  to  peck  at.     Long,  I  ween. 
Since  that  the  nostrils  of  tliis  house  (by  metaplior 
I  mean  the  chimneys)  smell'd  a  steam  so  gi-ateful — 
By  your  good  leave  I  cannot  dally  longer. 

[Helps  himself 
Osw.    {places   Duewaed   above   Gullceamsiee.) 
Meanwhile,  sir. 
Please  it  your  faithful  learning  to  give  place 
To  gray  hairs  and  to  wisdom ;  and,  moreover, 

K  you  had  tarried  for  the  benediction 

Gul.  {somewhat  abashed.)  I  said  grace  to  myself. 
Osw.  {7iot  minding  him.) — And  waited  for  the 
company  of  others. 
It  had  been  better  fashion.     Time  has  been, 
I  should  have  told  a  guest  at  Devorgoil, 
Bearing  himself  thus  forward,  he  was  saucy. 

[He  seats  himself  and  helps  the  company 
and  himself  in  dumb-show.  There  should 
be  a  contrast  betwixt  the  precisio)i  of  his 
aristocratic  civility,  and  the  rude  under- 
breeding  of  Gullceammee. 
Osw.  {having  tasted  the  dish  next  him.)  Why, 

this  is  venison,  Eleanor ! 
Gul.  Eh !  What !  Let's  see— 

[Pushes  across  Oswald  and  helps  himself. 
It  may  be  venison — • 
I'm  euro  'tis  not  beef,  veal,  mutton,  lamb,  or  pork 
Eke  am  I  sure,  that  be  it  what  it  will, 
It  is  not  half  so  good  as  sausages. 
Or  as  a  sow's  face  sous'd. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


771 


Osw.  Eleanor,  -whence  all  this  ? 

Ele.  "Wait  till  to-morrow, 

You  shall  know  all.     It  was  a  happy  cliance, 
That  furnish'd  us  to  meet  so  many  guests. 

[Fills  wine. 
Try  if  yom-  cup  be  not  as  richly  garnish'd 
4.S  is  your  trencher.' 
Kat.  (apart.)  My  aunt  adheres  to  the  good  cau- 
tious maxim 
Of, — "Eat  your  puddujg,  friend,  and  hold  your 
tongue." 
Osw.  {tastes  the  wine.)  It  is  the  grape  of  Bor- 
deaux. 
Such  dainties,  once  familiar  to  my  board, 
Have  b&en  estranged  from't  long. 

[He  again  Jills  Iiis  glass,  and  continues  to 
speak  as  he  holds  it  up. 
^'Hl  round,  my  friends — here  is  a  treacherous  friend 

now 
'smiles  in  your  face,  yet  seeks  to  steal  the  jewel, 
SVhich  is  distinction  between  man  and  brute — 
I  mean  our  reason — this  he  does,  and  smiles. 
But  ai'e  not  all  friends  treacherous  ? — one  shall 

cross  you 
Even  in  your  dearest  interests — one  shall  slander 

you— 
This    steal    your    daughter,    that    defraud    your 

purse ; 
But  this  gay  flask  of  Bordeaux  will  but  borrow 
Tour  sense  of  mortal  sorrows  for  a  season. 
And  leave,  instead,  a  gay  delkium. 
Metlunks  my  brain,  unused  to  such  gay  visitants. 
The  influence  feels  already ! — we  will  revel ! — 
Our  banquet  shall  be  loud ! — it  is  our  last. 
Katleen,  thy  song. 

Kat.  Not  now,  my  lord — I  mean   to  sing   to- 
night 
For  this  same  moderate,  grave,  and  reverend  cler- 
gyman ; 
I'll  keep  my  voice  till  then. 

Ele.    Your  round  refusal   shows  but   cottage 
breeding. 

1  Wooden  trenchers  shonld  be  used,  and  the  qnaigh,  a  Scot- 
tish drinking-cup. 

2  "Dundee,  enraged  at  his  enemies,  and  still  more  at  his 
friends,  resolved  to  retire  to  the  Highlands,  and  to  make  prepa- 
rations for  civil  war,  but  with  secrecy  ;  for  he  had  been  order- 
ed by  James  to  make  no  public  insurrection  until  assistance 
should  be  sent  him  from  Ireland. 

"  Whilst  Dundee  was  in  this  temper,  information  was 
brought  him,  whether  true  or  false  is  uncertain,  that  some  of 
the  Covenanters  had  associated  themselves  to  assassinate  him, 
in  revenge  for  his  former  severities  against  their  party.  He 
flew  to  the  Convention  and  demanded  justice.  The  Duke  of 
Hamilton,  who  wished  to  get  rid  of  a  troublesome  adversary, 
treated  his  complaint  with  neglect ;  and  in  order  to  sting  hira 
in  the  tenderest  part,  reflected  upon  that  courage  which  could 
be  alarmed  by  imaginary  dangers.  Dundee  left  the  house  in 
a  rage,  mounted  his  horse,  and  with  a  troop  of  fifty  horsemen 
who  had  deserted  to  him  from  liis  regiment  in  England,  gal- 


Kat.  Ay,  my  good  aimt,  for  I  was  cottage  nur- 
tured. 
And  taught,  I  think,  to  prize  my  own  wild  wiU 
Above  all  sacrifice  to  compUment. 
Here  is  a  huntsman — in  liis  eyes  I  read  it, 
He  sings  the  martial  song  my  uncle  loves, 
What  time  fierce  Claver'se  with  his  Cavaliers, 
Abjuring  the  new  change  of  government. 
Forcing  his  fearless  way  through  timorous  friends, 
And  enemies  as  timorous,  left  the  capital 
To  rouse  in  James's  cause  the  distant  Highlands. 
Have  you  ne'er  heard  the  song,  my  noble  uncle  ? 
Osw.  Have  I  not  heard,  wench  ? — It  was  I  rode 
next  him, 
'Tis  thu-ty  summers  since — rode  by  his  rein ; 
We  marched  on  through  the  alarm'd  city, 
As  sweeps  the  osprey  through  a  flock  of  gulls, 
Who  scream  and  flutter,  but  dare  no  resistance 
Against  the  bold  sea-empress — They  did  murmur, 
The  crowds  before  us,  in  their  sullen  wrath. 
And  those  whom  we  had  pass'd,  gathering  fresh 

courage, 
Cried  havoc  in  the  rear — ^we  minded  them 
E'en  as  the  brave  bark  minds  the  bursting  bil- 
lows. 
Which,  yielding  to  her  bows,  burst  on  her  sides. 
And  ripple  in  her  wake. — Sing  me  that  strain, 

[To  Leo.vaed. 
And  thou  shalt  have  a  meed  I  seldom  tender, 
Because  they're  all  I  have  to  give — my  thanks. 
Leo.  Nay,  if  you'll  bear  with  what  I  cannot 
help, 
A  voice  that's  rough  with  hollowing  to  the  hounds, 
I'U  sing  the  song  even  as  old  Rowland  taught  me. 

SONG.'' 
Air — "  The  Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee.^'' 

To  the  Lords  of  Convention  'twas  Claver'se  who 

spoke, 
"  Ere  the  Iving's  crown  shall  fall  there  are  crowns 

to  be  broke ; 


loped  through  the  city.  Being  asked  by  one  of  his  friends,  who 
stopped  him,  '  Wliere  he  was  going  V  he  waved  his  hat,  and  is 
reported  to  have  answered,  '  Wherever  the  spirit  of  Montrose 
shall  direct  me.'  In  passing  under  the  walls  of  the  Castle,  he 
stopped,  scrambled  up  the  precipice  at  a  place  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous, and  held  a  conference  with  the  Duke  of  Gordon  at  a 
postern-gate,  the  marks  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen,  tliougL 
the  gate  itself  is  built  up.  Hoping,  in  vain,  to  infuse  the  vigo. 
of  his  own  spirit  into  the  Duke,  he  pressed  him  to  retire  with 
him  into  the  Highlands,  raise  his  vassals  there,  who  were  nu- 
merous, brave,  and  faithful,  and  leave  the  command  of  the 
Castle  to  Winram,  the  lieutenant-governor,  an  officer  on  whom 
Dundee  could  rely.  The  Duke  concealed  his  timidity  under 
the  excuse  of  a  soldier.  '  A  soldier,'  said  he,  '  cannot  in  hon- 
or quit  the  post  that  is  assigned  him.'  The  novelty  of  the  sight 
drew  numbers  to  the  foot  of  the  rock  upon  which  the  confer- 
ence was  held.  These  numbers  every  minute  increased,  and, 
in  the  end,  were  mistaken  for  Dundee's  adherents.    The  Con- 


•772 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


So  let  each  Cavalier  who  loves  honor  and  me, 
Come  follow  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

"  Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your  men ; 
I!ome  open  the  "West  Port,  and  let  me  gang  free, 
Ajid  it's  room  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dmi- 
dee !" 

Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street, 

The  bells  are  rmig  backward,  the  drums  they  are 
beat ; 

But  the  Provost,  douce  man,  said,  "  Just  e'en  let 
him  be, 

The  Gude  Town  is  weel  quit  of  that  Deil  of  Dun- 
dee." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

As  he  rode  down  the  sanctified  bends  of  the  Bow, 
Ilk  carline  was  flyting  and  shaking  her  pow  ; 
I     But  the  young  plants  of  grace  they  look'd  couthie 
and  slee, 
Tliinking,  luck  to  thy  bonnet,  thou  Bonny  Dimdee  1 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

With  8our-featm-ed  Whigs  the  Grassmai'ket  was 

cramm'd 
As  if  half  the  West  had  set  tryst  to  be  hang'd :' 
There  was  spite  in  each  look,  there  was  fear  in 

each  e'e, 
As  they  watch'd  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

These  cowls  of  Kilmarnock  had  spits  and  had  spears, 

And  lang-hafted  gullies  to  kill  Cavaliers ; 

But  they  shrunk  to  close-heads,  and  the  causeway 

was  free, 
At  the  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

He  spurr'd  to  the  foot  of  the  proud  Castle  rock. 
And  with  the  gay  Gordon  he  gallantly  spoke ; 

vention  was  then  sitting  :  news  were  carrieil  tliitlier  that  Dun- 
dee was  at  the  gates  with  an  army,  anil  liail  prevailed  upon 
the  governor  of  the  Castle  to  fire  upon  the  town.  The  Duke 
jf  Hamilton,  wliose  intelligenue  was  better,  had  the  presence  of 
mind,  by  improving  the  moment  of  agitation,  to  overwhelm 
the  one  party  and  provoke  the  other,  by.  their  fears.  He  or^ 
dered  the  doors  of  the  house  to  be  shut,  and  the  keys  to  be 
laid  on  the  table  before  him.  He  cried  out,  '  That  there  was 
danger  within  as  well  as  without  doors  ;  that  traitors  must  be 
held  in  confinement  until  the  present  danger  was  over:  but 
that  the  friends  of  liberty  had  nothing  to  fear,  for  tliat  thou- 
sands were  ready  to  start  up  in  their  defence,  at  the  stamp  of 
his  foot.'  He  ordered  the  drums  to  be  beat  and  the  trumpets 
to  sound  through  the  city.  In  an  instant  vast  swarms  of  those 
who  had  been  brought  into  town  by  him  and  Sir  John  Dal- 
rymple  from  the  western  counties,  and  who  had  been  hitherto 
hid  in  garrets  and  cellars,  showed  themselves  in  the  streets  ;  not, 
indeed,  in  the  proper  habiliments  of  war,  but  in  arms,  and  with 


"Let  Mons   Meg  and  her   marrows   speak    twa 

words  or  three, 
For  the  love  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dimdee." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

The  Gordon  demands  of  him  which  way  he  goes— « 
"  Where'er  shall  direct  me  the  shade  of  Montrose  I 
Your  Grace  in  short  space  shall  hear  tidings  of 

me, 
Or  that  low  hes  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

"  There  are  hiUs  beyond  Pentland,  and  lands  be- 
yond Forth, 

If  there's  lords  in  the  lowlands,  there's  chiefs  in 
the  North ; 

There  are  wild  Duniewassals  three  thousand  times 
three, 

WiU  cry  hoiffh !  for  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fin  up  my  cup,  &c. 

"Tliere's  brass  on  the  target  of  barken'd  bull- 
hide  ; 

There's   steel  in  the   scabbard  that  dangles   be- 
side ; 

The  brass  shall  be  burnish'd,  the  steel  shall  flash 
free, 

At  a  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee, 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

"  Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks — 
Ere  I  own  an  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox ; 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your 

glee, 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and 
me!" 
Come  fiU  up  my  cup,  <fec. 

He  waved  his  proud  hand,  and  the  trumpets  were 

blown. 
The  kettle-drums  clash' d,  and  the  horsemen  rode 

on. 


looks  fierce  and  sullen,  as  if  they  felt  disdain  at  their  former 
concealment.  This  unexpected  sight  increased  the  noise  and 
tumult  of  the  town,  which  grew  loudest  in  the  square  adjoin- 
ing to  the  house  where  the  members  were  confined,  and  ap- 
peared still  louder  to  those  who  were  within,  because  they 
were  ignorant  of  the  cause  from  which  the  tumult  arose,  and 
caught  contagion  from  the  an.i£ious  looks  of  each  other.  After 
some  hours,  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  Whig  mem- 
bers, as  they  went  out,  were  received  with  acclamations,  and 
those  of  the  opposite  party  with  the  threats  and  curses  of  a 
prepared  populace.  Terrified  by  the  prospect  of  future  alarms, 
many  of  the  adherents  of  James  quitted  the  Convention,  and 
retired  to  the  country  ;  most  of  them  clianged  sides  ;  only  a 
very  few  of  the  most  resolute  continued  their  attendance." — 
D.^lrymple's  Memoirs,  vol.  ii.  p.  305. 

1  Previous  to  1784,  the  Grassmarkel  was  the  common  place 
of  execution  at  Edinburgh. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


773 


Till  on  Ravelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermiston's  lee, 
Died  away  the  wUd  war-notes  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  the  horses,  and  call  up  the  men ; 
Come  open  your  gates,  and  Jet  me  gae  free, 
For  it's  up  with  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee  I 

Ele.  Katleen,  do  thou  sing  now.     Thy  uncle's 
cheerful ; 
"We  must  not  let  his  humor  ebb  again. 

K.\T.  But  I'U  do  better,  amit,  than  if  I  sung. 
For  Flora  can  sing  bhthe  ;  so  can  this  huntsman, 
As  he  has  shown  e'en  now ;  let  them  duet  it. 

Osw.  "Well,  huntsman,  we  must  give  to  freakish 
maiden 
The  fi-eedom  of  her  fancy. — Raise  the  carol. 
And  Flora,  if  she  can,  will  join  the  measm-e. 

SONG. 

"When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer. 
And  lovely  eyes  are  laughing  near, 
And  in  the  goblet's  bosom  clear 

The  cares  of  day  are  drown"d ; 
When  puns  are  made,  and  bumpers  quaflf'd, 
And  wild  Wit  shoots  his  roving  shaft. 
And  Mirth  his  jovial  laugh  has  laugh' d, 

Then  is  our  banquet  crown'd. 
Ah  gay. 

Then  is  our  banquet  cro^vn'd. 

When  glees  are  sung,  and  catches  troll'd. 
And  bashfulness  grows  bright  and  bold, 
And  beauty  is  no  longer  cold. 

And  age  no  longer  dull ; 
When  chimes  are  brief,  and  cocks  do  crow, 
To  tell  us  it  is  time  to  go. 
Yet  how  to  part  we  do  not  know, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 
Ah  gay. 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 

Osw.  {rises  with  the  cup  in  his  hand.)  Devorgoil's 
feast  is  full — 
Drink  to  the  pledge ! 

\_A  tremendous  burst  of  thunder  follows 
these  ivords  of  the  Song ;  and  the  Light- 
ning should  seem  to  strike  the  suit  of  black 
Armor,  which  falls  with  a  crash}  All 
rise  in  surprise  and  fear  except  Gullcram- 
MEE,  who  tumbles  over  backwards  and  lies 
still.  [roof 

Osw.  That  sounded  like  the  judgment-peal — the 
Still  trembles  with  the  volley. 


1  I  should  think  this  may  be  contrived,  by  having  a  transpa- 
rent zig-zag  in  the  flat-scene,  immediately  above  the  armor, 
roddealy  and  very  strongly  illaminated. 


Due.  Happy  those 

Who   are   prepared  to  meet   sucli  fearful  sum 

mons. — 
Leonard,  what  dost  thou  there  ? 

Leo.  {supporting  Flo.)       The  duty  of  a  man — 
Supporting  imiocence.     Were  it  the  final  call, 
I  were  not  misemploy'd. 

Osw.  The  armor  of  my  grandsire   hath  faU'fl 
down, 
And  old  saws  have  spoke  truth. — {Musing.)  The 

fiftieth  year — 
Devorgoil's  feast  at  fullest !  What  to  think  of  it — 
Leo.  {lifting  a  scroll  which  had  fallen  with  tlie 
armor})  This  may  inform  us. 
\_Attempts  to  read  the  manuscript,  shakes 
his  head,  and  gives  it  to  Oswald. 
But  aot  to  eyes  unlearn'd  it  tells  its  tidings. 
Osw.  Hawks,  hounds,  and  revelling  consumed 
the  hours 
I  should  have  given  to  study. 

\^Looks  at  the  manuscript. 
These  characters  I  spell  not  more  than  thou. 
They  are  not  of  our  day,  and,  as  I  think, 
N'ot  of  our  language. — Where's  our  scholar  now. 
So  forward  at  the  banquet  ?     Is  he  laggard 
Upon  a  point  of  learning  ? 

Leo.  Here  is  the  man  of  letter'd  dignity, 
E'en  in  a  piteous  case. 

[Drags  GuLLCRAsnrER /orward. 
Osw.  Ai-t  wakingi;  craven  ?  canst  thou  read  this 
scroll  ? 
Or  art  thou  only  learn'd  in  sousing  swine's  flesh, 
And  prompt  in  eatiiig  it  ? 

GuL.  Eh — ah ! — oh — ho ! — Have  you  no  better 
time 
To  tax  a  man  with  riddles,  than  the  moment 
When  he  scarce  knows  whether  he's  dead  or  liv- 
ing? 
Osw.  Confound  the  pedant ! — Can  you  read  the 
scroll. 
Or  can  you  not,  sir  ?     If  you  can,  pronounce 
Its  meaning  speedily. 

GuL.  Can  I  read  it,  quotha  1 

When  at  our  learned  University, 
I  gain'd  first  premium  for  Hebrew  learning, — 
Which  was  a  pound  of  high-dried  Scottish  snufif, 
And  half  a  peck  of  onions,  with  a  bushel 
Of  curious  oatmeal, — our  learn'd  Principal 
Did  say,  "  Melcliisedek,  thou  canst  do  any  thing  1" 
Now  comes  he  with  his  paltry  scroll  of  parchment, 
And,  "  Can  you  read  it  ?" — After  such  aflEront, 
The  point  is,  if  I  will. 

Osw.  A  point  soon  solved, 

Unless  you  choose  to  sleep  among  the  frogs  ; 
For  look  you,  sir,  there  is  the  chamber  window, 
Beneath  it  Ues  the  lake. 

Ele.    Kind  master  Gullcrammer,  beware   my 
husband, 


Y74 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lie  brooks  no  contradiction — 'tis  liis  fault, 
And  in  his  -wrath  he's  dangerous. 

GuL.  {looks  at  the  scroll,  andmutters  as  if  reading.) 
Hashgabotk  hotch-potLh — 
A  simple  matter  this  to  make  a  rout  of — 
Ten  rashersen  bacon,  mish^nash  venison, 
Saiisaglan  soused-face — 'Tis  a  simple  catalogue 
Of  our  small  supper — made  by  the  grave  sage 
Whose  prescience  knew  this  night  that  we  should 

feast 
On  venison,  hash'd  sow's  face,  and  sausages, 
And  hung  his  steel-coat  for  a  supper-bell — 
E'en  let  us  to  oui"  provender  again. 
For  it  is  written  we  shall  finish  it. 
And  bless  our  stars  the  lightning  left  it  us. 

Osw.  This  must  be  impudence  or  ignorance  ! — 
Tlie  spirit  of  rough  Erick  stirs  within  nie, 
And  I  will  knock  thy  brains  out  if  thou  palt«rest ! 
Expound  the  scroU  to  me  ! 

GuL.  You're  over  hasty ; 

And  yet  you  may  be  right  too — 'Tis  Samaritan, 
Now  I  look  closer  on't,  and  I  did  take  it 
For  simple  Hebrew. 

DuR.  'Tis  Hebrew  to  a  simpleton, 
Tliat  we  see  plainly,  friend — Give  me  the  scroll. 
GuL.  Alas,  good  friend !   what  would  you  do 

with  it  ? 
DuR.  {takes  it  from  him)  My  best  to  rgad  it,  sir 
— The  character  is  Saxon, 
Used  at  no  distant  date  within  this  district; 
And  thus  the  tenor  runs — nor  in  Samaritan, 
Nor  simple  Hebrew,  but  in  wholesome  Enghsh : — 
Devorgoil,  thy  bright  moon  waneth. 
And  the  rust  thy  harness  staineth ; 
Servile  guests  the  banquet  soil 
Of  the  once  proud  Devorgoil. 
But  should  Black  Erick's  armor  fall, 
Look  for  guests  shall  scare  you  all ! 
They  shall  come  ere  peep  of  day, — 
Wake  and  watch,  and  hope  and  pray. 
Kat.  {to  Flo.)  Here  is  fine  foolery — an  old  wall 
shakes 
At  a  loud  thunder-clap — down  comes  a  suit 
Of  ancient  armor,  when  its  wasted  braces 
Were  all  too  rotten  to  sustain  its  weight — 
A  beggar  cries  out.  Miracle !  and  your  father, 
Weighing  the  importance  of  his  name  and  lineage, 
Must  needs  believe  the  dotard  !* 

Flo.  Mock  not,  I  pray  you  ;  this  may  be  too 

serious. 
Kat.  And  if  I  live  till  morning,  I  will  have 
The  power  to  tell  a  better  tale  of  wonder 
Wrought  on  wise  Gullcrammer.  I'll  go  prepare  me. 

{Exit. 
Flo.  I  have  not  Katleen's  spirit,  yet  I  hate 

MS.—  "  A  beg{:ing  knave  cries  ont,  a  Miracle  ! 

And  your  good  sire,  doting  on  tlie  importance 


Tliis  Gullcrammer  too  heartily,  to  stop 
Any  disgrace  that's  hasting  towards  him, 

Osw.  {to  whom,  the  beggar  has  been  again  readr 
ing  the  scroll.) 
'Tis  a  strange  prophecy ! — The  silver  mooB, 
Now  waning  sorely,  is  our  ancient  bearing — 
Strange  and  unfitting  guests — 

GuL.  {interrupting  him.)  Ay,  ay,  the  matter 
Is,  as  you  say,  all  moonshine  in  the  water. 
Osw.  How  mean  you,  sir  ?   \threatening) 
GuL.  To  show  that  I  can  rhj^me 

With  yonder  bluegown.    Give  me  breath  and  time, 
I  will  maintain,  in  spite  of  his  pretence, 
Mine  exposition  had  the  better  sense — 
It  spoke  good  victuals  and  increase  of  cheer ; 
And  his,  more  guests  to  eat  what  we  have  here — 
An  increment  right  needless. 

Osw.  Get  thee  gone ; 

To  kennel,  hound ! 

GuL.  The  hound  wiU  have  liis  bone. 

[Takes  up  the  platter  of  meat,  and  a  flash. 
Osw.  Flora,  show  him  his  chamber— take  him 
hence. 
Or,  by  the  name  I  bear,  1'U  see  his  brains. 

GuL.  Ladies,  good  night ! — I  spare  you,  sir,  the 
pains. 

[Exit,  lighted  by  Flora  with  a  lamp. 
Osw.  The  owl  is  fled. — I'll  not  to  bed  to-night ; 
There  is  some  change  impending  o'er  this  house, 
For  good  or  iU.     I  would  some  holy  man 
Were  here,  to  counsel  us  what  we  should  do ! 
Ton  witless  thin-faced  gull  is  but  a  cassock 
Stuff 'd  out  with  chaif  and  straw. 

Due.  {assuming  an  air  of  dignitg.)  I  have  been 
wont, 
In  other  days,  to  point  to  erring  mortals 
The  rock  wliich  they  should  anchor  on. 

[ZTe  holds  up  a  Cross — the  rest  take  a  pos- 
ture of  devotion,  and  the  Scene  closes. 


ACT  HI— SCENE  L 

A  ruinous  Anteroom  in  the  CastiJ  Enter  Kat- 
L.'EEji,  fantastically  dressed  to  play  the  Character 
of  Cockledemoy,  with  the  visor  in  her  hand. 

T\AT.  I've  scarce  had  time  to  glance  at  my  sweet 
person. 
Yet  this  much  could  I  see,  with  half  a  glance, 
My  elfish  dress  becomes  me — I'll  not  mask  me 
Till  I  have  seen  Lance  Blackthorn.  Lance  !  I  say-  - 

[Calli. 
Blackthorn,  make  haste  I 


Of  his  higli  birth  and  honse,  mnst  needs  believe 
him." 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVOHGOIL. 


Y76 


Enter  Blackthorn,  half  dressed  as  Owlspiegle. 
Bla.  Hero  am  I — Blackthorn  in  the  upper  half, 
Much  at  your  service ;  but  my  nether  parts 
Are  goblinized  and  Owlspiegled.     I  had  much  ado 
To  get  these  trankums  on.     I  judge  Lord  Erick 
Kejit  no  good  house,  and  starved  his  quondam  bar- 
ber, [coming ; 
Kat.  Peace,  ass,  and  hide  you — Gullcrammer  is 
Ho  left  the  hall  before,  but  then  took  fright. 
And  e'en  sueak'd  back.     The  Lady  Flora  hghts 

him — 
Trim  occupation  for  her  ladyship  ! 
Had  you  seen  Leonard,  when  she  left  the  hall 
On  such  fine  errand  ! 
Bla.  This  Gullcrammer  shall  have  a  bob  extra- 
ordinary 
For  my  good  comrade's  sake. — But  tell  me,  Kat- 

leen. 
What  dress  is  this  of  yours? 
KL\T.  A  page's,  fool ! 

Bla.  I'm  accounted  no  great  scholar, 

But  'tis  a  page  that  I  -would  fain  peruse 
A  little  closer.  \^Approaches  her. 

Kat.  Put  on  your  spectacles. 

And  try  if  you  can  read  it  at  this  distance. 
For  you  shall  come  no  nearer. 

Bla.  But  is  there  nothing,  then,  save  rank  im- 
posture, 
In  all  these  tales  of  goblinry  at  Devorgoil  ? 

Kat.  My  aunt's  grave  lord  thinks  otherwise,  sup- 
posing 
That  his  great  name  so  interests  the  Heavens, 
That  miracles  must  needs  bespeak  its  fall — 
I  would  that  I  were  in  a  lowly  cottage 
Beneath  the  greenwood,  on  its  walls  no  armor 

To  court  the  levin-bolt 

Bla.  And  a  kind  husband,  Katleen, 

To  ward  such  dangers  as  must  needs  come  nigh. — 
My  father's  cottage  stands  so  low  and  lone, 
That  you  would  tliink  it  soUtude  itself; 
The  greenwood  shields  it  from  the  northern  blast, 
And,  in  the  woodbine  round  its  latticed  casement, 
The  linnet's  sure  to  build  the  earUest  nest 
In  all  the  forest. 
Kat.  Peace,  you  fool,  they  come. 

Floea  lights  Gullcrammer  across  the  Stage. 

KL^T.  [when  they  have  passed.)  Away  with  you  ! 
On  with  your  cloak — be  ready  at  the  signal. 

Bla.  And  shall  we  talk  of  that  same  cottage, 
Katleen, 
At  better  leisure  ?     I  have  much  to  say 
In  favor  of  my  cottage. 

Kat.  If  you  will  be  talking. 

Ton  know  I  can't  prevent  you. 

Bla.  That's  enough. 

(Aside.)  I  shall  have  leave,  I  see,  to  spell  the  page 
\  little  closer,  when  the  duo  time  comes. 


SCENE  XL 

Scene  changes  to  Gxillcrammer's  Sleeping  Apart 
ment.  He  enters,  ushered  in  by  Flora,  who  siti 
on  the  table  a  flask,  with  the  lamp. 

Flo.  a  flask,  in  case  your  Reverence  be  athirsty , 
A  Ught,  in  case  your  Reverence  be  afear'd  ; — 
And  so  sweet  slumber  to  your  Reverence. 

GuL.  Kind  Mistress  Flora,  will  you? — eh!  ehl 
eh! 

Flo.  Will  I  what? 

GcL.  Tarry  a  little  ? 

Flo.  [smiling.)  Kind  Master  Gullcrammer, 
How  can  you  ask  me  aught  so  unbecoming  ? 

GtTL.   Oh,  fie,  fie,  fie  ! — BeUeve  me,   Mistress 
Flora, 
'Tis  not  for  that — but  being  guided  thi'oughj 
Such  dreary  galleries,  stairs,  and  suites  of  rooms. 
To  this  same  cubicle,  I'm  somewhat  loth 
To  bid  adieu  to  pleasant  company. 

Flo.  a  flattering  compUment ! — In  plain  truth, 
you  are  frighten' d. 


GuL. 


A\Tiat !    frighten'd  ? — I — I — am  not  tim- 


orous. 

Flo.  Perhaps  you've  heard  this  is  om-  haunted 
chamber  ? 
But  then  it  is  our  best — Your  Reverence  knows, 
That  in  all  tales  wliich  turn  upon  a  ghost, 
Tom-  ti-aveller  belated  has  the  luck 
To  enjoy  the  haunted  room — it  is  a  rule : — 
To  some  it  were  a  hardship,  but  to  you, 
Who  are  a  scholar,  and  not  timorous 

GuL.  I  did  not  say  I  was  not  timorous, 
I  said  I  was  not  temerarious. — 
I'U  to  the  hall  again. 

Flo.  Tou'll  do  your  pleasure. 

But  you  have  somehow  moved  my  father's  anger, 
And  you  had  better  meet  our  playful  Owlspie 

gle— 
So  is  our  gobhn  call'd — than  face  Lord  Oswald. 

GuL.  Owlspiegle  ? — 
It  is  an  imcoutli  and  outlandish  name. 
And  in  mine  ear  sounds  fiendish. 

Flo.  Hush,  hush,  hush ! 
Perliaps  he  hears  us  now — {in  an  under  tone) — ^A 

merry  sphit ; 
None  of  your  elves  that  pinch  folks  black  and  blue. 
For  lack  of  cleanliness. 

GuL.  As  for  that,  Mistress  Flora, 
My  taffeta  doublet  hath  been  duly  brush'd, 
My  shirt  hebdomadal  put  on  this  morning. 

Flo.  Why,  you  need  fear  no  goblins.     But  this 
Owlspiegle 
Is  of  another  class  ; — yet  has  his  frolics  ; 
Cuts  hair,  trims  beards,  and  plays  amid  his  antiui 
The  olSce  of  a  sinful  mortal  barber. 
Such  is  at  least  the  rumor 


776 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


GuL.  He  ^ill  not  cut  my  clothes,  or  scar  my  face, 
Or  draw  my  blood  ? 

Flo.  Enormities  like  these 

Were  never  charged  against  liim. 

GtJL.  And,  Mistress  Flora,  would  you  smile  on 

me, 
I^  prick'd  by  the  fond  hope  of  your  approval, 
T  should  endure  this  venture  ? 

Flo.  I  do  hope 

1  shall  have  cause  to  smile. 

GuL.  Well !  in  that  hope 

I  "wiU  embrace  the  achievement  for  thy  sake. 

[She  is  going. 
Yet,  stay,  stay,  stay ! — on  second  thoughts  I  will 

not — 
I've  thought  on  it,  and  mU  the  mortal  cudgel 
Rather  endure  than  face  the  ghostly  razor  ! 
Your  crab-tree's  tough  but  blunt, — yoiu"  razor's 

polish'd. 
But,  as  the  proverb  goes,  'tis  cruel  sharp, 
rn  to  thy  father,  and  unto  his  pleasure 
Submit  these  destined  shoulders. 

Flo.  But  you  shall  not, 

Believe  me,  sir,  you  shall  not ;  he  is  desperate. 
And  better  far  be  trimm'd  by  ghost  or  goblin, 
Than  by  ray  sire  in  anger ;  there  are  stores 
Of  hidden  treasm-e,  too,  and  Heaven  knows  what. 
Buried  amolig  these  ruins — you  shall  stay. 
{Apart.)  And  if  indeed  there  be  such  sprite  as 

Owlspiegle, 
And  lacking  him,  that  thy  fear  plague  thee  not 
Worse  than  a  goblin,  I  have  miss'd  my  purpose. 
Which  else  stands   good  in  either  case. — Good- 
night, sir.     \^£Jxit,  and  double-locks  the  door. 
GuL.  Nay,  hold  ye,  hold ! — Nay,  gentle  Mstress 

Flora, 
TNnierefore  this  ceremony  ? — She  lias  lock'd  me  in. 
And  left  me  to  the  gobUn !  —  (Listening.)  —  So, 

so,  so ! 
I  hear  her  light  foot  trip  to  such  a  distance, 
That  I  beheve  the  castle's  breadth  divides  me 
From  human  company.     I'm  ill  at  ease — ■ 
But  if  this  citadel  {layiyig  his  hand  on  his  stomach) 

were  better  victual'd, 
It  would  be  better  mannd.  \_Sits  down  and  drinks. 
She  has  a  footstep  light,  and  taper  ankle. 

[Chuckles. 
Aha !  that  ankle  !  yet,  confound  it  too, 
But  for  those  charms  Melcliisedek  had  been 
Snug  in  his  bed  at  Mucklewhame — I  say. 
Confound  her  footstep,  and  her  instep  too, 
To  use  a  cobbler's  phi-ase. — There  I  was  quaint. 
Now,  what  to  do  in  this  vile  chcumstance. 
To  watch  or  go  to  bed,  I  can't  determine ; 
Were  I  a-bed,  the  ghost  might  catch  me  napping. 
And  if  I  watch,  my  terrors  vnll  increase 
As  ghostly  hours  approach.     I'll  to  my  bed 
E'en  in  my  taffeta  doublet,  shi-ink  my  head 


Beneath  the  clothes — Cleave  the  lamp  burning  there, 

l_Seis  it  on  the  table. 
And  trust  to  fate  the  issue. 

\_IIe  lays  aside  his  cloak,  and  brushes  it, 
as  from  habit,  starting  at  every  moment; 
ties   a   napkin   over   his   head ;    then 
shrinks   beneath   the   bed-clothes.     He 
starts  once  or  twice,  and  at  length  seems 
to  go  to  sleep.    A  bell  tolls  one.    He 
leaps  up  in  his  bed. 
GuL.  I  had  just  coax'd  myself  to  sweet  forget- 
fulness. 
And  that  confounded  bell — I  hate  all  bells, 
Except  a  dinner  bell — and  yet  I  lie,  too, — ■ 
I  love  the  bell  that  soon  shall  tell  the  parish 
Of  Gabblegoose,  Melchisedek's  incumbent — 
And  shall  the  future  minister  of  Gabblegoose, 
Whom  his  parishioners  will  soon  require 
To  exorcise  their  ghosts,  detect  then-  witches. 
Lie  shivering  in  his  bed  for  a  pert  gobhn. 
Whom,  be  he   switch'd  or   cocktail'd,  horn'd   or 

poll'd, 
A  few  tight  Hebrew  words  will  soon  send  packing  ? 
Tush !  I  will  rouse  the  parson  up  within  me, 

And  bid  defiance {A  distant  noise)     In  the 

name  of  Heaven, 
What  sounds  are  these ! — 0  Lord  I  this  comes  of 
rashness ! 
[Draws  his  head  down  under  the  bed-clothes. 

Duet  witlwut,  between  Owlspiegle  and  Cocklede- 

MOT. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cocklederaoy ! 

My  boy,  my  boy 


COCKLEDEMOY. 

Here,  father,  here. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Now  the  pole-star's  red  and  burning, 
And  the  witch's  spindle  turning. 
Appear,  appear ! 

GuL.  (w?io  has  again  raised  himself,  and  listened 
with  great  terror  to  the  Duet.)  I  have  heard 
of  the  devil's  dam  before, 
But  never  of  his  child.     Now,  Heaven  deliver  me  I 
The  Papists  have  the  better  of  us  there, — 
They  have  their  Latin  prayers,  cut  and  dried, 
And  pat  for  such  occasion.     I  can  think 
On  naught  but  the  vernacular. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 
My  boy,  my  boy, 

We'U  sport  us  here — 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL.                                     777 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

BOTH. 

Our  gambols  play, 

About,  about, 

T(ike  elve  and  fay ; 

Like  an  elvish  scout. 

The  cuckoo's  a  gull,  and  we'll  soon  find  him  out. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

And  domineer, 

[They   search  the  room  with  mops  ana 

mows.    At  length  Cockledemoy  _;'«wp« 

BOTH. 

on  the  bed.     Gullcrammer  raises  him- 

Lausrh, frolic,  and  frisk,  tUl  the  morning  appear. 

self  half  vp,  supporting  himself  by  hii 

hands.     Cockledemoy  does  the   sartu. 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

grins  at  him,  then  skips  from  the  h'd, 

Lift  latch — open  clasp — 

and  runs  to  Owlsplegle. 

Shoot  bolt — and  burst  hasp ! 

[The  door  opens   with   violence.     Enter 

cockledemoy. 

Blackthorn  as  Owlspiegle,  fantasti- 

I've found  the  nest, 

cally  dressed  as  a  Spanish  Barber,  tall, 

And  in  it  a  guest, 

thin,  emaciated,  and  ghostly  ;  Katleex, 

With  a  sable  cloak  and  a  taffeta  vest ; 

as  CocKLEDEMOT,  attends  as  his  Page. 

He  must  be  wash'd,  and  trimm'd,  and  dress'd, 

All  their  inanners,  tones,  and  motions. 

To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

are  fantastic,  as  those  of  Goblins.  They 

make  tivo  or  three  times  the  circuit  of 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

the  Room,  ivithoiit  seeming  to  see  Gtol- 

That's  best,  that's  best. 

CRAMMER.      They    then    resume    their 

Chant,  or  Recitative. 

BOTH. 

He  must  be  shaved,  and  trimm'd,  and  dress'd, 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

Cockledemoy  1 

[They  arrange  shaving  things  on  the  ta- 

My boy,  my  boy, 

ble,  and  sing  as  they  prepare  theni. 

What  Arilt  thou  do  that  will  give  thee  joy  ? 

Wilt  thou  ride  on  the  midnight  owl  ? 

BOTH. 

Know  that  aU  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

buz, 

No ;  for  the  weather  is  stormy  and  foul. 

Of  the  make-beheve  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

OwLSPiEGLE  {sharpening  his  razor.) 

Cockledemoy ! 

The  sword  this  is  made  of  was  lost  in  a  fray 

My  boy,  my  boy. 

By  a  fop,  who  first  bullied  and  then  ran  away ; 

What  wnt  thou  do  that  can  give  thee  joy  ? 

And  the  strap,  from  the  liide  of  a  lame  racer, 

With  a  needle  for  a  sword,  and  a  thimble  for  a  hat, 

sold 

Wilt  thou  fight  a  traverse  with  the  castle  cat  ? 

By  Lord  Match,  to  his  friend,  for  some  himdreda 

in  gold. 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

Oh,  no !  she  has  claws,  and  I  like  not  that 

BOTH. 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz. 

GtJL.  I  see  the  devU  is  a  doting  father. 

Of  the  make-beUeve  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

And  spoils  his  children — 'tis  the  surest  way 

To  make  cursed  imps  of  them.    They  see  me  not — 

Cockledemoy  (placing  the  napkin!) 

Wliat  wUl  they  tliink  on  next  ?    It  must  be  own'd, 

And  this  cambric  napkin,  so  white  and  so  fair. 

They  have  a  dainty  choice  of  occupations. 

At  an  usurer's  funeral  I  stole  from  the  heir 

[Drops  something  from  a  vial,  as  going 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

to  make  sicds. 

Cockledemoy ! 

This  dew-drop  I  caught  from  one  eye  of  his  mother, 

My  boy,  my  boy. 

Which  wept  whUe   she   ogled  the  parson  with 

W  hat  shall  we  do  that  can  give  thee  joy  ? 

t'other. 

Shall  we  go  seek  for  a  cuckoo's  nest  ? 

BOTH. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz, 

That's  best,  that's  best ! 
98 

Of  the  make-beUeve  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us- 

•778                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

owxsPiEGLE  (arranging  the  lather  and  the  basin.) 

COCKLEDEMOT  (sings  as  before.) 

My  soap-ball  is  of  the  mild  alkali  made, 

Hair-breadth  'scapes,  and  hair-breadth  snares, 

Wliicli  the  soft  dedicator  employs  in  his  trade ; 

Hair-brain'd  foUies,  ventures,  cares. 

And  it  froths  with  the  pith  of  a  promise,  that's 

Part  when  father  cKps  your  hairs. 

sworn 

If  there  is  a  hero  frantic. 

By  a  lover  at  night,  and  forgot  on  the  mora 

Or  a  lover  too  romantic  ; — 

If  threescore  seeks  second  spouse, 

BOTH. 

Or  fourteen  Usts  lover's  vows. 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz. 

Bring  them  here — for  a  Scotch  boddle. 

Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

Owlspiegle  shall  trim  their  noddle. 

HaUoo,  halloo, 

[They  take  the  napkin  from  about  Gvz- 

The  blackcock  crew. 

lceammee's  neck.     He  makes  bows  of 

Thrice  shriek'd  hath  the  owl,  thrice  croafd  hath 

acknowledgment,  which  they  return  fan- 

the raven. 

tastically,  and  sing — 

Here,  ho !  Master  Gullcrammer,  rise  and  be  shaven ! 

Thrice  crow'd  hath  the  blackcock,  thrice  croak'd 

hath  the  raven. 

Da  capo. 

And  Master  Melcliisedek  Gullcrammer's  shaven ! 

Gul.  My  friends,  you  are  too  musical  for  me ; 

GuL.  (who  has  been  observing  them.)  I'll  pluck  a 

But  though  I  cannot  cope  with  you  in  song. 

spirit  up ;  they're  merry  goblins, 

I  would,  in  humble  prose,  inquire  of  you, 

And  will  deal  mildly ;  I  will  soothe  their  himaor ; 

If  that  you  will  permit  me  to  acquit 

Besides,  my  beard  lacks  trimming. 

Even  with  the  barber's  pence  the  barber's  ser- 

[JEfe rises  from  ?iis  bed,  and  advances  with 

vice  ? 

great  symptoms  of  trepidation,  but  af- 

[They shake  their  heads. 

fecting  an  air  of  composure.    The  Gob- 

Or if    there   is   aught    else   that   I  can   do   for 

lins  receive  him  loith  fantastic  ceremony. 

you. 

Gentlemen,  'tis  your  will  I  should  be  trimm'd — 

Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle,  or  your  loving  child. 

E'en  do  your  pleasure. 

The  hopeful  Cockle'moy  ? 

(They  point  to  a  seat — he  sits.) 

Think,  howsoe'er, 

COCKLEDEMOY, 

Of  me  as  one  who  hates  to  see  his  blood ; 

Sir,  you  have  been  trimm'd  of  late. 

Therefore  I  do  beseech  you,  signior. 

Smooth's  your  chin,  and  bald  your  pate ; 

Be  gentle  in  your  craft.     I  know  those  barbers. 

Lest  cold  rheums  should  work  you  harm. 

One  would  have  harrows  driven  across  his  visnomy, 

Here's  a  cap  to  keep  you  warm. 

Rather  than  they  should  touch  it  with  a  razor. 

Gul.  Welcome,  as  Fortunatus'  wishing  cap. 

OwLSPizGLE  shaves  Gullceammee,  while  Cocklede- 

For't  was  a  cap  that  I  was  wishing  for. 

MOY  siiigs. 

(There  I  was  quaint  in  spite  of  mortal  terror.) 

Father  never  started  hair, 

[As  he  puts  on  the  cap,  a  pair  of  ass's  ears 

Shaved  too  close,  or  left  too  bare — 

disengage  themselves. 

Father's  razor  slips  as  glib 

Upon  my  faith,  it  is  a  dainty  head-dress, 

As  from  courtly  tongue  a  fib. 

And  might  become  an  alderman ! — Thanks,  sweet 

Whiskers,  mustache,  he  can  trim  in 

Monsieur, 

Fashion  meet  to  please  the  women ; 

Thou'rt  a  considerate  youth. 

Sharp's  his  blade,  perfumed  his  lather ! 

[Both  Goblins  bow  with  otremony  to  GitlL' 

Happy  those  are  trimm'd  by  father  ! 

ceammer,  who  retur/is  their  salutation. 

Owlspiegle  descends  by  the  trap-door 

Gdx.  That's  a  good  boy.     1  love  to  hear  a  child 

CocKLEDEMOY  Springs  out  at  a  window 

Stand  for  his  father,  if  he  were  the  devil. 

[He  motions  to  rise. 

SONG  (tcithout.) 

Craving  your  pardon,  sir. — What !  sit  again  ? 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

My  hair  lacks  not  your  scissors. 

Cockledemoy,  my  hope,  my  care, 

[OwLSPiEGLE  insists  on  his  sitting. 

"VVTiere  art  thou  now,  0  teU  me  where  ? 

Nay,  if  you're  peremptory,  I'll  ne'er  dispute  it, 

Nor  eat  the  cow  and  choke  upon  the  tail — 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

E'en  trim  me  to  your  fashion. 

Up  in  the  sky, 

[OwLSPiEGLE  cuts  his  hair,  and  shaves  his 

On  the  bonny  dragonfly. 

head,  ridiculously. 

Come,  father,  come  you  too — 

THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


119 


She  has  four  wings  and  strength  enow, 
And  her  long  body  has  room  for  two. 

GiTL.  Cockledemoy  now  is  a  naughty  brat — 
Would  have  the  poor  old  stifl'-rump'd  devil,  his 

father, 
Peril  hid  fiendish  neck    All  boya  are  thoughtless. 

SONG. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 

Which  way  didst  thou  take  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

I  have  fall'n  in  the  lake — 

Help,  father,  for  Beelzebub's  sake. 

GuL.  The  imp  is  drown'd — a  strange  death  for 
a  devil, — 
0,  may  all  boys  take  wai-ning,  and  be  civil ; 
Respect  their  loving  sires,  endure  a  cliiding, 
Nor  roam  by  night  on  dragonilies  a-riding ! 

COCKLEDEMOY  (sinffS.) 

Now  merrily,  merrily,  row  I  to  shore. 

My  bark  is  a  bean-shell,  a  straw  for  an  oar. 

OWLSPIEGLE  (sings.) 
My  hfe,  my  joy. 
My  Cockledemoy ! 

GuL.  I  can  bear  tliis  no  longer — thus  children 
are  spoil'd. 

[Strikes  into  the  tune. 
Master  Owlspiegle,  hoy ! 

He  deserves  to  be  whipp'd  little  Cockledemoy ! 

[Their  voices  are  heard,  as  if  dying  away. 

GuL.  They're  gone  ! — Now,  am  I  scared,  or  am 

I  not? 

I  think  the  very  desperate  ecstasy 

Of  fear  has  given  me  coiu'age.^     This  is  strange, 

now. 
When  they  were  here,  I  was  not  half  so  frighten'd 
As  now  they're  gone — they  were  a  sort  of  com- 
pany. 
What  a  strange  thin'^  is  use  ! — A  horn,  a  claw, 
The  tip  of  a  fiend's  tail,  was  wont  to  scare  me. 
Now  am  I  with  the  devU  hand  and  glove ; 
His  soap  has  lather'd,  and  his  razor  shaved  me  ; 
I've  joined  him  in  a  catch,  kept  time  and  tune, 
Could  dine  with  him,  uor  ask  for  a  long  spoon ; 
And  if  I  keep  not  better  company. 
What  will  become  of  me  when  I  shall  die  ? 

[Ilxit. 

I  "  Cowards,  upon  necessity,  assnme 

A  fearful  bravery  ;  thinking  by  this  face 

To  fasten  in  men's  minds  that  they  have  courage." 

Shaksfeare. 


SCENE  in. 

A  Gothic  Hall,  waste  and  ruinous.  The  moonlight 
is  at  times  seen  through  the  shafted  witidows.' 
winter  KLatleen  and  Blackthoiin — They  have 
thrown  off  the  more  ludicrous  parts  of  their 
disguise. 

Kat.  This  way — this  way ;   was  ever  fool  so 

guU'd ! 
Bla.  I  play'd  the  barber  better  than  I  thought 
for. 
Well,  I've  an  occupation  in  reserve, 
Wlien  the  long-bow  and  merry  musket  fail  me. — 
But,  hark  ye,  pretty  Katleen. 

Kat.  What  should  I  hearken  to  ? 

Bla.  Art  thou  not  afraid, 
In  these  wild  halls  while  playing  ieigned  goblins, 
That  we  may  meet  with  real  ones  ? 

ELat.  Not  a  jot. 

My  spirit  is  too  light,  my  heart  too  bold. 
To  fear  a  visit  from  the  other  world. 

Bla.  But  is  not  this  the  place,  the  very  hall 
In  which  men  say  that  Oswald's  grandfather. 
The  black  Lord  Erick,  walks  his  penance  round  ? 
Credit    me,   Katleen,   these    half-moulder'd    col- 
umns 
Have  m  their  ruin  something  very  fiendish, 
And,  if  you'U  take  an  honest  friend's  advice, 
The  sooner  that  you  change  their  shatter'd  splen- 
dor 
For  the  snug  cottage  that  I  told  you  of, 
Beheve  me,  it  will  prove  the  bhther  dweUing. 
Kat.  If  I  e'er  see  that  cottage,  honest  Black- 
thorn, 
Believe  me,  it  shall  be  from  other  motive 
Than  fear  of  Erick's  spectre. 

[A  rustling  sound  is  heard. 
Bla.  I  heard  a  rustling  sound — 

Upon  my  life,  there's  something  in  the  haU, 
Katleen,  besides  us  two ! 

Kat.  a  yeoman  thou, 

A  forester,  and  frighten'd !     I  am  sorry 
I  gave  the  fool's-cap  to  poor  GuUcrajnmer, 
And  let  thy  head  go  bare. 

[The  same  rushing  sound  is  repeated. 
Bla.  Why,  ai'e  you  mad,  or  hear  you  not  the 

sound? 
Kat.  And  if  I  do,  I  take  small  heed  of  it. 
WUl  you  allow  a  maiden  to  be  bolder 
Than    you,  with   beard  on  chin   and  sword  at 
girdle  ? 
Bla.  Nay,  if  I  had  my  sword,  I  would  not 
care ; 

2  I  have  a  notion  that  this  can  be  managed  so  as  to  repre- 
sent imperfect,  or  flitting  moonlight,  upon  the  plan  of  the 
Eidophusikou. 


780 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Though  I  ne'er  heard  of  master  of  defence, 

So  active  at  his  weapon  as  to  Lrave 

The  devil,  or  a  ghost — See '  see !  see  yonder  1 

[A  Figure  ts  miperfectly  seen  between  two  of 
the  pillars. 
K.\T.  There's  something  moves,  that's  certain, 
and  the  moonhght. 
Chased  by  the  flitting  gale,  is  too  imperfect 
To  show  its  form ;  but,  in  the  name  of  God, 
I'll  venture  on  it  boldly. 

Bla.  WHt  thou  so  ? 

Were  I  alone,  now,  I  were  strongly  tempted 
To  trust  niy  heels  for  safety  ;  but  with  thee, 
Be  it  fi«nd  or  fairy,  I'll  take  risk  to  meet  it. 
Kat   It  stands  fuU  in  our  path,  and  we  must 
pass  it, 
Or  tarry  here  all  night. 

Bla.  In  its  vUe  company  ? 

\_As  they  advance  toiuards  the  Figure,  it  is 
more  plainly  distinguished,  which  might,  I 
think,  he  contrived  by  raising  successive 
screens  of  crape.     The  Figure  is  wrapped 
in  a  long  robe,  like  the  mantle  of  a  Her- 
mit, or  Palmer. 
Pal.  Ho !  ye  who  thi'ead  by  night  these  wUder- 
ing  scenes. 
In  garb  of  those  who  long  have  slept  in  death, 
Fear  ye  the  company  of  those  you  imitate  ? 
Bla.  This  is  the  devil,  Katleen,  let  us  fly ! 

[i?M«s  off. 
Kat.  I  will  not  fly — ^why  should  I  ?     My  nerves 
shake 
To  look  on  this  strange  vision,  but  my  heart 
Partakes   not  the  alarm. — If  thou  dost  come   in 

Heaven's  name. 
In  Heaven's  name  art  thou  welcome ! 

Pal.  I  come,  by  Heaven  permitted.     Quit  this 
castle : 
There  is  a  fate  on't — if  for  good  or  evil, 
Brief  space  shall  soon  determine.     In  that  fate. 
If  good,  by  hneage  thou  canst  nothing  claim ; 
If  evil,   much  mayst   suffer. — Leave   these   pre- 
cincts. 
Kat.  "Whate'er  thou  art,  be  answer'd — Know, 
I  wUl  not 
Desei  t  the  kinswoman  who  train'd  my  youth ; 
Know,  that  I  will  not  quit  my  friend,  my  Flora ; 
Know,  that  I  will  not  leave  the  aged  man 
Whose   roof  has   shelter'd  me.     This  is   my  re- 
solve— 
If  evil  come,  I  aid  my  friends  to  bear  it ; 
If  good,  my  part  shall  be  to  see  them  prosper, 
A  portion  in  their  happiness  from  wliich 
'Ho  fiend  can  bar  me. 

Pal.  Maid,  before  thy  courage. 

Firm  buUt  on  innocence,  even  beings  of  nature 
More   powerful  far   than  thine,  give  place   and 
way; 


Take  then  this  key,  and  wait  the  event  with  cour. 
age. 
[^He  drops  the  key. — He  disappears  gradti- 
ally — the  moonlight  failing  at  the  samt 
time. 
Kat.  {after  a  pause.)  Wliate'er  it  was,  'tis  gone 
My  head  tiu-ns  round — 
The  blood  that  lately  fortified  my  heart 
Now  eddies  in  full  torrent  to  my  brain. 
And  makes  wild  work  with  reason.     I  will  haste, 
If  that  my  steps  can  bear  me  so  far  safe. 
To  hving  company.     What  if  I  meet  it 
Again  in  the  long  aisle,  or  vaulted  passage  ? 
And  if  I  do,  the  strong  support  that  bore  me 
Through  this  appalUng  interview,  again 
Shall  strengthen  and  uphold  me. 

[As  she  steps  forward  sJie  stumbles  over 
the  key. 
What's  this  ?     The  key  ? — there  may  be  mystery 

in't. 
m  to  my  kinswoman,  when  this  dizzy  fit 
Will  give  me  leave  to  choose  my  way  aright. 

\8he  sits  down  exhausted. 

Re-enter  Blackthorn,  with  a  drawn  sword  and  torch. 
Bla.  Katleen  1  What,  Katleen ! — What  a  wretch 
was  I 

To  leave  her ! — Katleen, — I  am  weapon'd  now. 

And  fear  nor  dog  nor  devU.     She  replies  not ! 

Beast  that  I  was — nay,  worse  than  beast ;  the 
stag, 

As  timorous  as  he  is,  fights  for  his  hind. 

What's  to  be  done  ? — I'll  search  this  cursed  castle 

From  dungeon  to  the  battlements ;   if  I  find  her 
not, 

I'U  fling  me  from  the  highest  pinnacle 

Katleen  {who  has  somewhat  gathered  her  spirits, 
in  consequence  of  his  entrance,  comes  behind 
and  touches  him  ;  he  starts.)       Brave  sir ! 

I'll  spare  you  that  rash  leap — You're  a  bold  woods- 
man! 

Surely  I  hope  that  fi*om  this  night  henceforward 

You'll  never  kill   a  hare,  since   you're  akin   to 
them ; 

0  I  could  laugh — ^but  that  my  head's  so  dizzy. 
Bla.    Lean   o^n   me,  Katleen  —  By  my  honest 

word, 

1  thought  you  close  behind — I  was  sm-prised. 
Not  a  jot  frighten'd. 

Kat.  Thou  art  a  fool  to  ask  me  to  thy  cottage. 
And  then  to  show  me  at  what  slight  expense 
Of  manhood  I  might  master  thee  and  it. 

Bla.  I'll  take  the  risk  of  that — This  goblin  busi- 
ness 
Came  rather  unexpected ;  the  best  horse 
Will  start  at  sudden  sights.     Try  me  again. 
And  if  I  prove  not  true  to  bonny  Katleen, 
Hang  me  in  mine  own  bowstring.  [Fxeunt 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


TSl 


SCENE  IV. 

The  Scene  returns  to  the  Apartment  at  the  beginning 
of  Act  Second.  Oswald  and  Durward  are  dis- 
covered with  Eleanor,  Flora,  and  Leonard — 
DuRWARD  shuts  a  Prayer-book,  which  he  seems 
to  have  been  reading. 

DuR.    'Tis   true  —  the   difference   betwixt    the 
churches, 
Which  zealots  love  to  dwell  on,  to  the  wise 
Of  either  flock  are  of  far  less  importance 
Than  those  great  truths  to  which  all  Cliristiai'.  men 
Subscribe  with  equal  reverence. 

Osw.  We  thank  thee,  father,  for  the  holy  office. 
Still  best  performed  when  the  pastor's  tongue 
Is  echo  to  his  breast ;  of  jarring  creeds 
It  ill  beseems  a  layman's  tongue  to  speak. — 
Where  have  you  stow'd  yon  prater  ?      \To  Flora. 

Flo.  Safe  in  the  gobhn-chamber. 

Ele.  The  goblin-chamber ! 

Maiden,  wert  thou  frantic  ? — if  his  Reverence 
Have  suffered  harm  by  waspish  Owlspiegle, 
Be  sure  thou  shalt  abye  it. 

Flo.  Here  he  comes, 

Can  answer  for  himself ! 

Enter  Gullcrammer,  in  the  fashion  in  which  Owls- 
piegle had  put  him :  having  the  fool' s-cap  on  his 
head,  and  toiuel  about  his  7i,ecl;  d'c.  His  manner 
through  the  scene  is  wild  and  extravagant,  as  if 
the  fright  had  a  little  affected  his  brain. 

DuR.  A  goodly  spectacle ! — Is  there  such  a  goblin, 
{To  Osw.)  Or  has  sheer  terror  made  him  such  a 
figure  ? 

Osw.  There  is  a  sort  of  wavering  tradition 
Of  a  mahcious  imp  who  teazed  all  strangers ; 
My  father  wont  to  call  him  Owlspiegle. 

Gul.  "Wlio  talks  of  Owlspiegle  ? 
He  is  an  honest  fellow  for  a  devil, 
So  is  his  son,  the  hopeful  Cockle'moy. 

(Sings.) 
"My  hope,  my  joy, 
My  Cockledemoy !" 

Leo.  Tlie  fool's  bewitch'd — the  goblin  hath  fur- 
nish'd  him 
A  cap  which  well  befits  his  reverend  wisdom. 

Flo.  If  I  could  think  he  had  lost  his  slender  wits, 
I  should  be  sorry  for  the  trick  they  play'd  him. 

Leo.  0  fear  him  not ;  it  were  a  foid  reflection 
On  any  fiend  of  sense  and  reputation, 
Te  filch  such  petty  wares  as  his  poor  brains. 

DtTR.  "What  saw'st  thou,  sir  ?      What  heard'st 
thou? 

Gul.  "What  was't  I  saw  and  heard  ? 
That  which  old  graybeards. 


"Wlio  conjure  Hebrew  into  Anglo-Saxon, 

To  clieat  starved  barons  with,  can  little  guess  at. 

Flo.  If  he  begin  so  roundly  with  my  father, 
His  madness  is  not  like  to  save  his  bones. 

Gul.  Sirs,  midnight  came,  and  with  it  came  the 
goblin. 
I  had  reposed  me  after  some  brief  study ; 
But  as  the  soldier,  sleeping  in  the  trench, 
Keeps  sword  and  musket  by  him,  so  I  had 
My  httle  Hebrew  manual  prompt  for  service. 

Flo.  Sausagian  sous'dface ;  that  much  of  you' 
Hebrew 
Even  I  can  bear  in  memory. 

Gul.  We  countcr'd, 

The  goblin  and  myself,  even  in  mid-chamber. 
And  each  stepp'd  back  a  pace,  as  'twere  to  study 
The  foe  he  had  to  deal  with ! — T  bethought  me. 
Ghosts  ne'er  have  the  first  word,  and  so  I  took  it. 
And  fired  a  volley  of  round  Greek  at  liim. 
He  stood  his  ground,  and  answer'd  in  the  Syriac ; 
I  flank'd  my  Greek  with  Hebrew,  and  compell'd 

him 

\^A  noise  heard. 

Osw.  Peace,  idle  prater ! — Hark — what  sounds 
are  these  ? 
Amid  the  growling  of  the  storm  without, 
I  hear  strange  notes  of  music,  and  the  clash 
Of  coursers'  trampling  feet. 

"V^oiCES  (without.) 
We  come,  dark  riders  of  the  night. 
And  flit  before  the  dawning  light ; 
Hill  and  valley,  far  aloof. 
Shake  to  hear  our  chargers'  hoof; 
But  not  a  foot-stamp  on  the  green 
At  morn  shall  show  where  we  have  been. 

Osw.  These  must  be  revellers  belated — 
Let  them  pass  on ;  the  ruin'd  halls  of  Devongoil 
Open  to  no  such  guests. — 

[Flourish  of  trumpets  at  a  distance,  then  nearer. 
They  sound  a  summons ; 
"What  can  they  lack  at  this  dead  hour  of  niglit  ? 
Look  out,  and  see  their  number,  and  their  bearing. 

Leo.  (goes  up  to  the  uindow.)  'Tis  strange — one 
single  shadowy  form  alone 
Is  hovering  on  the  drawbridge — far  apart 
Fht  through  tlie  tempest  banners,  horse,  and  riders, 
In  darkness  lost,  or  dimly  seen  by  lightning. — 
Hither  the  figm-e  moves — the  bolts  revolve — 
The  gate  uncloses  to  him. 

Ele.  Heaven  protect  us ! 

The  Palmer  enters — Gullcrajlmer  runs  off. 

Osw.  "Wlience  and  what  art  thou  ?  for  what  end 

come  hither  ? 
Pal.  I  come  from  a  far  land,  where  the  storm 

bowls  not, 


782 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  ilie  sun  sets  not,  to  pronounce  to  tliee, 
Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  thy  house's  fate. 

DuR.  I  charge  thee,  in  the  name  vre  late  have 

kneel'd  to 

Pal.  Abbot  of  Lanercost,  I  bid  thee  peace  ! 
Uninterrupted  let  me  do  mine  errand  : 
Baron  of  Devorgoil,  son  of  the  bold,  the  proud, 
The  warlike  and  the  mighty,  wherefore  wear'st 

thou 
The  habit  of  a  peasant  ?     Tell  me,  wherefore 
Are  thy  foh-  halls  thus  waste — thy  chambers  bare — 
Where   are   the   tajiestries,  where  the  conquer'd 

banners, 
Trophies,  and  gilded  arms,  that  deck'd  the  walls 
Of  once  proud  Devorgoil  ? 

[jEe  advances,  and  places  himself  where  the 
Armor  hung,  so  as  to  be  7iearly  in  the 
centre  of  the  Scene. 
DuR.  "Whoe'er  thou  art — if  thou  dost  know  so 
much, 

Needs  must  thou  luiow 

Osw.  Peace !    I  will  answer  here ;    to  me  he 
spoke. — 
Mysterious  stranger,  briefly  I  reply : 
A  peasant's  dress  befits  a  peasant's  fortune ; 
And  'twere  vain  mockery  to  array  these  walls 
In  tropliies,  of  whose  memory  naught  remains, 
Save  that  the  cruelty  outvied  the  valor 
Of  those  who  wore  them. 

Pal.  Degenerate  as  thou  art, 

Knowst  thou  to  whom  thou  say'st  this  ? 

\He  drops  his  mantle,  and  is  discovered 

armed  as  nearly  as  may  he  to  the  suit 

ichich  hunrf  on  the  wall;  all  express 

terror. 

Osw.  It  is  himself — the  spirit  of  mine  ancestor  ! 

Eri.  Tremble  not,  son,  but  hear  me  ! 

\_lle  strikes  the  wall ;  it  opens,  and  dis- 
covers the  Treasure- Chamber. 

There  lies  piled 
The  wealth  I  brought  from  wasted  Cumberland, 
Enough  to  reinstate  thy  ruin'd  fortunes. — 
Cast  from  tliine  highborn  brows  that  peasant  bon- 
net. 
Throw  from  thy  noble  grasp  the  peasant's  staff, 
O'er  all,  withdraw  thine  hand  from  that  mean  mate, 
Whom  in  an  hour  of  reckless  desperation 
Thy  fortunes  cast  thee  on.     This  do, 
And  be  as  great  as  ere  was  Devorgoil, 
When  Devorgoil  was  richest !' 

Duu.  Lord  Oswald,  thou  art  tempted  by  a  fiend, 
Who  doth  assail  thee  on  thy  weakest  side, — 
Thy  pi-ide  of  lineage,  and  thy  love  of  grandeur. 
Stand  fast — resist — contemn  his  fiital  offers  1 
Ele.  Urge  him  not,  father  ;  if  the  sacrifice 

J  MS. — "  And  be  as  rich  as  ere  was  Devorgoil, 
When  Devorgoil  was  proudest." 


Of  such  a  wasted,  woe-worn  wretch  as  I  am, 
Can  save  Iiim  from  the  abyss  of  misery, 
Upon  whose  verge  he's  tottering,  let  me  wander 
An  unacknowledged  outcast  from  his  castle. 
Even  to  the  humble  cottage  I  was  born  in. 

Osw.  No,  Ellen,  no — it  is  not  thus  they  part. 
Whose  hearts  and  souls,  disasters  borne  in  common 
Have  knit  together,  close  as  summer  saplings 
Are  twined  in  union  by  the  eddying  tempest. — 
Spirit  of  Erick,  while  thou  bear'st  his  shape, 
I'll  answer  with  no  ruder  conjuration 
Thy  in:ipious  counsel,  other  than  with  these  words, 
Depart,  and  tempt  me  not ! 

Eri.  Tlaen  fate  will  have  her  course. — Fall,  mas- 
sive grate,  [sures. 
Yield  them  the  tempting  view  of  these  rich  trea- 
But  bai'  them  from  possession  ! 

\^A  portcullis  falls  before  the  door  of  the 
Treasure-  Chamber. 

Mortals,  hear ! 
No  hand  may  ope  that  grate,  except  the  Heir 
Of  plunder'd  Aghonby,  whose  mighty  wealth, 
Ravish'd  m  evil  hour,  lies  yonder  piled  ; 
And  not  his  hand  prevails  without  the  key 
Of  Black  Lord  Erick ;  brief  space  is  given 
To  save  proud  DevorgoU. — So  wills  high  Heaven. 
[Thunder  ;  he  disappears. 

Dlti.  Gaze  not  so  wildly ;  you  have  stood  the 
trial 
Tlmt  his  commission  bore,  and  Heaven  designs. 
If  I  may  spell  his  will,  to  rescue  Devorgoil 
Even  by  the  Heir  of  Aglionby — Behold  him 
In  that  young  forester,  unto  whose  hand 
Those  bars  shall  yield  the  treasures  of  his  house. 
Destined  to  ransom  yours. — Advance,  young  Leon- 
ard, 
And  prove  the  adventure. 

Leo.  (advances  and  attetnpts  the  grate.)  It  is  fast 
As  is  the  tower,  rock-seated. 

Osw.  We  will  fetch  other  means,  and  prove  its 
strength. 
Nor  starve  in  poverty  with  wealth  before  us. 

DcR.  Thitik  what  the  vision  spoke ; 
The  key — the  fated  key 

Enter  Gullcrammer. 
GuL.  A  key  ? — I  say  a  quay  is  what  we  want, 
Thus  by  the  learu'd  orthographized — Q,  u,  a,  y. 
The  lake  is  overflow'd  ! — a  quay,  a  boat. 
Oars,  punt,  or  sculler,  is  all  one  to  me ! — 
We  shall  be  drown'd,  good  people  ! ! ! 

Enter  Katleen  and  Blackthorn. 
Kat.  Deliver  us 

Haste,  save  yourselves — the  lake  is  rising  fast.^ 

2  If  it  could  be  managed  to  render  the  rising  of  the  lake  vi» 
ible,  it  would  answer  well  for  a  coup-de-tkidtre. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


788 


Bla.  'T  has  risen  my  bow's  height  in  the  last  five 
minutes, 
And  still  IS  swelling  strangely. 

GuL.  {wlio  has  stood  astonished  upon  seeing  thein.) 
We  shall  be  drown'd  without  your  kind  assistance. 
Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle,  your  dragonfly — 
Toui-  straw,  your  bean-stalk,  gentle  Cockle'moy ! 
Leo.  {looking  from  the  shot-hole.)  'Tis  true,  by 
all  that's  fearful !     The  proud  lake 
Peers,  like  ambitious  tyrant,  o'er  liis  bounds. 
And  soon  will  whelm  the  castle — even  the  draw- 
bridge 
Is  mider  water  now. 

ELat.  Let  us  escape !     Why  stand  you  gazing 

there  ? 
DuR.  Upon  the  opening  of  that  fatal  grate 
Depends  the  fearful  spell  that  now  entraps  us, 
The  key  of  Black  Lord  Erick — ere  we  find  it, 
The  castle  will  be  whelm'd  beneath  the  waves, 
And  we  shall  perish  in  it ! 

Kat.  {giving  the  key.)  Here,  prove  this ; 
A  chance  most  strange  and  fearful  gave  it  me. 

[OswAtD  puts  it  into  the  lock,  and  attempts 
to  turn  it — a  loud  clap  of  thunder. 
Flo.  The  lake  still  rises  faster. — Leonard,  Leon- 
ard, 
Canst  thou  not  save  us  ? 

[Leonard  tries  the  lock — it  opens  with  a 
violent  noise,  and  the  Portcullis  rises. 
A  loud  strain  of  wild  inusic. — There 
mag  be  a  chorus  here. 
[Oswald  enters  the  apartment,  and  brings 
out  a  scroll. 
Leo.  The  lake  is  ebbing  with  as  wondrous  haste 
As  late  it  rose — the  drawbridge  is  left  dry  ! 
Osw.  This  may  explain  the  cause. — 

•  MS. — "  The  storms  of  angry  Fate  are  past — 
Constancy  abides  their  blast. 
Of  Devorgoil  the  daughter  fair 


(Gullcrammer.  offers  to  lake  it.)  But  soft  ycu,  sir, 
We'll  not  disturb  your  learning  for  the  matter ; 
Yet,  since  you've  borne  a  part  in   this  strange 

drama, 
You  shall  not  go  unguerdon'd.     Wise  or  learn'd, 
Modest  or  gentle,  Heaven  alone  can  make  thee. 
Being  so  much  otherwise ;  but  from  this  abundance 
Thou  shalt  have  that  shall  gild  tliine  ignorance. 
Exalt  thy  base  descent,  make  thy  presmnption 
Seem  modest  confidence,  and  find  thee  Imndreds 
Ready  to  swear  that  same  fool's-cap  of  thine 
Is  reverend  as  a  mitre. 

GuL.  Thanks,  mighty  baron,  now  no  more  a  bare 
one  ! — 
I  wiU  be  quaint  with  him,  for  all  his  quips.  [Aside. 

Osw.  Nor  shall  kind  Katleen  lack 
Her  portion  in  our  happiness. 

Kat.  Thanks,  my  good  lord,  but  Katleen's  fate 
is  fix'd — 
There  is  a  certain  valiant  forester. 
Too  much  afear'd  of  ghosts  to  sleep  anights 
In  his  lone  cottage,  without  one  to  guard  him. — 

Leo.  If  I  forget  my  comrade's  faithful  friendship, 
May  I  be  lost  to  fortune,  hope,  and  love  ! 

DuR.  Peace,  all!  and  hear  the  blessing  which 
this  scroll 
Speaks  unto  faith,  and  constancy,  and  virtue. 

No  more  this  castle's  troubled  guest. 
Dark  Erick's  spnit  hath  found  rest. 
The  storms  of  angry  Fate  are  past— 
For  Constancy  defies  their  blast. 
Of  Devorgoil  the  daughter  free 
Shall  wed  the  Heir  of  Aglionby ; 
Nor  ever  more  dishonor  soil 
The  rescued  house  of  Devorgoil !' 


Shall  wed  with  Dacre's  injured  heir; 
The  silvei  moon  of  Devorgoil  ' 


I 


784 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


^ucl)  tnbrane; 


OB, 


THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


Cur  nliqnid  vidi  ?   enr  noxia  Inmina  feci 
Cur  imprndenti  cognita  culpa  mihi  est  ? 

OviDii  Tristium,  Liber  Secundus. 


PREFACE. 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  upon  record,  a  tale  of 
horror  'which  gives  us  a  more  perfect  picture  than 
is  afforded  by  the  present,  of  the  violence  of  our 
ancestors,  or  the  complicated  crimes  into  which 
they  were  hurried,  by  "what  their  "wise,  but  ill- 
enforced,  laws  termed  the  heathenish  and  accm-sed 
practice  of  Deadly  Feud.  The  author  has  tried 
to  extract  some  dramatic  scenes  out  of  it ;  but  he 
is  conscious  no  exertions  of  his  can  increase  the 
horror  of  that  which  is  in  itseK  so  iniquitous.  Yet, 
if  we  look  at  modern  events,  we  must  not  too  has- 
tily venture  to  conclude  that  our  own  times  have 
so  much  the  superiority  over  former  days  as  we 
might  at  first  be  tempted  to  infer.  One  great  ob- 
ject has  indeed  been  obtained.  The  power  of  the 
laws  extends  over  the  country  universally,  and  if 
criminals  at  present  sometimes  escape  punishment, 
this  can  only  be  by  eluding  justice, — not,  as  of  old, 
by  defying  it. 

But  the  motives  which  influence  modern  ruffians 
to  commit  actions  at  "which  "we  pause  with  "wonder 
and  horror,  arise,  in  a  great  measure,  from  the 
thirst  of  gain.  For  the  hope  of  lucre,  "we  have 
seen  a  "wretch  seduced  to  his  fate,  imder  the  pre- 
text that  he  was  to  share  in  amusement  and  con- 
viviaUty ;  and,  for  gold,  we  have  seen  the  meanest 
of  "wi-etches  deprived  of  life,  and  their  miserable 
remains  cheated  of  the  grave. 

The  loftier,  if  equally  cruel,  feelings  of  pride, 
ambition,  and  love  of  vengeance,  "were  the  idols  of 
our  forefathers,  while  the  caitiffs  of  our  day  bend 
to  Mammon,  the  meanest  of  the  spirits  who  feU.' 
The  criminals,  therefore,  of  former  times,  di'e"W 
their  heUish  inspiration  from  a  loftier  sotu-ce  than 
is  kno"wn  to  modern  villains.    The  fever  of  unsated 

I  " Mammon  led  them  on : 


Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  Heaven   ' — Milton. 


ambition,  the  phrensy  of  tmgratified  revenge,  the 
perfervidmn  ingenium  Scotorum,  stigmatized  by 
oiu-  jurists  and  our  legislators,  held  Ufe  but  as 
passing  breath  ;  and  such  enormities  as  now  sound 
Uke  the  acts  of  a  madman,  were  then  the  familiar 
deeds  of  every  offended  noble.  With  these  ob- 
servations we  proceed  to  our  story. 

Jolm  Muir,  or  Mure,  of  Auchindrane,  the  con- 
triver and  executor  of  the  following  cruelties,  was  a 
gentleman  of  an  ancient  family  and  good  estate  in 
the  west  of  Scotland ;  bold,  ambitious,  treacherou.i 
to  the  last  degree,  and  utterly  unconscientious, — a 
Richard  the  Third  in  private  Hfe,  inaccessible  alike 
to  pity  and  to  remorse.  His  view  was  to  raise 
the  power,  and  extend  the  grandeur,  of  his  o"wn 
family.  This  gentleman  had  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Barganie,  "who  "was, 
excepting  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  the  most  important 
person  in  all  Carrick,  the  district  of  Ayrsliiie 
which  he  inhabited,  and  where  the  name  of  Ken- 
nedy held  so  great  a  sway  as  to  give  rise  to  the 
popular  rhyme, — 

"  'Twixt  Wigton  and  the  town  of  Air, 
Portpatrick  and  the  Crnives  of  Cree, 
No  man  need  think  for  to  bide  there, 
Unless  he  court  Saint  Kennedie." 

Now,  Mure  of  Auchindjrane,  who  haa  promised 
himself  high  advancement  by  means  of  his  father- 
in-law  Barganie,  saw,  with  en"vy  and  resentment, 
that  his  influence  remained  second  and  inferior  to 
the  House  of  Cassilis,  chief  of  all  the  Kennedys. 
The  Earl  was  indeed  a  minor,  but  his  authority 
was  maintained,  and  his  affairs  well  managed,  by 
his  uncle.  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  CuUayne,  the 
brother  of  the  deceased  Earl,  and  tutor  and  guard- 
ian to  the  present.  This  worthy  gentleman  sup- 
ported his  nephew's  dignity  and  the  credit  of  the 
house  so  effectually,  that  Barganie's  consequence 
was  much  tlu"own  into  the  shade,  and  the  ambi- 
tious Auchindrane,  his  son-inlaw,  saw  no  better 


\ 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


785 


remedy  than  to  remove  so  formidable  a  rival  as 
CuUayuc  by  violent  means. 

For  this  purpose,  in  the  year  of  God  1597,  he 
came  -with  a  party  of  follo-wers  to  the  tow-n  of  May- 
bole  (where  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  CuUayne  then 
resided),  and  lay  in  ambush  in  an  orchard,  thi-ough 
•wliich  he  knew  his  destined  victim  was  to  pass,  in 
retm-ning  homewards  from  a  house  where  he  was 
engaged  to  sup.  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  came  alone, 
and  unattended,  when  he  was  suddenly  fired  upon 
liy  Auchindrane  and  liis  accomplices,  who,  having 
missed  their  aim,  drew  their  swords,  and  rushed 
upon  him  to  slay  him.  But  the  party  thus  as- 
sailed at  disadvantage,  had  the  good  fortune  to 
hide  himself  for  that  time  in  a  ruinous  house, 
where  he  lay  concealed  till  the  inhabitants  of  the 
place  came  to  his  assistance. 

Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  prosecuted  Mure  for  this 
assault,  who,  finding  himself  in  danger  from  the 
law,  made  a  sort  of  apology  and  agreement  with 
the  Lord  of  CuUayne,  to  whose  daughter  he  united 
his  eldest  son,  in  testimony  of  the  closest  friendship 
in  futm-e.  This  agreement  was  sincere  on  the  part 
of  Kennedy,  who,  after  it  had  been  entered  into, 
showed  liimself  AuchLndrane's  friend  and  assistant 
on  all  occasions.  But  it  was  most  false  and  treach- 
erous on  that  of  Mure,  who  continued  to  nouri.sh 
the  purpose  of  murdering  his  new  friend  and  ally 
on  the  first  opportunity. 

Aucliindrane's  first  attempt  to  eflfect  this  was  by 
means  of  the  young  Gilbert  Kennedy  of  Barganie 
(for  old  Barganie,  Aucliindrane's  father-in-law,  was 
dead),  whom  he  persuaded  to  brave  the  Earl  of 
Cassilis,  as  one  who  usurped  an  undue  influence 
over  the  rest  of  the  name.  Accordingly,  this  hot- 
headed youth,  at  the  instigation  of  Auchindrane, 
rode  past  the  gate  of  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  without 
waiting  on  his  cliief,  or  sending  him  any  message 
of  civility.  Tliis  led  to  mutual  defiance,  being 
regarded  by  the  Earl,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
time,  as  a  personal  insult.  Both  parties  took  the 
field  with  their  followers,  at  the  head  of  about  250 
men  on  each  side.  The  action  which  ensued  was 
shorter  and  less  bloody  than  might  have  been 
expected.  Young  Barganie,  with  the  rashness  of 
headlong  courage,  and  Auchindrane,  fired  by  dead- 
ly enmity  to  the  House  of  Cassilis,  made  a  precipi- 
tate attack  on  the  Earl,  whose  men  were  strongly 
posted  and  under  cover.  They  were  received  by 
a  heavy  fire.  Barganie  was  slain.  Mure  of  Au- 
chindrane; severely  wounded  in  the  thigh,  became 
unable  to  sit  liis  horse,  and,  the  leaders  thus  slain 
or  disabled,  their  party  drew  off  without  continu- 
ing the  actioa  It  must  be  particularly  observed, 
that  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  remained  neuter  in  this 


1  "  No  papers  which  have  hitherto  been  discovered  appear 
lo  aflbrd  so  striking  a  picture  of  the  savage  state  of  barbarism 
99 


quarrel,  considering  his  connection  with  Auchin- 
drane as  too  intimate  to  be  broken  even  by  his 
desire  to  assist  his  nephew. 

For  this  temperate  and  honorable  conduct  he 
met  a  vile  reward ;  for  Auchindrane,  in  resentment 
of  the  loss  of  his  relative  Barganie,  and  the  down- 
fall of  his  ambitious  hopes,  continued  his  practices 
against  the  life  of  Sir  Thomas  of  CuUayne,  though 
totaUy  innocent  of  contributing  to  either.  Chance 
favored  his  wicked  purpose. 

Tlie  Knight  of  CuUayne,  finding  himself  obliged 
to  go  to  Edinburgh  on  a  particular  day,  sent  a 
message  by  a  servant  to  Mure,  in  which  he  told 
him,  in  the  most  unsuspecting  confidence,  the  pur- 
pose of  his  journey,  and  named  the  road  which  he 
proposed  to  take,  inviting  Mm-e  to  meet  him  at 
Duppill,  to  the  west  of  the  town  of  A}t,  a  place 
appointed,  for  the  pm-pose  of  giving  liim  any  com- 
missions which  he  might  have  for  Edinburgh,  and 
assuring  his  treacherous  ally  he  would  attend  to 
any  business  which  he  might  have  in  the  Scottish 
metropolis  as  anxiously  as  to  his  own.  Su-  Thomas 
Kennedy's  message  was  carried  to  the  town  of 
Maybole,  where  his  messenger,  for  some  trivial 
reason,  had  the  import  committed  to  writing  by 
a  schoolmaster  in  that  town,  and  dispatched  it  to 
its  destination  by  means  of  a  poor  student,  named 
Dakymple,  instead  of  cariying  it  to  the  house  of 
Auchindi'ane  in  person. 

This  suggested  to  Mm-e  a  diaboUcal  plot.  Hav- 
ing thus  received  tidings  of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy's 
motions,  he  conceived  the  infernal  purpose  of  hav- 
ing the  confiding  fiiend  who  sent  the  information, 
waylaid  and  murdered  at  the  place  appointed  to 
meet  with  him,  not  onlj^  in  friendship,  but  for  the 
purpose  of  rendering  him  service.  He  dismissed 
the  messenger  Dalrymple,  cautioning  the  lad  to 
carry  back  the  letter  to  Maybole,  and  to  say  that 
he  had  not  found  him,  Auchindrane,  in  his  house. 
Having  taken  this  precaution,  he  proceeded  to 
instigate  the  brother  of  the  slain  Gilbert  of  Barga- 
nie, Thomas  Kennedy  of  Drumurghie  by  name,  and 
"Walter  Mure  of  Cloncaird,  a  kinsman  of  his  own, 
to  take  this  opportunity  of  revenging  Barganie's 
death.  The  fiery  young  men  were  easily  induced 
to  undertake  the  crime.  They  waylaid  the  unsus- 
pecting Sir  Thomas  of  CuUayne  at  the  place  ap- 
pointed to  meet  the  traitor  Auchindrane,  and  the 
murderers  having  in  company  five  or  six  servants, 
weU  mounted  and  armed,  assaulted  and  crueUy 
murdered  him  with  many  wounds.  They  then 
plundered  the  dead  corpse  of  liis  pm'se,  containing 
a  thousand  merks  in  gold,  cut  off  the  gold  buttons 
which  he  wore  on  his  coat,  and  despoUed  the  body 
of  some  valuable  rings  and  jewels.' 


into  which  that  country  mnst  have  sunk,  as  the  following 
Bond  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  to  his  brothei  and  heii^apparent, 


786 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  revenge  due  for  his  uncle's  murder  "was 
keenly  pursued  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  As  the 
murderers  fled  from  trial,  they  were  declared 
outlaws ;  which  doom,  being  pronounced  by  three 
blasts  of  a  horn,  was  called  "  being  put  to  the  horn, 
and  declared  the  king's  rebel."  Mure  of  Auchin- 
drane  was  strongly  suspected  of  havhig  been  the 
instigator  of  the  crime.  But  he  conceived  there 
could  be  no  evidence  to  prove  his  guilt  if  he  could 
keep  the  hoj  Dakymple  out  of  the  way,  who  de- 
hvered  the  letter  which  made  him  acquamted  with 
Cidlayne's  journey,  and  the  place  at  which  he 
meant  to  halt.  On  the  contrary,  he  saw,  that  if 
the  lad  could  be  produced  at  the  trial,  it  would 
afford  ground  of  fatal  presumption,  since  it  could 
then  be  proved  that  persons  so  nearly  connected 
with  him  as  Kennedy  and  Cloncaird  had  left  his 
house,  and  committed  the  murder  at  the  very  spot 
which  CuUaj-ne  had  fixed  for  tlicir  meeting. 

To  avoid  this  imminent  danger.  Mure  brought 
Dalrymple  to  his  house,  and  detained  him  there 
for  several  weeks.  But  the  youth  tiring  of  this 
confinement.  Mure  sent  him  to  reside  with  a  friend, 
Montgomery  of  Skellmorly,  who  mamtained  liim 
under  a  borrowed  name,  amid  the  desert  regions 
of  the  then  almost  savage  island  of  Arran.  Being 
confident  in  the  absence  of  this  material  witness, 
Auchindrane,  instead  of  flying,  like  his  agents 
Drumui'ghie  and  Cloncaird,  presented  himself 
boldly  at  the  bar,  demanded  a  fair  trial,  and 
offered  his  person  in  combat  to  the  death  against 
any  of  Lord  Cassihs's  friends  who  might  impugn 
his  innocence.  This  audacity  was  successful,  and 
he  was  dismissed  without  trial. 

Still,  however,  Mure  did  not  consider  himself 

Hew,  Master  of  Cassilis.  The  uncle  of  these  young  men,  Sir 
Thomas  Kennedy  of  Culzean,  tutor  of  Cassilis,  as  the  reader 
will  recollect,  was  murdered.  May  11th,  1602,  by  Auohin- 
drane's  accomplices. 

"  The  Ma.ster  of  Cassilis,  for  many  years  previous  to  that 
event,  was  in  open  hostility  to  his  brollier.  Durins  all  that 
period,  however,  the  Master  maintained  habits  of  the  closest 
intimacy  with  Auchindrane  and  his  dissolute  associates,  and 
actually  joined  liim  in  various  hostile  enterprises  against  his 
brother  the  Earl.  The  occurrence  of  the  Laird  of  Culzean's 
murder  was  embraced  by  their  mutual  friends,  as  a  fitting 
opportunity  to  effect  a  permanent  reconciliation  between  the 
brothers;  '  bot'  (as  'the  Historic  of  the  Kennedies,'  p.  59, 
quaintly  informs  us),  '  the  cuntry  thocht  that  he  wald  not  be 
einiest  in  that  cause,  for  the  auld  luifl'betuix  him  and  Auchin- 
drayne.'  The  unprincipled  Earl  (whose  sobriquet,  and  that 
of  some  of  his  ancestors,  was  Kinff  of  Carrick,  to  denote  the 
boundless  sway  which  he  e.xercised  over  his  own  vassals  and 
the  inhabitants  of  that  district),  relying  on  his  b-other's  neces- 
sities, held  out  the  infamous  bribe  contained  in  the  following 
bond,  to  induce  his  brother,  the  Master  of  Casjilis,  to  murder 
his  former  friend,  the  old  Laird  of  Auchindrane.  Though 
there  be  honor  among  thieves,  it  would  seem  that  there  is  none 
among  assassins  ;  for  the  younger  brother  insisted  upon  having 
the  price  of  blood  assured  to  him  by  a  written  document, 
ilrawn  np  in  the  form  of  a  regular  bond  1 

"  Judging  by  the  Earl's  former  and  subsecjuent  history,  he 


safe,  SO  long  as  Dalrymple  was  within  the  realm 
of  Scotland  ;  and  the  danger  grew  more  pressing 
when  he  learned  that  the  lad  had  become  impa- 
tient of  the  restraint  which  he  sustained  in  the 
kland  of  AiTan,  and  returned  to  some  of  his  friends 
in  Ayrshire.  Mure  no  sooner  heard  of  this  than 
he  again  obtained  possession  of  the  boy's  person, 
and  a  second  time  concealed  him  at  Auchindrane, 
imtil  he  found  an  opportunity  to  transport  him  to 
the  Low  Countries,  where  he  contrived  to  have 
him  enlisted  in  Buccleuch's  regunent ;  trusting, 
doubtless,  that  some  one  of  the  numerous  chances 
of  war  might  destroy  the  poor  young  man  whose 
life  was  so  dangerous  to  him. 

But  after  five  or  six  years'  uncertain  safety, 
bought  at  the  expense  of  so  much  violence  and 
cunning,  Auchindrane's  fears  were  exasperated 
into  phrensy,  when  he  found  this  dangerous  wit- 
ness, having  escaped  from  all  the  perils  of  chmate 
and  battle,  had  left,  or  been  discharged  from,  the 
Legion  of  Borderers,  and  had  again  accomplished 
his  return  to  Ayrshire.  Tliere  is  ground  to  suspect 
that  Dalrymple  knew  the  nature  of  the  hold  which 
he  possessed  over  Auchindrane,  and  was  desirous 
of  extorting  from  his  fears  some  better  provision 
than  he  had  found  either  in  Arran  or  the  Nether 
lands.  But  if  so,  it  was  a  fatal  experiment  to  tam 
per  with  the  fears  of  such  a  man  as  Auchindrane, 
who  determined  to  rid  himself  effectually  of  this 
unhappy  young  man. 

Mure  now  lodged  him  in  a  house  of  his  own, 
called  Chapeldonan,  tenanted  by  a  vassal  and  con- 
nection of  his  called  James  Bannatyne.  This  man 
lie  commissioned  to  meet  him  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night  on  the  sea-sands  near  Girvan,  and  bring  with 

probably  thought  that,  in  either  event,  his  purposes  would  be 
attained,  by  '  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone.'  On  the  other 
hand,  however,  it  is  but  doing  justice  to  the  Master's  acute- 
ness,  and  the  e.\perienee  acquired  under  his  quondam  precep- 
tor, Auchindrane,  that  we  should  likewise  conjecture  that,  on 
his  part,  he  would  hold  firm  possession  of  the  bond,  to  be  used 
as  a  checkmate  against  his  brother,  should  he  think  fit  after- 
wards to  turn  his  heel  upon  him,  or  attempt  to  betray  him  into 
the  hands  of  justice. 

"  The  following  is  a  correct  copy  of  the  bond  granted  by  the 
Earl: — 'We,  Johne,  Earle  of  Cassillis,  Lord  Kennedy,  etc., 
bindis  and  oblissis  ws,  that  howsovne  our  broder.  Hew  Ken- 
nedy of  Brounstoun,  with  his  complices,  taikis  the  Laird  of 
Anchindraneis  lyf,  that  we  sail  mak  guid  and  thankfull  pay- 
ment to  him  and  thame,  of  the  sowme  of  tuelff  hundreth 
merkis,  yeirlie,  togidder  with  come  to  sex  horsis,  ay  and  quhill' 
we  ressaw2  thame  in  houshald  with  our  self :  Beginning  the 
first  payment  immediatlie  efter  thair  committing  of  the  said 
deid.  Attonr,'  hov.'sovne  we  ressaw  thame  in  houshald,  we 
sail  pay  to  the  twa  serwing  gentillmen  the  feis,  yeirlie,  as  our 
awin  houshald  serwandis.  And  heirto  we  obliss  ws,  vponn 
our  honour.  Subscryvit  with  our  hand,  at  May  bole,  the  ferd 
day  of  September,  1602. 

'Johne  Erle  off  Cassillis.'  " 

Pitcairn's  Criminal  Trials  of  Scotland,  vol.  iii.  p.  622, 


1  Aye  and  nntil. 


5  Receive. 


3  Moreover. 


AUCHiNDRANE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


78'? 


hun  the  unfortunate  Dalrymple,  the  object  of  his 
fear  and  dread.  The  victun  seems  to  have  come 
with  Baimatyne  without  the  least  suspicion,  though 
Buch  might  have  been  raised  by  the  time  and  phice 
ap2:)ointed  for  the  meeting.  When  Bannatyne  and 
Dah-ymple  came  to  the  appointed  spot,  Auchin- 
drane  met  them,  accompanied  by  his  eldest  son, 
James.  Old  Auchindi'ane,  having  taken  Bannatyne 
aside^  imparted  his  bloody  purpose  of  ridding  hini- 
eelf  of  Dahymple  for  ever,  by  murdering  him  on 
the  spot.  His  own  hfe  and  honor  were,  he  said, 
endangered  by  the  manner  m  wliich  tliis  inconve- 
nient Avitness  repeatedly  tluust  himself  back  mto 
Ayrshire,  and  nothing  could  secure  his  safety  but 
taking  the  lad's  hfe,  in  which  action  he  requested 
James  Banna tyne's  assistance.  Bannatyne  felt 
some  compunction,  and  remonstrated  against  the 
cruel  expedient,  saying,  it  would  be  better  to 
transport  Dalrymple  to  Leland,  and  take  precau- 
tions against  his  return.  While  old  Auchindrane 
seemed  disposed  to  hsten  to  this  proposal,  his  son 
concluded  that  the  time  was  come  for  accomplish- 
ing the  purpose  of  their  meeting,  and,  without 
waiting  the  termination  of  his  father's  conference 
with  Bannatyne,  he  rushed  suddenly  on  Dalrym- 
ple, beat  him  to  the  ground,  and,  kneeling  down 
on  him,  with  his  father's  assistance  accomplished 
the  crime,  by  strangling  the  unhappy  object  of 
their  fear  and  jealousy.  Bannatyne,  the  witness, 
and  partly  the  accomj^lice,  of  the  murder,  assisted 
them  in  their  attempt  to  make  a  hole  in  the  sand, 
with  a  spade  which  they  had  brought  on  purj^ose, 
in  order  to  conceal  the  dead  body.  But  as  the 
tide  was  coming  in,  the  holes  which  they  made 
filled  with  water  before  they  could  get  the  body 
buried,  and  the  ground  seemed,  to  their  terrified 
consciences,  to  refuse  to  be  accessory  to  concealing 
their  crime.  Despairing  of  hiding  the  corpse  in 
the  manner  they  proposed,  the  murderers  carried 
it  out  into  the  sea  as  deep  as  they  dared  wade, 
and  there  abandoned  it  to  the  billows,  trusting 
that  a  wind,  wliich  was  blowing  off  the  shore, 
would  drive  these  remains  of  their  crime  out  to 
sea,  where  they  would  never  more  be  heard  of. 
But  the  sea,  as  well  as  the  land,  seemed  unwilhng 
to  conceal  their  cruelty.  After  floating  for  some 
hours,  or  days,  the  dead  body  was,  by  the  wind 
and  tide,  again  driven  on  shore,  near  the  very  spot 
where  the  murder  had  been  committed. 

This  attracted  general  attention,  and  when  the 
corpse  was  known  to  be  that  of  the  same  WUham 
Dalryinple  whom  Auchindrane  had  so  often  spir- 
ited out  of  the  country,  or  concealed  when  he  was 
in  it,  a  strong  and  general  suspicion  arose,  that  this 
young  person  had  met  with  foul  play  from  the 
bold  bad  man  who  had  shown  himself  so  much  in- 
terested in  liis  absence.  It  was  always  said  or 
supposed,  tl>at  the  dead  body  had  bled  at  the  ap- 


proach of  a  grandchild  of  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  a 
girl  who,  from  curiosity,  had  come  to  look  at  a 
sight  which  others  crowded  to  see.  Tlie  bleeding 
of  a  murdered  corpse  at  the  touch  of  the  murderer, 
was  a  tiling  at  that  time  so  much  believed,  that  it 
was  admitted  as  a  proof  of  guUt ;  but  I  know  no 
case,  save  that  of  Auchindrane,  in  which  the  phe- 
nomenon was  supposed  to  be  extended  to  the  ap- 
proach of  the  innocent  kindred  ;  nor  do  I  thmk  that 
the  fact  itself,  though  mentioned  by  ancient  law- 
yers, was  ever  admitted  to  proof  in  the  proceedings 
against  Auchmdrane. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  Auchindrane  found 
himself  so  much  the  object  of  suspicion  from  this 
new  crime,  that  he  resolved  to  fly  from  justice,  and 
suffer  liimself  to  be  declared  a  rebel  and  outlaw 
rather  than  face  a  trial.  But  his  conduct  in  pre- 
paring to  cover  his  flight  with  another  motive  than 
the  real  one,  is  a  curious  picture  of  the  men  and 
maimers  of  the  times.  He  knew  well  that  if  he 
were  to  shun  his  trial  for  the  murder  of  Dalrymple, 
the  whole  country  would  consider  hun  as  a  man 
guilty  of  a  mean  and  disgraceful  crime  in  putting 
to  death  an  obscure  lad,  against  whom  he  had  no 
personal  quarrel.  He  knew,  besides,  that  hin  pow- 
erful friends,  who  would  have  mterceded  for  him 
had  his  offence  been  merely  burning  a  house,  or 
killing  a  neigliboi',  would  not  plead  for  or  stand  by 
him  in  so  pitiful  a  concern  as  the  slaughter  of  this 
wretched  wanderer. 

Accordingly,  Mm-e  sought  to  provide  himseK 
with  some  ostensible  cause  for  avoiding  law,  with 
which  the  feelings  of  his  kindred  and  friends  might 
sympathize  ;  and  none  occurred  to  him  so  natural 
as  an  assault  upon  some  friend  and  adherent  of 
the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  Should  he  kill  such  a  one,  it 
would  be  indeed  an  unlawful  action,  but  so  far 
from  being  infamous,  would  be  accounted  the  nat- 
ural consequence  of  the  avowed  quarrel  between 
the  families.  With  this  purpose.  Mure,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  relative,  of  whom  he  seems  always 
to  have  had  some  ready  to  execute  his  worst  pur- 
poses, beset  Hugh  Kennedy  of  Garriehorne,  a  fol- 
lower of  the  Earl's,  against  whom  they  had  esjjecial 
iU-wiU,  fired  their  pistols  at  him,  and  used  other 
means  to  put  liim  to  death.  But  Garriehorne,  a 
stout-hearted  man,  and  well  armed,  defended  him 
self  in  a  very  different  manner  from  the  unfortu 
nate  Knight  of  Cullayne,  and  beat  off  the  assailants 
wounding  young  Auchindrane  in  the  right  hand, 
so  that  he  wellnigh  lost  the  use  of  it. 

But  though  Auchindrane's  purpose  did  not  en- 
tuely  succeed,  he  availed  liimself  of  it  to  circulate 
a  report,  that  if  he  could  obtain  a  pardon  for  firing 
upon  his  feudal  enemy  with  pistols,  weapons  do 
clared  unlawful  by  act  of  Piuliament,  he  would 
willingly  stand  his  trial  for  the  death  of  Dahymple, 
respecting  which  he  protested  his  total  innocence. 


"^ss 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


I 


The  King,  ho-wever,  was  decidedly  of  opinion  that 
the  Mures,  both  father  and  son,  -were  alike  guilty 
of  both  crimes,  and  used  intercession  with  the  Earl 
of  Abercorn,  as  a  person  of  power  in  those  western 
counties,  as  well  as  in  Ireland,  to  arrest  and  trans- 
mit them  prisoners  to  Edinburgh.     In  consequence 
of  the  Earl's  exertions,  old  Auchindrane  was  made 
prisoner,  and  lodged  in  the  tolbooth  of  Edinburgh. 
Young  Auchindrane  no  sooner  heard  that  his  fa- 
ther was  in  custody,  than  he  became  as  apprehen- 
sive of  Bannatyne,  the  accomplice  in  Dalrymple's 
murder,  telling  tales,  as  ever  his  father  had  been 
of  Dalrymple.     He,  therefore,  hastened  to  him, 
and  prevailed  on  him  to  pass  over  for  a  while  to 
j   the  neighboring  coast  of  Ireland,  finding  him  money 
I    and  means  to  accomplish  the  voyage,  and  engaging 
I   in  the  mean  time  to  take  care  of  his  affairs  in  Scot- 
!    land.     Secure,  as  they  thought,  in  this  precaution, 
'    old  Auchindrane  persisted  in  his  innocence,  and  his 
I    son  found  security  to  stand  his  trial.     Both  ap- 
]    peared  with  the  same  confidence  at  the  day  ap- 
i    pointed,  and  braved  the  public  justice,  hoping  to 
j    be  put  to  a  formal  trial,  in  which  Auchindrane 
j    reckoned  upon  an  acquittal  for  want  of  the  evi- 
j    deuce  which  he  had   removed.      The   trial  was, 
j    however,  postponed,  and  Mure  the  elder  was  dis- 
I    missed,  under  high  secui-ity  to  return  when  called 
for. 

But  King  James,  being  convinced  of  the  guilt  of 
the  accused,  ordered  young  Auchindrane,  instead 
of  being  sent  to  trial,  to  be  examined  imder  the 
force  of  torture,  in  order  to  compel  him  to  tell 
whatever  he  knew  of  the  things  charged  against 
him.  He  was  accordingly  severely  tortured  ;  but 
the  result  only  served  to  show  that  such  examina- 
tions are  as  useless  as  they  are  cruel.  A  man  of 
weak  resolution,  or  of  a  nervous  habit,  would  prob- 
ably have  assented  to  any  confession,  however 
false,  rather  than  have  endured  the  extremity  of 
fear  and  pain  to  which  Mure  was  subjected.  But 
young  Auchindrane,  a  strong  and  determined  ruf- 
fian, endured  the  torture  with  the  utmost  firmness, 
and  by  the  constant  audacity  with  which,  in  spite 
of  the  intolerable  pain,  he  continued  to  assert  his 
innocence,  he  spi'ead  so  favorable  an  opinion  of  his 
case,  that  the  detaining  him  in  prison,  instead  of 
bringing  liim  to  open  trial,  was  censured  as  severe 
and  oppressive.  James,  however,  remained  firmly 
persuaded  of  liis  guilt,  and  by  an  exertion  of  au- 
thority quite  inconsistent  with  our  present  laws, 
commanded  young  Auchindrane  to  be  stiU  de- 
tained in  close  custody  till  further  Ught  could  be 
thi'own  on  these  dark  proceedings.  He  was  de- 
tained accordingly  by  the  King's  express  personal 
command,  and  against  the  opinion  even  of  his  privy 
counsellors.  This  exertion  of  authority  was  much 
murmured  against. 

In  the  mian  while,  old  Auchindrane,  being,  as 


we  have  seen,  at  hberty  on  pledges,  skulked  about 
in  the  west,  feeling  how  Uttle  security  he  had 
gained  by  Dalrymple's  murder,  and  that  he  had 
placed  himself  by  that  crime  in  the  power  of  Ban- 
natyne, whose  evidence  concerning  the  death  of 
Dalrymple  could  not  be  less  fatal  than  what  Dal 
rymple  might  have  told  concerning  Auchindrane'? 
accession  to  the  conspiracy  against  Sir  Thomas 
Kemiedy  of  CuUayne.  But  though  the  event  had 
shown  the  error  of  his  wicked  policy,  Auchindrane 
could  think  of  no  better  mode  in  tliis  case  than 
that  which  had  failed  in  relation  to  Dalrymple. 
When  any  man's  life  became  inconsistent  with  his 
own  safety,  no  idea  seenis  to  have  occurred  to  this 
inveterate  ruffian,  save  to  murder  tlie  person  by 
whom  he  might  himself  be  in  any  way  endangered. 
He  therefore  attempted  the  life  of  James  Banna- 
tyne by  more  agents  than  one.  Nay,  he  had  neai'ly 
ripened  a  plan,  by  which  one  Pennycuke  was  to  be 
employed  to  slay  Bannatyne,  while,  after  the  deed 
was  done,  it  was  devised  that  Mure  of  AuchnuU,  a 
connection  of  Bannatyne,  should  be  instigated  to 
slay  Pennycuke ;  and  thus  close  up  this  train  of 
murders  by  one  which,  flbwing  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  deadly  feud,  should  have  nothing  in  it  so 
particular  as  to  attract  much  attention. 

But  the  justice  of  Heaven  would  bear  this  com- 
plicated train  of  iniquity  no  longer.  Bannatyne, 
knowing  with  what  sort  of  men  he  had  to  deal, 
kept  on  his  guard,  and,  by  his  caution,  disconcerted 
more  than  one  attempt  to  take  his  life,  while  an- 
other miscarried  by  the  remorse  of  Pennycuke,  the 
agent  whom  Mure  employed.  At  length  Banna- 
tyne, tiring  of  this  state  of  insecurity,  and  in  de- 
spair of  escaping  such  repeated  plots,  and  also 
feeling  remorse  for  the  crime  to  wliich  he  had  been 
accessory,  resolved  rather  to  submit  himself  to  the 
severity  of  the  law,  than  remain  the  object  of  the 
principal  criminal's  practices.  He  surrendered 
himself  to  the  Earl  of  Abercorn,  and  was  trans- 
ported to  Edinburgh,  where  he  confessed  befort 
the  Kuig  and  council  all  the  particulars  of  the  mur- 
der of  Dalrymple,  and  the  attempt  to  hide  his 
body  by  committing  it  to  the  sea. 

When  Bannatyne  was  confronted  with  the  two 
Mures  before  the  Privy  Council,  they  denied  with 
vehemence  every  part  of  the  evidence  he  had 
given,  and  affirmed  that  the  witness  had  been 
bribed  to  destroy  them  by  a  false  tale.  Banna- 
tyne's  behavior  seemed  sincere  and  simple,  that 
of  Auchindrane  more  resolute  and  crafty.  The 
wretched  accomplice  fell  upon  his  knees,  invoking 
God  to  witness  that  all  the  land  in  Scotland  could 
not  have  bribed  him  to  bring  a  false  accusation 
against  a  master  whom  he  had  served,  loved,  and 
followed  in  so  many  dangers,  and  calling  upon  Au- 
chindrane to  honor  God  by  confessing  the  crime 
he  had  committecL    Muro  the  elder,  on  the  othei 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


789 


L 


hand,  boldly  replied,  that  he  hoped  God  would  not 
BO  far  forsake  him  as  to  permit  liim  to  confess  a 
crijne  of  which  he  was  innocent,  and  exhorted 
Bannatyne  in  his  turn  to  confess  the  practices  by 
wliich  he  had  been  induced  to  devise  such  fidse- 
hoods  against  liim. 

The  two  Mures,  father  and  son,  were  therefore 
put  upon  their  solemn  trial,  along  with  Baimatyuc, 
in  1611,  and,  after  a  great  deal  of  evidence  had 
been  brought  in  support  of  Baiinatyne's  confession, 
all  three  were  fouftd  guilty.'  The  elder  Auchin- 
drane  was  convicted  of  counselling  and  directing 
the  mm-der  of  Su-  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne, 
and  also  of  the  actual  murder  of  the  lad  Dalrymple. 
Bannatyne  and  the  younger  Mure  were  found 
guilty  of  the  latter  crime,  and  all  three  were  sen- 
tenced to  be  beheaded.  Bannatyne,  however,  the 
accomplice,  received  the  lung's  j^ardon,  in  conse- 
quence of  liis  voluntaiy  smrender  and  confession. 
The  two  Mures  were  both  executed.  Tlie  younger 
was  affected  by  the  remonstrances  of  the  clergy 
who  attended  him,  and  he  confessed  the  guilt  of 
which  he  was  accused.  The  father,  also,  was  at 
length  brought  to  avow  the  fact,  but  in  other  re- 
spects died  as  impenitent  as  he  had  lived  ; — and 
so  ended  this  dark  and  extraordinary  tragedy. 

The  Lord  Advocate  of  the  day.  Sir  Thomas 
Hamilton,  afterwards  successively  Earl  of  Melrose 
and  of  Haddington,  seems  to  have  busied  himself 
much  in  drawing  up  a  statement  of  this  foul  trans- 
action, for  the  purpose  of  vindicating  to  the  people 
of  Scotland  the  severe  course  of  justice  observed 
by  King  James  VI.  He  assumes  the  task  in  a 
high  tone  of  prerogative  law,  and,  on  the  whole, 
seems  at  a  loss  whether  to  attribute  to  Providence, 
or  to  his  most  sacred  Majesty,  the  greatest  share 
in  bringing  to  light  these  mysterious  villanies,  but 
rather  inclines  to  the  latter  opinion.     There  is,  I 


1  "  Efter  pronuneeing  and  declairing  of  the  quliilk  determi- 
nation and  delyuerance  of  tlie  saidis  persones  of  Assyse,  '  Tlie 
Justice,  in  respect  thaiiof,  be  the  mouth  of  Alexander  Ken- 
nydie,  dempster  of  Court,  decernit  and  adiudget  the  saidis 
Johnne  Mure  of  Aucliindrane  elder,  James  Mure  of  Auchin- 
drane  younger,  liis  eldest  sone  and  ap])eirand  i;ir,  ami  James 
Bannatyne,  called  of  Cliajjel-Donaue,  and  ilk  aue  of  thanie, 
to  be  tane  to  the  mercat  croce  of  the  burcht  of  Edinburgh, 
and  thair,  upon  ana  scaffold,  their  heidls  to  be  strukin  frome 
thair  bodeyis  :  And  all  thair  landis,  heritages,  takis,  sleidingis, 
rownies,  possessiones,  teyndis,  coirnes,  cattell,  insicht  plenis- 
sing,  guidis,  geir,  tytillis,  proffeitis,  commoditeis,  and  riciitis 
(luhatsumeuir,  directlie  or  indirectlie  pertening  to  thauie,  or 
ony  of  thame,  at  the  committing  of  the  saidis  tressonabill  Mur- 
thouris,  or  sensyne  ;  or  to  the  quilkis  thay,  or  ony  of  thame, 
had  richt,  claim,  or  actioun,  to  be  forfalt,  escheit,  and  inbrocht 
to  our  souerane  lordis  vse  ;  as  culpable  and  convict  of  the  saidis 
tress^onabill  crymes.' 

"  Quhilk  was  pronuncet  for  Dome." 

Pitcairn's  Criminal  Trials,  vol.  iii.  p.  156. 

2  See  an  article  in  tlie  Quarterly  Review,  February,  1831, 
on  Mr.  Pitcairn's  valuable  collection,  wiiere  Sir  Walter  Scott 
paiticularly  dwells  on  the  original  documents  connected  with 


believe,  no  printed  copy  of  the  intended  tract, 
which  seems  never  to  have  been  published ;  but 
the  curious  wiU  be  enabled  to  judge  of  it,  as  it  ap- 
pears in  the  next  fasciculus  of  Mr.  Robert  Pitcairn's 
very  interesting  pubhcationa  from  the  Scottish 
Cruninal  Record." 

TIic  family  of  Auchindrjme  chd  not  become  ex- 
tinct on  the  death  of  the  two  homicides.  The 
last  descendant  existed  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
a  poor  and  distressed  man.  The  following  anec- 
dote shows  that  he  had  a  strong  feeling  of  his  sit- 
uation. 

There  was  in  front  of  the  old  castle  a  huge  ash- 
tree,  called  the  Dule-tree  (inourning-tree)  of  Auch- 
indrane,  probably  because  it  was  the  place  where 
the  Baron  executed  the  criminals  who  fell  under 
his  jurisdiction.  It  is  described  as  having  been 
the  finest  tree  of  the  neighborhood.  This  last  rep- 
resentative of  the  family  of  Auchindrane  had  the 
misfortime  to  be  arrested  for  payment  of  a  small 
debt ;  and,  unable  to  discharge  it,  was  prepared  to 
accompany  the  messenger  (bailiff)  to  the  jail  of 
Ayr.  The  servant  of  the  law  had  compassion  for 
his  prisoner,  and  offered  to  accept  of  tliis  remark- 
able tree  as  of  value  adequate  to  the  discharge  of 
the  debt.  "What!"  said  the  debtor,  "sell  the 
Dule-tree  of  Auchindrane  1  I  will  sooner  die  iu 
the  worst  dungeon  of  yom-  prison."  In  tliis  luck- 
less character  the  line  of  Auchindrane  ended.  The 
family,  blackened  with  the  crimes  of  its  predeces- 
sors, became  extinct,  and  the  estate  passed  into 
other  hands. 


DRAMATIS  PERSOl^^. 

John  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  an  Ayrshire  Baron. 
He  has  been  a  follower  of  the  Regent,  Earl  of    ' 


the  story  of  Auchindrane  ;  and  where  Mr.  PitcairnV important 
services  to  the  history  of  his  profession,  and  of  Scotland,  are 
justly  characterized.     (1833.) 

"  Sir  Walter's  reviewal  of  the  early  parts  of  Mr.  Pitcairn's 
Ancient  Criminal  Trials  had,  of  course,  much  gratified  the 
editor,  wlio  sent  him,  on  his  arrival  in  Edinburgh,  the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  Number  then  in  hand,  and  directed  liis  attention 
particularly  to  its  details  on  the  extraordinary  case  of  Mure  of 
Aucliindrane,  A.  D.  1611.  Scott  was  so  much  interested  with 
these  documents,  that  he  resolved  to  found  a  dramatic  sketch 
on  their  terrible  story  ;  and  the  result  was  a  composition  far 
superior  to  any  of  liis  previous  attempts  of  that  nature.  In- 
deed, there  are  several  passages  in  his  'Ayrshire  Tragedy' — 
especially  that  where  the  murdered  corpse  floats  upright  in  the 
wake  of  the  assassin's  bark — (an  incident  suggested  by  a  la- 
mentable chapter  in  Lord  Nelson's  history) — wliich  may  bear 
comparison  with  any  thing  but  Shakspeare.  Yet  I  doubt 
whether  the  prose  narrative  of  the  preface  be  not,  on  the 
whole,  more  dramatic  than  the  versified  scenes.  It  contains^ 
by  the  way,  some  very  striking  allusions  to  the  recent  attw- 
cities  of  Gill's  Hill  and  tlie  West  Port."— LocKH ART  vo. 
ix.  p.  334 


(90 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Morton,  during  the  Civil  Wars,  and  hides  an 
oppressive,  ferocious,  and  unscrupulous  disposi- 
tion, under  some  pretences  to  strictness  of  life  and 
doctrine,  which,  however,  never  influence  his  con- 
duct. He  is  in  danger  from  the  law,  owing  to 
his  having  heen  formerly  active  in  the  assassina- 
tion of  the  Earl  of  Cassilis. 

Philip  Mure,  his  Son,  a  wild,  debauched  Profligate, 
professing  and  practising  a  confempA  for  his 
Father's  hypocrisy,  while  he  is  as  fierce  and  licen- 
tious as  Auchindrane  himself 

GiFFORD,  their  Relation,  a  Courtier. 

QuENTiN  BlajSJE,  a  Youth,  educated  for  a  Clergy- 
man, but  sent  by  Auchixdraxe  to  serve  in  a 
Band  of  Auxiliaries  in  the  Wars  of  the  Nether- 
lands, and  lately  employed  as  Clerk  or  Comptrol- 
ler to  the  Regiment — Disbanded,  however,  and  on 
his  return  to  his  native  Country.  He  is  of  a 
mild,  gentle,  and  rather  feeble  character,  liable  to 
be  infuenced  ig  any  person  of  stronger  mind  who 
will  take  the  trouble  to  direct  him.  He  is  some- 
V}hat  of  a  nervous  temperament,  varying  from, 
sadness  to  gayety,  according  to  the  impulse  of  the 
moment ;  an  amiable  hypocliondriac. 

HiLDEBEAXD,  a  stout  old  Englishman,  who,  by  feats 
of  courage,  has  raised  himself  to  the  rank  of  Ser- 
geant-Major  {then  of  greater  consequence  than  at 
present).  He,  too,  has  been  disbanded,  but  can- 
not bring  himself  to  believe  that  he  has  lost  his 
command  over  his  Regiment. 

'  Privates  dismissed  from  the  same 
Regiment  in  which  Quextin  and 
HiLDEBRAND  had  Served.  These  are 
mutinous,  and  are  much  disposed 
to  remember  former  quarrels  with 
their  late  Officers. 

NiEL  MacLellax,  Keeper  of  Auchindrane  Forest 
and  Game. 

Earl  of  Dunbar,  commanding  an  Army  as  Lieu- 
tenant of  James  I.  for  execution  of  Justice  on 
Offenders. 

Guards,  Attendants,  &c.  &c 

Mariox,  Wife  of  Niel  MacLellan. 

Isabel,  their  JJaughter,  a  Girl  of  six  years  old. 

Other  Children  and  Peasa7it  Women. 


Abraham, 
Williams, 
Jexkix, 
And  Others, 


^nrljinbrane ; 

OK, 

THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


ACT  I— SCENE  I. 

A  rocky  Bay  on  the  Coast  of  Car  rick,  in  Ayrshire, 
ti.ot  Jar  from  the  Point  of  Turnberry.     The  Sea 


comes  in  upon  a  bold  rocky  Shore.  The  remain* 
of  a  small  half  ruined  Tower  are  seen  on  the  right 
hand,  overhanging  tlte  Sea.  There  is  a  vessel  at 
a  distance  in  tlu:  offing.  A  Boat  at  the  bottom  of 
the  Stage  laiids  eight  or  ten  Persons,  dressed  like 
disbanded,  and  in  one  or  two  cases  like  disabled 
Soldiers.  They  come  straggling  forward  with 
their  knapsacks  and  bundles.  Hildebraxd,  the 
Sergeant,  belonging  to  the  Party,  a  stout  elderly 
man,  stands  by  the  boat,  as  if  superintending  the 
disembarcation.     Quextix  rSnains  apart. 

Abraham.  Farewell,  the  flats  of  Holland,  and 
right  welcome 
The   cliffs   of  Scotland !    Fare   thee  well,   black 

beer 
And  Schiedam  gm!  and  welcome  twopenny, 
Oatcakes,  and  usquebaugh ! 

Williams  {who  wants  an  arm.)  Farewell,  the 
gallant  field,  and  "  Forward,  pikemen!" 
For  the  bridge-end,  the  suburb,  and  the  lane ; 
And,  "  Bless  your  honor,  noble  gentleman, 
Remember  a  poor  soldier  !" 

Abr.  My  tongue  sliall  never  need  to  smooth 
itself 
To  such  poor  sounds,  while  it  can  boldly  say, 
"  Stand  and  deliver  !" 

WiL.  Hush,  the  sergeant  hears  you ! 
Abe.  And  let  him  hear ;  he  makes  a  bustle  yon- 
der, 
And  dreams  of  his  authority,  forgetting 
We  are  disbanded  men,  o'er  whom  his  halberd 
Has  not  such  influence  as  the  beadle's  baton. 
We  are  no  soldiers  now,  but  every  one 
The  lord  of  his  own  person. 

WiL.  A  wretched  lord.^hip — and  our  freedom 
such 
As  that  of  the  old  cart-horse,  when  the  owner 
Turns  him  upon  the  comm(Tn.     I  for  one 
Will  still  continue  to  resj^ect  the  sergeant, 
And  the  comptroller,  too, — while  the  cash  lasts. 
Abr.  I  scorn  them  both.  I  am  too  stout  a  Scots- 
man 
To  bear  a  Southron's  rule  an  instant  longer 
Than  discipline  obliges ;  and  for  Quentin, 
Quentin  the  quillman,  Quentin  the  comptroller, 
We  have  no  regiment  now  ;  or,  if  we  had, 
Quentin's  no  longer  clerk  to  it. 

WiL.  For  shame !  for  shame !  What,  shall  old 
comrades  jar  thus, 
And  on  the  verge  of  parting,  and  lor  ever  ? — 
Nay,  keep  thy  temper,  Abraham,  though  a  bad 

one. — 
Good  Master  Quentin,  let  thy  song  last  night 
Give  us  once  more  our  welcome  to  old  Scotland 
Abr.  Ay,  they  sing  light  whose  task  ic  telling 
money, 
"\Mien  dollars  cUnk  for  chorus. 


AUCHINDRANE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAtiEDY. 


791 


QcTE.  I've   done  with   counting   silver,'  honest 
Abraham, 
As  thou,  I  fear,  with  poucliing  thy  small  share  on't. 
But  lend  your  voices,  lads,  and  I  will  sing 
As  blithely  yet  as  if  a  town  were  won ; 
As  if  upon  a  field  of  battle  gain'd, 
Our  banners  waved  victorious. 

[fie  sings,  and  the  rest  hear  chorus. 

SONG. 

Hither  we  come, 

Once  slaves  to  the  drimi. 
But  no  longer  we  list  to  its  rattle  • 

Adieu  to  the  wars, 

With  their  slashes  and  scars. 
The  march,  and  the  storm,  and  the  battle. 

There  are  some  of  us  maim'd, 

And  some  that  are  lamed. 
And  some  of  old  aches  are  complainmg ; 

But  we'U  take  up  the  tools. 

Which  we  flung  by  like  fools, 
Gainst  Don  Spaniard  to  go  a-campalgning. 

Dick  Hathorn  doth  vow 

To  return  to  the  plough, 
Jack  Steele  to  his  anvil  and  hammer ; 

The  weaver  shall  find  room 

At  the  wight-wapping  loom, 
And  your  clerk  shall  teach  writing  and  grammar. 

Abr.  And  this  is  all  that  thou  canst  do,  gay 
Quentin  ? 
To  swagger  o'er  a  herd  of  parish  brats, 
Cut  cheese  or  dibble  onions  with  thy  poniard, 
And  turn  the  sheath  into  a  ferula  ? 

QrjE.  I  am  the  prodigal  in  holy  writ ; 
I  cannot  work, — to  beg  I  am  ashamed. 
T^CBides,  good  mates,  I  care  not  who  may  know  it, 
I'm  e'en  as  fau-ly  tired  of  this  same  fighting. 
As  the  poor  cur  that's  worried  in  the  shambles 
By  all  the  mastiif  dogs  of  all  the  butchers ; 
Wherefore,  farewell  sword,  poniard,  petronel, 
And  welcome  poverty  and  peaceful  labor. 

Abr.  Clerk  Quentui,  if  of  fighting  thou  art  tired, 
Bv  my  good  word,  thou'rt  quickly  satisfied, 
I'or  thou'st  seen  but  little  on't. 

WiL.  Thou  dost  behe  him — I  have  seen  him 
fight 
Bravely  enough  for  one  in  his  condition. 

Abe.  What,  he  ?   that   counter-casting,   smock- 
faced  boy  ? 
"What  was  he  but  the  colonel's  scribbling  drudge. 
With  men  of  straw  to  stuff  the  regiment  roll ; 
With  cipherings  mijust  to  cheat  his  comrades. 
And  cloak  false  musters  for  our  noble  captain  ? 

I  Ids. — "  I've  done  with  counting  dollars,"  &c. 


Jle  bid  farewell  to  sword  und  petronel ! 

He  should  have  said,  farewell  my  pen  and  stan 

dish. 
These,  with  the  rosin  used  to  hide  erasures. 
Were  the  best  friends  he  left  in  camp  behind  liini. 

Que.  The  sword  you  scoff  at  is  not  far,  but  scorns 
The  threats  of  an  unmanner'd  mutineer. 

See.   (interposes.)   We'll  have   no   brawling  — 
Shall  it  e'er  be  said. 
That  being  comrades  six  long  years  together, 
While  gulping  down  the  frowsy  fogs  of  Holland, 
We  tilted  at  each  other's  throats  so  soon 
As  the  first  draught  of  native  air  refresli'd  them  ? 
No !  by  Saint  Dunstan,  I  forbid  the  combat. 
You  all,  methinks,  do  know  this  trusty  halberd ; 
For  I  opine,  that  every  back  amongst  you 
Hath  felt  the  weight  of  the  tough  ashen  staff, 
Endlong  or  overthwart.     AVTio  is  it  vrishes 
A  remembrancer  now  ? 

[liaises  his  halberd. 

Abr.  Comrades,  have  you  ears 

To  hear  the  old  man  bully  ?     Eyes  to  see 
His  staff  rear'd  o'er  your  heads,  as  o'er  the  hounda 
The  huntsman  cracks  his  whip  ? 

WiL.  Well  said — stout  Abraham  has  the  right 
on't. — 
I  tell  thee,  sergeant,  we  do  reverence  thee, 
And  pardon  the  rash  humors  thou  hast  caught, 
Like  wiser  men,  from  thy  authority. 
'Tis  ended,  howsoe'er,  and  we'U  not  suffer 
A  word  of  sergeantry,  or  halberd-staff, 
Nor  the  most  petty  threat  of  discipline. 
If  thou  wilt  lay  aside  thy  pride  of  office, 
And  drop  thy  wont  of  swaggering  and  commanding. 
Thou  art  our  comrade  still  for  good  or  evil. 
Else    take  thy  course  apart,   or  with  the   clerk 

there — 
A  sergeimt  thou,  and  he  being  all  thy  regiment. 

Ser.  Is't  come  to  this,  false  knaves  ?     And  think 
you  not, 
That  if  you  bear  a  name  o'er  other  soldiers. 
It  was  because  you  follow'd  to  the  charge 
One  that  had  zeal  and  skill  enough  to  lead  you 
Where  fame  was  won  by  danger  ? 

WiL.  We  grant  thy  skill  in  leading,  noble  sei 
geant ; 
Witness  some  empty  boots  and  sleeves  amongst  u^ 
Which  else  had  still  been  tenanted  with  limbs 
In  the  full  quantity ;  and  for  the  arguments 
With  wliich  you  used  to  back  our  resolution, 
Otu-  shoulders  do  record  them.     At  a  word. 
Will  you  conform,  or  must  we  part  our  company  ? 

Ser.  Conform  to  you  ?    Base  dogs  !  I  would  not 
lead  you 
A  bolt-flight  farther  to  be  made  a  general. 
Mean  mutineers  !  when  you  swill'd  oft"  the  dregs 
Of  my  poor  sea-stores,  it  was,  "  Noble  Sergeant- 
Heaven  bless  old  Hildebrand — we'U  foUow  him. 


792 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


At  least,  until  we  safely  see  him  lodged 
"Within  the  merry  bounds  of  his  own  England !" 
"WiL.  Ay,  truly,  sir  ;   but,  mark,  the  ale  was 
mighty, 
And  the  Geneva  potent.     Such  stout  liquor 
Makes  violent  protestations.     Skink  it  round. 
If  you  have  any  left,  to  the  same  tune, 
And  we  may  find  a  chorus  for  it  still. 
Abu.  We  lose  our  time. — TeU  us  at  once,  old 
man. 
If  thou  Avilt  march  with  us,  or  stay  with  Quentin  ? 
Ser.  Out,  mutineers !     Dishonor  dog  your  heels ! 
Abr.  Wilful  will  have  liis  way.     Adieu,  stout 
Hildebrand  ! 

[7%e  Soldiers  go  off  laughing,  and  taking 

leave,  with  niochcry,  of  the  Sergeant 

and  Quentin,  ivho  remain  on  the  Stage. 

See.  {after  a  pause.)  Fly  you  not  with  the  rest  ? 

— fail  you  to  follow 

Yon  goodly  fellowship  and  fair  example  ? 

Come,  take  your  wild-goose  flight.     I  know  you 

Scots, 
Like  your   own  sea-fowl,   seek  your   course   to- 
getlier. 
Que.  Faith,  a  poor  heron  I,  who  wing  my  flight 
In  loneliness,  or  with  a  single  partner ; 
And  right  it  is  that  I  should  seek  for  solitude, 
Bringing  but  evil  luck  on  them  I  herd  with. 
Ser.  Thou'rt  thankless.     Had  we  landed  on  the 
coast. 
Where  our  course  bore  us,  thou  wert  far  from 

home ; 
But  the  fierce  wind  that  drove  us  round  the  isl- 
and. 
Barring  each  port  and  inlet  tliat  we  aim'd  at, 
Hath  wafted  thee  to  harbor ;  for  I  judge 
This  is  thy  native  land  we  disembark  on. 

Que.  True,   worthy   friend.      Each  rock,   each 
stream  I  look  on, 
Each  bosky  wood,  and  every  frowning  tower, 
Awakp'is  some  young  dream  of  infancy. 
Yet  such  ia  my  hard  hap,  I  might  more  safely 
Have  look'd  on  Indian  cliffs,  or  Afric's  desert. 
Than  on  ray  native  shores.     I'm  like  a  babe, 
Doom'd  to  draw  poison  from  my  nm-se's  bosom. 
Ser.  Thou  dream'st,  young  man.    Unreal  terrors 
haunt. 
As  I  have  noted,  giddy  brains  like  tliine — 
Flighty,  poetic,  and  unaginative — 
To  whom  a  minstrel  whim  gives  idle  raptm^e. 
And,  when  it  fades,  fantastic  misery. 

Que.  But  mine  is  not  fantastic.     I  can  tell  thee, 
Since  I  have  known  thee  still  my  faitliful  friend, 
In  part  at  least  the  dangerous  phght  I  stand  in. 

>  MS.—"  Quentin.     My  short  tale 

Grows  mystio  now.     Among  the  deadly  fends 
Which    curse    our   country,   something  once  it 
chanced 


Ser.  And  I  will  hear  thee  willingly,  the  rather 
That  I  would  let  these  vagabonds  march  on, 
Nor  join  their  troop  again.     Besides,  good  sooth, 
I'm  wearied  with  the  toil  of  yesterday. 
And  revel  of  last  night. — And  I  may  aid  thee 
Yes,  I  may  aid  thee,  comrade,  and  perchance 
Thou  may'st  advantage  me. 

Que.  May  it  prove  weU  for  both !-  -But  note,  my 
friend, 
I  can  but  intunate  my  mystic  story. 
Some  of  it  lies  so  secret, — even  the  winds 
That  wliistle  round  us  must  not  know  the  whole — ■ 
An  oath ! — an  oath ! 

Ser.  That  must  be  kept,  of  course 

I  ask  but  that  which  thou  may'st  freely  tell. 

Que.  I  was  an  orphan  boy,  and  first  saw  light 
Not  far  from  where  we  stand — my  lineage  low, 
But  honest  in  its  poverty.     A  lord, 
The  master  of  the  soil  for  many  a  mile, 
Dreaded  and  powerful,  took  a  kindly  charge 
For  my  advance  in  letters,  and  the  qualities 
Of  tlie  poor  orphan  lad  drew  some  applause. 
The  knight  was  proud  of  me,  and,  in  his  halls, 
I  had  such  kind  of  welcome  as  the  great 
Give  to  the  humble,  whom  they  love  to  point  to 
As  objects  not  unwortliy  their  protection. 
Whose  progress  is  some  honor  to  their  patron — 
A  cure  was  spoken  of,  which  I  might  serve. 
My  manners,  doctrine,  and  acquirements  fitting, 

Ser.  Hitherto  thy  luck 
Was  of  the  best,  good  friend.     FeAV  lords  had  cared 
If  thou  couldst  read  thy  grammar  or  thy  psalter. 
Thou  hadst  been  valued  couldst  thou  scour  a  har 

ncss. 
And  dress  a  steed  distinctly. 

Que.  My  old  master 

Held  different  doctrine,  at  least  it  seem'd  so — 
But  he  was  mix'd  in  many  a  deadly  feud — 
And  here  my  tale  grows  mystic.     I  became, 
Unwitting  and  unwiUing,  the  depositary 
Of  a  dread  secret,  and  the  knowledge  on't 
Has  wreck'd  my  peace  for  ever.     It  became 
My  patron's  will,  that  I,  as  one  who  knew 
More  than  I  should,  must  leave  the  realm  of  Scot- 
land, 
And  live  or  die  within  a  distant  land.' 

Ser.  Ah  !  thou  hast  done  a  fault  in  some  wild 
raid. 
As  you  wild  Scotsmen  call  them. 

Que.  Comrade,  nay ; 

Mine  was  a  peaceful  part,  and  happ'd  by  chance. 
I  must  not  tell  you  more.     Enough,  my  presence 
Brought  danger  to  my  benefactor's  house. 
Tower  after  tower  conceal'd  me,  willing  still 

That  I  unwilling  and  unwitting,  witness'd  ; 

And  it  hecame  my  henefactor's  will, 

That  I  should  hreathe  the  air  of  other  climes. 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


79a 


Tc  liide  my  ill-omen'd  face  with  owls  and  ravens,' 

And  let  my  patron's  safety  be  the  purchase 

Of  my  severe  and  desolate  captivity. 

So  thought  I,  wlien  dark  Arran,  with  its  walls 

Of  native  rock,  enclosed  me.     There  I  lurk'd, 

A  peaceful  stranger  amid  armed  clans, 

Without  a  frieiul  to  love  or  to  defend  me, 

Where  all  beside  were  link'd  by  close  alhances. 

At  length  I  made  my  option  to  take  service 

In  that  same  legion  of  auxiliaries 

In  which  we  lately  served  the  Belgian. 

Our  leader,  stout  Montgomery,  hath  been  kind 

Through  full  six  years  of  warfare,  and  assigu'd  me 

More  peaceful  tasks  than  the  rough  front  of  war, 

For  which  my  education  httle  suited  me. 

See.  Ay,  tlierein  was  Montgomery  kind  indeed ; 
Nay,  kinder  than  you  tliink,  my  simple  Quentin. 
The  letters  which  you  brought  to  the  Montgomery, 
Pointed  to  thrust  thee  on  some  desperate  service, 
Which  should  most  likely  end  thee. 

Que.  Bore  I  such  Jetters  ? — Surely,  comrade,  no. 
Full  deeply  was  the  writer  boimd  to  aid  me. 
Perchance  he  only  meant  to  prove  my  mettle ; 
And  it  was  but  a  trick  of  my  bad  fortune 
That  gave  his  letters  ill  interjDretation. 

Ser.  Ay,  but  thy  better  angled  wrought  for  good, 
Whatever  ill  thy  evU  fate  designed  thee. 
Montgomery  pitied  thee,  and  changed  thy  service 
In  the  rough  field  for  labor  in  the  tent, 
More  fit  for  thy  green  years  and  peaceful  habits. 

Que.  Even  there  his  well-meant  kindness  injured 
me. 
My  comrades  hated,  undervalued  me, 
And  whatsoe'er  of  service  I  could  do  them, 
They  guerdon'd  with  ingratitude  and  envy — 
Such  my  strange  doom,  that  if  I  serve  a  man 
At  deepest  risk,  he  is  my  foe  for  ever ! 

Ser.  Hast  thou  worse  fate  than  others  if  it  were 
so  ? 
Worse  even  than  me,  thy  friend,  thine  officer, 
Whom  yon  ungrateful  slaves  have  pitch'd  ashore. 
As  wild  waves  heap  the  sea-weed  on  the  beach. 
And  left  him  here,  as  if  he  had  the  pest 
Or  leprosy,  and  death  were  in  liis  company  ? 

Que.  They  think  at  least  you  have  the  worst  of 
plagues, 
The  worst  of  leprosies, — they  thmk  you  poor. 

Ser.  They  think  like  lying  villains  then,  I'm  rich, 
And  they  too  might  have  felt  it.  I've  a  thought — 
But  stay — what  plans  your  wisdom  for  yourself? 

Qui;.  My  thoughts  are  wellnigh  desjDerate.    But 
I  pm-pose 
Return  to  my  stern  patron — there  to  tell  him 


1  The  MS.  here  adds  : 


,  cleflg 


1  Cl( 

"  And  then  wild  Arrnn,  with  its  darksome  <  ^^.n. 

Of  naked  rock  received  me  ;  till  at  last 
100 


That  wars,  and  winds,  and  waves,  have  cross'd  hia 

pleasiu-e, 
And  cast  me  on  the  shore  from  whence  he  banish'd 

me. 
Then  let  him  do  liis  will,  and  destine  for  me 
A  dungeon  or  a  grave. 

Ser.  Now,  by  the  rood,  thou  art  a  simple  fool  1 
I  can  do  better  for  thee.     Mark  me,  Quentin. 
I  took  my  license  from  the  iioljle  regiment. 
Partly  that  I  was  worn  with  age  and  warfare, 
Partly  that  an  estate  of  yeomanry, 
Of  no  great  purchase,  but  enough  to  live  on, 
Has  call'd  me  owner  since  a  kinsman's  death. 
It  lies  in  merry  Yorkshire,  where  the  wealth 
Of  fold  and  furrow,  proper  to  Old  England, 
Stretches  by  streams  which  walk  no  sluggish  pace. 
But  dance  as  light  as  yours.    Now,  good  friend 

Quentin, 
This  copyhold  can  keep  two  quiet  inmates, 
And  I  am  childless.     Wilt  thou  be  my  son  ? 

Que.  Nay,  you  can  only  jest,  my  worthy  friend  1 
"\i\niat  claim  have  I  to  bo  a  burden  to  you  ? 

Ser.  The  claim  of  him  that  wants,  and  is  in  dan- 
ger, 
On  him  that  has,  and  can  afford  protection : 
Thou  would'st  not  fear  a  ftieman  in  my  cottage, 
Where  a  stout  mastiff  slumber'd  on  the  hearth, 
And  this  good  halberd  hung  above  the  chimney  ? 
But  come — I  have  it — thou  shalt  earn  thy  bread 
Duly,  and  honorably,  and  usefully. 
Our  village  schoolmaster  hath  left  the  parish, 
Forsook  the  ancient  schoolhouse  with  its  yew-trees, 
That  lurk'd  beside  a  church  two  centul-ies  older, — 
So  long  devotion  took  the  lead  of  knowledge ; 
And  since  his  little  flock  are  shepherdless, 
'Tis  thou  shalt  be  promoted  in  his  room ; 
And  rather  than  thou  wantest  scholars,  man, 
Myself  will  enter  pupU.     Better  late, 
Our  proverb  says,  than  never  to  do  weU. 
And  look  you,  on  the  holydays  I'd  tell 
To  all  the  wondering  boors  and  gaping  children, 
Strange  tales  of  what  the  regiment  did  in  Flanders', 
And  thou  shouldst  say  Amen,  and  be  my  warrant, 
That  I  speak  truth  to  them. 

Que.  Would  I  might  take  thy  offer !     But,  alas ' 
Thou  art  the  hermit  wlio  compell'd  a  pilgrim, 
In  name  of  Heaven  and  heavenly  charity, 
To  share  his  roof  and  meal,  but  found  too  late 
That  he  had  drawn  a  curse  on  liim  and  his, 
By  sheltering  a  wretch  foredoom'd  fjf  heaven  1 

Ser.  Thou  talk'st  in  riddles  to  i^ne. 

Que.  If  I  do, 

'Tis  that  I  am  a  riddle  to  myseh". 


I  yielded  to  take  service  in  the  legion 
Which  lately  has  discharged  us.     Stout  Montgomery 
Our  colonel,  hath  been  kind  through  live  years'  war- 
fare." 


794 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lliou  knoVst  I  am  by  nature  born  a  friend 
To  glee  and  meniment ;  can  make  wild  verses ; 
The  jest  or  laugh  has  never  stopp'd  with  me, 
When  once  'twas  set  a-rolling. 

Ser.  I  have  known  thee 

A  blithe  companion  still,  and  wonder  now 
Thou  shouldst  become  thus  crest-fallen. 

Que.  Does  the  lark  sing  her  descant  when  the 
falcon 
Scales  the  blue  vault  with  bolder  wing  than  hers, 
And  meditates  a  stoop  ?     The  mirth  thou'st  noted 
Was  all  deception,  fraud — Hated  enough 
For  other  causes,  I  did  veil  my  feelings 
Beneath  the  mask  of  mirth, — laugh' d,  sxmg,  and 

caroll'd. 
To  gain  some  interest  in  my  comrades'  bosoms. 
Although  mine  own  was  bursting. 

Ser.  Thou'rt  a  hypocrite 

Of  a  new  order. 

Que.  But  harmless  as  the  innoxious  snake. 
Which  bears  the  adder's  form,  lurks  in  his  haunts. 
Yet  neither  hath  liis  fang-teeth  nor  his  poison. 
Look  you,  kind  Hildebrand,  I  would  seem  merry, 
Lest  other  men  should,  tiring  of  my  sadness. 
Expel  me  from  them,  as  the  hunted  wether 
Is  driven  from  the  flock. 

See.  Faith,  thou  hast  borne  it  bravely  out. 
Had  I  been  ask'd  to  name  the  merriest  fellow 
Of  all  our  muster-roll — that  man  wert  thou. 
Que.  See'st  thou,  my  friend,  yon  brook  dance 
down  the  vallev, 
And  sing  blithe  carols  over  broken  rock 
And  tiny  waterfall,  kissing  each  shrub 
And  each  gay  floAver  it  nurses  in  its  passage, — 
Where,  think'st   thou,  is   its   som-ce,   the   bonny 

brook  ?— 
It  flows  from  forth  a  cavern,  black  and  gloomy, 
Sullen  and  sunless,  like  this  heart  of  mine. 
Which  others  see  in  a  fidse  glare  of  gavetv. 
Which  I  have  laid  before  you  in  its  sadness. 
Ser.  If  such  wild  fancies  dog  thee,  wherefore 
leave 
The  trade  where  thou  wert  safe  'midst  others' 

dangers, 
And  venture  to  thy  native  land,  where  fate 
Lies  on  the  watch  for  thee  ?    Had  old  Montgomery 
■""1  with  the  regiment,  thou  hadst  had  no  conge. 

Q^'-A'o,  'tis  most  likely— But  I  had  a  hope, 
A  poor  \;^  j^ope^  ^-^^^  j  ^^igj^^  ^^.^  obscm-ely 
In  some  far  r,rner  of  my  native  Scotland, 
Wliich,  of  aU  ^iiers^  splinter'd  into  districts. 
Diff-ering  m  nii-ngrs,  families,  even  language, 
Seem'd  a  safe  r>yge  for  the  humble  wretch. 
Whose  liighest  h^e  was  to  remain  unheard  of 
But  fete  has  baffl.]  me— the  wbds  and  waves. 
With  force  resistkg^  have  impell'd  me  liither— 
Have  driven  me  to  '^e  clime  most  dang'rous  to  me  ; 
And  I  obey  the  call  ij^e  the  hurt  deer, 


Which  seeks  instinctively  his  native  lair, 
Though  his  heart  tells  him  it  is  but  to  die  there. 

See.  'Tis  false,  by  Heaven,  young  man !     This 
same  despair, 
Tliough  showing  resignation  in  its  banner. 
Is  but  a  kind  of  covert  cowardice. 
Wise  men  have  said,  that  though  our  stars  incline, 
They  cannot  force  us — Wisdom  is  the  pilot. 
And  if  he  cannot  cross,  he  may  evade  them. 
You  lend  an  ear  to  idle  auguries. 
The  fruits  of  our  last  revels — still  most  sad 
Under  the  gloom  that  follows  boisterous  mirth, 
As  earth  looks  blackest  after  brilliant  sunshine. 

Que.  No,  by  my  honest  word.    Ijoin'd  the  revel, 
And  aided  it  with  laugh,  and  song,  and  shout. 
But  my  heart  revell'd  not ;  and,  when  the  mirth 
Was  at  the  loudest,  on  yon  galliot's  prow 
I  stood  uumark"d,  and  gazed  upon  the  land, 
My  native  land — each  cape  and  cliff  I  knew. 
"  Behold  me  now,"  I  said,  "  your  destined  victim  1" 
So  greets  the  sentenced  criminal  the  headsman, 
Wlio  slow  approaches  with  his  hfted  axe. 
"  Hither  I  come,"  I  said,  "  ye  kindred  hiUs, 
WTiose  darksome  outhne  in  a  distant  land 
Haunted  my  slumbers ;  here  I  stand,  thou  ocean. 
Whose  hoarse  voice,  mm-mtiring  in  my  dreams,  re- 
quired me  ; 
See  me  now  here,  ye  winds,  whose  plaintive  wail, 
On  yonder  distant  shores,  appear'd  to  call  me — 
Sunimon'd,  behold  me."    And  the  winds  and  waves, 
And  the  deep  echoes  of  the  distant  mountain, 
Made  answer, — "  Come,  and  die  !" 

See.  Fantastic  all !   Poor  boy,  thou  art  distracted 
With  the  vain  terrors  of  some  feudal  tyrant, 
Whose  frown  hath  been  from  infancy  thy  bugbear. 
Why  seek  his  presence  ? 

Que.  Wherefore  does  the  moth 

Fly  to  the  scorching  taper  ?     Why  the  bird. 
Dazzled  by  lights  at  midnight,  seek  the  net  ? 
Why  does  the  prey,  which  feels  the  fascination 
Of  the  snake's  glai'ing  eye,  drop  in  his  jaws  ? 

Ser.  Such  wild  examples  but  refute  themselves. 
Let  bird,  let  moth,  let  the  coil'd  adder's  prey, 
Resist  the  fascination  and  be  safe. 
Thou  goest  not  near  this  Baron — if  thou  goest, 
I  will  go  with  thee.     Knoyn  in  many  a  field, 
Which  he  in  a  whole  life  of  petty  feud 
Has  never  dream' d  of,  I  wUI  teach  the  knight 
To  rule  him  in  this  matter — be  thy  waiTant, 
That  far  from  him,  and  from  his  petty  lordship. 
You  shall  henceforth  tread  Enghsh  land,  and  never 
Thy  presence  shall  alarm  his  conscience  more. 

QXTE.  'Twere  desperate  risk  for  both.     I  will  far 
rather 
Hastily  guide  thee  through  this  dangerous  provmce 
And  seek  thy  school,  thy  yew-trees,  and  ihy  chm'cu- 

yard  ;— 
The  last,  perchance,  will  be  the  first  I  find. 


AUCHINDRANE;   OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


•79^ 


See.  I  wmild  ratlier  face  him, 
Like  a  bold  Englishman  that  knows  his  right, 
And  will  stand  by  Iiis  friend.     And  yet  'tis  folly — 
Fancies  like  these  are  not  to  be  resisted ; 
'Tis  better  to  escape  them.     Many  a  presage, 
Too  rashly  braved,  becomes  its  own  accomplish 

ment. 
Then  let  us  go — but  whither  ?     My  old  head 
As  little  knows  where  it  shall  lie  to-night, 
As  yonder  mutineers  that  left  their  officer, 
As  reckless  of  his  quarters  as  these  billows, 
That  leave  the  withered  sea-weed  on  the  beach, 
And  care  not  where  they  pile  it. 

Que.  Think  not  for  that,  good  friend.     "We  are 
in  Scotland, 
And  if  it  is  not  varied  from  its  wont. 
Each  cot,  that  sends  a  curl  of  smoke  to  heaven, 
Will  yield  a  stranger  quarters  for  the  night, 
Simply  because  he  needs  them. 

See.  But  are  there  none  witliin  an  easy  walk 
Give  lodgings  here  for  liire  ?  for  I  have  left 
Some  of  the  Don's  piastres  (though  I  kept 
The  secret  from  yon  gulls),  and  I  had  rather 
Pay  the  fair  reckoning  I  can  well  afiford. 
And  my  host  takes  with  pleasm-e,  than  I'd  cum- 
ber 
Some  poor  man's  roof  with  me  and  all  my  wants. 
And  tax  his  charity  beyond  discretion. 

Que.  Some  six  miles  hence  there  is  a  town  and 
hostelry — 
But  you  are  wayworn,  and  it  is  most  likely 
Our  comrades  must  have  fill'd  it. 

Ser.  Out  upon  them  ! — 

Were  there  a  friendly  mastiff  who  would  lend  me 
Half  of  his  supper,  half  of  his  poor  kennel, 
I  would  help  Honesty  to  pick  his  bones, 
And  share  his  straw,  far  rather  than  I'd  sup 
On  jolly  fare  with  these  base  vaidets  ! 

Que.  We'U   manage   better ;   for  our   Scottish 
dogs. 
Though  stout  and  trusty,  are  but  ill-instructed' 
In  hospitable  rights. — Here  is  a  maiden, 
A  little  maid,  will  tell  us  of  the  country. 
And  sorely  is  it  changed  since  I  have  left  it, 
If  we  should  fail  to  find  a  harborage. 

Enter  Isabel  MacLellan,  a  girl  of  about  six  years 
old,  bearing  a  milk-pail  on  her  head ;  she  stops 
on  seeing  the  Sergeant  a7id  Quentin. 
Que.  There's  something  in  her  look  that  doth 
remind  me — 

But  'tis  not  wonder  I  find  recollections 

In  all  that  here  I  look  on. — Pretty  maid 

Ser.   You're   slow,   and  hesitate.      I  will  be 
spokesman. — 

Good  even,  my  pretty  maiden — canst  thou  teU  us, 

1  MS      "  Gallant  and  grim,  may  be  bnt  ill-instructed." 


Is  there  a  Christian  house  would  render  strangers 
For  love  or  guerdon,  a  night's  meal  and  lodging  i 

JsA.  Full  surely,  sir ;  we  dwell  in  yon  old  house 
Upon  the  cliff — they  call  it  Chapeldonan. 

[Poijits  to  the  building 
Our  house  is  large  enough,  and  if  our  supper 
Chance  to  be  scant,  you  shall  have  half  of  mine, 
For,  as  I  think,  sir,  you  have  been  a  soldier. 
Up  yonder  lies  our  house ;  I'll  trip  befoi'e, 
And  tell  my  mother  she  has  guests  a-coming; 
The  path  is  something  steep,  but  you  shall  see 
I'll  be  there  first.     I  must  chain  up  the  dogs,  too ; 
Nimrod  and  Bloodylass  are  cross  to  strangers, 
But  gentle  when  you  know  them. 

l^Exit,  and  is  seen  partially  ascending  to 
the  Castle, 

Ser.  Tou  have  spoke 

Yom-  country  folk  aright,  both  for  the  dogs 
And  for  the  people. — We  had  luck  to  light 
On   one  too  young  for  cunning  and  for  selfish- 
ness.— 
He's  in  a  revery — a  deep  one  sure, 
Since  the  gibe  on  Ms  country  wakes  him  not. — 
Bestir  thee,  Quentin ! 

Que.  'Twas  a  wondrous  likeness. 

Ser.  Likeness !  of  whom  ?     I'll  warrant  thee  oi 
one 
Whom  thou  hast  loved  and  lost.     Such  fantasies 
Live   long  in   brains   like    tliine,  which   fashion 

visions 
Of  woe  and  death  when  they  are  cross'd  in  love, 
As  most  men  are  or  have  been. 

Que.  Thy  guess  hath  touch'd  me,  though  it  is  but 
slightly, 
'Mongst  other  woes :  I  knew,  in  former  days, 
A  maid  that  view'd  me  with  some  glance  of  favor ; 
But  my  fate  carried  me  to  other  shores. 
And  she  has  since  been  wedded.     I  did  think  on't 
But  as  a  bubble  burst,  a  rainbow  vanish'd ; 
It  adds  no  deeper  shade  to  the  dark  gloom 
Wliich  cliills  the  springs  of  hope  and  Ufe  within  me 
Our  guide  hath  got  a  trick  of  voice  and  feature 
Like  to  the  maid  I  spoke  of — that  is  all. 

See.  She  bounds  before  us  like  a  gamesome  doe, 
Or  rather  as  the  rock-bred  eaglet  soars 
Up  to  her  nest,  as  if  .she  rose  by  will 
Without  an  effort.    Now  a  Netherlander, 
One  of  our  Frogland  friends,  viewing  the  scene, 
Would  take  his  oath  that  tower,  and  rock,  and 

maiden, 
Were  forms  too  light  and  lofty  to  be  real. 
And  only  some  delusion  of  the  fancy, 
Such  as  men  di'eam  at  sunset.     I  myself 
Have  kept  the  level  ground  so  many  years, 
I  have  wellnigh  forgot  the  art  to  climb. 
Unless  assisted  by  thy  younger  arm. 

[They  go  off  as  if  to  ascend  to  the  Tower 
tJte  Seuge.wjt  leaning  upon  Quentix 


796 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Front  of  the  Old  Tower.  Isa- 
bel comei  forward  with  her  Mother, — ^Marion 
speaking  as  they  advance. 

Mar.  I  blame  thee  not,  my  child,  for  TDidding 
wanderers 
Come  share  our  food  and  shelter,  if  thy  father 
Were  here  to  welcome  them ;  but,  Isabel, 
He  waits  upon  his  lord  at  Auchindrane, 
And  comes  not  home  to-night. 

IsA.  What  then,  my  mother  ? 

The  travellers  do  not  ask  to  see  my  father ; 
Food,  shelter,  rest,  is  aU  the  poor  men  want, 
And  we  can  give  them  these  without  my  father. 

Mar.  Thou  canst  not  understand,  nor  I  explaia, 
Why  a  lone  female  asks  not  visitants 
What  time  her  husband's  absent. — {Apart.)   My 

poor  child, 
And  if  thou'rt  wedded  to  a  jealous  husband, 
Thou'lt  know  too  soon  the  cause. 

IsA.  [j)arthj  overhearing  what  her  mother  says.) 
Ay,  but  I  know  already — Jealousy 
Is,  when  my  father  chides,  and  you  sit  weeping. 

Mar.  Out,  little  spy  !  thy  father  never  eludes ; 
Or,  if  he  does,  'tis  when  his  wife  deserves  it. — 
But  to  our  strangers  ;  they  are  old  men,  Isabel, 
That  seek  this  shelter  ?  are  they  not  ? 

IsA.  One  is  old — 

Old  as  this  tower  of  ours,  and  worn  like  that. 
Bearing  deep  marks  of  battles  long  since  fought. 
Mar.  Some  remnant  of  the  wai-s ;  he's  welcome, 
sm-ely, 
Bringing  no  quality  along  with  him 
Which  can  alai-m  susiDicion. — Well,  the  other  ? 
JsA.  A  young  man,   gentle-voiced  and   gentle- 
eyed,  [frown'd  on ; 
Who  looks  and  speaks  like  one  the  world  has 
But  smiles  when  you  smile,  seeming  that  he  feels 
Joy  in  your  joy,  though  he  himself  is  sad. 
Brown  hair,  and  downcast  looks. 

Mas.,  (alarmed.)  'Tis  but  an  idle  thought — it  can- 
not be !  [Listens. 
I  hear  his  accents — It  is  all  too  true — 
My  terrors  were  prophetic ! 

rU  compose  myself. 
And  then  accost  liim  fii-mly.     Thus  it  must  be. 

[She  retires  hastily  into  the  Tower. 
[TJi€  voices  of  the  Sergeant  and  Quextin 
are  heard  ascending  behind  the  Scenes. 
Que.  One  effort  more — we  stand  upon  the  level. 
Tve  seen  thee  work  thee  up  glacis  and  cavalier 
Steeper  than  this  ascent,  when  cannon,  culverine, 
Musket,  and  hackbut,  shower'd  their  shot  upon  thee, 
And  form'd,  with  ceaseless  blaze,  a  fiery  garland 
Round  the  defences  of  the  post  you  storm'd. 

[They  come  on  tJie  Stage,  and  at  the  same 
time  Marion  re-enters  from  the  Tower. 


Ser.  Truly  thou  speak'st.     I  am  the  tardier, 
That  I,  in  climbing  laither,  miss  the  fire,       [ing.— 
Which  wont  to  tell  me  there  was  death  in  loiter- 
Here  stands,  metliinks,  our  hostess. 

[He  goes  forward  to  address  MARIO^f.    Quen- 
TIN,  struck  on  seeing  /ler,  keeps  back. 

Ser.  Kind  dame,  yon  little  lass  hath  brought 
you  strangers, 
Willing  to  be  a  trouble,  not  a  charge  to  you. 
We  are  disbanded  soldiers,  but  have  means 
Ample  enough  to  pay  our  journey  homeward. 

Mar.  We  keep  no  house  of  general  entertain- 
ment. 
But  know  our  duty,  sir,  to  locks  like  yours, 
Whiten'd  and  thinn'd  by  many  a  long  campaign. 
Ill  chances  that  my  husband  should  be  absent — 
[Ajmrt.) — Courage  alone  can  make  me  struggle 

through  it — 
For  in  yom-  comrade,  though  he  hath  forgot  me, 
I  spy  a  friend  whom  I  have  known  in  school-days. 
And  whom  I  think  MacLellan  well  remembers. 

[She  goes  up  to  Quentin. 
You  see  a  woman's  memory 
Is  faithfuUer  than  yours  ;  for  Quentin  Blane 
Hath  not  a  greeting  left  for  Marion  Harkness. 

Que.  (with  effort.)    I  seek,  indeed,  my  native 
land,  good  Marion, 
But  seek  it  like  a  stranger. — All  is  changed, 
And  thou  thyself 

Mar.  You  left  a  giddy  maiden. 

And  find  on  your  return,  a  wife  and  mother. 
Tliine  old  acquaintance,  Quentin,  is  my  mate — 
Stout  Xiel  MacLellan,  ranger  to  our  lord. 
The  Knight  of  Auchindrane.     He's  absent  now. 
But  will  rejoice  to  see  his  former  comrade, 
If,  as  I  trust,  you  tarry  his  ret'irn. 
(Apart.)  Heaven  grant  he  understand  my  words 

by  contraries ! 
He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  rivals ; 
He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  foes ; 
He  must  remember  Niel  is  warii  cf  temper. 
And  think,  instead  of  welcome,  I  would  bhthely 
Bid  him,  God  speed  you.     But  he  is  as  simple 
And  void  of  guile  as  ever. 

Que.  Marion,  I  gladly  rest  witLm  your  cottage. 
And  gladly  wait  return  of  Niel  MacLellan, 
To  clasp  his  hand,  and  wish  him  happiness. 
Some  rising  feelings  might  perhaps  prevent  this— 
But  'tis  a  peevish  part  to  grudge  our  friends 
Their  share  of  fortune  because  we  have  miss'd  it . 
I  can  wish  others  joy  and  happiness, 
Though  I  must  ne'er  partake  them. 

Mar.  But  if  it  grieve  you [of  hope 

Que.  No  !  do  not  fear.     The  brightest  gleama 
Tliat  shine  on  me  are  such  as  are  reflected 
F:  jm  those  which  shine  on  others. 

[The  Sergeant  and  Quentin   enter  th* 
Tower  with  the  little  Girl. 


^i 


AUCHINDRANE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


1i)1 


Mar.  {comes  forward,  and  speaks  in  agitation^ 
Even  so !  the  simple  youth  has  miss'd  my  meaning. 
I  shame  to  make  it  plainer,  or  to  say, 
In  one  brief  word.  Pass  on — Heaven  guide  the  bark, 
For  we  are  on  the  breakers !    [Exit  into  the  Tower. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I, 

A  withdrawing  Apartment  in  the  Castle  of  Auch- 
indrane.  Sm-vants  place  a  Table,  viith  a  flask  of 
Wine  and  Drinking-cups. 

Enter  Mitre  of  Acuhindrane,  with  Albert  Gif- 
FORD,  his  Relation  and  Visitor.  They  place 
themselves  by  the  Table  after  some  compliment- 
ary ceremony.  At  some  distance  is  heard  the 
noise  of  revelling. 

AucH.  We're  better  placed  for  confidential  talk, 
Than  in  the  hall  fiU'd  witli  disbanded  soldiers. 
And  fools  and  fiddlers  gatber'd  on  the  liighway, — 
The  worthy  guests  whom  Philip  crowds  my  hull 

with, 
And  with  them  spends  his  evening. 

GiF.  But  think  you  not,  my  friend,  that  your  son 
Philip 
Should  be  participant  of  these  our  councils. 
Being  so  deeply  mingled  in  the  danger — 
Your  house's  only  heir — your  only  son  ? 

AucH.  Kind  cousin  Gifi'ord,  if  thou  lack'st  good 
counsel 
At  race,  at  cockpit,  or  at  gambling-table. 
Or  any  freak  by  which  men  cheat  themselves 
As  well  of  life,  as  of  the  means  to  Uve, 
Call  for  assistance  upon  Philip  Mure  ; 
But  in  all  serious  parley  spare  invoking  him. 

GiF.  You  speak  too  hghtly  of  my  cousin  Phihp ; 
All  name  him  brave  in  arms. 

AucH.  A  second  Bevis  ; 

But  I,  my  youth  bred  up  ui  gi-aver  fashions. 
Mourn  o'er  the  mode  of  life  in  which  he  spends, 
Or  rather  dissipates,  his  time  and  substance. 
No  vagabond  escapes  his  search — The  soldier 
Spurn'd  from  the  service,  henceforth  to  be  rufiian 
Upon  his  own  account,  is  Pliilip's  comrade  ; 
The  fiddler,  whose  crack'd  crowd  has  still  tliree 

strings  on't ; 
The  balladeer,  whose  voice  has  still  two  notes  left ; 
Whate'er  is  roguish  and  whate'er  is  vile. 
Are  welcome  to  the  board  of  Auchindrane, 
And  Philip  will  return  them  shout  for  shout, 
And  pledge  for  jovial  pledge,  and  song  for  song. 
Until  the  shamefaced  sun  peep  at  our  windows, 
And  ask,  "  What  have  we  here  ?" 


GiF.  You  take  such  revel  deeply — we  are  Scots- 
men, 
Far  known  for  rustic  hospitality 
That  mind  not  birth  or  titles  in  our  guests ; 
The  harper  has  his  seat  beside  our  hearth, 
The  wanderer  must  find  comfort  at  our  board, 
His  name  vmask'd,  his  pedigree  unknown ; 
So  did  our  ancestors,  and  so  must  we. 

AucH.  All  this  is  freely  granted,  worthy  kins- 
man; 
And  prithee  do  not  think  me  churl  enough 
To  count  how  many  sit  beneath  my  salt. 
I've  wealth  enough  to  fill  my  father's  hall 
Each  day  at  noon,  and  feed  the  guests  who  crowd  it , 
I  am  near  mate  with  those  whom  men  call  Lord, 
Though  a  rude  western  knight.     But  mark  me, 

cousin, 
Although  1  feed  wayfaring  vagabonds, 
I  make  them  not  my  comrades.     Such  as  I, 
Who  have  advanced  the  fortunes  of  my  line, 
And  swell'd  a  baron's  turret  to  a  palace, 
Have  oft  the  curse  awaiting  on  our  thrift, 
To  see,  while  yet  we  live,  things  which  must  be 
At  our  decease — the  downfall  of  our  family, 
Tlie  loss  of  land  and  lordship,  name  and  knight- 
hood. 
The  wreck  of  the  fair  fabric  we  have  built. 
By  a  degenerate  heir.     Philip  has  that 
Of  inborn  meanness  in  him,  that  he  loves  not 
The  company  of  betters,  nor  of  equals  ; 
Never  at  ease,  unless  he  bears  the  bell. 
And  crows  the  loudest  in  the  company. 
He's  mesh'd,  too,  in  the  snares  of  every  female 
Who  deigns  to  cast  a  passing  glance  on  him — 
Licentious,  disrespectful,  rash,  and  profligate. 

GiF.  Come,  my  good  coz,  think  we  too  have  been 
young. 
And  I  will  swear  that  in  your  father's  lifetime 
You  have  yourself  been  trappVl  by  toys  like  these. 

AucH.  A  fool  I  may  have  been — but  not  a  mad- 
man; 
I  never  play'd  the  rake  among  my  followers. 
Pursuing  this  man's  sister,  that  man's  wife ; 
And  therefore  never  saw  I  man  of  mine. 
When  summon'd  to  obey  my  best,  grow  restive, 
Talk  of  his  honor,  of  his  peace  destroy'd. 
And,  while  obeying,  mutter  threats  of  vengeance 
But  now  the  humor  of  an  idle  youth, 
Disgusting  trusted  followers,  sworn  dependents. 
Plays  football  with  his  honor  and  my  safety. 

GiF.  I'm  sorry  to  find  discord  in  your  house, 
For  I  had  hoped,  while  bruiging  you  cold  news, 
To  find  you  arm'd  in  union  'gainst  the  danger. 

AucH.  What  can  man  speak  that  I  would  shrink 
to  hear. 
And  where  the  danger  I  would  deign  to  shim  ? 

[He  rises 
What  should  appal  a  man  inured  to  perils, 


^98 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Like  the  bold  climber  on  the  crags  of  Ailsa  ? 
Winds  whistle  past  him,  billows  rage  below, 
The  sea-fowl  sweep  around,  with  shriek  and  clang, 
One  single  sUp,  one  unadvised  pace. 
One  quahn  of  giddiness — and  peace  be  with  him  1 
But  he  whose  grasp  is  siu-e,  whose  step  is  firm, 
WJiose  brain  is  constant — he  makes  one  proud  rock 
The  means  to  scale  another,  till  he  stand 
Triumphant  on  the  peak. 

GiF.  And  so  I  trust 

Thou  wilt  surn\ount  the. danger  now  approaching, 
Which  scarcely  can  I  frame  my  tongue  to  teU  you, 
Though  I  rode  here  on  purpose. 

AucH.  Cousin,  I  think  thy  heart  was  never  cowai'd, 
And  strange  it  seems  thy  tongue  should  take  such 

semblance. 
I've  heard  of  many  a  loud-mouth'd,  noisy  braggart, 
Wliose  hand  gave  feeble  sanction  to  his  tongue ; 
But  thou  art  one  whose  heart  can  think  bold  tliuigs, 
Whose  hand  can  act  them — but  who  shrinks  to 
speak  them ! 

GiF.  And  if  I  speak  them  not,  'tis  that  I  shame 
To  tell  tliee  of  the  calumnies  that  load  thee. 
Things  loudly  spoken  at  the  city  Cross — 
Things  closely  whisper'd  in  our  Sovereign's  ear — 
Things  which  the  plumed  lord  and  flat-capp'd  cit- 
izen 
Do  circulate  amid  their  different  ranks — 
Things  false,  no  doubt;   but,   falsehoods  while  I 

deem  them. 
Still  honoring  thee,  I  shun  tlie  odious  topic. 

Aucu.  Shun  it  not,  cousin;  'tis  a  friend's  best 
office 
To  bring  the  news  we  hear  iinwillingly. 
The  sentinel,  who  tells  the  foe's  approach, 
And  wakes  the  sleeping  camp,  does  but  his  duty : 
Be  thou  as  bold  in  telling  me  of  danger, 
As  I  shall  be  in  facing  danger  told  of. 

GiF.  I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  death-feud 
That  raged  so  long  betwixt  thy  house  and  Cassilis ; 
I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  league, 
When  royal  James  himself  stood  mediator 
Between  thee  and  Earl  Gilbert. 

ArcH.  CaU  you  these  news  ? — You  might  as  well 
have  told  me 
That  old  King  Coil  is  dead,  and  graved  at  Kylesfeld. 
I'll  help  thee  out — King  James  commanded  us 
Henceforth  to  live  in  peace,  made  us  clasp  hands  too. 
O,  sir,  when  such  an  union  hath  been  made, 
In  heart  and  hand  conjoining  mortal  foes, 
Under  a  monarch's  royal  mediation. 
The  league  is  not  forgotten.     And  with  this 
Wiat  is  there  to  be  told  ?    The  king  commanded — 
"  Be  friends."     No  doubt  we  were  so — "WTio  dares 
doubt  it  ? 

QiF.  You  speak  but  half  the  tale. 

AccH.  By  good  Saint  Trimon,  but  I'll  tell  the 
whole ! 


There  is  no  terror  in  the  tale  for  me — ' 

Go  speak  of  ghosts  to  children  ! — This  Earl  Gilbert 

(God  sain  liun)  loved  Heaven's  peace  as  well  as  I 

did. 
And  we  were  wondrous  friends  whene'er  we  met 
At  church  or  market,  or  in  burrows  town. 
Midst  this,  our  good  Lord  Gilbert,  Earl  of  Cassihs, 
Takes  purpose  he  would  journey  forth  to  Edin- 
burgh. 
The  King  was  dohng  gifts  of  abbey-lands. 
Good  things  that  thrifty  house  was  wont  to  fish  for. 
Our  mighty  Earl  forsakes  his  sea-wash"d  castle. 
Passes  our  borders  some  four  miles  from  hence ; 
And,  holding  it  unwholesome  to  be  tasters 
Long  after  sunrise,  lo  !  The  Earl  and  train 
Dismoimt,  to  rest  their  nags  and  eat  their  breakfast. 
The  morning  rose,  the  small  birds  caroU'd  sweetly 
The  corks  were  drawn,  the  pasty  brooks  incision — 
His  lordship  jests,  his  train  are  choked  with  laugh- 
ter; 
When, — wondrous  change  of  cheer,  and  most  un- 

look'd  for. 
Strange  epilogue  to  bottle  and  to  baked  meat  I — 
Flash'd  from  the  gi-eenwood  half  a  score  of  cara- 
bines. 
And  the  good  Earl  of  Cassilis,  in  his  breakfast. 
Had  nooning,  dinner,  supper,  all  at  once. 
Even  in  the  morning  that  he  closed  his  journey ; 
And  tlie  grim  sexton,  for  his  chamberlain, 
Made  him  the  bed  which  rests  the  head  for  ever. 
GiF.  Told  with  much  spirit,  cousin — some  there 
are 
Would  add,  and  in  a  tone  resembling  triumph. 
And  would  that  with  these  long-establish'd  facts 
My  tale  began  and  ended  !  I  must  tell  you. 
That  evil-deemuig  censures  of  the  events, 
Both  at  the  time  and  now,  throw  blame  on  thee — 
Time,  place,  and  circumstance,  they  say,  proclaim 

tliee. 
Alike,  the  autlior  of  that  morning's  ambush. 

AucH.  Ay,  'tis  an  old  belief  in  Carrick  here. 
Where  natives  do  not  always  die  in  bed. 
That  if  a  Kennedy  shall  not  attain 
Methuselah's  last  span,  a  Mure  has  slain  him. 
Such  is  the  general  creed  of  all  their  clan. 
Thank  Heaven,  that  they're  bound  to  prove  the 

charge 
They  are  so  prompt  in  making.  They  have  clamor'd 
Enough  of  this  before,  to  show  their  malice. 
But  what  said  these  coward  pickthanks  when  I 

came 
Before  the  King,  before  the  .Justicers, 
Rebutting  all  their  calumnies,  and  daring  them 
To  show  that  I  knew  aught  of  Cassihs'  journey — 
Which  way  he  meant  to  travel — where  to  halt— 

'  "  There  is  no  terror.  Cassius,  in  yonr  threats." 

SUAKSFEARB. 


AUCHINDRANE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


'799 


Without  which  knowledge  I  possess'd  no  means 
To  dress  an  ambush  for  him  ?    Did  I  not 
Defy  the  assembled  clan  of  Kennedys 
To  show,  by  proof  direct  or  inferential, 
Wherefore    they   slander'd   me    with   this  foul 

charge  ? 
My  gauntlet  rung  before  them  in  the  court, 
And  I  did  dare  the  best  of  them  to  hft  it, 
Aud  prove  such  charge  a  true  one — Did  I  not  ? 

GiF.  I  saw  your  gauntlet  he  before  the  Ken- 
nedys, 
Who  look'd  on  it  as  men  do  on  an  adder, 
Longing  to  crush,  and  yet  afraid  to  grasp  it. 
Not  an  eye  sparkled — not 'a  foot  advanced — 
No  arm  was  stretch'd  to  hft  the  fatal  symbol. 

Aucu.  Then,  wherefore  do  the  hildings  murmur 
now? 
Wish  they  to  see  again,  how  one  bold  Mure 
Can  baffle  and  defy  their  assembled  valor  ? 

GiF.  No ;  but  they  speak  of  evidence  suppress'd. 

AucH.  Suppress'd ! — what  evidence  ? — by  wliom 
suppress'd  ? 
What  Will-o'-Wisp — what  idiot  of  a  witness, 
Is  he  to  whom  they  trace  an  empty  voice. 
But  cannot  show  his  person  ? 

GiF.  They  pretend, 

With  the  King's  leave,  to  bring  it  to  a  trial ; 
Averi'ing  that  a  lad,  named  Quentin  Blane, 
Brought  thee  a  letter  from  the  murder'd  Earl, 
With  friendly  gi-eetings,  telUng  of  his  journey, 
Tlie  hour  which  he  set  forth,  the  place  he  halted  at 
Affording  thee  the  means  to  form  the  ambush, 
Of  which  your  hatred  made  the  application. 

AucH.  A  prudent  Earl,  indeed,  if  such  his  prac- 
tice. 
When  dealing  with  a  recent  enemy  ! 
And  what  should  he  propose  by  such  strange  con- 
fidence 
In  one  who  sought  it  not  ? 

GiF.  His  jjurposes  were  kindly,  say  the  Ken- 
nedys— 
Desiring  you  would  meet  him  where  he  halted, 
Offering  to  undertake  whate'er  commissions 
You  listed  trust  him  with,  for  court  or  city : 
And,  thus  apprised  of  Cassihs'  purposed  journey. 
And  of  his  halting-place,  you  placed  the  ambush, 
Prepared  the  homicides 

AucH.  They're  free  to  say  their  pleasiu^e.  They 
are  men 
Of  the  new  court — and  I  am  but  a  fragment 
Of  stout  old  Morton's  faction.     It  is  reason 
That  such  as  I  be  rooted  from  the  earth. 
That  they  may  have  full  room  to  spread  their 

branches. 
No  doubt,  'tis  easy  to  find  strolling  vagrants 
To  prove  whate'er  they  prompt.     This  Quentin 

Blane — 
Did  you  not  call  him  so  ? — ■«  hy  comes  he  now  ? 


And  wherefore  not  before  ?  This  must  be  answer'd 

— (abrupthj) — 
Wliere  is  he  now  ? 

GiF.  Abroad — they  say — ^kidnapp'd. 

By  you  kidnapp'd,  that  he  might  die  in  Flanders. 
But  orders  have  been  sent  for  his  discharge. 
And  his  transmission  hither. 

Aucn.  [assuming  an  air  of  compoaure?)  When 
they  produce  such  witness,  cousin  Gifiord, 
Well  be  prepared  to  meet  it.    In  the  mean  while, 
Tlie  King  doth  ill  to  throw  his  royal  sceptre 
In  the  accuser's  scale,  ere  he  can  know 
How  justice  shaU  inchne  it. 

GiF.  Our  sage  prince 

Resents,  it  may  be,  less  the  death  of  Cassilis, 
Than  he  is  angry  that  the  feud  should  burn, 
After  his  royal  voice  had  said,  "  Be  quench'd :" 
Thus  m-ging  prosecution  less  for  slaughter, 
Than  that,  being  done  against  the  King's  com- 
mand. 
Treason  is  mix'd  with  homicide. 

AucH.  Ha !  ha !  most  true,  my  cousin. 

Why,  well  consider'd,  'tis  a  crime  so  great 
To  slay  one's  enemy,  the  King  forbidding  it, 
Like  parricide,  it  should  be  held  impossible. 
'Tis  just  as  if  a  wretch  retain'd  the  evil. 
When  the  King's  touch  had  bid  the  sores  be  heal'd ; 
And  such  a  crime  merits  the  stake  at  least. 
What !  can  there  be  within  a  Scottish  bosom 
A  feud  so  deadly,  that  it  kept  its  ground 
When  the  King  said.  Be  fi-iends  !  It  is  not  credible. 
Were  I  King  James,  I  never  would  believe  it : 
I'd  rather  think  the  story  all  a  dream, 
And  that  there  was  no  friendsliip,  feud,  nor  journey, 
No  halt,  no  ambush,  and  no  Earl  of  Cassilis, 
Than  dream  anointed  Majesty  has  wrong ! — 

Gir.  Speak  witliin  door,  coz. 

AucH.  0,  true — (aside) — I  shall  betray  myself 
Even  to  this  half-bred  fool. — I  must  have  room, 
Room  for  an  instant,  or  I  suffocate. — 
Cousin,  I  prithee  call  our  Phihp  hitlier — 
Forgive  me ;  'twere  more  meet  I  summon'd  him 
Myself ;  but  then  the  sight  of  yonder  revel 
Would  chafe  my  blood,  and  I  have  need  of  cool- 
ness. 

GiF.  I   understand    thee  —  I   will    bring    him 
straight. 

[Frit. 

AucH.  And  if  thou  dost,  he's  lost  his  ancient 
trick 
To  fathom,  as  he  wont,  his  five-pint  flagons. — 
Tliis  space  is  mine — 0  for  the  power  to  fill  it. 
Instead  of  senseless  rage  and  empty  curses, 
With  the  dark  spell  which  witches   learn  from 

fiends, 
Tliat  smites  the  object  of  theu-  hate  afar, 
Nor  leaves  a  token  of  its  mystic  action, 
Steahng  the  soul  from  out  the  unscathed  body, 


800 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


As  lightning  melts  the  blade,  nor  haxms  the  scab- 
bard! 
— ^"Tis  rain  to  wish  for  it — Each  cui'se  of  mine 
Falls  to  the  groimd  as  harmless  as  the  arrows 
Which   children   shoot   at   stars!     The   time  for 

thought, 
If  thought  could  aught  avail  me,  melts  away, 
Like  to  a  snowball  in  a  schoolboy's  hand, 
That  melts  the  faster  the  more  close  he  grasps 

it!— 
If  I  had  time,  this  Scottish  Solomon, 
Whom  some  call  sou  of  David  the  Musician,' 
Might  find  it  perilous  work  to  march  to  Cai-rick. 
There's  many  a  feud  still  slmnbering  in  its  ashes. 
Whose  embers  are  yet  red.     IS'obles  we  have. 
Stout  as  old  Gravsteel,  and  as  hot  as  Bothwell ; 
Here  too  are  castles  look  fi-om  crags  as  high 
On  seas  as  wide  as  Logan's.     So  the  Eang — 
Pshaw !  He  is  here  again — 

Enter  Gifford. 

GiF.  I  heard  you  name 

The  King,  my  kinsman ;  know,  he  comes  not  hither. 

AucH.  {affecting  indifference)  Nay,  then  we  need 
not  broach  om*  barrels,  cousin, 
Nor  23urchase  us  new  jerkins. — Comes  not  PhiUp  ? 

GiF.  Yes,  sir.  He  tarries  but  to  di'ink  a  service 
To  his  good  friends  at  parting. 

AucH.  Friends  for  the  beadle  or  the  sherifif-officer. 
Well,  let  it  pass.  Who  comes,  and  how  attended, 
Since  James  designs  not  westward  ? 

GiF.  0  you  shall  have,  instead,  his  fiery  func- 
tionary, 
George  Home  that  was,  but  now  Dunbar's  great 

Earl; 
He  leads  a  royal  host,  and  comes  to  show  you 
How  he  distributes  justice  on  the  Border, 
"Aliere  judge  and  liangman  oft  reverse  their  office, 
And  the  noose  does  its  work  before  the  sentence. 
But  I  have  said  my  tidings  best  and  worst. 
None  but  yourself  can  know  what  course  the  time 
And  peril  may  demand.     To  lift  your  banner, 
If  I  might  be  a  judge,  were  desperate  game : 
Ireland  and  Galloway  oifer  you  convenience 
For  flight,  if  flight  be  thought  the  better  remedy ; 
To  face  the  court  requires  the  consciousness 
And  confidence  of  innocence.     You  alone 
Can  judge  if  you  possess  these  attributes. 

{A  noise  behind  the  scenes. 

Aucu.  Philip,  I  think,  has  broken  up  his  revels ; 
His  ragged  regiment  are  dispersing  them. 
Well  hquor'd,  doubtless.    They're  disbanded  sol- 
diers. 
Or  some  such  vagabonds. — Here  comes  the  gallant. 
[^Enter   Philip.    Se  has   a   buff-coat  and 

1  The  calumr.ions  tale  which  ascribed  the  birth  of  James 
VI.  to  an  intrigue  of  Glneen  Maiy  with  Rizzio: 


head-piece,  wears  a  sword  and  dagger,  with 
pistols  at  his  girdle.     He  appears  to  be 
affected  by  liquor,  but  to  be  by  no  means 
intoxicated. 
Aucn.  You  scarce  have  been  Tsxn^e  known  to 
one  another. 
Although  you  sate  together  at  the  board. — 
Son  PhiUp,  know  and  prize  our  cousm  Gifford. 
Phi.  (tastes  the  wine  on  the  table.)  If  you  had 
prized  him,  su-,  you  had  been  loth 
To  have  welcomed  him  in  bastard  Alicant : 
I'U  make  amends  by  pledging  his  good  journey 
In  glorious  Burgundy. — The  stuTup-cup,  ho ! 
And  bring  my  cousin's  hors<>s  to  the  court. 

AucH.  (draws  him  aside.)  The  sthrup-cup !  He 
doth  not  ride  to-night — 
Shame  on  such  churlish  conduct  to  a  kinsman ! 
Phi.  (aside  to  his  father.)  I've  news  of  pressmg 
import. 
Send  the  fool  off. — Stay,  I  wiU  start  him  for  you, 
(To  GiF.)    Yes,  my  kind  cousin,  Bm-gundy  is  better, 
On  a  night-ride,  to  those  who  thread  our  moors. 
And  wo  may  deal  it  freely  to  our  friends. 
For  we  came  freely  by  it.     Yonder  ocean 
RoUs  many  a  purple  cask  upon  our  shore. 
Rough  with  embossed  shells  and  shagged  sea-weed, 
When  the  good  skipper  and  his  careful  crew 
Have  had  their  latest  earthly  draught  of  brine. 
And  gone  to  quench,  or  to  endure  their  thh*st, 
Where  nectar's  plenty,  or  even  water's  scarce. 
And  filter'd  to  the  parched  crew  by  dropsfull. 
Aucn.  Thou'rt  mad,  son  PhUip ! — Gifford's  no 
intruder, 
That  we  should  rid  him  hence  by  such  wild  rants : 
My  kinsman  hither  rode  at  his  own  danger, 
To  teU  us  that  Dimbar  is  hasting  to  us. 
With  a  strong  force,  and  with  the  King's  com- 
mission. 
To  enforce  against  our  h  aise  a  hateful  charge. 
With  every  measure  of  txtremity. 
Phi.  And  is  this  all  that  our  good  cousin  tcUa 
us? 
I  can  say  more,  thanks  to  the  ragged  regiment. 
With  whose  good  company  you  have  upbraided  me. 
On  whose  authority,  I  teU  thee,  cousin, 
Dunbar  is  here  already. 

GiF.  Already  ? 

Phi.  Yes,  gentle  coz.     And  jou,  my  sire,  be 
hasty 
In  what  you  think  to  do. 

Acch.  I  think  thou  darest  n.t  jest  on  such  a 
subject. 
Where  hadst  thou  these  fell  tidmgs  ? 

Phi.  Where  you,  too,  might  have  heard  thea, 
noble  father,  « 
Save  that  your  ears,  nail'd  to  our  kinsman's  lips, 
Would  fist  no  coarser  accents.     0,  my  soldiers, 
My  merry  crew  of  vagabonds,  for  ever  I 


AUCHINDRAKE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


801 


Scum  of  the  Netherlands,  and  wash'd  ashore 

Upon  this  coast  like  unregarded  sea-weed, 

They  had  not  been  two  hours  on  Scottish  land, 

When,  lo !  they  met  a  military  friend, 

An  ancient  fourier,  known  to  them  of  old, 

"Who,  warm'd  by  certain  stoups  of  searching  wine, 

Inform'd  his  old  companions  that  Dunbar 

Left  Glasgow  yesterday,  comes  here  to-morrow ; 

Himself,  he  said,  was  sent  a  spy  before, 

To  view  what  preparations  we  were  making. 

AucH.  [to  GiF.)  If  this  be  sooth,  good  kinsman, 
thou  must  claim 
To  take  a  part  with  us  for  life  and  death. 
Or  speed  from  hence,  and  leave  us  to  our  fortune. 

GiF.  In  such  dilemma. 
Believe  me,  friend,  I'd  choose  upon  the  instant — 
But  I  lack  harness,  and  a  steed  to  charge  on, 
For  mine  is  overthed,  and,  save  my  page. 
There's  not  a  man  to  back  me.     But  I'll  hie 
To  Kyle,  and  raise  my  vassals  to  your  aid. 

Phi.  'Twill  be  when  the  rats, 
That  on  these  tidings  fly  tliis  house  of  ours, 
Come  back  to  pay  their  rents. — (Apart.) 

AucH.  Courage,  cousin — 
Thou  goest  not  hence  iU  mounted  for  thy  need  : 
Full  forty  coursers  feed  in  my  wide  stalls. 
The  best  of  them  is  yom's  to  speed  yom*  journey. 

Phi.  Stand  not  on  ceremony,  good  oiu:  cousin. 
When  safety  signs,  to  shorten  com-tesy. 

GiF.  (to  AucH.)  Fai-ewelL  then,  cousin,  for  my 
tarrying  here 
Were  ruin  to  myself,  small  aid  to  you ; 
Yet  loving  well  your  name  and  family, 
I'd  fam 

Phi.  Be  gone  ? — that  is  our  object,  too — 
Kinsman,  adieu. 

[JExit  GiTFOED.     Philip  calls  after  him. 
You  yeoman  of  the  stable. 
Give  Master  Gifford  there  my  fleetest  steed, 
Yon  cut-tail'd  roan  that  trembles  at  a  spear. — 

[Tramjjling  of  the  horse  heard  going  off. 
Hark !  he  departs.     How  swift  the  dastard  rides, 
To  shun  the  neighborhood  of  jeopardy  1 

[He  lays  aside  the  appearance  of  levity 
which  he  has  hitherto  worn,  and  says 
very  seriously, 

And  now,  my  father — 

AucH.  And  now,  my  son — thou'st  ta'en  a  peril- 
ous game 
Into  thine  hands,  rejecting  elder  counsel, — 
How  dost  thou  mean  to  play  it  ? 

Phi.  Sir,  good  gamesters  play  not 
Till  they  review  the  cards  which  fate  has  dealt  them. 
Computing  thus  the  chances  of  the  game ; 
And  woefully  they  seem  to  weigh  against  us. 

Auch.  Exile's  a  passing  ill,  and  may  be  borne ; 

And  when  Dunbar  and  all  his  myrmidons 

Are  eastward  turn'd,  we'll  seize  our  own  again. 
101 


Phi.  "Would  that  were  all  the  risk  we  had  to 
stand  to ! 
But  more  and  worse, — a  doom  of  treason,  forfeiture, 
Death  to  ourselves,  dishonor  to  our  house, 
Is  what  the  stem  Justiciary  menaces ; 
And,  fatally  for  us,  he  hath  the  means 
To  make  his  threatenings  good. 

Aucu.  It  cannot  be.     I  teU  thee,  there's  no  force 
In  Scottish  law  to  raze  a  house  hke  mine. 
Coeval  with  the  tune  the  Lords  of  Galloway 
Submitted  them  unto  the  Scottish  sceptre. 
Renouncing  rights  of  Tanistry  and  Brehon. 
Some  dreams  they  liave  of  evidence ;  some  sus- 
picion. 
But  old  Montgomery  knows  my  purpose  well, 
And  long  before  their  mandate  reach  the  camp 
To  crave  the  presence  of  this  mighty  witness, 
He  wiU  be  fitted  with  an  answer  to  it. 

Phi.  Father,  what  we  call  great,  is  often  niiu'd 
By  means  so  ludicrously  disproportion'd, 
They  make  me  think  upon  the  gunner's  Mnstock, 
"Which,  yielding  forth  a  Ught  about  the  size 
And  semblance  of  the  glow-worm,  yet  applied 
To  powder,  blew  a  palace  into  atoms. 
Sent  a  young  King — a  young  Queen's  mate  at 

least — 
Into  the  air,  as  high  as  e'er  flew  night-hawk. 
And  made  such  wild  work  in  the  realm  of  Scotland, 
As  they  can  tell  who  heard, — and  you  were  one 
"Who  saw,  perhaps,  the  night-flight  which  began  it. 
Auch.  If  thou  hast  naught  to  speak  but  di-uuken 
foUy, 
I  cannot  listen  longer. 

Phi.  I  win  speak  brief  and  sudden. — There  is 
one 
"Whose  tongue  to  us  has  the  same  perilous  force 
"Which  Bothwell's  powder  had  to  Ku-k  of  Field ; 
One  whose  least  tones,  and  those  but  peasant  ac 

cents. 
Could  rend  the  roof  from  ofl"  our  fathers'  castle, 
Level  its  tallest  tm-ret  with  its  base ; 
And  he  that  doth  possess  this  wondrous  power 
Sleeps  this  same  night  not  five  miies  distant  from' 
us. 
Auch.  {who  had  looked  on  PmLtp  with  much  ap- 
pearance   of  astonishynent   and  doiiht,   ex- 
claims^ Then  thou  art  mad  indeed  I — Ha ! 
ha !  I'm  glad  on't. 
I'd  pm-chase  an  escape  from  what  I  dread. 
Even  by  the  phi-ensy  of  my  only  son ! 

Phi.  I  thank  you,  but  a^ee  not  to  the  bargaio. 
You  rest  on  what  yon  civet  cat  has  said : 
Yon  silken  doublet,  stuff 'd  with  rotten  straw. 
Told  you  but  half  the  tnith,  and  knew  no  more. 
But  my  good  vagrants  had  a  perfect  tale : 
They  told  me,  httle  judging  the  importance, 
That  Quentin  Blane  had  been  discharged  with 
them. 


802 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


They  told  me,  that  a  quan-el  happ'd  at  landing, 
And  that  the  youngster  and  an  ancient  sergeant 
Had  left  their  company,  and  taken  refuge 
In  Chapeldonan,  where  our  ranger  dwells ;' 
They  saw  him  scale  the  cliff  on  which  it  stands. 
Ere  they  were  out  of  sight ;  the  old  man  with  him. 
And  therefore  laugh  no  more  at  me  as  mad ; 
But  laugh,  if  thou  hast  list  for  merriment. 
To  think  he  stands  on  the  same  land  with  us. 
Whose  absence  thou  wouldst  deem  were  cheaply 

purchased 
With  thy  soul's  ransom  and  thy  body's  danger. 

AucH.  'Tis  then  a  fatal  truth !  Thou  art  no  yelper, 
To  open  rashly  on  so  wild  a  scent ; 
Thou'rt  the  young  bloodhound,  which  careers  and 

springs, 
Frolics  and  fawns,  as  if  the  friend  of  man. 
But  seizes  on  his  victim  hke  a  tiger. 

Phi.  No  matter  what  I  am — I'm  as  you  bred  me ; 
So  let  that  pass  till  there  be  time  to  mend  me, 
And  let  us  speak  like  men,  and  to  the  purpose. 
This  object  of  our  fear  and  of  our  dread, 
Since  such  our  pride  must  own  him,  sleeps  to-night 
Within  our  power : — to-morrow  in  Dunbar's, 
And  we  are  then  his  victims.^ 

AucH.  He  is  in  ours  to-night.^ 

Phi.  He  is.    Til  answer  that  MacLellan's  trusty. 

AccH.  Yet  he  replied  to  you  to-day  full  rudely. 

Phi.  Yes !  the  poor  knave  has  got  a  handsome 
wife. 
And  is  gone  mad  with  jealousy. 

Aucn.  Fool ! — When  we  need  the  utmost  faith, 
allegiance. 
Obedience,  and  attachment  in  our  vassals. 
Thy  wild  intrigues  pour  gall  into  theu-  liearts, 
And  turn  their  love  to  hatred ! 

Phi.  Most  reverend  sno,  you   talk  of  ancient 
morals, 
Prcach'd   on  by  Knox,   and   practised   by  Glen- 
cairn  ;* 
Respectable,  indeed,  but  somewhat  musty 
In  these  our  modern  nostrils.     In  our  days, 
K  a  young  baron  chance  to  leave  his  vassal 
The  sole  possessor  of  a  handsome  wife, 
'Tis  sign  he  loves  liis  follower ;  and,  if  not, 
He  loves  his  follower's  wife,  which  often  proves 
The  surer  bond  of  patronage.     Take  either  case  : 
Favor  flows  in  of  course,  and  vassals  rise. 

I  MS. — "  In  the  old  tower  where  Xiel  MacLellan  dwells. 
And  therefore  laugh  no  more,"  &c. 

5  MS — "  And  we  are  then  in  his  power." 

'  MS. — "  He's  in  our  power  to-night." 

*  Alexander,  fifth  Earl  of  Glencairn,  for  distinction  called 
"The  Good  Earl,"  was  among  the  first  of  the  peers  of  Scot- 
and  who  concurred  in  the  Reformation,  in  aid  of  which  he 
acted  a  consi)ieuons  part,  in  the  employment  hoth  of  his 
■word  and  pen.  In  a  remonstrance  with  the  Queen  Regent, 
he  told  her,  that  "  if  slie  violated  the  engagements  which  she 


Aucn.  Philip,  this  is  infamous. 
And,  what  is  worse,  impoUtic.     Take  example : 
Break  not  God's  laws  or  man's  for  each  temptation 
Tliat  youth  and  blood  suggest.     I  am  a  man — 
A  weak  and  erring  man ; — full  well  thou  know'st 
That  I  may  hardly  term  myself  a  pattern 
Even  to  my  son ; — yet  thus  far  -vrill  I  say, 
I  never  swerved  from  my  integrity. 
Save  at  the  voice  of  strong  necessity. 
Or  such  o'erpowering  view  of  high  advantage 
As  wise  men  liken  to  necessity, 
In  strength  and  force  compulsive.    No  one  saw  rae 
Exchange  my  reputation  for  my  pleasure. 
Or  do  the  Devil's  work  without  his  wages. 
I  practised  prudence,  and  paid  tax  to  virtue. 
By  following  her  behests,  save  where  strong  reason 
Compell'd  a  deviation.     Then,  if  preachers 
At  times  look'd  soiu-,  or  elders  shook  their  heads. 
They  could  not  term  my  walk  irregular  ; 
For  I  stood  up  stUl  for  the  worthy  cause, 
A  piUar,  though  a  flaw'd  one,  of  the  altar. 
Kept  a  strict  walk,  and  led  three  hundred  horse. 

Phi.  Ah,  these  three    himdi'ed    horse  in  sucli 
rough  times 
Were  better  commendation  to  a  party 
Thau  all  yom-  efforts  at  hypocrisy, 
Betray'd  so  oft  by  avarice  and  ambition. 
And  dragg'd  to  open  shame.     But,  righteous  father, 
When  sire  and  son  unite  in  mutual  crime, 
And  join  their  efforts  to  the  same  enormity, 
It  is  no  time  to  measure  other's  faults. 
Or  fix  the  amotmt  of  each.     Most  moral  father, 
Tlnnk  if  it  be  a  moment  now  to  weigh 
The  vices  of  the  Heir  of  Aucliindrane, 
Or  take  precaution  that  the  ancient  house 
Shall  have  another  heir  than  the  sly  courtier 
That's  gaping  for  the  forfeiture. 

AucH.  We'U  disappoint  him,  Philip, — 
We'll  disappoint  liim  yet.     It  is  a  folly, 
A  wilful  cheat,  to  cas't  our  eyes  behind. 
When  time,  and  the  fast  flitting  opportunity, 
Call  loudly,  nay,  compel  us  to  look  forward : 
Why  are  we  not  already  at  MacLellan's, 
Since  there  the  victim  sleeps  ? 

Phi.  J!^ay,  soft,  I  pray  thee. 

I  had  not  made  yom-  piety  my  confessor, 
Nor  enter'd  in  debate  on  these  sage  councils, 
Wliich  you're  more  like  to  give  than  I  to  profit  hj 

had  come  under  to  her  subjects,  they  would  consider  them 
selves  as  absolved  from  their  allegiance  to  her."  He  was 
author  of  a  satirical  poem  against  the  Roman  Catholics,  en- 
titled "The  Hermit  of  Allareit"  (Loretto). — See  Sibbald's 
Chronicle  of  Scottish  Poetry. — He  assisted  the  Reformers 
with  his  sword,  when  they  took  arms  at  Perth,  in  1559  ;  had 
a  principal  command  in  the  army  embodied  against  Ciueen 
Mary,  in  June,  1567 ;  and  demolished  the  altar,  broke  the 
images,  tore  down  the  pictures,  &c.,  in  the  Chapel-royal  of 
Holyrood-house,  after  the  Queen  was  conducted  to  Lochleven 
He  died  in  1574. 


AUCHINDRAKE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


805 


Could  I  have  used  the  time  more  usefully  • 
But  first  an  interval  must  pass  between 
The  fate  of  Qucntin  and  the  little  artifice 
That  shall  detach  him  from  his  comrade, 
The  stout  old  soldier  that  I  told  you  of. 

AucH.  How  work  a  point  so  difficult — so  danger- 
ous ? 

Phi.  'Tis  cared  for.     Mark,  my  father,  the  con- 
venience 
Arising  from  mean  company.     My  agents 
Are  at  my  hand,  like  a  good  workman's  tools. 
And  if  I  mean  a  mischief,  ten  to  one 
That  they  anticipate  the  deed  and  guilt. 
"Well  knowing  this,  when  first  the  vagrant's  tattle 
Gave  me  the  liint  that  Quentin  was  so  near  us. 
Instant  I  sent  MacLellan,  with  strong  charges 
To  stop  him  for  the  night,  and  bring  me  word, 
Like  an  accomplish'd  sjay,  how  all  things  stood, 
LuUing  the  enemy  into  security. 

AucH.  There  was  a  prudent  general ! 

Phi.  MacLellan  went  and  came  witiiin  the  hour. 
The  jealous  bee,  which  buzzes  in  his  nightcap, 
Had  humm'd  to  him,  this  fellow,  Quentin  Blaue, 
Had  been  in  schoolboy  days  an  humble  lover 
Of  his  own  pretty  wife 

AucH.  Most  fortunate ! 

The  knave  will  be  more  prompt  to  serve  om*  pur- 
pose. 

Phi.  No  doubt  on't.    'Mid  the  tidings  he  brought 
back 
"Was  one  of  some  importance.     The  old  man 
Is  flush  of  dollars ;  this  I  caused  him  teU 
Among  his  comrades,  who  became  as  eager 
To  have  hun  in  then-  company,  as  e'er 
They  had  been  wild  to  part  with  him.    And  in 

brief  space, 
A  letter's  framed  by  an  old  hand  amongst  them, 
FamiUar  with  such  feats.     It  bore  the  name 
And  character  of  old  Montgomery,  [tance, 

"Whom  he  might  well  suppose  at  no  great  dis- 
Commanding  his  old  Sergeant  Hildebrand, 
By  all  the  ties  of  late  authority, 
Conjuring  liim  by  ancient  soldiership, 
To  hasten  to  his  mansion  instantly, 
On  business  of  high  import,  with  a  charge 
To  come  alone 

AucH.  "VV'ell,  he  sets  out,  I  doubt  it  not, — what 
follows  ? 

Phi.  I  am  not  curious  into  others'  practices, — 
So  far  I'm  an  economist  in  guilt. 
As  you  my  she  advise.     But  on  the  road 
To  old  Montgomery's  he  meets  his  comrades, 
They  nourish  grudge  against  him  and  his  dollars, 
And  things  may  hap,  which  counsel,  learn'd  in  law. 
Call  Robbery  and  Murdei".     Should  he  Uve, 
lie  has  seen  naught  that  we  would  hide  from  him. 

Atjch.  "Wlio  carries  the  forged  letter  to   the 
veteran  ? 


Phi.  Why,  Niel  MacLeUan,  who,  return'd  again 
To  his  own  tower,  as  if  to  pass  the  night  there. 
They  pass'd  on  him,  or  tried  to  pass,  a  story, 
As  if  they  wish'd  the  sergeant's  company, 
Without  the  young  comptroller's — that  is  Quen- 

tin's, 
And  he  became  an  agent  of  their  plot. 
That  he  might  better  carry  on  our  own. 

AucH.  There's  life  in  it — yes,  there  is  Ufe  in't 
And  we  wiU  have  a  mounted  party  ready 
To  scour  the  moors  in  quest  of  the  banditti 
That  kill'd  the  poor  old  man— they  shall  die  in- 
stantly. 
Dunbar  shall  see  us  use  sharp  justice  here. 
As  well  as  he  in  Teviotdale.     You  are  sure 
You  gave  no  hint  nor  impulse  to  their  purpose  ? 

Phi.  It  needed  not.     The  whole  pack  oped  at 
once 
Upon  the  scent  of  dollars. — But  time  comes 
When  I  must  seek  the  tower,  and  act  with  Mel 
What  farther's  to  be  done. 

AucH.  Alone  with  him  thou  goest  not.  He  bears 
grudge— 
Thou  art  my  only  son,  and  on  a  night 
When  such  wild  passions  are  so  free  abroad. 
When  such  wild  deeds  are  doing,  'tis  but  natural 
I  guarantee  thy  safety. — I'll  ride  with  thee. 

Phi.  E'en  as  you  wiU,  my  lord.     But,  pardon 
me, — 
If  you  will  come,  let  us  not  have  a  word 
Of  conscience,  and  of  pity,  and  forgiveness ; 
Fine  words  to-morrow,  out  of  place  to-night. 
Take  counsel  then,  leave  all  this  work  to  me ; 
Call  up  your  household,  make  fit  preparation, 
In  love  and  peace,  to  welcome  this  Earl  Justici&r, 
As  one  that's  free  of  guilt.     Go,  deck  the  castle 
As  for  an  honor'd  guest.     Hallow  the  chapel 
(If  they  have  power  to  hallow  it)  with  thy  prayers. 
Let  me  ride  forth  alone,  and  ere  the  sun 
Comes  o'er  the  eastern  hill,  thou  shalt  accost  him : 
"  Now  do  thy  worst,  thou  oft-retummg  spy, 
Here's  naught  thou  canst  discover." 

Auch.  Yet  goest  thou  not  alone  with  that  Mac- 
Lelkn ! 
He  deems  thou  bearest  wiU  to  injure  him. 
And  seek'st  occasion  suiting  to  such  will. 
Philip,  thou  art  irreverent,  fierce,  ill-nurtured, 
Stain'd  with  low  vices,  which  disgust  a  fether ; 
Yet  ridest  thou  not  alone  with  yonder  man, — 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  myself  will  go  with  thee. 
[E  sit,  and  calls  to  horse  behind  the  scene 

Phi.  {alone)  Now  would  I  give  my  fleetest  horse 
to  know 
What  sudden  thought  roused  this  paternal  care, 
And  if  'tis  on  liis  own  account  or  mine : 
'Tis  true,  he  hath  the  deepest  share  in  aU 
That's  hkely  now  to  hap,  or  wliich  has  happen'd. 
Yet  strong  through  Nature's  universal  reign, 


804 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  AVORKS. 


The  link  -wliich  binds  the  parent  to  the  offspring : 
The  she-wolf  knows  it,  and  the  tigress  owns  it. 
So  that  dark  man,  who,  shunning  what  is  vicious, 
Ke'er  turn'd  aside  from  an  atrocity, 
Hath  still  some  care  left  for  his  helpless  offspring. 
Therefore  'tis  meet,  though  wayward,  light,  and 

stubborn, 
That  I  should  do  for  him  all  that  a  son 
Can  do  for  sire — and  his  dark  wisdom  join'd 
To  influence  my  bold  courses,  'twiU  be  hard 
To  break  our  nmtual  purpose. — Horses  there  ! 

[Exit. 


ACT  m.— SCENE  I. 

It  is  moonlight.  The  scene  is  the  Beach  beneath  the 
Tower  which  was  exhibited  in  the  first  scene, — 
the  Vessel  is  gone  from  her  anchorage.  Auch- 
INDEANE  and  Philip,  as  if  dismounted  from  their 
horses,  come  forward  cautiously. 

Phi.  The  nags  are  safely  stow'd.    Their  noise 
might  scare  liim ; 
Let  them  be  safe,  and  ready  when  we  need  them. 
The  business  is  but  short.     "We'll  call  MacLellan, 
To  wake  him,  and  in  quiet  bring  him  forth. 
If  he  be  so  disposed,  for  here  are  waters 
Enough  to  drown,  and  sand  enough  to  cover  him. 
But  if  he  hesitate,  or  fear  to  meet  us. 
By  heaven,  I'll  deal  on  him  in  Chapeldonan 
With  my  own  hand  ! — • 

AxJCH.  Too  fmious  boy ! — alarm  or  noise  undoes 
us, 
Our  practice  must  be  silent  as  'tis  sudden. 
Bethink  thee  that  conviction  of  this  slaughter 
Confirms  the  very  worst  of  accusations 
Our  foes  can  bring  against  us.     Wherefore  should 

we. 
Who  by  our  birth  and  fortune  mate  with  nobles, 
And  are  allied  with  them,  take  this  lad's  Ufe, — 
His  peasapt  life, — unless  to  quash  his  evidence, 
Taking  such  pains  to  rid  him  from  the  world, 
Who  would,  if  spared,  have  fix'd  a  crime  upon  us  ? 

Phi.  Well,  I  do  own  me  one  of  those  wise  folks, 
"WTio  think  that  when  a  deed  of  fate  is  plann'd. 
The  execution  cannot  be  too  rapid. 
But  do  we  stiU  keep  purpose  ?     Is't  determined 
He  sails  for  Ireland — and  without  a  wherry  ? 
Salt  water  is  his  passport — is  it  not  so  ? 

AtrcH.  I  would  it  could  be  otherwise. 
Might  he  not  go  there  wliile  in  life  and  limb, 
And  breathe  his  span  out  in  another  air  ? 
Many  seek  Ulster  never  to  return — 
Why  might  tliis  wretched  youth  not  harbor  there  ? 

Phi.  With  all  my  heart.     It  is  small  honor  to  me 


To  be  the  agent  in  a  work  like  this. — 

Yet  this  poor  caitiff,  having  thrust  himself  * 

Into  the  secrets  of  a  noble  house, 

And  twined  liimself  so  closely  with  our  safety, 

That  we  must  perish,  or  that  he  must  die, 

I'll  hesitate  as  little  on  the  action, 

As  I  would  do  to  slay  the  animal 

Wliose  flesh  supplies  my  dinner.    'Tis  as  harmless. 

That  deer  or  steer,  as  is  this  Quentin  Blane, 

And  not  more  necessary  is  its  death 

To  our  accommodation — so  we  slay-it 

Without  a  moment's  pause  or  hesitation. 

AucH.  'Tis  not,  my  son,  the  feeling  call'd  re- 
morse. 
That  now  lies  tugging  at  this  heart  of  mine, 
Engendering  thouglits  that  stop  the  hfted  hand. 
Have  I  not  heard  John  Knox  pour  forth  his  thun- 
ders 
Against  the  oppressor  and  the  man  of  blood, 
In  accents  of  a  minister  of  vengeance  ? 
Were  not  his  fiery  eyeballs  turn'd  on  me, 
As  if  he  said  expressly,  "Thou'rt  the  man?" 
Yet  did  my  sohd  purpose,  as  I  listen'd, 
Remain  unshaken  as  that  massive  rock. 

Phi.   Well,   then,  I'll  understand  'tis  not  re- 
morse,— 
As  'tis  a  foible  little  known  to  thee, — 
That  inteiTupts  thy  purpose.     Wliat,  then,  is  it  ? 
Is't  scorn,  or  is't  compassion  ?    One  thing's  certain, 
Either  the  feeling  must  have  free  indulgence. 
Or  fully  be  subjected  to  your  reason — 
Tliere  is  no  room  for  these  same  treacherous  courses 
Which  men  call  moderate  measures. 
We  must  confide  in  Quentin,  or  must  slay  him 

AucH.  In  Ireland  he  might  live  afar  from  us. 

Phl  Among  Queen  Mary's  faithful  partisans. 
Your  ancient  enemies,  the  haughty  Hamiltons, 
The  stern  MacDonnells,  the  resentful  Grtemes — 
With  these  around  him,  and  with  Cassilis'  death 
Exasperating  them  against  you,  think,  my  father, 
What  chance  of  Quentin's  silence. 

AucH.  Too  true — too  true.     He  is  a  siUy  youth, 
too, 
Who  had  not  wit  to  shift  for  his  own  living — 
A  bashful  lover,  whom  his  rivals  laugh'd  at — 
Of  pliant  temper,  which  companions  play'd  on — 
A  moonlight  waker,  and  a  noontide  dreamer — 
A  torturer  of  phrases  into  sonnets, — 
Whom   all   might  lead  that  chose  to  praise  his 
rhymes. 

Phi.  I  marvel  that  your  memory  has  room 
To  hold  so  much  on  such  a  worthless  subject. 

AucH.  Base  in  himself,  and  yet  so  strangely  liuk'd 
With  me  and  with  my  fortunes,  that  Fve  studied 
To  read  him  through  and  through,  as  I  would  read 
Some  paltry  rhyme  of  vulgar  prophecy, 
Said  to  contain  the  fortunes  of  my  house ; 
And,  let  me  speak  liim  truly — He  is  grateful, 


AUCHINDRANE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


805 


Kind,  tractable,  obedient — a  cliild 

Might  lead  him  by  a  thread — He  shall  not  die  ! 

Phl  Indeed ! — then  have  we  had  our  midnight 
ride 
To  •wondrous  little  purpose. 

Accn.  By  the  blue  heaven, 

Tliou  shalt  not  murder  him,  cold  selfisli  sensualist ! 
Ton  pure  vault  speaks  it — yonder  summer  moon, 
With  its  ten  million  sparklers,  cries,  Forbear ! 
The  deep   earth  sighs  it  forth — Thou  sluilt  not 

murder ! — 
Thou  shalt  not  mar  the  image  of  thy  Maker  1 
Thou  shalt  not  fi'om  thy  brother  take  the  hfc. 
The  precious  gift  which  God  alone  can  give  ! — 

Phi.  Here  is  a  worthy  guerdon  now,  for  stuSing 
His  memory  with  old  saws  and  holy  sayings ! 
They  come  upon  him  in  the  very  crisis. 
And  when  his  resolution  should  be  firmest, 
They  shake  it  like  a  palsy — Let  it  be, 
•  He'U  end  at  last  by  yielding  to  temptation. 
Consenting  to  the  thing  which  must  be  done, 
"With  more  remorse  the  more  he  hesitates. — 

\_To  his  Father,  luho  has  stood  fixed  after 
his  last  speech. 
Well,  sir,  'tis  fitting  you  resolve  at  last. 
How  the  yoimg  clerk  shall  be  disposed  upon ; 
Unless  you  would  ride  home  to  Auchindrane, 
And  bid  them  rear  the  Maiden  in  the  court-yard. 
That  when  Dunbar  comes,  he  have  naught  to  do 
But  bid  us  ki=s  the  cushion  and  tne  headsman. 

Auoa.  It  is  too  true — There  is  no  safety  for  us, 
Consistent  with  the  unhappy  wretch's  life  ! 
In  Ireland  he  is  sure  to  find  my  enemies. 
Airan  Pve  proved — the  Netherlands  I've  tried. 
But  wilds  and  wars  return  him  on  my  hands. 

Phi.  Yet  fear  not,  father,  we'll  make  surer  work ; 
The  land  has  caves,  the  sea  has  whirlpools, 
Where  that  which  they  suck  in  returns  no  more. 

AucH.  I  wiU  know  naught  of  it,  hard-heai-ted  boy ! 

Phi.  Hard-hearted  !    ^Vliy — my  heart  is  soft  as 
yours ; 
But  then  they  must  not  feel  remorse  at  once, 
We  can't  afford  such  wasteful  tenderness : 
I  can  mouth  forth  remorse  as  well  as  you. 
Be  executioner,  and  I'll  be  chaplain, 
And  say  as  mild  and  moving  things  as  you  can ; 
But  one  of  us  must  keep  his  steely  temper. 

AucH.  Do  thou  the  deed — I  cannot  look  on  it.  i 

Phi.  So  be  it — walk  with  me — MacLellan  brings 
him. 
The  boat  lies  moor'd  within  that  reach  of  rock, 
Ajid  'twill  require  our  greatest  strength  combined 
To  launch  it  from  the  beach.    Meantime,  MacLellan 
Brings  om-  man  hither. — See  the  twmkliug  light 
That  glances  in  the  tower. 

AucH.  Let  us  withdraw — for  should  he  spy  us 
suddenly. 
He  may  suspect  us,  and  alarm  the  family. 


Phi.  Fear  not,  MacLellaQ  has  his  trust  and  con- 
fidence, 
Bought  with  a  few  sweet  words  and  welcomes 
home. 
Adch.  But  think  you  that  the  Ranger  may  be 

trusted  ? 
Pm.   I'll  answer  for  him, — Let's  go  float  the 
shallop. 

[They  go  off,  and  as  they  leave  the  Stage, 

MacLellan  is  seen  descending  from  tfie 

Tower  with  Quentin.  The  former  bears  a 

dark  lantern.  They  come  upon  the  Stage. 

5Iac.  {showing  the  liyld)   So — bravely  done — 

that's  the  last  ledge  of  rocks, 

And  we  are  on  the  sands. — I  have  broke  your 

slumbers 
Somewhat  untimely. 

Que.  Do  not  think  so,  friend. 

These  six  years  past  I  have  been  used  to  stir 
Wlien  the  reveille  rung ;  and  that,  believe  me. 
Chooses  the  hours  for  rousing  me  at  random, 
And,  having  given  its  summons,  yields  no  license 
To  indulge  a  second  slumber.     Nay,  more,  I'll  tell 

thee, 
That,  like  a  pleased  child,  I  was  e'en  too  happy 
For  sound  repose. 

Mac.  The  greater  fool  were  you. 

Men  should  enjoy  the  moments  given  to  slumber ; 
For  who  can  tell  how  soon  may  be  the  waking. 
Or  where  we  shall  have  leave  to  sleep  again  ? 
Que.  The  God  of  Slumber  comes  not  at  com- 
mand. 
Last  night  the  blood  danced  merry  tlu-ough  my 

veins : 
Instead  of  finding  this  our  land  of  Carrick 
The  dreary  waste  my  fears  had  apprehended, 
I  saw  thy  wife,  MacLellan,  and  thy  daughter, 
And  had  a  brother's  welcome  ; — saw  thee,  too, 
Renew'd  my  early  friendship  with  you  both. 
And  felt  once  more  that  I  had  friends  and  coimtry 
So  keen  the  joy  that  tingled  through  my  system, 
Join'd  with  the  searching  powers  of  yonder  wine, 
That  I  am  glad  to  leave  my  feverish  lair. 
Although  my  hostess  smooth'd  my  couch  herself 
To  cool  my  brow  upon  this  moonlight  beach, 
Gaze  on  the  moonlight  dancing  on  the  waves. 
Such  scenes  are  wont  to  soothe  me  into  melancholy , 
But  such  the  hurry  of  my  spirits  now. 
That  every  thing  I  look  on  makes  me  laugh. 
Mac.  I've  seen  but  few  so  gamesome,  Master 
Quentin, 
Being  roused  from  sleep  so  suddenly  as  you  were. 
Que.  Why,  there's  the  jest  on't.     Your  old  cat- 
tle's hamited. 
In  vain  the  host — in  vain  the  lovely  hostess. 
In  kind  addition  to  all  means  of  rest. 
Add  their  best  wishes  for  our  sound  repose, 
When  some  hobgoblin  brings  a  pressing  message : 


806 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Montgomery  presently  must  see  Ids  sergeant. 
And  up  gets  Hildebrand,  and  off  he  trudges. 
I  can't  but  laugh  to  think  upon  the  grin 
With  wliich  he  doff  d  the  kerchief  he  had  twisted 
Around  his  brows,  and  put  his  morion  on — 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Mao.  Fm  glad  to  see  you  merry,  Quentin. 

Que.  Why,  faith,  my  spirits  are  but  transitory, 
And  you  may  live  with  me  a  month  or  more. 
And  never  see  me  smile.     Tlien  some  such  trifle 
As  yonder  little  maid  of  yours  would  laugh  at, 
Win  serve  me  for  a  theme  of  merriment — 
Even  now,  I  scarce  can  keep  my  gravity ; 
We  were  so  snugly  settled  in  our  quarters. 
With  full  intent  to  let  the  sun  be  high 
Ere  we  should  leave  our  beds — and  first  the  one 
And  then  the  other's  simimon'd  briefly  forth. 
To  the  old  time,  "  Black  Bandsmen,  up  and  march !" 

Mac.  Well !  you  shall  sleep  anon — rely  upon  it — 
And  make  up  tune  misspent.    Meantime,  metliinks. 
You  are  so  merry  on  your  broken  slumbers. 
You  ask'd  not  why  I  call'd  you. 


QlTE. 


I  can  guess. 


You  lack  my  aid  to  search  the  weir  for  seals, 
You  lack  my  company  to  stalk  a  deer. 
Tliink  you  I  have  forgot  your  sflvan  tasks, 
Wliicli  oft  you  have  permitted  me  to  share. 
Till  days  that  we  were  rivals  ? 

Mao.  You  have  memory 

Of  that  too  ?— 

Que.  Like  the  memory  of  a  dream. 

Delusion  far  too  exquisite  to  last. 

Mac.  You  guess  not  then  for  what  I  call  you  forth. 
It  was  to  meet  a  friend — 

QinE.  What  friend  ?     Thyself  excepted. 
The  good  old  man  who's  gone  to  see  Montgomery, 
And  one  to  whom  I  once  gave  dearer  title, 
I  know  not  in  wide  Scotland  man  or  woman 
Whom  I  could  name  a  friend. 

Mac.                                          Tliou  art  mistaken. 
There  is  a  Baron,  and  a  powerful  one 

Que.  There  flies  my  fit  of  mirth.     You  have  a 
grave 
And  alter'd  man  before  you. 

Mac.  Compose  yourself,  there  is  no  cause  for 
fear, — 
He  wUl  and  must  speak  with  you. 

Que.  Spare  me  the  meeting,  Mel,  I  cannot  see 
him. 
Say,  I'm  just  landed  on  my  native  earth ; 
Say,  that  I  wiU  not  cumber  it  a  day ; 
Say,  that  my  wretched  thread  of  poor  existence 
Shall  be  drawn  out  in  solitude  and  exile. 
Where  never  memory  of  so  mean  a  thing 
Again  shall  cross  his  path — but  do  not  ask  me 
To  see  or  speak  again  with  that  dark  man  1 

Mac.   Your  fears  are  now  as  foolish  as  your 
mu'th — 


What  should  the  powerful  Knight  of  Auchindrane 
In  common  have  witli  such  a  man  as  thou  ? 

Que.  No  matter  what — Enough,  I  will  not  see 

him. 
Mac.  He  is  thy  master,  and  he  claims  obedience. 
Que.  My  master?    Ay,  my  task-master — Ever 
since 
I  coidd  write  man,  liis  hand  hath  been  upon  me ; 
No  step  I've  made  but  cumber'd  with  his  chain, 
And  I  am  weary  on't — I  wiU  not  see  him. 

Mac.  You  must  and  shall — there  is  no  remedy. 
Que.  Take  heed  that  you  compel  me  not  to  find 
one. 
I've  seen  the  wars  since  we  had  strife  together ; 
To  put  my  late  experience  to  the  test 
Were  something  dangerous — Ha,  I'm  betray'd ! 

[  Wliile  the  latter  part  of  this  dialocjue  is 
passing,  Auchindrane  and  Philip  en- 
ter on  the  Stage  from  behind,  and  sud- 
denly present  themselves. 
AucH.  What  says  the  runagate  ? 
Que.  {laying  aside  all  appearance  of  resistance.) 
Notliing,  you  are  my  fate  ; 
And  ia  a  shape  more  fearfully  resistless, 
My  evil  angel  could  not  stand  before  me. 

AucH.  And  so  you  scruple,  slave,  at  my  com- 
mand, 
To  meet  me  when  I  deign  to  ask  thy  presence  ? 
Que.  No,  sir ;  I  had  forgot — I  am  your  bond 
slave ; 
But  sure  a  passing  thought  of  independence. 
For  which  I've  seen  whole  nations  doing  battle, 
Was  not,  in  one  who  has  so  long  enjoy'd  it, 
A  crime  beyond  forgiveness. 

AucH.  We  shall  see : 

Thou  wert  my  vassal,  bom  upon  my  land. 
Bred  by  my  bounty — It  concern'd  me  highly. 
Thou  know'st  it  did — and  yet  against  my  charge 
Agtiin  I  find  thy  worthlessness  in  Scotland. 

Que.  Alas !  the  wealthy  and  the  powerful  know 
not 
How  very  dear  to  those  who  have  least  share  in't, 
Is  that  sweet  word  of  country  !     The  poor  exile 
Feels,  in  each  action  of  the  varied  day. 
His  doom  of  banishment.     The  very  air 
Cools  not  his  brow  as  in  his  native  land  ; 
The  scene  is  strange,  the  food  is  loathly  to  him ; 
The  language,  nay,  the  music  jars  his  ear.' 
Wliy  should  I,  guiltless  of  the  slightest  crime, 
Suffer  a  punishment  which,  sparing  life. 
Deprives  that  life  of  all  which  men  hold  dear  ? 

AucH.  Hear  ye  the  serf  I  bred,  begin  to  reckon 
Upon  his  riglits  and  pleasure  !     Who  am  I — 
Thou  abject,  who  am  I,  whose  will  thou  thwart  est  ? 
Phi.  Well  spoke,  my  pious  sire.     There  goes  re- 
morse ! 

1  MS. — "  The  strains  of  foreign  music  jar  his  ear." 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


807 


Let  once  thy  precious  pride  take  fire,  and  then, 
MacLellan,  you  and  I  may  have  small  trouble. 
Que.  Your  words  are  deadly,  and  your  power 
resistless ; 
Pm  in  your  hands — but,  surely,  less  than  life 
May  give  you  the  security  you  seek. 
Without  conunission  of  a  mortal  crime. 

AucH.  Who  is't  would  deign  to  think  upon  thy 
hfe? 
I  but  requii'e  of  thee  to  speed  to  Ireland, 
Where  thou  may'st  sojourn  for  some  little  space. 
Having  due  means  of  Living  dealt  to  thee. 
And  when  it  suits  the  changes  of  the  times, 
Permission  to  return. 

Que.  Noble  my  lord, 

I  am  too  weak  to  combat  with  your  pleasure  ; 
Yet,  0,  for  mercy's  sake,  and  for  the  sake 
Of  that  dear  land  which  is  our  common  mother. 
Let  me  not  part  in  darkness  from  my  country ! 
Pass  but  an  hour  or  two,  and  every  cape. 
Headland,  and  bay,  shall  gleam  with  new-born 

light. 
And  I'll  take  boat  as  gayly  as  the  bnd 
That  soars  to  meet  the  morning. 
Grant  me  but  tliis — to  show  no  darker  thoughts 
Are  on  your  heart  than  those  yom*  speech  ex- 
presses ! 
Phi.  a  modest  favor,  friend,  is  this  you  ask ! 
Are  we  to  pace  the  beach  like  watermen, 
Waiting  yom  worship's  pleasure  to  take  boat  ? 
No,  by  my  faith !  you  go  upon  the  instaut. 
The  boat  lies  ready,  and  the  ship  receives  you 
Near  to  the  point  of  Turnberry. — Come,  we  wait 

you; 
Bestir  you ! 

Que.  I  obey. — Then  farewell,  Scotland, 

And  Heaven  forgive  my  sins,  and  grant  that  mercy, 
Which  mortal  man  deserves  not ! 

AucH.  {speaks  aside  to  his  Son.)  What  signal 
Shall  let  me  know  'tis  done  ? 

Pm.  When  the  light  is  quench'd. 

Your  fears  for  Quentin  Blane  are  at  an  end. — 
{To  Que.)  Come,  comrade,  come,  we  must  begin 
our  voyage. 
Que.  But  when,  0  when  to  end  it ! 

\_He  goes  off  reliKfantly  with  Philip  and 
MacLellan.  Auchindrane  stands  look- 
ing after  th-erm.  The  moon  becomes  over- 
clouded, mid  the  Stage  dark.  Auchin- 
deane,  tcho  has  gazed  fixedly  and  eagerly 
after  those  who  have  left  the  Stage,  be- 
comes animated,  and  speaks. 
AucH.  It  is  no  fallacy  ! — The  night  is  dark, 
Tbe  moon  has  sunk  before  the  deepening  clouds ; 

1  MS. "  my  antipathy, 

Strong  source  of  inward  hate,  arose  withiu  me, 
Seeing  its  object  was  within  my  reach, 
And  scarcely  conld  forbear." 


I  cannot  on  the  muiky  beach  distinguish 

The  shallop  from  the  rocks  which  lie  beside  it ; 

I  cannot  see  tall  Philip's  floating  plume, 

Nor  trace  the  suUen  brow  of  Niel  MacLellan  ; 

Yet  still  that  caitifif's  visage  is  before  me. 

With  chattering  teeth,  mazed  look,  and  bristling 

hair. 
As  he  stood  here  tliis  moment ! — Have  I  changed 
My  human  eyes  for  those  of  some  night  prowler. 
The  wolf 's,  the  tiger-cat's,  or  the  hoarse  bird's 
That  spies  its  prey  at  midnight  ?     I  can  see  him — 
Yes,  I  can  see  him,  seeing  no  one  else, — 
And  well  it  is  I  do  so.     In  his  absence, 
Strange  thoughts  of  pity  mingled  with  my  purpose, 
And  moved  remorse  within  me — But  they  vanish'd 
Whene'er  he  stood  a  living  man  before  me ; 
Then  my  antipathy  awaked  within  me. 
Seeing  its  object  close  within  my  reacli, 
TiU  I  could  scarce  forbear  him.' — How  they  linger ! 
The  boat's  not  yet  to  sea ! — I  ask  myself. 
What  has  the  poor  wretch  done  to  wake  my  ha 

tred — 
Docile,  obedient,  and  in  sufferance  patient  ? — 
As  well  demand  what  evil  has  the  hare 
Done  to  the  hound  that  courses  her  in  sport. 
Instinct  infallible  supplies  the  reason — 
And  that  must  plead  my  cause. — The  vision's  gone ! 
Their  boat  now  walks  the  waves  ;  a  single  gleam. 
Now  seen,  now  lost,  is  aU  that  marks  her  course  ; 
That  soon  shaU  vanish  too — then  aU  is  over  1 — 
Would  it  were  o'er,  for  in  this  moment  lies 
The  agony  of  ages  ^} — Now,  'tis  gone — 
And  all  is  acted ! — no — she  breasts  again 
The  opposing  wave,  and  bears  the  tiny  sparkle 
Upon  her  crest — 

[A  faint  cry  heard  as  from  seaward. 
Ah  !  there  was  fatal  evidence. 
All's  over  now,  indeed ! — Tlie  hglit  is  quench'd — ■ 
And  Quentin,  source  of  all  my  fear,  exists  not. — 
The  morning  tide  shall  sweep  his  corpse  to  sea. 
And  hide  all  memory  of  tliis  stern  night's  work. 

\He  walks  in  a  slow  and  deeply  meditative 
manjier  tmcards  the  side  of  the  Stage, 
and  suddenly  meets  Mariox,  the  wife  of 
MacLellan,  who  has  descended  from 
the  Castle. 
Now,  how  to  meet  Dimbar — Heaven  guard  my 

senses ! 
Stand !  who  goes  there  ? — Do  spirits  walk  the  earth 
Ere  yet  they've  left  the  body  ! 

Mar.  Is  it  you. 

My  lord,  on  this  wild  beach  at  such  an  hour  ! 

AucH.  It  is  MacLellan's  wife,  in  search  of  him, 
Or  of  her  lover — of  the  mm-dercr, 


1 "  In  tliat  moment,  o'er  his  sotil 

Winters  of  memory  seem'd  to  roll." 

Byron- 


■The  Oiaovr- 


808 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Or  of  the  murder'd  man. — Go  to,  Dame  Marion, 
Men  have  their  hunting-gear  to  give  an  eye  to, 
Their  snares  and  trackings  for  their  game.    But 

women 
Should  sliun  the  night  air.     A  young  wife  also, 
Still  more  a  handsome  one,  should  keep  her  piUow 
Till  the  Sim  gives  example  for  lier  wakening. 
Come,  dame,  go  back — back  to  your  bed  again. 

Mar.  Hear  me,  my  lord !  there  have  been  sights 
and  sounds 
That  terrified  my  child  and  me — Groans,  screams. 
As  if  of  dying  seamen,  came  from  ocean — 
A  corpse-light  danced  upon  the  crested  waves 
For  several  minutes'  space,  then  sunk  at  once. 
When  we  retired  to  rest  we  had  two  guests. 
Besides  my  husband  Niel — I'll  tell  your  lordship 
Who  the  men  were 

AucH.  Pshaw,  woman,  can  you  think 

That  I  have  any  interest  in  yoiu"  gossips  ? 
Please  your  own  husband,  and  that  you  may  please 

him. 
Get  thee  to  bed,  and  shut  up  doors,  good  dame. 
Were  I  MacLellan,  I  should  scarce  be  satisfied 
To  find  thee  wandering  here  in  mist  and  moonlight, 
When  silence  should  be  in  thy  habitation, 
And  sleep  upon  thy  pillow. 

Mar.  Good  my  lord, 

Tliis  is  a  holyday. — By  an  ancient  custom 
Our  children  seek  the  shore  at  break  of  day 
And  gather  shells,  and  dance,  and  play,  and  sport 

them 
In  honor  of  the  Ocean.     Old  men  say 
The  custom  is  derived  from  heathen  times.     Our 

Isabel 
Is  mistress  of  the  feast,  and  you  may  think 
She  is  awake  already,  and  impatient 
To  be  the  first  shall  stand  upon  the  beach, 
And  bid  the  sun  good-morrow. 

AucH.  Ay,  indeed  ? 

Linger  such  dregs  of  heathendom  among  you  ? 
And  hath  Knox  preach'd,  and  Wishart  died,  in 

vain? 
Take  notice,  I  forbid  these  sinful  practices, 
And  will  not  have  my  followers  mingle  in  them. 

Mar.  If  such  your  honor's  pleasure,  I  must  go 
And  lock  the  door  on  Isabel ;  she  is  wilful, 
And  voice  of  mine  will  have  small  force  to  keep  her 
PVom  the  amusement  she  so  long  has  di'eam'd  of. 
But  I  must  tell  your  honor,  the  old  people, 
Tliat  were  survivors  of  the  former  race. 
Prophesied  evil  if  this  day  should  pass 
Without  due  homage  to  the  mighty  Ocean. 

AucH.  Folly  and  Papistry — Perhaps  the  ocean 
Hath  had  his  morning  sacrifice  already  ; 
Or  can  you  tliink  the  di'eadful  element. 
Whose  frown  is  death,  whose  roar  the  tlirge  of 

navies. 
Will  miss  the  idle  pageant  you  prepare  for  ? 


Fve  business  for  you,  too — the  dawn  advances — 
I'd  have  thee  lock  thy  little  child  in  safety, 
And  get  to  Auchindrane  before  the  sun  rise  • 
Tell  them  to  get  a  royal  banquet  ready. 
As  if  a  king  were  coming  there  to  feast  him. 
Mar.  I  wiU  obey  your  pleasure.     But  my  hus- 
band  

AucH.  I  wait  him  on  the  beach,  and  bring  him  in 
To  share  the  banquet. 

Mas.  But  he  has  a  friend. 

Whom  it  would  ill  become  him  to  intrude 
Upon  your  hospitality. 

AucH.  Fear  not ;  his  friend  shall  be  made  wel- 
come too, 
Should  he  return  with  Fiel. 
JLiR.  He  must — he  will  return — he  has  no  op 

tion. 
AucH.    (Apart.)   Thus  rashly  do  we   deem   of 
others'  destiny — 
He  has  indeed  no  option — but  he  comes  not. 
Begone  on  thy  commission — I  go  this  way 
To  meet  thy  husband. 

[Marion  goes  to  her  Tower,  and  after  en, 
tering  it,  is  seen  to  come  out,  lock  the 
door,  and  leave  the  Stage,  as  if  to  execute 
AucHn^DRANE's  Commission.     He,  ap- 
parently going  off  in  a  different  direc 
tion,  has  watched  her  from  the  side  of 
the  Stage,  and  on  her  departure  speaks. 
ArcH.  Fare  thee  weU,  fond  woman, 
Most  dangerous  of  spies — thou  prying,  prating, 
Spying,  and  telling  woman !  I've  cut  short 
Thy  dangerous  testimony — hated  word  I 
What  other  evidence  have  we  cut  short. 
And  by  what  fated  means,  this  dreary  morning ! — 
Bright  lances  here  and  helmets  ? — I  must  shift 
To  join  the  others.  [Exit. 

Enter  from  the  other  side  the  Sergeant,  accompa- 
nied with  an  Officer  and  two  Piketnen. 

Ser.  'Twas  in  good  time  you  came ;  a  minute 
later 
The  knaves  had  ta'en  my  dollars  and  my  life. 

Off.  Tou  fought  most  stoutly.     Two  of  them 
were  down 
Ere  we  came  to  your  aid. 

Ser.  Gramercy,  halberd ! 

And  well  it  happens,  since  yom-  leader  seeks 
This  Quentin  Blane,  that  you  have  faU'n  on  me ; 
None  else  can  sureJy  tell  you  where  he  hides, 
Being  in  some  fear,  and  bent  to  quit  this  province. 

Off.  'Twill  do  our  Earl  good  service.    He  has 
sent 
Dispatches  into  Holland  for  this  Quentin. 

Ser.  I  left  him  two  hours  since  in  yonder  tower 
Under  the  guard  of  one  who  smoothly  spoke. 
Although  he  look'd  but  roughly — I  will  chide  him 
For  bidding  me  go  forth  with  yonder  traitor. 


AUCHINDRANE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


809 


Off.  Assure  yourself  'twas  a  concerted  strata- 
gem. 
Montgomery's  been  at  Holyrood  for  months, 
And  can  have  sent  no  letter — 'twas  a  plan 
On  you  and  on  your  dollars,  and  a  base  one, 
To  which  this  Ranger  was  most  likely  i:)rivy ; 
Such  men  as  he  hang  on  om*  fiercer  barons. 
The  ready  agents  of  their  lawless  will ; 
Boys  of  the  belt,  who  aid  then-  master's  pleasures, 
And  in  his  moods  ne'er  scruple  his  injunctions. 
But  haste,  for  now  we  must  unkennel  Quentin ; 
I've  strictest  charge  concerning  him. 

Seu.  Go  up,  then,  to  the  tower. 
You've  younger  limbs  than  mine — there  shall  you 

find  him 
Lounging  and  snoring,  like  a  lazy  cur 
Before  a  stable  door ;  it  is  his  practice. 

[The  Officer  goes  up  to  the  Tower,  and 
after  JcnocMng  without  receiving  an 
answer,  turns  the  keg  which  Marion 
had  left  in  the  lock,  and  enters  ;  Isabel, 
dressed  as  if  for  her  dance,  runs  out 
and  descends  to  the  Stage  ;  the  Officer 
follows. 
Off.  Tliere's  no  one  in  the  house,  this  little 
maid 

Excepted 

IsA.  And  for  me,  I'm  there  no  longer. 

And  will  not  be  again  for  tlyee  hom's  good : 
I'm  gone  to  join  my  playmates  on  the  sands. 
Off.  {detaining  her.)  You  shall,  when  you  have 
told  to  me  distinctly 
Where  are  the  guests  who  slept  up  there  last  night. 
IsA.  Why,  there  is  the  old  man,  he  stands  beside 
you, 
The  merry  old  man,  with  the  glistening  hair ; 
He  left  the  tower  at  midnight,  for  my  father 
Brought  him  a  letter. 

See.  In  ill  hour  I  left  you, 

I  wish  to  Heaven  that  I  had  stay'd  with  you ; 
There  is  a  nameless  horror  that  comes  o'er  me. — 
Speak,  pretty  maiden,  tell  us  what  chanced  next, 
And  thou  shalt  have  thy  freedom. 

IsA.  After  you  went  last  night,  my  father 
Grew  moody,  and  refused  to  doff  his  clothes, 
Or  go  to  bed,  as  sometimes  he  wiU  do 
When  there  is  aught  to  chafe  him.     Until  past 

midnight. 
He  wander'd  to  and  fro,  then  call'd  the  stranger. 
The  gay  young  man,  that  sung  such  merry  songs. 
Yet  ever  look'd  most  sadly  whUst  he  sung  them. 
And  forth  they  went  together. 

Off.  And  you've  seen 

Or  heard  naught  of  them  since  ? 

IsA.  Seen  surely  nothing,  and  I  cannot  think 
That  they  have  lot  or  share  in  what  I  heard. 
I  heard  my  mother  praying,  for  the  corpse-lights 

Were  dancing  on  the  waves ;  and  at  one  o'clock, 
102 


Just  as  the  Abbey  steeple  toll'd  the  knell. 
There  was  a  heavy  plunge  upon  the  waters, 
And  some  one  cried  aloud  for  mercy ! — mercy 
It  was  the  water-spirit,  sure,  which  promised 
Mercy  to  boat  and  fisherman,  if  we 
Pcrfonu'd  to-day's  rites  duly.     Let  me  go — 
I  am  to  lead  the  ring. 

Off.  {to  See.)  Detain  her  not.     She  cannot  tell 

us  more ; 
To  give  her  liberty  is  the  sure  way 
To  lure  her  parents  homeward. — Strahan,  take  two 

men. 
And  should  the  father  or  the  mother  come. 
Arrest  them  both,  or  either.  Auchindrane 
May  come  upon  the  beach ;  arrest  him  also, 
But  do  not  state  a  cause.  I'll  back  again, 
And  take  directions  from  my  Lord  Dunbar. 
Keep  you  upon  the  beach,  and  have  an  eye 
To  all  that  passes  there. 

[Excu7it  separatelji. 


SCEKE  IL 

Scene  changes  to  a  remote  and  rocky  part  of  titm 
Sea-beach. 

Enter  Auchindrane,  meeting  Philip. 

AucH.  The  devil's  brought  his  legions  to  thi» 
beach, 
Tliat  wont  to  be  so  lonely ;  morions,  lances. 
Show  in  the    morning   beam  as  thick   as   glow 

worms 
At  summer  midnight. 

Piii.  I'm  right  glad  to  see  them. 

Be  they  whoe'er  they  may,  so  they  are  mortal  • 
For  I've  contended  with  a  hfeless  foe. 
And  I  have  lost  the  battle.     I  would  give 
A  thousand  crowns  to  heai"  a  mortid  steel 
Ring  on  a  mortal  harness. 

AucH.  How  now  ! — Ai-t  mad,  or  hast  thou  done 
the  turn — 
The  turn  we  came  for,  and  must  live  or  die  by  I 

Phi.  'Tis  done,  if  man  can  do  it ;  but  I  doubt 
If  tliis  unhappy  wretch  have  Heaven's  permission 
To  die  by  mortal  hands. 

AucH.  Where  is  he  ? — where's  MacLellan  ? 

Pm.  lu  the  deep—. 

Both  in  the  deep,  and  what's  immortal  of  them 
Gone  to  the  judgment-seat,  where  we  must  meet 
them. 

Auch.  MacLeUan  dead,  and  Quentin  too  ? — S» 
be  it 
To  all  that  menace  ill  to  Auchindrane, 
Or  have  the  power  to  injure  him  ! — Thy  word* 
Ai-e  fuU  of  comfort,  but  thine  eye  and  look 


810 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Have  iu  this  pallid  gloom  a  gbastliness, 
Wliich  contradicts  the  tidings  of  thy  tongue.' 

Phi.  Hear  me,  old  man. — There  is  a  heaven 
above  us, 
As  3-ou  have  heard  old  Knox  and  Wishart  preach. 
Though  little  to  your  boot.     The  dreaded  witness 
Is  slain,  and  silent.     But  his  misused  body 
Comes  right  ashore,  as  if  to  cry  for  vengeance  ; 
It  rides  the  waters  like  a  living  thing,^ 
Erect,  as  if  he  trode  the  waves  which  bear  liuu. 

AucH.  Thou  speakest  f)hrensy,  when  sense  is 
most  requu'ed. 

Phi.  Hear  me  yet  more ! — I  say  I  did  the  deed 
With  all  the  coolness  of  a  practised  hunter 
When  dealing  with  a  stag.     I  struck  him  over- 
board, 
And  witli  MacLellan's  aid  I  held  his  head 
Under  the  waters,  while  the  Ranger  tied 
The  weights  we  had  provided  to  his  feet. 
We  cast  liim  loose  when  hfe  and  body  parted. 
And  bid  him  speed  for  L-eland.     But  even  then, 
As  in  defiance  of  the  words  we  spoke, 
Tlie  body  rose  upright  behind  om-  stern, 
One  half  in  ocean,  and  one  half  in  air. 
And  tided  after  as  in  chase  of  us.' 

AucH.  It  was  enchantment ! — Did  you  strike  at 
it? 

Phi.  Once  and  again.    But  blows  avail'd  no  more 
Tlian  on  a  wreath  of  smoke,  where  they  may  break 
The  column  for  a  moment,  which  imites 
And  is  entii-e  agahi.     Thus  the  dead  body 
Sunk  down  before  my  oar,  but  rose  unharm'd, 
Aud  dogg'd  us  closer  stUl,  as  in  defiance. 

AucH.  'Twas  Hell's  own  work ! 

Phi.  MacLellan  then  grew  restive 

And  desperate  m  his  fear,  blasphemed  aloud. 
Cursing  us  both  as  authors  of  his  rum. 
Myself  was  wellnigh  frantic  wliile  pursued 
By  this  dead  shape,  upon  whose  ghastly  features 
Tlie  changeful  moonbeam  spread  a  grisly  hght ; 
And,  baited  thus,  I  took  the  nearest  way* 
To  ensure  his  sUeuce,  and  to  quell  his  noise ; 

1 "  This  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title  leaf, 


Foretells  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume  ; 

Thou  tremblest ;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 

Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand." 

2d  King  Henry  IV. 

2 "  Walks  the  waters  like  a  thing  of  life." 

Byron — The  Corsair. 

'  This  passage  was  probably  suggested  by  a  striking  one  in 
Southey's  Life  of  Nelson,  touching  the  corpse  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan Prince  Caraccioli,  executed  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  then 
the  great  British  Admiral's  flag-ship,  in  the  bay  of  Naples,  in 
17D9.  The  circumstances  of  Caraccioli's  trial  and  death  form, 
it  is  almost  needless  to  observe,  the  most  unpleasant  chapter  in 
Lord  Nelson's  history  : — 

"The  body,"  says  Southey,  "was  carried  out  to  a  con- 
fiderable  distance  and  sunk  in  the  bay,  with  three  double- 
beaded  shot,  weighing  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  lied  to 


I  used  my  dagger,  and  I  flung  him  overboard, 

And  half  expected  his  dead  carcass  also 

Would  join  the  chase — but  he  sunk  down  at  once. 

AucH.  He  had  enough  of  mortal  sin  about  him, 
To  sink  an  argosy. 

Phi.  But  now  resolve  you  what  defence  to  make, 
If  Quentin's  body  shall  be  recognized ; 
For  'tis  ashore  already ;  and  he  bears 
Marks  of  my  handiwork ;  so  does  MacLellan. 

Auch.  The    concom-se    thickens    still  —  Away, 
away ! 
We  must  avoid  the  multitude. 

[They  rush  out 


scEi^  ni. 

Scene  changes  to  another  part  of  the  Beach.  Chil- 
dren are  seen  dancing,  and  Villagers  looking  on. 
Isabel  seems  to  take  tlie  management  of  the 
Dance. 

ViL.  WoM.  How  well  she  queens  it,  the  brave 

little  maiden ! 
ViL.  Ay,  they  aU  queen    it    from  then-  very 
cradle. 
These  wilhng  slaves  of  haughty  Auchindrane. 
But  now  I  hear  the  old  man's  reign  is  ended ; — 
'Tis  well — he  has  been  tyrant  long  enough. 

Second  Vil.  Finlay,  speak  low,  you  interrupt 

the  sports. 
Third  Vil.  Look  out  to  sea — There's  something 
coming  yonder, 
Boimd  for  the  beach,  will  scare  us  from  om*  mirth. 
Fourth  Vil.  Pshaw,  it  is  but  a  sea-gull  on  the 
wing. 
Between  the  wave  and  sky. 

Third  Vil.  Tliou  art  a  fool, 

Standuig  on  solid  land — 'tis  a  dead  body. 

Second  Vil.  Aud  if  it  be,  he  bears  him  like  a 
live  one, 


its  legs.  Between  two  or  three  weeks  afterwards,  when  the 
King  (of  Naples)  was  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  a  Neapolitan 
fisherman  came  to  the  ship,  and  solemnly  declared,  that 
Caraccioli  had  risen  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  was  com- 
ing as  fast  as  he  could  to  Naples,  swimming  half  out  of  the 
water.  Such  an  account  was  listened  to  like  a  tale  of  idle 
credulity.  The  day  being  fair,  Nelson,  to  please  the  King, 
stood  out  to  sea  ;  but  the  ship  had  not  proceeded  far  before  a 
body  was  distinctly  seen,  upright  in  the  water,  and  approach- 
ing them.  It  was  recognized,  indeed,  to  be  the  corpse  of 
Caraccioli,  which  had  risen  and  floated,  while  the  great 
weights  attached  to  the  legs  kept  the  body  in  a  position  like 
that  of  a  living  man.  A  fact  so  extraordinary  astonished  the 
King,  and  perhaps  excited  some  feelings  of  superstitious  fear, 
akin  to  regret.  He  gave  permission  for  the  body  to  be  taken  on 
shore,  and  receive  Christian  burial." — Life  of  J\,'elion,  chap, 
vi. 
4  MS. — "  And,  baited  by  my  slave,  I  used  my  daj^er," 


AUCHIXDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


811 


Kot  prone  and  w^eltering  like  a  drowned  corpse, 
But  bolt  erect,  as  if  be  trode  tbe  waters, 
And  used  tbem  as  bis  path. 

Fourth  Vil.  It  is  a  merman, 

And  notliing  of  tbis  earth,  alive  or  dead. 

[By  degrees   all   the  Dancers   break  off 
from  their  sport,  and  stand  gazing  to 
seaward,  while  an  object,   iinperfectly 
seen,  drifts  towards  the  Beach,  and  at 
length  arrives  among  the  rocks  which 
border  the  tide. 
Third  Vil.  Perhaps  it  is  some  ■wretch  who  needs 
assistance ; 
Jasper,  make  in  and  see. 

Second  Vil.  Not  I,  my  friend ; 

E'en  take  the  risk  yourself,  you'd  put  on  others. 

[HiLDEBRAXD  has  entered,  and  heard  the 
two  last  words. 
Ser.  What,  are  you  men? 
Fear  ye  to  look  on  what  you  must  be  one  day  ? 
I,  who  have  seen  a  thousand  dead  and  dying 
Within  a  flight-shot  square,  will  teach  you  bow  in 

war 
We  look  upon  tbe  corpse  when  life  has  left  it. 

\^He  goes  to  the  back  scene,  and  seems  at- 
tempting to  turn  the  body,  which  has 
come  ashore  with  its  face  downwards. 
Will  none  of  you  come  aid  to  turn  the  body  ? 
IsA.  You're  cowards  all. — I'll  lielp  thee,  good  old 
man. 

\_She  goes  to  aid  the  SERGEiV>"r  with  the 
body,  and  presently  gives   a  cry,  and 
faints.      HiLDEBRAXD   comes  forward. 
All  crowd  round  him  ;  he  speaks  with 
an  expression  of  horror. 
See.  'Tis  Quentin  Blane  !  Poor  youth,  bis  gloomy 
bodings 
Have  been  the  prologue  to  an  act  of  darkness ; 
His  feet  are  manacled,  bis  bosom  stabVd, 
And  he  is  foully  murder'd.     The  proud  Knight 
And  his  dark  Ranger  must  have  done  tliis  deed, 
For  which  no  common  ruffian  could  have  motive. 
A  Pea.  Caution  were  best,  old  man — Thou  art 
a  stranger, 
Tbe  Knight  is  great  and  powerful. 

Ser.  Let  it  be  so. 

Call'd  on  by  Heaven  to  stand  forth  an  avenger, 
I  will  not  blench  for  fear  of  mortal  man. 
Have  I  not  seen  that  when  that  innocent 


IMS 


'  His  nnblooded  wounds,"  &c. 


»  "  The  poet,  in  his  play  of  Anchindrane,  displayed  real 
tragic  power,  and  soothed  all  tliose  who  cried  out  before  fir  a 
more  direct  story,  and  less  of  the  retrospective.  Several  o'  the 
icenes  au  conceived  and  executed  with  all  the  powers  of  the 


Had  placed  her  hands  upon  the  murder'd  body. 
His  gaping  wounds,'  that  erst  were  soak'd  with 

brine, 
Burst  forth  with  blood  as  ruddy  as  tbe  cloud 
Which  now  tbe  sun  doth  rise  on  ? 

Pea.  What  of  that  ? 

See.  Nothing  that  can  affect  tbe  innocent  child. 
But  murder's  guilt  attaching  to  her  father, 
Since  tbe  blood  musters  in  tbe  victim's  veins 
At  the  approach  of  what  holds  lease  from  him 
Of  all  that  parents  can  transmit  to  children. 
And  here  comes  one  to  whom  I'll  vouch  the  cir- 
cimistance. 

The  Earl  of  Dunbar  enters  with  Soldiers  and  oth- 
ers, having  Auchindrane  and  Philip  prisoners. 
Dun.  Fetter  the  young  ruffian  and  his  trait'rous 
iather  1 

[They  are  made  secure. 
Auch.  'Twas  a  lord  spoke  it — I  have  known  a 
knight, 
Su'  George  of  Home,  who  bad  not  dared  to  say  so. 
Dun.  'Tis  Heaven,  not  I,  decides  upon  your  guilt. 
A  harmless  youth  is  traced  within  your  power, 
Sleeps  in  your  Ranger's  bouse — his  friend  at  mid- 
night 
Is  spu'ited  away.     Then  lights  are  seen. 
And  groans  are  heard,  and  corpses  come  ashore 
Mangled  with  daggers,  while  {to  Philip)  yoiu:  dag 

get  wears 
The  sanguine  livery  of  recent  slaughter  : 
Here,  too,  the  body  of  a  murder'd  victim 
(Whom  none  but  you  bad  interest  to  remove) 
Bleeds  on  tbe  child's  approach,  because  the  daughter 
Of  one  the  abettor  of  the  wicked  deed. 
All  this,  and  other  proofs  coiroborative. 
Call  on  U9  briefly  to  pronounce  tbe  doom 
We  have  in  charge  to  utter. 

Auch.  If  my  bouse  perish,  Heaven's  will  be  done  1 
I  wish  not  to  survive  it ;  but,  0  Philip, 
Would  one  could  pay  the  ransom  for  us  both ! 

Phi.  Father,  'tis  fitter  that  we  both  should  die, 
Leaving  no  ben  behind. — The  piety 
Of  a  bless'd  saint,  the  morals  of  an  anchorite, 
Could  not  atone  thy  dark  hypocrisy, 
Or  the  wild  proffigacy  I  have  practised. 
Ruiu'd  our  house,  and  shatter'd  be  om-  towers, 
And  with  them  end  the  cm'se  our  sins  have  mer- 
ited 1=" 

best  parts  of '  Waverley.'  The  verse,  too,  is  more  rough,  natu- 
ral, and  nervous,  than  that  of  '  Halidon  Hill  ;'  but,  noble  aj 
the  effort  was,  it  was  eclipsed  so  much  by  his  splendid  roman- 
ces, that  the  public  still  complained  that  he  had  not  done  bit 
best,  and  that  his  genius  was  not  dramatic." — Allan  Cum- 
NiNGBAM. — AtheiKBum,  llth  Dec.  1833. 


812 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


^\)t  £)0\xBt  of^Bptn. 


A  TRAGEDY. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

This  attempt  at  dramatic  composition  was  exe- 
cuted nearly  thirty  years  since,  wlien  tlie  magnifi- 
cent works  of  Goetlie  and  Scliiller  were  for  the 
first  time  made  known  to  the  British  public,  and 
received,  as  many  now  alive  must  remember,  with 
universal  enthusiasm.  What  we  admire  we  usually 
attempt  to  imitate  ;  and  the  author,  not  trusting 
to  his  own  efforts,  borrowed  the  substance  of  the 
story  and  a  part  of  the  diction  from  a  dramatic 
romance  called  "  Der  Heilige  Vehme"  (the  Secret 
Tribunal),  wliich  fills  the  sixth  volume  of  the  "  Sa- 
gen  der  Yorzeit"  (Tales  of  Antiquity),  by  Beit 
Weber.  The  di-ama  must  be  termed  rather  a  rifa- 
cimento  of  tfie  original  than  a  translation,  since  the 
whole  is  compressed,  and  the  incidents  and  dia- 
logue occasionally  much  varied.  Tlie  imitator  is 
ignorant  of  the  real  name  of  his  ingenious  contem- 
porary, and  has  been  informed  that  of  Beit  Weber 
is  fictitious.' 

The  late  Mr.  John  Kemble  at  one  time  had  some 
desu-e  to  bring  out  the  play  at  Drmy-Lane,  then 
adorned  by  himself  and  his  matchless  sister,  who 
were  to  have  supported  the  characters  of  the  un- 
happy son  and  mother :  but  great  objections  ap- 
peared to  this  proposal.  There  was  danger  that 
the  main-spring  of  the  story, — the  binding  engage- 
ments formed  by  members  of  the  secret  tribunal, — 
might  not  be  sufficiently  felt  by  an  English  audi- 
ence, to  whom  the  nature  of  that  singularly  mys- 
terious mstitution  was  unknown  from  early  associ- 
ation. There  was  also,  according  to  Mr.  KemUe's 
experienced  opinion,  too  much  blood,  too  much  of 
the  dire  catastrophe  of  Tom  Thumb,  when  all  die 
on  the  stage.  It  was,  besides,  esteemed  perilous  to 
place  the  fifth  act  and  the  parade  and  show  of  the 
secret  conclave,  at  the  mercy  of  imdorlings  and 
gcene-shifters,  who,  by  a  ridiculous  motion,  gestm^e, 
or  accent,  might  tm-n  what  should  be  grave  into 
farce. 

The  author,  or  rather  the  translator,  willingly 
acquiesced  in  this  reasoning,  and  never  afterwards 

1  George  W.^ichter,  who  published  various  works  under  the 
pseudonym  of  Veit  Weber,  was  bora  in  1763,  and  died  in  1837. 
—Ed. 


made  any  attempt  to  gain  the  honor  of  the  buskin 
The  German  taste  also,  caricatured  by  a  number 
of  imitators  who,  incapable  of  copying  the  sublim- 
ity of  the  great  masters  of  the  school,  supplied  its 
place  by  extravagance  and  bombast,  fell  into  dis- 
repute, and  received  a  coup  de  grace  from  the  joint 
efforts  of  the  late  lamented  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr. 
Frere.  The  effect  of  their  singvdarly  happy  piece 
of  ridicule  called  "  The  Rovers,"  a  mock  play  which 
appeared  in  the  Anti-Jacobin,  was,  that  the  Ger- 
man school,  with  its  beauties  and  its  defects,  passed 
completely  out  of  fashion,  and  the  following  scenes 
were  consigned  to  neglect  and  obscurity.  Very 
lately,  however,  the  wiiter  chanced  to  look  them 
over  with  feelings  very  different  from  those  of  the 
adventurous  period  of  his  literary  life  during  which 
they  had  been  written,  and  yet  with  such  as  per- 
haps a  reformed  libertine  might  regard  the  ille- 
gitimate production  of  an  early  amour.  There  is 
something  to  be  ashamed  of,  certainly ;  but,  after 
aU,  paternal  vanity  whispers  that  the  child  has  a 
resemblance  to  the  father. 

To  tliis  it  need  only  be  added,  that  there  are  in 
existence  so  many  manuscript  copies  of  the  follow- 
ing play,  that  if  it  should  not  find  its  way  to  the 
public  sooner,  it  is  certain  to  do  so  when  the  author 
can  no  niore  have  any  opportunity  of  correcting 
the  press,  and  consequently  at  greater  disadvantage 
than  at  present.  Being  of  too  small  a  size  or  con- 
feequcnce  for  B^  separate  publication,  the  piece  is 
aent  as  a  contribution  to  the  Keepsake,  where  its 
demerits  may  be  hidden  amid  the  beauties  of  more 
valuable  ai'ticles.* 

ABBOTSFoaD,  \st  April,  1829. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 


RtJDiGEK,  Baron,  of  Aspen,  an  old  German  warrior 
GEORGE  OF  Aspen, 
Henry  of  Aspen. 


'EN    } 

'  >  sons  to  Rudiqer. 

SN,    S 


i 


a  See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.   pages  18,  20,  72;    iii.  2; 
ii.  208. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


813 


EoDERic,  Count  of  Maltingen,  chief  of  a  department 
of  the  Invisible  Iribunal,  and  the  hereditary  ene- 
my of  the  family  of  Aspen. 

William,  Baron  of  Wolfstein,  ally  of  Count  Rod- 
eric. 

Bertram  of  Ebersdorf,  brother  to  the  former  hus- 
band of  the  Baroness  of  Aspen,  disyuised  as  a 
minstrel. 

Duke  of  Bavaria. 

WiCKERD,   )     .   „  ,  ,1       T7-  ,    A 

>  follmoers  of  the  House  of  Aapen, 
Reynold,  y  *'  j      -r 

CoNRAD,  Page  of  Honor  to  Henry  of  Aspen. 

Martin,  Squire  to  George  of  Aspen. 

Hugo,  Squire  to  Count  Roderic. 

Peter,  an  ancient  domestic  of  Rudiger. 

Fathee  Ludovic,  Chaplain  to  Rudiger. 

WOMEX 

Isabella, /orwer^y  married  to  A'^nolf  of  Ebersdorf , 

now  wife  of  Rzidigcr. 
Gertrude,  Isabella's  niece,  betrothed  to  Henry. 

Soldiers,  Judges  of  the  Inmsible  Tribunal, 
etc.  <i;c. 

ficene. — The  Gcstle  of  Ebersdorf  in  Bavaria,  the 
ruins  of  ijriefenhaus,  and  the  adjacent  country. 


^\]z  fyxLSt  of  ^5f)cn. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I. 

An  ancient  Gothic  chamber  in  the  Castle  of  Ebers- 
dorf Spears,  crossbows,  and  arms,  with  the  horns 
of  buffaloes  and  of  deer,  are  hung  round  the  wall. 
An  antique  buffet  with  beakers  and  stone  bottles. 

Rudiger,  Baron  of  Aspen,  and  his  lady,  Isabella, 
are  discovered  sitting  at  a  large  oaken  table. 

RuD.  A  plague  upon  that  roan  horse  !  Had  he 
not  stumbled  with  me  at  the  ford  after  our  last 
Bkirmish,  I  had  been  now  with  my  sons.  And 
yonder  the  boys  are,  hardly  thi-ee  miles  off,  bat- 
tling with  Count  Roderic,  and  their  father  must 
lie  here  like  a  worm-eaten  manuscript  in  a  convent 
library  !  Out  u2Don  it !  Out  upon  it !  Is  it  not  hard 
that  a  warrior,  who  has  travelled  so  many  leagues 
to  display  the  cross  on  the  walls  of  Zion,  should  be 
now  unable  to  lift  a  spear  before  his  ovm  castle 
gate ! 

IsA.  Dear  husband,  youi'  anxiety  retards  your 
recovery. 

RuD.  May  be  so ;  but  not  less  than  your  silence 
and  melancholy !     Here  have  I  sate  this  month, 


and  more,  smce  that  cursed  fall !  Neither  hmiting, 
nor  feasting,  nor  lance-breaking  for  me  I  And  my 
sons — George  enters  cold  and  reserved,  as  if  he 
had  the  weight  of  tlie  cmpii  e  on  liis  shoulders,  ut- 
ters by  syllables  a  cold  "  How  is  it  witli  you  ?"  and 
shuts  liimself  up  for  days  in  his  soUtary  chamber — 
Henry,  my  cheerful  Henry — 

Is.\.  Surely,  he  at  least — 

Run.  Even  he  forsakes  me,  and  skips  up  tlie 
tower  staircase  like  lightning  to  join  your  fair 
ward,  Gertrude,  on  the  battlements.  I  camiot 
blame  him ;  for,  by  my  knightly  faitli,  were  I  in 
his  place,  I  think  even  these  bruised  bones  woulc 
hardly  keep  me  from  her  side.  Still,  however, 
here  I  must  sit  alone. 

IsA.  Not  alone,  dear  husband.  Heaven  knows 
what  I  would  do  to  soften  yom-  confinement. 

RuD.  TeU  me  not  of  that,  lady.  "VVlien  I  first 
knew  thee,  Isabella,  the  fair  maid  of  Arnheim  was 
the  joy  of  her  companions,  and  breathed  life  where- 
ever  she  came.  Tiiy  father  married  thee  to  Arnolf 
of  Ebersdorf — not  much  with  thy  will,  'tis  true — 
(she  hides  her  face!)  Naj' — forgive  me,  Isabella — 
but  that  is  over — he  died,  and  the  ties  between  us, 
wliicli  thy  marriage  had  broken,  were  renewed — 
but  the  sunshine  of  my  Isabella's  light  heart  re- 
turned no  more. 

IsA.  (weeping.)  Beloved  Rudiger,  you  search  my 
very  soul !  ^VTiy  will  you  recall  past  times — days 
of  spring  that  can  never  return  ?  Do  I  not  love 
thee  more  than  ever  wife  loved  husband  ? 

RuD.  (stretches  out  his  arms — she  embraces  him.) 
And  therefore  art  thou  ever  my  beloved  Isabella. 
But  still,  is  it  not  true  ?  Has  not  thy  cheerfuluess 
vanished  since  thou  hast  become  Lady  of  Aspen  ? 
Dost  thou  repent  of  thy  love  to  Rudiger  ? 

Is.  Alas !  no !  never !  never ! 

RuD.  Tlien  why  dost  thou  herd  with  monks  and 
priests,  and  leave  thy  old  knight  alotie,  when,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  stormy  hfe,  he  has  rested  for 
weeks  within  the  walls  of  his  castle  ?  Hast  thou 
committed  a  crime  from  which  Rudiger's  love 
cannot  absolve  thee  ? 

IsA.  O  many !  many  1 

RuD.  Then  be  this  kiss  thy  penance.  And  tell 
me,  Isabella,  hast  thou  not  founded  a  convent,  and 
endowed  it  with  the  best  of  thy  late  husband's 
lands  ?  Ay,  and  with  a  vineyard  which  I  could 
have  prized  as  well  as  the  sleek  monies.  Dost 
thou  not  daily  distribute  alms  to  twenty  pilgrims  ? 
Dost  thou  not  cause  ten  masses  to  be  sung  each 
night  for  the  repose  of  thy  late  husband's  soul  ? 

IsA.  It  will  not  know  repose. 

RuD.  Well,  well — God's  peace  be  with  Arnolf 
of  Ebersdorf;  the  mention  of  him  makes  thee  ever 
sad,  though  so  many  years  have  jjassed  since  his 
death. 

IsA.  But  at  present,  dear  husband,  have  I  no^ 


814 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  most  just  cause  for  anxiety  ?  Are  not  Henry 
and  George,  our  beloved  sons,  at  this  very  moment 
perhaps  engaged  in  doubtful  contest  with  our  he- 
reditary foe,  Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen  ? 

Run.  Now,  there  lies  the  difference  :  you  sorrow 
that  they  are  in  danger,  I  that  I  cannot  share  it 
witli  tliem. — Hark !  I  hear  horses'  feet  on  the 
drawbridge.     Go  to  the  window,  Isabella. 

IsA.  {at  the  window^   It  is  Wickerd,  your  squire. 

RuD.  Then  shall  we  have  tidings  of  George  and 
Henry.  [Enter  Wickerd.)  How  now,  Wickerd  ? 
Have  you  come  to  blows  yet  ? 

Wig.  Not  yet,  noble  sir. 

Run.  Not  yet  ? — shame  on  the  boys'  dallying — 
wliat  wait  they  for  ? 

Wic.  The  foe  is  strongly  posted,  sir  knight,  upon 
the  WolfshiU,  near  the  ruins  of  Griefenhaus ;  there- 
fore your  noble  son,  George  of  Aspen,  greets  yon 
well,  and  requests  twenty  more  men-at-arms,  and, 
after  they  have  joined  him,  he  hopes,  with  the  aid 
of  St.  Theodore,  to  send  you  news  of  victory. 

RuD.  {attempts  to  rise  hastitij.)  Saddle  my  black 
barb ;  I  wiU  head  them  myself  {Sits  down.)  A 
murrain  on  that  stumbling  roan !  I  had  forgot  my 
dislocated  bones.  Call  Reynold,  Wickerd,  and  bid 
him  take  all  whom  ho  can  spare  from  defence  of 
the  castle — (Wickeud  is  going) and  ho !  Wick- 
erd, carry  with  you  my  black  barb,  and  bid  George 
charge  upon  him.  {Exit  Wickerd.)  Now  see, 
Isabella,  if  I  disregard  the  boy's  safety ;  I  send 
liim  tlic  best  horse  ever  knight  bestrode.  When 
we  lay  before  Ascalon,  indeed,  I  had  a  bright  bay 
Persian — Thou  dost  not  heed  me. 

IsA.  Forgive  me,  dear  husband ;  are  not  our 
eons  in  danger  ?  WiU  not  our  sins  be  visited  upon 
them  ?     Is  not  their  present  situation 

RuD.  Situation?  I  know  it  well:  as  fair  a  field 
for  open  fight  as  I  ever  hunted  over :  see  here — 
{makes  lines  on  the  table) — here  is  the  ancient  cas- 
tle of  Griefenhaus  in  rums,  here  the  WolfshiU  ;  and 
here  the  marsh  on  the  right. 

IsA.  The  marsh  of  Griefenhaus! 

RuD.  Yes ;  by  that  the  boys  must  pass. 

IsA.  Pass  there  !  {Apart.)  Avenging  Heaven  ! 
iiy  hand  is  upon  us  !  [Exit  hastily. 

RuD.  Whither  now  ?  Whither  now  ?  She  is 
gone.  Thus  it  goes.  Peter !  Peter !  {Enter  Pe- 
ter.) Help  me  to  the  gallery,  that  I  may  see 
them  on  horseback.  [Exit,  leaning  on  Peter. 


SCENE  II. 

The  inner  court  of  the  Castle  of  Ehersdorf;  a  quad- 
rangle, surroimdcd  with  Gothic  buildings ;  troop- 
ers, followers  of  Rudiger,  jiass  and  repass  in 
haste,  as  if  preparing  for  an  excursion. 


Wickerd  comes  forward. 
Wic.  What,  ho !     Reynold  !  Reynold  ! — By  our 
Lady,  the  sjDirit  of  the  Seven  Sleepers  is  upon 
lum — So  ho !  not  moimted  yet !     Reynold  1 

Enter  Reynold. 

Rey.  Here  !  here  !  A  devil  choke  thy  bawling ! 
think'st  thou  old  Reynold  is  not  as  ready  for  a  skir- 
mish as  thou  ? 

Wic.  Nay,  nay:  I  did  but  jest ;  but,by  my  sootli, 
it  were  a  shame  should  our  youngsters  have  yoked 
with  Count  Roderic  before  we  graybeards  come. 

Rey.  Heaven  forefend  !  Our  troopers  are  but 
saddling  their  horses ;  five  minutes  more,  and  we 
are  in  our  stirrups,  and  then  let  Count  Roderic  sit 
fast. 

Wic.  a  plague  on  him !  he  has  ever  lain  hard 
on  the  skirts  of  our  noble  master. 

Ret.  Especially  since  he  was  refused  the  hand 
of  our  lady's  niece,  the  pretty  Lady  Gertrude. 

Wic.  Ay,  marry !  would  nothing  less  serve  the 
fox  of  Maltmgen  than  the  lovely  lamb  of  our  young 
Baron  Henry!  By  my  sooth,  Reynold,  when  I 
look  upon  these  two  lovers,  they  make  me  full 
twenty  years  younger ;  and  when  I  meet  the  man 
that  would  divide  them— I  say  notliing — but  let 
him  look  to  it. 

Rey.  And  how  fare  our  young  lords  ? 

Wic.  Each  well  in  his  humor. — Baron  George 
stern  and  cold,  according  to  his  wont,  and  his 
brother  as  cheerful  as  ever.  ■! 

Rey.  Well ! — Baron  Henry  for  me.  ■ 

Wic.  Yet  George  saved  thy  life. 

Rey.  True — with  as  much  indifference  as  if  he 
had  been  snatching  a  chestnut  out  of  the  lire. 
Now  Baron  Henry  wept  for  my  danger  and  my 
wounds.  Therefore  George  shaU  ever  command 
my  life,  but  Henry  my  love. 

Wic.  Nay,  Baron  George  shows  his  gloomy  spirit 
even  by  the  choice  of  a  favorite. 

Rey-.  Ay — Martin,  formerly  the  squire  of  Arnolf 
of  Ebersdorf,  liis  mother's  first  husband. — I  marvel 
he  could  not  have  fitted  himself  with  an  attendant 
from  among  the  faithful  followers  of  his  worthy 
father,  whom  Arnolf  and  liis  adherents  used  to 
hate  as  the  DevU  hates  holy  water.  But  Martin 
is  a  good  soldier,  and  has  stood  toughly  by  George 
in  many  a  hard  brunt. 

Wig.  The  knave  is  sturdy  enough,  but  so  sulky 
witlial — I  have  seen,  brotLsr  Reynold,  that  when 
Martin  showed  his  moody  visage  at  the  b;mquet, 
our  noble  mistress  has  di'opped  the  wine  she  waa 
raising  to  her  lips,  and  exchanged  her  smiles  for  a 
ghastly  frown,  as  if  sorrow  went  by  sympathy,  aa 
kissing  goes  by  favor. 

Rey'.  His  appearance  reminds  her  of  her  first 
husband,  and  thou  hast  weU  seen  that  makes  hel 
ever  sad. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


815 


"Wic.  Dost  thou  marvel  at  that  ?  Slie  was  mar- 
ried to  Arnolf  by  a  species  of  force,  and  they  saj- 
that  before  his  deatla  he  compelled  her  to  swear 
never  to  espouse  Rudiger.  The  priests  will  not 
absolve  her  for  the  breach  of  that  vow,  and  there- 
fore she  is  troubled  in  mind.  For,  d'ye  mark  me, 
Reynold [Bugle  sounds. 

Ret.  a  truce  to  your  preaching!  To  horse! 
and  a  blessing  on  our  arms  1 

"Wic.  St.  George  grant  it !  [^Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. 

The  gallery  of  the  Castle,  terminating  in  a  large 
balcony  commanding  a  distant  prospect. —  Voices, 
bugle-horns,  kcttle-drwns,  trampling  of  horses,  <i:c., 
are  heard  without. 

Rudiger,  leaning  on  Peter,  looks  from  the  balcony. 
Gertrude  and  Is.\bella  are  near  him. 

RuD.  There  they  go  at  length — look,  Isabella  I 
•■  look,  my  pretty  Gertrude — these  are  the  iron- 
lianded  warriors  who  shall  tell  Roderic  wliat  it 
will  cost  him  to  force  thee  from  my  protection — 
[Flourish  loithout  —  Rudiger  stretches  his  arms 
from  the  balcony.)  Go,  my  children,  and  God's 
blessing  with  you.  Look  at  my  black  barb,  Ger- 
trude. That  horse  shall  let  daylight  in  through  a 
phalanx,  were  it  twenty  pikes  deep.  Shame  on  it 
that  I  cannot  mount  him !  Seest  thou  how  fierce 
gj     old  Reynold  looks  ? 

Ger.  I  can  hardly  know  my  friends  in  their  armor. 
[The  bugles  and  kettle-drums  are  heard 
as  at  a  greater  distance. 

RuD.  jSTow  I  could  tell  every  one  of  their' names, 
even  at  this  distance ;  ay,  and  were  they  covered, 
as  I  have  seen  them,  with  dust  and  blood.  He  on 
the  dapple-gi'ay  is  Wickerd — a  hardy  fellow,  but 
somewhat  given  to  prating.  That  is  young  Con- 
rad who  gallops  so  fast,  page  to  thy  Henry,  mj^  girl. 
{^Bugles,  etc.,  at  a  greater  distance  still. 

Ger.  Heaven  guard  them.  Alas  !  tlie  voice  of 
war  that  calls  the  blood  into  your  cheeks  chills  and 
freezes  mine. 

RuD.  Say  not  so.  It  is  glorious,  my  girl,  glori- 
ous !  See  how  their  armor  glistens  as  tiicy  wind 
round  yon  hill !  how  then-  sjjears  glimmer  amid 
the  long  train  of  dust.  Hark !  you  can  still  hear 
the  faint  notes  of  their  trumpets — (Bugles  very 
faint.) — And  Rudiger,  old  Rudiger  with  the  iron 
arm,  as  the  crusaders  used  to  oall  me,  must  remain 
behind  with  the  priests  and  the  women.  Well ! 
well  \— (Sings.) 

"  It  was  a  Iniight  to  battle  rode. 
And  as  his  war-horse  he  bestrode." 


Fill  me  a  bowl  of  wine,  Gertrude  ;  and  do  thou, 
Peter,  call  the  minstrel  who  came  hither  last  night. 
—(Si7igs.) 

"  Off  rode  the  horseman,  dash,  sa,  sa  1 
And  stroked  his  whiskers,  tra,  la,  la." — 

(Peter  goes  out. — Rudiger  sits  down,  and  Gee- 
TRUDE  helps  him  with  wine.)  Thanks,  my  love.  It 
tastes  ever  best  from  thy  hand.  Isabella,  here  la 
glory  and  victory  to  our  boys — (Drinks.) — Wilt 
thou  not  pledge  me  ? 

IsA.  To  their  safety,  and  God  grant  it ! — (Brinks.) 

Enter  Bertr.\m  as  a  minstrel,  with  a  boy  hearing 
his  harp. — Also  Peter. 

RuD.  Tliy  name,  minstrel  ? 

Ber.  Minliold,  so  please  you. 

RuD.  Art  thou  a  German  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  noble  sir  ;  and  of  tliis  province. 

RuD.  Sing  me  a  song  of  battle. 

[Bertram  sings  to  the  harp. 

RuD.  Thanks,  minstrel :  well  sung,  and  lustily. 
What  sayest  thou,  Isabella  ? 

IsA. ,  I  marked  him  not. 

RuD.  Nay,  m  sooth  you  are  too  anxious.  Cheer 
up.  And  thou,  too,  my  lovely  Gertrude  :  in  a  few 
hours,  thy  Henry  shall  return,  and  twine  his  lau- 
rels into  a  garland  for  thy  hair.  He  fights  for 
thee,  and  he  must  conquer. 

Ger.  Alas  1  must  blood  be  spilled  for  a  silly 
maiden  ? 

RuD.  Surely :  for  what  should  knights  break 
lances  but  for  honor  and  ladies'  love — ha,  minstrel  j 

Ber.  So  please  you — also  to  punish  crimes. 

RuD.  Out  upon  it  1  wouldst  have  us  execution 
ers,  minstrel  ?      Such  work  would  disgrace  our 
blades.     We  leave  malefactors  to  the  Secret  Tri- 
bunal. 

IsA.  Merciful  God  1  Thou  hast  spoken  a  word, 
Rudiger,  of  dreadful  import. 

Ger.  They  say  that,  unknown  and  invisible 
themselves,  these  awful  judges  are  ever  present 
with  the  guilty;  that  the  past  and  the  present 
misdeeds,  the  secrets  of  the  confessional,  nay,  the 
very  thoughts  of  the  heart  are  before  them ;  that 
their  doom  is  as  sure  as  that  of  fate,  the  means 
and  executioners  unknown. 

RuD.  They  say  true ;  the  secrets  of  that  asso- 
ciation, and  the  names  of  those  who  compose  it, 
are  as  inscrutable  as  the  grave :  we  only  know 
tliat  it  has  taken  deep  root,  and  sjiread  its  branches 
wide.  I  sit  down  each  day  in  my  hall,  nor  know 
I  how  many  of  these  secret  judges  may  surround 
me,  aU  bound  by  the  most  solemn  vow  to  avenge 
guilt.  Once,  and  but  once,  a  knight,  at  the  earno.ot 
request  and  inquiries  of  the  emperor,  liintcd  that 
he  belonged  to  the  society :  the  next  morning  he 


1 


816 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


was  found  slain  in  a  forest :  the  poniard  was  left  in 
the  wound,  and  bore  this  label — "  Thus  do  the  in- 
visible judges  punish  treachery." 

Gek.  Gracious  !  aunt,  you  grow  pale. 

IsA.  A  slight  indisposition  only. 

Run.  And  what  of  it  all  ?  "We  know  our  hearts 
are  open  to  our  Creator :  shall  we  fear  any  earthly 
inspection  ?  Come  to  the  battlements ;  there  we 
shall  soonest  descry  the  return  of  our  warriors. 

[JExit  RuDiGER,  with  Gertrude  a7id  Peter. 

IsA.  Minstrel,  send  the  chaplain  hither.  {Exit 
Bertram.)  Gracious  Heaven !  the  guileless  inno- 
cence of  my  niece,  the  manly  honesty  of  my  up- 
right-hearted Rudiger,  become  dady  tortures  to 
me.  While  he  was  engaged  in  active  and  stormy 
exploits,  fear  for  his  safety,  joy  when  he  returned 
to  his  castle,  enabled  me  to  disguise  my  inward 
anguish  from  others.  But  from  myself — Judges 
of  blood,  that  lie  concealed  in  noontide  as  in  mid- 
night, who  boast  to  avenge  the  hidden  guilt,  and 
to  penetrate  the  recesses  of  the  human  breast,  how 
blind  is  your  penetration,  how  vain  your  dagger, 
and  your  cord,  compared  to  the  conscience  of  the 
sinner ! 

Enter  Father  Ludovic. 

LuD.  Peace  be  with  you,  lady  ! 

IsA.  It  is  not  with  me  :  it  is  thy  office  to  bring  it. 

LuD.  And  the  cause  is  the  absence  of  the  young 
knights  ? 

IsA.  Tlieir  absence  and  their  danger. 

LuD.  Daughter,  thy  hand  has  been  stretched  out 
in  bounty  to  the  sick  and  to  the  needy.  Thou  hast 
not  denied  a  shelter  to  the  weary,  nor  a  tear  to 
the  afflicted.  Trust  in  their  prayers,  and  in  those 
of  the  holy  convent  thou  hast  founded;  perad- 
ventm-e  they  will  bring  back  thy  childi-en  to  thy 
bosom. 

IsA.  Thy  brethren  cannot  pray  for  me  or  mine. 
Their  vow  binds  them  to  pray  night  and  day  for 
another — to  supplicate,  without  ceasing,  the  Eter- 
nal Mercy  for  the  soul  of  one  who — Oh,  only 
Heaven  knows  how  much  he  needs  their  prayer  ! 

LuD.  Unbounded  is  the  mercy  of  Heaven.  The 
soul  of  thy  former  husband 

IsA.  I  charge  thee,  priest,  mention  not  the  word. 
(Apart.)  Wretch  that  I  am,  the  meanest  menial  in 
my  train  has  power  to  goad  me  to  madness ! 

LuD.  Hearken  to  me,  daughter;  thy  crime 
against  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf  cannot  bear  in  the  eye 
of  Heaven  so  deep  a  dye  of  guilt. 

IsA.  Rejoeat  that  once  more ;  say  once  again 
that  it  cannot — cannot  bear  so  deep  a  dye.  Prove 
to  me  that  ages  of  the  bitterest  penance,  that  tears 
of  the  dearest  blood,  can  erase  such  guilt.  Prove 
but  that  to  me,  and  I  will  budd  thee  an  abbey 
•which  shall  put  to  shame  the  fakest  fane  in  Chiis- 
tendom. 

LuD.  Nay,  nay,  daughter,  your  conscience  is  over 


tender.  Supposing  that,  under  dread  of  the  stern 
Arnolf,  you  swore  never  to  marry  your  present 
husband,  still  the  exacting  such  an  oath  was  un- 
lawful, and  the  breach  of  it  venial. 

IsA.  (resuming  her  composure i)  Be  it  so,  good 
father ;  I  yield  to  thy  better  reasons.  And  now 
tell  me,  has  thy  pious  care  achieved  the  task  I 
intrusted  to  thee  ? 

LuD.  Of  superintending  the  erection  of  thy  new 
hospital  for  pilgrims?  I  have,  noble  lady;  and 
last  night  the  minstrel  now  in  the  castle  lodged 
there. 

IsA.  Wherefore  came  he  then  to  the  castle  ? 

LuD.  Reynold  brought  the  commands  of  the 
Baron. 

IsA.  Whence  comes  he,  and  what  is  his  tale  ? 
T\Tien  he  sung  before  Rudiger,  I  thought  that  long 
before  I  had  heard  such  tones — seen  such  a  face. 

LuD.  It  is  possible  you  may  have  seen  him,  lady, 
for  he  boasts  to  have  been  known  to  Arnolf  of 
Ebersdorf,  and  to  have  lived  formerly  in  this  caa 
tie.      He  inquires  much  after  Martin,   Arnolf 'a 
squire. 

IsA.  Go,  Ludovic — go  quick,  good  father,  seek 
him  out,  give  him  this  purse,  and  bid  him  leave 
the  castle,  and  speed  him  on  his  way. 

Ltjd.  May  I  ask  why,  noble  lady  ? 

IsA.  Thou  art  inquisitive,  priest :  I  honor  the 
servants  of  God,  but  I  foster  not  the  prying  spirit 
of  a  monk.     Begone  ! 

LuD.  But  the  Baron,  lady,  will  expect  a  reason 
why  I  dismiss  his  guest  ? 

IsA.  True,  ivue  {recollecting  herself) ;  pardon  my 
warmth,  good  father,  I  was  thinking  of  the  cuckoo 
that  gi'ows  too  big  for  .the  nest  of  the  sparrow,  and 
strangles  its  foster-mother.  Do  no  such  birds  roost 
in  convent-walls  ? 

LuD.  Lady,  I  imderstand  you  not. 

IsA.  Well,  then,  say  to  the  Baron,  that  I  have 
dismissed  long  ago  all  the  attendants  of  the  man 
of  whom  thou  hast  spoken,  and  that  I  wish  to  have 
none  of  them  beneath  my  roof 

LuD.  {inqidsitively.)  Except  Martin? 

IsA.  {sharply.)  Except  Martin  !  who  saved  the 
hfe  of  my  son  George  ?     Do  as  I  command  thee. 

[Exit 
Manet  Ludovic. 

LuD.  Ever  the  same — stern  and  peremptory  to  t 
others  as  rigorous  to  herself;  haughty  even  to  me, 
to  whom,  in  another  mood,  she  has  knelt  for  abso- 
lution, and  whose  knees  she  has  bathed  in  tears. 
I  cannot  fathom  her.  The  unnatural  zeal  with 
which  she  performs  her  dreadful  penances  cannot 
be  religion,  for  shrewdly  I  guess  she  believes  not 
in  their  blessed  efficacy.  Well  for  her  that  she  is 
the  foundress  of  our  convent,  otherwise  we  might 
not  have  erred  in  denouncing  her  as  a  heretic. 

[ExiL 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


81^ 


ACT  IL— SCENE  I. 

A  woodland  prospect. — Through  a  long  avenue,  half 
grown  up  by  brambles,  are  discerned  in  the  back- 
ground the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Castle  of  Grie- 
fcnhaus.  The  dista7it  noise  of  battle  is  heard  du- 
ring this  scene. 

Enter  George  of  Aspen,  armed  with  a  battle-axe 
in  his  hand,  as  from  horseback.  He  supports 
Martin,  and  brings  him  forward. 

Weo.  Lay  thee  down  here,  old  friend.  The  en- 
emy's horsemen  ■will  hardly  take  thek  way  among 
these  brambles,  thi-ough  which  I  have  dragged 
thee. 

M.VR.  Oh,  do  not  leave  me !  leave  me  not  an 
instant !  My  moments  are  now  but  few,  and  I 
woidd  profit  by  them. 

Geo.  ilartin,  you  forget  yom'self  and  me — I  must 
back  to  the  field. 

Mar.  {attempts  to  rise.)  Then  drag  me  back 
thither  also  ;  I  cannot  die  but  in  your  presence — I 
dare  not  be  alone.  Stay,  to  give  peace  to  my 
parting  soul. 

Geo.  I  am  no  priest,  Martin.     (  Going.) 

ilAR.  {raising  himself  with  great  pain.)  Baron 
George  of  Aspen,  I  saved  thy  life  in  battle :  for 
that  good  deed,  hear  me  but  one  moment. 

Geo.  I  hear  thee,  my  poor  friend.    {Beturning.) 

!Mar.  But  come  close — very  close.  See'st  thou, 
sii"  knight — this  wound  I  bore  for  thee — and  this — 
wid  this — dost  thou  not  remember  ? 

Geo.  I  do. 

LLvR.  I  have  served  thee  since  thou  wast  a 
child  ;  served  thee  faithfully — was  never  from  thy 
side. 

Geo.  Thou  hast. 

Mar.  And  now  I  die  in  thy  service. 

Geo.  Thou  may'st  recover. 

Mar.  I  cannot.  By  my  long  service — ^by  my 
scars — by  this  mortal  gash,  and  by  the  death  that 
I  am  to  die — oh,  do  not  hate  me  for  what  I  am 
now  to  unfold ! 

Geo.  Be  assured  I  can  never  hate  thee. 

Mar.  Ah,  thou  little  knowest Swear  to  me 

thou  wilt  speak  a  word  of  comfort  to  my  parting 
soul. 

Geo.  {takes  his  hand.)  I  swear  I  will.  {Alarm 
and  shouting.)  But  be  brief — thou  knowest  my 
haste. 

Mar.  Hear  me,  then.  I  was  the  squire,  the  be- 
loved and  favorite  attendant,  of  Arnolf  of  Ebers- 
dorf.  Arnolf  was  savage  as  the  mountain  bear. 
He  loved  the  Lady  Isabel,  but  she  requited  not 
his  passion.  She  loved  thy  father ;  but  her  sire, 
old  Arnheim,  was  the  friend  of  Arnolf,  and  she 

was  forced  to  many  him.    By  midnight,  in  the 
103 


chapel  of  Ebersdorf,  the  ill-omened  rites  were  per- 
formed ;  her  resistance,  her  screams  were  in  vain. 
These  arms  detained  her  at  the  altar  tiU  the  nup- 
tial benediction  was  pronounced.  Canst  thou  for- 
give me  ? 

Geo.  I  do  forgive  thee.  Thy  obedience  to  thy 
savage  master  has  been  obhterated  by  a  long  train 
of  services  to  his  widow. 

Mar.  Services !  ay,  bloody  services !  for  they 
commenced — do  not  quit  my  hand — they  com- 
menced with  the  mm'der  of  my  master.  (Georgb 
quits  his  hand,  and  stands  aghast  in  speechless  lior- 
ror.)  Trample  on  me  !  pursue  me  with  your  dag- 
ger !  I  aided  your  mother  to  poison  her  first  hus- 
band !     I  thank  Heaven,  it  is  said. 

Geo.  My  mother  ?  Sacred  Heaven  !  Martin,  thou 
ravest — the  fever  of  thy  woimd  has  distracted 
thee. 

Mae.  No  !  I  am  not  mad !  Would  to  God  I  were ! 
Try  me !  Tender  is  the  Wolfshill — yonder  the  old 
castle  of  Griefenhaus — and  yonder  is  the  hemlock 
marsh  (i>i  a  whisper)  where  I  gathered  the  deadly 
plant  that  drugged  Ai-nolf 's  cup  of  death.  (George 
traverses  the  stage  in  the  utmost  agitation,  and  some- 
times stands  over  iLiHTiN  icith  his  hands  clasped  to- 
gether) Oh,  had  you  seen  him  when  the  potion 
took  effect !  Had  you  heard  his  ravings,  and  seen 
the  contortions  of  his  ghastly  visage ! — He  died 
furious  and  impenitent,  as  he  lived ;  and  went — 
where  I  am  shortly  to  go.     You  do  not  speak  ? 

Geo.  {with  exertion.)  Miserable  wretch  1  how 
can  I? 

;M^.  Can  you  not  forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  May  God  pardon  thee — I  cannot ! 

Mar.  I  saved  thy  life 

Geo.  For  that,  take  my  curse  I  {He  snatches  up 
his  battle-axe,  and  rushes  out  to  the  side  from  which 
the  noise  is  heard) 

Mar.  Hear  me  !  yet  more — more  horror !  {At- 
tempts to  rise,  and  falls  heavily.    A  loud  alarm.) 

Enter  "Wickerd,  hastily. 

"Wio.  In  the  name  of  God,  Martin,  lend  me  thy 
brand! 

Mar.  Take  it. 

Wic.  Where  is  it  ? 

Mar.  {looks  wildly  at  him)  In  the  chapel  at 
Ebersdorf,  or  bmied  in  the  hemlock  marsL 

Wic.  The  old  gi-umbler  is  crazy  with  his  wounds. 
Martin,  if  thou  hast  a  spark  of  reason  in  thee,  give 
me  thy  sword.     The  day  goes  sore  against  us. 

Mar.  There  it  lies.  Bmy  it  in  the  heart  of  thy 
master  George ;  thou  wilt  do  him  a  good  oflSce— - 
the  ofiice  of  a  faithful  servant. 

Enter  Conrad. 
Con.  Away,  Wickerd !   to  horse,  and  pursue . 
Baron  George  has  turned  the  day ;  he  fights  more 


like  a  fiend  than  a  man :  he  has  unhorsed  Eoderic, 
and  slain  sis  of  his  troopers — they  are  in  head- 
long flight — the  hemlock  marsh  is  red  with  then- 
gore  !  (ilASTix  gives  a  deep  groan,  and  faints) 
Away !  away !  (Tliey  hurry  off,  as  to  the  pur- 
suit.) 

Enter  Rodeeic  of  Maltingen,  vdthout  his  helmet, 

his   amis   disordered  and  broken,    holding   the 

truncheon  of  a  spear  in  his  Jiand ;  with  him. 

Baron  Wolfstedt. 

Rod.  a  cm-se  on  fortune,  and  a  double  curse  upon 
George  of  Aspen!  N'ever,  never  wiU  I  forgive 
him  my  disgrace — overthrown  like  a  rotten  trunk 
before  a  whirlwind ! 

Wolf.  Be  comforted.  Count  Roderic ;  it  is  well 
we  have  escaped  being  prisoners.  See  how  the 
troopers  of  Aspen  pour  along  the  plain,  like  the 
billows  of  the  Rhine  !  It  is  good  we  are  shrouded 
by  the  thicket. 

Rod.  Why  took  he  not  my  life,  when  he  robbed 
me  of  my  honor  and  of  my  love  ?  Why  did  hia 
spear  not  pierce  my  heart,  when  mine  shivered 
on  his  arms  like  a  frail  bulrush  ?  (Throws  dman  the 
broken  spear.)  Bear  witness,  heaven  and  earth,  I 
outlive  this  disgrace  only  to  avenge ! 

Wolf.  Be  comforted ;  the  knights  of  Aspen  have 
not  gained  a  bloodless  victory.  And  see,  there 
hes  one  of  George's  followers — {seeing  Maetlx.) 

Rod.  His  squire  Martin ;  if  he  be  not  dead,  we 
will  secure  him :  he  is  the  depositary  of  the  secrets 
of  his  master.  Arouse  thee,  trusty  follower  of  the 
house  of  Aspen ! 

Mak.  {reviving)  Leave  me  not !  leave  me  not. 
Baron  George  !  my  eyes  are  darkened  with  agony  ! 
I  have  not  yet  told  all. 

Wolf.  The  old  man  takes  you  for  his  master. 

Rod.  What  wouldst  thou  tell? 

M.VR.  Oh,  I  would  tell  all  the  temptations  by 
which  I  was  urged  to  the  murder  of  Ebersdorf ! 

Rod.  Murder  I — this  is  worth  marking.  Proceed. 

Mar.  I  loved  a  maiden,  daughter  of  Arnolf  s 
steward ;  my  master  seduced  her — she  became  an 
outcast,  and  died  in  misery — I  vowed  vengeance — 
and  I  did  avenge  her. 

Rod.  Hadst  thou  accomplices  ? 

Mae,.  None,  but  thy  mother. 

Rod.  The  Lady  Isabella ! 

Mak.  Ay :  she  hated  her  husband :  he  knew  her 
love  to  Rudiger,  and  when  she  heard  that  thy 
father  was  returned  from  Palestine,  her  life  was 
endangered  by  the  transports  of  his  jealousy — 
thus  prepared  for  evil,  the  fiend  tempted  us,  and 
we  fell. 

Rod.  (breaks  info  a  transport.)  Fortune !  thou 
hast  repaid  me  all !  Love  and  vengeance  are  my 
own ! — Wolfstein,  recall  our  followers !  quick,  sound 
thy  bugle — (Wolfstedj  soimds.) 


M-vu.  (stares  wildly  round)  That  was  no  note 
of  Aspen — Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen — Heaven ! 
what  have  I  said  ! 

Rod.  What  thou  canst  not  recaU. 

Mae.  Then  is  my  fate  decreed !     'Tis  as  it  should 
be  !  in  this  very  place  was  the  poison  gather'd- 
'tis  retribution ! 

Enter  three  or  fo^ir  soldiers  o/ Rodeeic. 

Rod.  Secure  this  wounded  trooper ;  bind  his 
wounds,  and  guard  him  well:  carry  liim  to  the 
ruins  of  Griefenhaus,  and  conceal  him  tiU  the 
troopers  of  Aspen  have  retired  from  the  pursuit ; 
— look  to  him,  as  you  love  your  lives. 

Mar.  (led  off  by  soldiers)  Ministers  of  vengeance ! 
my  hour  is  come  !  [Exeunt. 

Rod.  Hope,  joy,  and  triumph,  once  again  are  ye 
mine !  Welcome  to  my  heart,  long-absent  visit- 
ants !  One  lucky  chance  has  thrown  dominion 
into  the  scale  of  the  house  of  Maltingen,  and  As- 
pen kicks  the  beam. 

Wolf.  I  foresee,  indeed,  dishonor  to  the  family  of 
Aspen,  should  this  woimded  squire  make  good  his 
tale. 

Rod.  And  how  think'st  thou  this  disgrace  wUl 
fidl  on  them  ? 

Wolf.  Surely,  by  the  public  punishment  of  Lady 
Isabella. 

Rod.  And  is  that  all  ? 

Wolf.  What  more  ? 

Rod.  Shortsighted  that  thou  art,  is  not  George 
of  Aspen,  as  well  as  thou,  a  member  of  the  holy 
and  invisible  circle,  over  which  I  preside  ? 

Wolf.  Speak  lower,  for  God's  sake !  these  are 
things  not  to  be  mentioned  before  the  sun. 

Rod.  True:  but  stands  he  not  boimd  by  the 
most  solemn  oath  religion  can  devise,  to  discover 
to  the  tribunal  whatever  concealed  iniquity  shall 
come  to  his  knowledge,  be  the  perpetrator  whom 
he  may — ay,  were  that  perpetrator  liis  own  fa- 
ther— or  mother ;  and  can  you  doubt  that  he  has 
heard  Martin's  confession  ? 

Wolf.  True :  but,  blessed  Virgin  !  do  you  thmk 
he  will  accuse  his  own  mother  before  the  invisible 
judges  ? 

Rod.  If  not,  he  becomes  forsworn,  and,  by  om- 
law,  must  die.  Either  way  my  vengeance  is  com- 
plete— perjured  or  parricide,  I  care  not ;  but,  as 
the  one  or  the  other  shall  I  crush  the  haughty 
George  of  Aspen. 

Wolf.  Thy  vengeance  strikes  deep. 

Rod.  Deep  as  the  wounds  I  have  borne  from 
this  proud  family.  Rudiger  slew  my  father  in  bat- 
tle— George  has  twice  baffled  and  dishonored  my 
arms,  and  Henry  has  stolen  the  heart  of  my  be- 
loAied:  but  no  longer  can  Gertrude  now  remain 
under  the  care  of  the  murderous  dam  of  this 
brood  of  wolves ;  far  less  can  she  wed  the  amooth- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


819 


cheeked  boy,  when  this  scene  of  villany  shall  be 
disclosed.  [Bugle. 

Wolf.  Hark !  they  sound  a  retreat :  let  us  go 
deeper  into  the  wood. 

Rod.  The  victors  approach !  I  shall  dash  their 
triumph ! — Issue  the  private  sunamons  for  convok- 
ing the  members  this  very  evening ;  I  wUl  direct 
the  other  measures. 

W  )LF   What  place  ? 

Rod.  The  old  chapel  in  the  ruins  of  Griefenhaus, 
as  usual.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  n 

Enter  George  of  Aspev,  as  from  the  pursuit. 

Geo.  {comes  slowhj forward.)  How  many  wretches 
have  sunk  under  my  arm  tliis  day,  to  whom  hfe 
was  sweet,  though  the  wretched  bondsmen  of 
Count  Roderic  !  And  I — I  who  sought  death  be- 
neath every  lifted  battle-axe,  and  offered  my 
breast  to  every  arrow — I  am  cursed  with  victory 

and  safety.    Here  I  left  the  wretch Martin ! — 

Martin  ! — what,  ho !  Martin ! Mother  of  God ! 

he  is  gone  !  Should  he  repeat  the  dreadful  tale 
to  any  other Martin ! — He  answers  not.  Per- 
haps he  has  crept  into  the  thicket,  and  died  there 
— were  it  so,  the  horrible  secret  is  only  mine. 

Enter  Henet  of  Aspen,  with  Wickeed,  Reynold, 
and  followers. 

Hix.  Joy  to  thee,  brother !  though,  by  St.  Fran- 
cis, I  would  not  gain  another  field  at  the  price  of 
seeing  thee  fight  with  such  reckless  desperation. 
Thy  safety  is  little  less  than  miraculous. 

Ret.  By'r  Lady,  when  Baron  George  struck,  I 
think  he  must  have  forgot  that  his  foes  were 
God's  creatures.  Such  fm-ious  doings  I  never  saw, 
and  I  have  been  a  trooper  these  forty-two  years 
come  St.  Bai-naby 

Geo.  Peace !  saw  any  of  you  Martin  ? 

Wic.  Noble  sir,  I  left  him  here  not  long  since. 

Geo.  Alive  or  dead  ? 

Wic.  Alive,  noble  sir,  but  sorely  wounded.  I 
tliink  he  must  be  prisoner,  for  he  could  not  have 
budged  else  fi-om  hence. 

Geo.  Heedless  slave!  Why  didst  thou  leave  him  ? 

Hen.  Dear  brother,  Wickerd  acted  for  the  best : 
he  came  to  om-  assistance  and  the  aid  of  his  com- 
panions. 

Geo.  I  tell  thee,  Hemy,  Martin's  safety  was  of 
more  importance  than  the  lives  of  any  ten  that 
stand  here. 

Wic.  {inuttering.)  Here's  much  to  do  about  an 
old  crazy  trencher-shifter. 

Geo.  What  mutterest  thou  ? 

Wic.  Only,  sir  knight,  that  Martm  seemed  out 


of  his  senses  when  I  left  him,  and  haa  perhaps 
wandered  into  the  marsh,  and  perished  there. 

Geo.  How — out  of  his  senses  ?  Did  he  speak  to 
thee  ? — {apprehensively.) 

Wic.  Yes,  noble  sir. 

Geo.  Dear  Henry,  step  for  an  instant  to  yon 
tree — thou  wilt  see  from  thence  if  the  foe  rally 
upon  the  Wolfshill.  (Heney  retires)  And  do  you 
stand  back  {to  the  soldiers.) 

[He  brings  Wickeed /oncard 

Geo.  {with  marked  apprehension.)  What  did 
Martin  say  to  thee,  Wickerd? — tell  me,  on  thy 
allegiance. 

Wic  Mere  ravings,  sir  knight — offered  me  his 
sword  to  kill  you. 

Geo.  Said  he  aught  of  killing  any  one  else  ? 

Wic.  No  :  the  pain  of  his  wound  seemed  to  have 
brought  on  a  fever. 

Geo.  {clasps  ?us  hands  together.)  I  breathe  again 
— I  spy  comfort.  ^Vhy  could  I  not  see  as  well  as 
this  fellow,  that  the  wounded  wretch  may  have 
been  distracted  ?  Let  me  at  least  think  so  tiU 
proof  shall  show  the  truth  {aside.)  Wickerd,  think 
not  on  what  I  said — the  heat  of  the  battle  had 
chafed  my  blood.  Thou  hast  wished  for  the  Neth- 
er farm  at  Ebersdorf — ^it  shaU  be  thino 

Wic.  Thanks,  my  noble  lord. 

Re-enter  BLeney. 

Hen.  No — they  do  not  rally — they  have  had 
enough  of  it — but  Wickerd  and  Conrad  shall  re- 
main, with  twenty  troopers  and  a  score  of  crosa- 
bowmen,  and  scour  the  woods  towards  Griefen- 
haus, to  prevent  the  fugitives  from  making  head. 
We  wUl,  with  the  rest,  to  Ebersdorf.  What  say 
you,  brother  ? 

Geo.  Well  ordered.  Wickerd,  look  thou  search 
everywhere  for  Martin :  bring  him  to  me  dead  or 
alive ;  leave  not  a  nook  of  the  wood  imsouglit. 

Wic  I  warrant  you,  noble  sir,  I  shall  find  him, 
could  he  clew  himself  up  like  a  dormouse. 

Hen.  I  think  he  must  be  prisoner. 

Geo.  Heaven  forefend !  Take  a  trumpet,  Eus- 
tace {to  an  attendant) ;  ride  to  the  castle  of  Mal- 
tingen,  and  demand  a  parley.  If  ilartin  is  prisoner, 
offer  any  ransom :  offer  ten — twenty — all  our  pris- 
oners in  exchange. 

Eus.  It  shall  be  done,  sir  knight. 

Hen.  Ere  we  go,  sound  trumpets — strike  up  the 
song  of  victory. 

SONG. 

Joy  to  the  victors  !  the  sons  of  old  Aspen ! 

Joy  to  the  race  of  the  battle  and  scar  I 
Glory's  proud  garland  triumphantly  grasping ; 
Generous  in  peace,  and  victorious  in  war. 
Honor  acquiring, 
Valor  inspiring, 


820 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Burstmg  resistless,  tlirough  foemen  they  go : 
War-axes  wielding, 
broken  ranks  yielding, 
Till  from  the  battle  proud  Roderic  retirmg, 
Yields  in  wild  rout  the  fail'  palm  to  his  foe. 

Joy  to  each  warrior,  true  follower  of  Aspen ! 
Joy  to  the  heroes  that  gain'd  the  bold  day ! 
Health  to  our  wounded,  in  agony  gasping ; 
Peace  to  our  brethren  that  fell  in  the  fray ! 
Boldly  this  moriung, 
Roderic's  power  scorning, 
"Well  for  their  chieftain  their  blades  did  they 
wield: 
Joy  blest  them  dying, 
As  Maltingen  flying, 
Low  laid  his  banners,  our  conquest  adorning, 
Their  death-clouded  eyeballs  descried  on  the  field ! 

Now  to  our  home,  the  proud  mansion  of  Aspen, 

Bend  we,  gay  victors,  triumphant  away ; 
There  each  fond  damsel,  her  gallant  youth  clasping, 
Shall  wipe  from  his  forehead  the  stains  of  the 
fray. 
Listening  the  prancing 
Of  horses  advancuig ; 
E'en  now  on  the  turrets  our  maidens  appear. 
Love  our  hearts  warming, 
Songs  the  night  charming. 
Round  goes  the  grape  in  the  goblet  gay  dancing ; 
Love,  wine,  and  song,  our  bhthe  evening   shall 
cheer ! 

Hen.  Now  spread  our  banners,  and  to  Ebersdorf 
in  triumph.  We  cany  relief  to  the  anxious,  joy 
to  the  heart  of  the  aged,  brotlier  George.     ( Going 

off-) 

Geo.  Or  treble  misery  and  death. 

\_Apart,  and  following  slowly. 

The  music  sounds,  and  the  followers  of  Aspen  begin 
to  file  across  the  stage.     The  curtain  falls. 


ACT  m.— SCENE  L 

Castle  of  Ebersdorf. 

RuDiGEE,  Isabella,  and  Gertrude. 

Run.  I  prithee,  dear  wife,  be  merry.  It  must 
be  over  by  this  time,  and  happily,  otherwise  the 
bad  nevrs  had  reached  us. 

IsA.  Should  we  not,  then,  have  heard  the  tidings 
of  the  good  ? 

Run.  Oh  1  these  fly  slower  by  half.  Besides,  I 
warrant  all  of  them  engaged  in  the  pursuit.     Oh  1 


not  a  page  would  leave  the  skirts  of  the  fugitives 
till  they  were  fairly  beaten  into  their  holds  ;  but 
had  the  boys  lost  the  day,  the  stragglers  had  made 
for  the  castle.  Go  to  the  window,  Gertrude :  seest 
thou  any  tiling? 

Ger.  I  think  I  see  a  horseman. 

IsA.  A  single  rider  ?  then  I  fear  me  much. 

Ger.  It  is  only  Father  Ludovic. 

Run.  A  plague  on  thee  !  didst  thou  take  a  fat 
friar  on  a  mule  for  a  trooper  of  the  house  of  Aspen  ? 

Ger.  But  yonder  is  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Run.  (^eagerly)  Indeed! 

Ger.  It  is  only  the  wine  sledges  going  to  my 
aunt's  convent. 

Run.  The  devil  confound  the  wine  sledges,  and 
the  mules,  and  the  monks !  Come  from  the  win- 
dow, and  torment  me  no  longer,  thou  seer  of 
strange  sights. 

Ger.  Dear  uncle,  what  can  I  do  to  amuse  you  ? 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  dreamed  this  morning  ? 

Run.  Nonsense :  but  say  on ;  any  thing  is  better 
than  silence. 

Ger.  I  thought  I  was  in  the  chapel,  and  they 
were  burying  my  aunt  Isabella  alive.  And  who, 
do  you  think,  aunt,  were  the  gravediggers  who 
shovelled  in  the  earth  upon  you?  Even  Baron 
George  and  old  Martin. 

IsA.  {appears  shocked.)  Heaven !  what  an  idea ! 

Ger.  Do  but  think  of  my  terror — and  Minhold 
the  minstrel  played  all  the  while,  to  drown  your 
screams. 

RuD.  And  old  Father  Ludovic  danced  a  sara- 
band, with  the  steeple  of  the  new  convent  upon 
his  thick  skuU  by  way  of  mitre.  A  truce  to  this 
nonsense.  Give  us  a  song,  my  love,  and  leave  thy 
dreams  and  visions. 

Ger.  What  shall  I  sing  to  you? 

Run.  Sing  to  me  of  war. 

Ger.  I  cannot  sing  of  battle ;  but  I  will  sing 
you  the  Lament  of  Eleanor  of  Toro,  when  her  lover 
was  slam  in  the  wars. 

IsA.  Oh,  no  laments,  Gertrude. 

RuD.  Then  sing  a  song  of  mu-th. 

IsA.  Dear  husband,  is  this  a  tune  for  mirth  ? 

Run.  Is  it  neither  a  time  to  sing  of  mirth  nor  of 
sorrow  ?  Isabella  would  rather  hear  Father  Ludo- 
vic chant  the  "  De  profundis." 

Ger.  Dear  imcle,  be  not  angry.  At  present,  I 
can  only  smg  the  lay  of  poor  Eleanor.  It  comes 
to  my  heart  at  this  moment  as  if  the  sorrowful 
moiu-ner  had  been  my  own  sister. 

SONG.' 

Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 
Weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the  dark 
wood, 

I  Compare  with  "  The  Maid  of  Toro  "  ante,  635. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


821 


As  a  fail*  maiden,  bewilder'd  in  sorrow, 

Sigh'd  to  the  breezes  and  wept  to  the  flood. — 

"  Saints,  from  the  mansion  of  bliss  lowly  bending, 
Viigin,  that  hear'st  the  poor  suppliant's  cry, 

Grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 
My  Frederick  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die." 

Distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle ; 
With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes 
they  fail, 
TiU  the  slaout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  conflict's 
dread  rattle, 
And  the  chase's  wild  clamor  came  loading  the 
gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  through  the  woodland  so 
dreary. 
Slowly  approaching,  a  warrior  was  seen ; 
Life's  ebbing  tide  mark'd  his  footsteps  so  weary. 
Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  was  liis  mien. 

"  Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying ; 
Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low ; 
Cold  on  yon  heath  thy  bold  Frederick  is  lying, 
Fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the  foe." 
\Thc  voice  of  Gertrude  sinks  by  degrees, 
till  she  bursts  into  tears. 

Run.  How  now,  Gertrude  ? 

Ger.  Alas !  may  not  the  fate  of  poor  Eleanor  at 
this  moment  be  mine  ? 

RuD.  Never,  my  girl,  never !  [Military  music  is 

heard.)  Hark !  hark !  to  the  sounds  that  tell  thee  so. 

[All  rise  and  run  to  the  window. 

Run.  Joy !  joy !  they  come,  and  come  victorious. 
{The  chorus  of  the  war-song  is  heard  without.)  Wel- 
come !  welcome !  once  more  have  my  old  eyes 
seen  the  banners  of  the  house  of  Maltingen  tram- 
pled in  the  dust. — Isabella,  broach  oiu:  oldest  casks  : 
wine  is  sweet  after  war. 

Enter  Henry,  followed  by  Reynold  and  troopers. 

Rod.  Joy  to  thee,  my  boy  I  let  me  press  thee  to 
this  old  heart. 

IsA.  Bless  thee,  my  son — [embraces  him) — Oh, 
how  many  hours  of  bitterness  are  compensated  by 
this  embrace  1  Bless  thee,  my  Henry !  where  hast 
thou  left  thy  brother  ? 

Hen.  Hard  at  hand :  by  this  lie  is  crossing  the 
di-awbridge.  Hast  thou  no  greetings  for  me,  Ger- 
trude ?     [Goes  to  her) 

Ger.  I  joy  not  in  battles. 

Run.  But  she  had  teai-s  for  thy  danger. 

Hen.  Thanks,  my  gentle  Gertrude.  See,  I  have 
brougJ^t  back  thy  scarf  from  no  inglorious  field. 

Ger.  It  is  bloody  ! — [shocked.) 

Run.  Dost  start  at  that,  my  girl  ?  Were  it  Ms 
own  blood,  as  it  is  that  of  his  foes,  thou  shouldst 
gloiy  in  it. — Go,  Reynold,  make  good  cheer  with 
thy  fellows.  [^Uxit  Reynold  a7id  Soldiers. 


Enter  George  pensively. 

Geo.  [goes  straight  to  Rudigee.)  Father,  thy 
blessing. 

Run.  Thou  hast  it,  boy. 

IsA.  [rushes   to   embrace   him — fie  avoids   her 
How  ?  art  thou  wour:,ded  ? 

Geo.  No. 

Rud.  Thou  lookest  deadly  pale. 

Geo.  It  is  nothing. 

IsA.  Heaven's  blessing  on  my  gallant  George. 

Geo.  [aside.)  Dares  she  bestow  a  blessing  ?  Oh 
Martin's  tale  was  phrensy ! 

IsA.  SmUe  upon  us  for  once,  my  son;  darken 
not  thy  brow  on  this  day  of  gladness — few  are 
our  moments  of  joy — should  not  my  sons  share  in 
them? 

Geo.  [aside.)  She  has  moments  of  joy — it  was 
phrensy  then ! 

IsA.  Gertrude,  my  love,  assist  me  to  disarm  the 
knight.     [She  loosens  and  takes  off  his  casque.) 

Ger.  There  is  one,  two,  three  hacks,  and  none 
has  pierced  the  steel. 

Rud.  Let  me  see.   Let  me  see.   A  trusty  casque  1 

Ger.  Else  hadst  thou  gone. 

IsA.  I  will  reward  the  armorer  with  its  weight 
in  gold. 

Geo.  [aside.)  She  must  be  innocent. 

Ger.  And  Henry's  shield  is  hacked,  too !  Let  me 
show  it  to  you,  uncle.     [She  carries  Henry's  shield 

to  RUDIGER.) 

Rud.  Do,  my  love  ;  and  come  Iiither,  Henry, 
thou  shalt  tell  me  how  the  day  went. 

[Henry  and  Gertrude  converse  apart  with 
RuDiGER ;  George  comes  forward ;  Isa- 
bella comes  to  him. 

IsA.  Surely,  George,  some  evil  has  befallen 
thee.  Grave  thou  art  ever,  but  so  dreadfully 
gloomy — 

Geo.  Evil,  indeed. — [Aside)     Now  for  the  trial. 

IsA.  Has  your  loss  been  great  ? 

Geo.  No  ! — Yes ! — [Apart.)     I  cannot  do  it. 

IsA.  Perhaps  some  friend  lost  ? 

Geo.  It  must  be. — Martin,  is  dead. — [He  regards 
her  with  apprehension,  but  steadily,  as  he  proiiouncea 
these  words.) 

IsA.  [starts,  then  shows  a  ghastly  expressioti  of 
joy.)     Dead ! 

Geo.  [almost  overcome  by  his  feelings.)  Guilty! 
Guilty ! — [apart.) 

IsA.  [tcithout  observing  his  emotion.)  Didst  thou 
say  dead  ? 

Geo.  Did  I — no — I  only  said  mortally  wounded- 

IsA.  Wounded  ?  only  wounded  ?  "WTiere  is  he  ? 
Let  me  fly  to  him. — [Going.) 

Geo.  [sternly.)  Hold,  lady! — Speak  not  so  loud ! 
— Thou  canst  not  see  liim ! — He  is  a  prisoner. 

IsA.  A  prisoner,  and  wounded  ?  Fly  to  his  de- 
liverance ! — Offer  wealth,  lands,  castles, — aU  our 


1 


822 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


possessions,  for  his  ransom.     Never  shall  I  knovr 
peace  till  these  walls,  or  tiU  the  grave  secures  him. 
Geo.  (apart.)  Guilty  1     Guilty! 

Enter  Petek. 

Pet.  Hugo,  squire  t®  the  Count  of  Maltingen, 
has  arrived  with  a  message. 

EuD.  I  will  receive  him  in  the  halL 

[Exit,  leaning  on  Gertrude  and  Henry. 

IsA.  Go,  George — see  after  Martin. 

Geo.  ( firmly.)  No — I  have  a  task  to  perform ; 
and  though  the  earth  should  open  and  devour  me 
alive — I  will  accomplish  it.  But  first — ^but  first — 
Natiu-e,  take  thy  tribute. — (He  falls  on  his  mother'' s 
neck,  and  weeps  bitterly) 

IsA.  George !  my  son !  for  Heaven's  sake,  what 
dreadful  phrensy ! 

Geo.  (yialks  two  turns  across  the  stage  and  com- 
poses himself.)  Listen,  mother — I  knew  a  knight 
in  Hungary,  gallant  in  battle,  hospitable  and  gen- 
erous in  peace.  The  king  gave  hun  his  friendship, 
and  the  administration  of  a  province  ;  that  province 
was  infested  by  thieves  and  murderers.  You  mark 
me? — 

IsA.  Most  heedfully. 

Geo.  The  knight  was  sworn — ^bound  by  an  oath 
the  most  dreadful  that  can  be  taken  by  man — to 
deal  among  offenders  even-handed,  stern,  and  im- 
partial justice.     "Was  it  not  a  dreadful  vow  ? 

IsA.  {with  an  affectation  of  composure.)  Solemn, 
doubtless,  as  the  oath  of  every  magistrate. 

Geo.  And  inviolable  ? 

IsA.  Siu-ely — inviolable. 

Geo.  "Well !  it  happened,  that  when  he  rode  out 
against  the  banditti,  he  made  a  prisoner.  And 
who,  thuik  you,  that  prisoner  was  ? 

IsA.  I  know  not  {with  increasing  terror) 

Geo.  {trembling,  but  proceeding  rapidly)  His 
own  twin-brother,  who  sucked  the  same  breasts 
with  him,  and  lay  in  the  bosom  of  the  same  moth- 
er; his  brother  whom  he  loved  as  his  own  soul 
— what  should  that  knight  have  done  unto  liis 
brother  ? 

IsA.  {almost  speechless.)  Alas !  what  did  he  do  ? 

Geo.  He  did  {turning  his  head  from  her,  aiid 
with  clasped  hands)  what  I  can  never  do : — ^he  did 
CIS,  duty. 

IsA.  My  son !  my  son ! — Mercy !  Mercy !  ( Clings 
to  him) 

Geo.  Is  it  then  true  ? 

IsA.  Wliat? 

Geo.  What  Martin  said  ?  (Isabella  hides  her 
face)    It  is  true ! 

IsA.  (looks  up  with  an  air  of  dignity)  Hear, 
Framer  of  the  laws  of  nature  !  the  mother  is  judged 
by  tho  child — (Turns  towards  him)  Yes,  it  is  true 
— true  that,  fearful  of  my  own  life,  I  secured  it  by 
the  m\)»"ier  of  my  tyrant.     Mistaken  coward !  I 


httle  knew  on  what  terrors  I  ran,  to  avoid  one 
moment's  agony. — Thou  hast  the  secret ! 

Geo.  Knowest  thou  to  whom  thou  hast  told  it  ? 
IsA.  To  my  son. 

Geo.  No  !  No !  to  an  executioz^iw ' 
IsA.  Be  it  80 — go,  proclaim  my  crime,  and  forget 
not  my  pmiishment.  Forget  not  that  the  murder- 
ess of  her  husband  has  dragged  out  years  of  hidden 
remorse,  to  be  brought  at  last  to  the  scaffold  bv 
her  own  cherished  son — thou  art  silent. 

Geo.  The  language  of  Natm-e  is  no  more !  How 
shall  I  learn  another  ? 

IsA.  Look  upon  me,  George.    Should  the  execu- 
tioner be  abashed  before  the  criminal — ^look  upon 
me,  my  son.     From  my  soul  do  I  forgive  thee. 
Geo.  Forgive  me  what  ? 

IsA.  Wliat  thou  dost  meditate — be  vengeance 
heavy,  but  let  it  be  secret — add  not  the  death  of  a 
father  to  that  of  the  sinner  !  Oh !  Rudiger !  Rudi- 
ger  !  innocent  cause  of  all  my  guilt  and  all  my  woe, 
how  wUt  thou  tear  thy  silver  locks  when  thou  shalt 
hear  her  guilt  whom  thou  hast  so  often  clasped  to 
thy  bosom — hear  her  infamy  proclaimed  by  the 
son  of  thy  fondest  hopes — (weeps) 

Geo.  (struggling  for  breath)  Nature  will  have 
utterance :  mother,  dearest  mother,  I  will  save 
you  or  perish !  (throws  himself  into  her  arms) 
Thus  fall  my  vows. 

IsA.  Man  thyself!  I  ask  not  safety  from  thee. 
Never  shall  it  be  said,  that  Isabella  of  Aspen 
turned  her  son  from  the  path  of  duty,  though  his 
footsteps  must  pass  over  her  mangled  corpse. 
Man  tliyself. 

Geo.  No  !  No !  The  ties  of  Nature  were  knit 
by  God  himself.  Cursed  be  the  stoic  pride  that 
would  rend  them  asunder,  and  call  it.  vLtue  ! 

IsA.  My  son !  My  son ! — How  shall  1  oehold  thee 
hereafter  ? 

l^Three  knocks  are  heard  upon  the  door  of 
the  apartment. 
Geo.  Hark !    One — two — ^three.     Roderic,  thou 
art  speedy !     (Apart) 

IsA.  (opens  the  door)  A  parchment  stuck  to  the 
door  with  a  poniard  !  (Opens  it)  Heaven  and 
earth ! — a  summons  from  the  invisible  judge* ! — 
(Drops  the  parchment) 

Geo.  (reads  mth  emotion)  "  Isabella  of  Aspen, 
accused  of  murder  by  poison,  we  conjure  thee,  by 
the  cord  and  by  the  steel,  to  appear  this  night 
before  the  avengers  of  blood,  who  judge  in  secret 
and  av  3nge  in  secret,  like  the  Deity.  As  thou  art 
innocent  or  guilty,  so  be  thy  deliverance." — Mar- 
tm,  Martin,  thou  hast  played  false  1 
IsA.  Alas  !  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 
Geo.  Thou  canst  not  fly ;  instant  death  would 
follow  the  attempt ;  a  hundred  thousand  aims 
would  be  raised  against  thy  hfe ;  every  morse^ 
thou   didst   taste,  every  drop  which  thou   didsl 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


823 


drink,  the  very  breeze  of  heaven  that  fanned  thee, 
would  come  loaded  with  destruction.  One  chance 
jf  safety  is  open : — obey  the  summons. 

IsA.  And  perish. — Yet  why  should  I  still  fear 
death  ?     Be  it  so. 

Geo.  No — I  have  sworn  to  save  you.  I  will  not 
do  the  work  by  halves.  Does  any  one  save  Martin 
know  of  the  dreadful  deed  ? 

IsA.  Ifone. 

Geo.  Then  go — assert  your  innocence,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  me. 

IsA.  Wretch  that  I  am !  How  can  I  support  the 
task  you  would  impose  ? 

Geo.  Think  on  my  father.  Live  for  him:  he 
will  need  all  the  comfort  thou  canst  bestow.  Let 
the  thought  that  his  destruction  is  involved  in 
thine,  carry  thee  through  the  dreadful  trial. 

IsA.  Be  it  so. — For  Rudiger  I  have  lived:  for 
him  I  will  continue  to  bear  the  bm'den  of  exist- 
ence :  but  the  instant  that  my  guilt  comes  to  his 
knowledge  shall  be  the  last  of  my  life.  Ere  I 
would  bear  from  him  one  glance  of  hatred  or  of 
scorn,  this  dagger  should  drink  my  blood.  (Puts 
the  poniard  into  her  bosom.) 

Geo.  Fear  not.  He  can  never  know.  No  evi- 
dence shall  appear  against  you. 

IsA.  How  shall  I  obey  the  summons,  and  where 
find  the  terrible  judgment-seat  ? 

Geo.  Leave  that  to  the  judges.  Resolve  but  to 
obey,  and  a  conductor  will  be  foimd.  Go  to  the 
chapel;  there  pray  for  your  sins  and  for  mine. 
[He  leads  her  out,  and  returns) — Sins,  indeed  !  I 
break  a  dreadful  vow,  but  I  save  the  life  of  a  pa- 
rent ;  and  the  penance  I  will  do  for  my  perjury 
shall  appal  even  the  judges  of  blood. 

Enter  Reynold. 
Ret.  Sir  knight,  the  messenger  of  Count  Roderic 
desh'es  to  speak  with  you. 
Geo.  Admit  him. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Htjg.  Coimt  Roderic  of  Maltingen  greets  you. 
He  says  he  will  this  night  hear  the  bat  flutter  and 
the  owlet  scream ;  and  he  bids  me  ask  if  thou  also 
wilt  listen  to  the  music. 

Geo.  I  miderstand  him.     I  will  be  there. 

Hug.  And  the  Coimt  says  to  you,  that  he  wUl 
not  ransom  your  wounded  squii-e,  though  you 
would  down-weigh  his  best  horse  with  gold.  But 
you  may  send  him  a  confessor,  for  the  Count  says 
he  win  need  one. 

Geo.  Is  he  so  near  death  ? 

Hug.  Not  as  it  seems  to  me.  He  is  weak  tlirough 
loss  of  blood ;  but  since  his  wound  was  dressed  he 
can  both  stand  and  walk.  Our  Count  has  a  notable 
balsam,  which  has  recruited  liim  much. 

Geo.  Enough — I  wiU  send  the  priest. — {Exit 
-,  UGO.)    I  fathom  his  plot.    He  would  add  another 


witness  to  the  tale  of  Martin's  guilt.  But  no  priest 
shall  approach  him.  Reynold,  thinkest  thou  not 
we  could  send  one  of  the  troopers,  disguised  as  a 
monk,  to  aid  Martin  in  making  his  escape  ? 

Rey.  Noble  sir,  the  followers  of  your  house  are 
so  well  known  to  those  of  Maltingen,  that  I  fear  it 
is  unpossible. 

Geo.  Knowest  thou  of  no  stranger  who  might  be 
employed  ?  His  reward  shall  exceed  even  his  hopes. 

Rey.  So  please  you — I  think  the  minstrel  could 
well  execute  such  a  conmiission :  he  is  shrewd  and 
cunning,  and  can  write  and  read  like  a  priest. 

Geo.  Call  hun. — {Exit  Reynold.)  If  this  fails,  I 
must  employ  open  force.  Were  Martin  removed, 
no  tongue  can  assert  the  bloody  truth. 

Enter  Minstrel. 

Geo.  Come  hither,  iliuhold.  Hast  thou  courage 
to  undertake  a  dangeroiis  enterprise  ? 

Bee.  My  life,  sir  knight,  has  been  one  scene  of 
danger  and  of  di'ead.    I  have  forgotten  how  to  fear. 

Geo.  Thy  speech  is  above  thy  seeming.  Who 
art  thou  ? 

Bee.  An  unfortunate  knight,  obliged  to  shroud 
myself  under  this  disguise. 

Geo.  What  is  the  cause  of  thy  misfortunes  ? 

Ber.  I  slew,  at  a  tournament,  a  prince,  and  was 
laid  under  the  ban  of  the  empire. 

Geo.  I  have  interest  with  the  emperor.  Swear 
to  perform  what  task  I  shall  impose  on  thee,  and 
I  win  procm-e  the  recall  of  the  ban. 

Ber.  I  swear. 

Geo.  Then  take  the  disguise  of  a  monk,  and  go 
with  the  follower  of  Count  Roderic,  as  if  to  confess 
my  wounded  squire  Martin.  Give  liun  thy  dress, 
and  remain  in  prison  in  his  stead.  Thy  captivity 
shall  be  short,  and  I  pledge  my  knightlj-  word  I 
wiU  labor  to  execute  my  promise,  when  thou  shalt 
have  leisure  to  unfold  thy  history. 

Ber.  I  will  do  as  you  direct.  Is  the  life  of  your 
squire  in  danger  ? 

Geo.  It  is,  rmless  thou  canst  accomplish  his  re- 
lease. 

Ber.  I  will  essay  it.  [Exit. 

Geo.  Such  are  the  mean  expedients  to  wliich 
George  of  Aspen  must  now  resort.  No  longer  can  I 
debate  with  Roderic  in  the  field.  The  depraved — 
the  perjured  knight  must  contend  with  him  only 
in  the  arts  of  dissimulation  and  treachery.  Oh, 
mother !  mother !  the  most  bitter  consequence  of 
thy  crime  has  been  the  birth  of  thy  first-born  1 
But  I  must  warn  my  brother  of  the  impending 
storm.  Poor  Henry,  how  little  can  thy  gay  tem- 
per anticipate  evil  I  What,  ho  there  !  (Enter  an 
Attendant)     Where  is  Baron  Heiu-y  ? 

Att.  Noble  SU-,  he  rode  forth,  after  a  slight  re- 
freshment, to  visit  the  party  in  the  field. 

Geo.  Saddle  my  steed ;  I  will  follow  him 


824 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Arr.  So  please  you,  yom*  noble  father  has  twice 
demanded  your  presence  at  the  banquet. 

Geo.  It  matters  not — say  that  I  have  ridden 
forth  to  the  Wolfshill.     Where  is  thy  lady  ? 

Att.  In  the  chapel,  sir  knight. 

Geo.  'Tis  well — saddle  my  bay-horse — {apart) 
for  the  last  time.  \_Exit. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  L 

The  wood  of  Griefcnhaus,  with  tlie  ruins  of  the 
Castle.  A  nearer  view  of  the  Castle  than  in 
Act  Second,  but  still  at  some  distance. 

Enter  Rodeeic,  Wolfstein,  and  Soldiers,  as  from 
a  reconnoiterincf  party. 

Wolf.  They  mean  to  improve  their  success,  and 
will  push  their  advantage  far.  We  must  retreat 
betimes,  Count  Roderic. 

Rod.  We  are  safe  here  for  the  present.  They 
make  no  immediate  motion  of  advance.  I  fancy 
neither  George  nor  Henry  are  with  their  party  in 
the  wood. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Noble  sir,  how  shall  I  tell  what  has  hap- 
pened ? 

Rod.  What? 

Hug.  Martin  has  escaped. 

Rod.  Villain,  thy  hfe  shall  pay  it !  (Strikes  at 
Hugo — is  held  by  Wolfsteix.) 

Wolf.  Hold,  hold,  Coimt  Roderic  1  Hugo  may 
be  blameless. 

Rod,  Reckless  slave  !  how  came  he  to  escape  ? 

Hug.  Under  the  disguise  of  a  monk's  habit, 
whom  by  yom-  orders  we  brought  to  confess  him. 

Rod.  Has  he  been  long  gone  ? 

Hug.  An  hom-  and  more  since  he  passed  our 
sentinels,  disguised  as  the  chajilain  of  Aspen :  but 
he  walked  so  slowly  and  feebly,  I  think  he  cannot 
yet  have  reached  the  posts  of  tlie  enemy. 

Rod.  Where  is  the  treacherous  priest  ? 

Hug.  He  waits  his  doom  not  far  from  hence. 

[Exit  Hugo. 

Rod.  Drag  him  hither.  The  miscreant  that 
enatched  the  morsel  of  vengeance  from  the  Hon  of 
Maltingen,  shall  expke  imder  torture. 

He-enter  Hugo,  with  Bertram  and  Attendants. 

Rod.  Villain !  what  tempted  thee,  under  the 
garb  of  a  minister  of  rehgion,  to  steal  a  criminal 
from  the  hand  of  justice  ? 

Bee.  I  am  no  villain.  Count  Roderic ;  and  I  only 
aided  the  escape  of  one  wounded  wretch  whom 
thou  didst  mean  to  kill  basely. 

Rod.  Liar  and  slave !  thou  hast  assisted  a  mur- 
derer, upon  whom  justice  had  sacred  claims. 


Bee.  I  warn  thee  again.  Count,  that  I  am  neither 
har  nor  slave.  Shortly  I  hope  to  teU  thee  I  am 
once  more  thy  equal. 

Rod.  Thou!  Thou! 

Ber.  Yes !  the  name  of  Bertram  of  Ebersdorf 
was  once  not  unknown  to  thee. 

Rod.  {astonished.)  Thou  Bertram!  the  brother 
of  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  first  husband  of  the  Bar- 
oness Isabella  of  Aspen  ? 

Bee.  The  same. 

Rod.  Who,  in  a  quarrel  at  a  tournament,  many 
years  since,  slew  a  blood-relation  of  the  emperor, 
and  was  laid  imder  the  ban  ? 

Bee.  The  same. 

Rod.  And  who  has  now,  in  the  disguise  of  a 
priest,  aided  the  escape  of  Martin,  squire  to  George 
of  Aspen  ? 

Bee.  The  same — the  same. 

Rod.  Then,  by  the  holy  cross  of  Cologne,  thou 
hast  set  at  liberty  the  mm-derer  of  thy  brother 
Arnolf! 

Bee.  How  !     What !    I  understand  thee  not ! 

Rod.  iliserable  plotter  ! — Martin,  by  liis  own 
confession,  as  Wolfstein  heard,  avowed  having 
aided  Isabella  in  the  murder  of  her  husband.  I 
had  laid  such  a  plan  of  vengeance  as  should  have 
made  aU  Germany  shudder.  And  thou  hast  coun- 
teracted it — thou,  the  brother  of  the  murdered 
Arnolf? 

Bee.  Can  this  be  so,  Wolfstein  ? 

Wolf.  I  heard  Martin  confess  the  murder. 

Bee.  Then  am  I  indeed  unfortunate  ! 

Rod.  What,  in  the  name  of  evil,  brought  thee 
here  ? 

Bee.  I  am  the  last  of  my  race.  When  I  was 
outlawed,  as  thou  knowest,  the  lands  of  Ebers- 
dorf, my  rightful  inheritance,  were  declared  for- 
feited, and  the  Emperor  bestowed  them  upon 
Rudiger  when  he  married  Isabella.  I  attempted 
to  defend  my  domain,  but  Rudiger — Hell  thank 
him  for  it — enforced  the  ban  against  me  at  the 
head  of  his  vassals,  and  I  was  constrained  to  fly. 
Smce  then  I  have  warred  against  the  Saracens  in 
Spain  and  Palestine. 

Rod.  But  why  didst  thou  return  to  a  land  where 
death  attends  thy  being  discovered  ? 

Bee.  Impatience  urged  me  to  see  once  more  the 
land  of  my  nativity,  and  the  towers  of  Ebersdorf. 
I  came  there  yesterday,  under  the  name  of  the 
minstrel  Miuhold. 

Rod.  And  what  prevailed  on  thee  to  undertake 
to  deliver  Martin  ? 

Bee.  George,  though  I  told  not  my  name,  en- 
gaged to  procure  the  recall  of  the  ban ;  besides, 
he  told  me  Martin's  hfe  was  in  danger,  and  I  ac- 
counted the  old  villain  to  be  the  last  remaining 
follower  of  our  house.  But,  as  God  shall  judge 
me,  the  tale  of  horror  thou  hast  mentioned  I  could 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


825 


not  have  even  suspected.  Report  ran,  that  ray 
brother  died  of  the  plague. 

Wolf.  Raisod  for  the  purpose,  doubtless,  of  pre- 
venting attendance  upon  his  sick-bed,  and  an  in- 
spection of  his  body. 

Br.R.  My  vengeance  shall  be  dreadful  as  its 
cause  !  The  usurjiers  of  my  inheritance,  the  rob- 
bers of  my  honor,  the  murderers  of  my  brother, 
shall  be  cut  ofl",  root  and  branch ! 

Rod.  Thou  art,  then,  welcome  here  ;  especially 
if  thou  art  still  a  true  brother  to  our  invisible 
order. 

Bee.  I  am. 

Rod.  There  is  a  meeting  this  night  on  the  busi- 
ness of  thy  brother's  death.  Some  are  now  come. 
I  must  dispatch  them  in  pursuit  of  Mai-tin. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Tlie  foes  advance,  sir  knight. 

Rod.  Back  !  back  to  the  ruins  1  Come  "with  us, 
Bertram ;  on  the  road  thou  shalt  hear  the  dread- 
ful history.  [Exeunt. 

From  the  opposite  side  enter  George,  Henet, 
WicKERD,  CoxRAD,  and  Soldiers. 

Geo.  Wo  news  of  Martin  yet  ? 

Wic.  Ifone,  sir  knight. 

Geo.  Nor  of  the  minstrel  ? 

Wic.  None. 

Geo.  Then  he  has  betrayed  me,  or  is  prisoner — 
misery  either  way.  Begone,  and  search  the  wood, 
Wickerd.  \_Exeunt  Wickeed  and  followers. 

Hen.  StUl  this  dreadful  gloom  on  thy  brow, 
brother  ? 

Geo.  Ay !  what  else  ? 

Hen.  Once  thou  thoughtest  me  worthy  of  thy 
friendship. 

Geo.  Henry,  thou  art  young — 

Hen.  Shall  I  therefore  betray  thy  confidence  ? 

Geo.  No  !  but  thou  art  gentle  and  well-na- 
tured. Thy  mind  cannot  even  support  the  burden 
wliich  mine  must  bear,  far  less  wilt  thou  approve 
the  means  I  shall  use  to  thi'ow  it  off. 

Hen.  Try  me. 

Geo.  I  may  not. 

Hen.  Then  thou  dost  no  longer  love  me. 

Geo.  I  love  thee,  and  because  I  love  thee,  I  will 
not  involve  thee  in  my  distress. 

Hen.  I  will  bear  it  with  thee. 

Geo.  Shouldst  thou  share  it,  it  would  be  doubled 
to  me. 

Hen.  Fear  not,  I  will  find  a  remedy. 

Geo.  It  would  cost  thee  peace  of  mind,  here, 
and  hereafter. 

Hen.  I  take  the  risk. 

Geo.  It  may  not  be,  Henry.  Thou  wouldst  be- 
come the  confidant  of  crimes  past — the  accompUce 

of  others  to  come. 
104 


Hen.  Shall  I  guess  ? 

Geo.  I  charge  thee,  no ! 

Hen.  I  must.     Thou  art  one  of  the  secret  judges. 

Geo.  Unhajjpy  boy !  what  hast  thou  said  ? 

Hen.  Is  it  not  so  ? 

Geo.  Dost  thou  know  what  the  discovery  has 
cost  thee  ? 

Hen.  I  care  not. 

Geo.  He  who  discovers  any  part  of  om-  mystery 
must  himself  become  one  of  om-  number. 

Hen.  How  so  ? 

Geo.  If  he  does  not  consent,  his  secrecy  will  be 
speedily  ensured  by  his  death.  To  that  we  are 
sworn — take  thy  choice  ! 

Hen.  Well,  are  you  not  banded  in  secret  to 
punish  those  offenders  whom  the  sword  of  justice 
cannot  reach,  or  who  arc  shielded  from  its  stroke 
by  the  buckler  of  power  ? 

Geo.  Such  is  indeed  the  purpose  of  our  frater- 
nity ;  but  the  end  is  pursued  through  palhs  dark, 
intricate,  and  slippery  with  blood.  Who  is  he  that 
shall  tread  them  with  safety  ?  Accursed  be  the 
hour  in  Avhich  I  entered  the  labj-riuth,  and  doubly 
accursed  that,  in  wliich  thou  too  must  lose  the 
cheerful  sunshine  of  a  soul  without  a  mystery ! 

Hen.  Yet  for  thy  sake  wiU  I  be  a  member. 

Geo.  Henry,  thou  didst  rise  this  morning  a  free 
man.  No  one  could  say  to  thee,  "  Why  dost  thou 
so  ?"  Thou  layest  thee  down  to-night  the  veriest 
slave  that  ever  tugged  at  an  oar — the  slave  of 
men  whose  actions  will  appear  to  thee  savage  and 
incomprehensible,  and  whom  thou  must  aid  against 
the  world,  upon  peril  of  thy  throat. 

Hen.  Be  it  so.     I  wiU  share  your  lot. 

Geo.  Alas,  Henry  I  Heaven  forbid !  But  since 
thou  hast  by  a  hasty  word  fettered  thyself,  I  will 
avail  myself  of  thy  bondage.  Mount  thy  fleetest 
steed,  and  hie  thee  this  very  night  to  the  Duke  of 
Bavaria.  He  is  cliief  and  paramount  of  our  chap- 
ter. Show  him  this  signet  and  this  letter ;  tell 
hun  that  matters  will  be  this  night  discussed  con- 
cerning the  house  of  Aspen.  Bid  him  speed  him 
to  the  assembly,  for  he  well  knows  the  jjresident 
is  our  deadly  foe.  He  will  admit  thee  a  member 
of  our  holy  body. 

Hen.  Who  is  the  foe  whom  you  dread? 

Geo.  Young  man,  the  first  duty  thou  must  learn 
is  imphcit  and  blind  obedience. 

Hen.  Well !  I  shall  soon  return  and  see  thee 
again. 

Geo.  Return,  uideed,  thou  wilt;  but  for  the  rest 
— well !  that  matters  not. 

Hen.  I  go :  thou  wilt  set  a  watch  here  ? 

Geo.  I  will.  (Heney  goinej)  Return,  my  dear 
Henry ;  let  me  embrace  thee,  shouldst  thou  not 
see  me  again. 

Hen.  Heaven  !  what  mean  you  ? 

Geo,  Nothmg.     The  hfe  of  mortals  is  precari- 


826 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


" 


ous ;  and,  should  we  not  meet  again,  take  my 
blessing  and  this  embrace — and  this — [embraces 
him  warmly)  And  now  haste  to  the  duke.  {Exit 
Henry.)  Poor  youth,  thou  little  knowest  what 
thou  hast  undertaken.  But  if  Martin  has  escaped, 
and  if  the  duke  arrives,  they  Tvill  not  dare  to  pro- 
ceed without  proof. 

Re-enter  Wiokerd  and  followers. 
Wic.  We  have  made  a  follower  of  Maltmgen 
prisoner.  Baron  George,  who  reports  that  Martin 
has  escaped. 

Geo.  Joy !  joy !  such  joy  as  I  can  now  feel ! 
Set  him  free  for  the  good  news — and,  Wickerd, 
keep  a  good  watch  in  this  spot  all  night.  Send 
out  scouts  to  find  Martin,  lest  he  should  not  be 
able  to  reach  Ebersdorf. 
"Wic.  I  shall,  noble  sir. 

\The  kettle-drums  and  trumpets  flourish 
as  for  setting  the  watch :  the  scene  closes- 


SCENE  II. 

'The  chapel  at  Ebersdorf,  an  ancient  Gothic  building. 

Isabella  is  discovered  rising  from  before  the  altar, 
on  which  burn  two  tapers. 

IsA.  I  caimot  pray.  Terror  and  guilt  have  sti- 
fled devotion.  The  heart  must  be  at  ease — the 
hands  must  be  pure  when  they  arc  lifted  to  Heav- 
en. Midnight  is  the  hour  of  summons :  it  is  now 
near.  How  can  I  pray,  when  I  go  resolved  to 
deny  a  crime  which  every  drop  of  my  blood  could 
not  wash  away  !  And  my  son !  Oh  !  he  will  fall 
the  victim  of  my  crune  !  Arnolf !  Arnolf !  thou 
art  dreadfully  avenged  !  {Tap  at  the  door.)  The 
footstep  of  my  dreadful  guide.  (Tap  again.)  My 
courage  is  no  more.  {Enter  Gertrude  bi/  the  door.) 
Gertrude  !  is  it  only  thou  ?  {embraces  her.) 

Ger.  Dear  aunt,  leave  this  awful  place  ;  it  chills 
my  very  blood.  My  uncle  sent  me  to  call  you  to 
the  hall. 

IsA.  T\1io  is  in  the  haU  ? 

Ger.  Only  Reynold  and  the  family,  with  whom 
my  vmcle  is  making  merry. 

IsA.  Sawest  thou  no  strange  faces? 

Ger.  No  ;  none  but  friends. 

IsA.  Art  thou  sure  of  that  ?     Is  George  there  ? 

Ger.  No,  nor  Henry ;  both  have  ridden  out.  I 
think  they  might  have  staid  one  day  at  least.  But 
come,  aimt,  I  hate  tliis  place ;  it  reminds  me  of  my 
dream.  See,  yonder  was  the  spot  where  methought 
they  were  burying  you  alive,  below  yon  monu- 
ment {pointing.) 

IfiA.  (^starting.)  The  monument  of  my  first  hus- 


band. Leave  me,  leave  me,  Gertrude.  I  follow 
in  a  moment.  (Exit  Gertrude.)  Ay,  there  he 
lies !  forgetful  aUke  of  liis  crimes  and  injuries ! 
Insensible,  as  if  this  chapel  had  never  rung  with 
my  shrieks,  or  the  castle  resounded  to  his  parting 
groans  1  When  shall  I  sleep  so  soundly  ?  {As 
she  gazes  on  the  mommient,  a  figure  muffled  in  black 
appears  from  behind  it.)  Merciful  God !  is  it  a 
vision,  such  as  has  haunted  my  couch  ?  {It  ap- 
proaches :  she  goes  on  with  mingled  terror  and  res- 
olution.) Ghastly  phantom,  art  thou  the  restless 
spirit  of  one  who  died  in  agony,  or  art  thou  the 
mysterious  being  that  must  guide  me  to  the  pres- 
ence of  the  avengers  of  blood  ?  {Figure  bends  its 
head  and  beckons.) — To-morrow  !  To-morrow !  I 
cannot  follow  thee  now !  {Figure  shows  a  dagger 
from  beneath  its  cloak.)  Compulsion !  I  under- 
stand thee:  I  win  follow.  {She  follows  the  figure 
a  little  way  ;  he  turns  and  wraps  a  black  veil  round 
her  head,  and  takes  her  hand:  then  both  exeunt 
behind  the  monument.) 


SCENE  III. 

The  Wood  of  Griefenhaus. — A  watch-fire,  round 
which  sit  Wiokerd,  Conkad,  and  others,  in  their 
watch-cloaks. 

Wic.  The  night  is  bitter  cold. 

Cox.  Ay,  but  thou  hast  lined  thy  doublet  well 
with  old  Rhenish. 

Wic.  True ;  and  I'U  give  you  warrant  for  it. 
{Sings.) 

(rhein-wein  lied.)  ' 

What  makes  the  troopers'  frozen  courage  muster  ? 

Tlie  grapes  of  juice  divine. 
Upon  the  Rhine,  upon  the  Rhine  they  cluster : 

Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine  ! 

Let  fringe  and  furs,  and  many  a  rabbit  skin,  sus, 

Bedeck  your  Saracen ; 
He'll  freeze  without  what  warms  our  hearts  with- 
in, sirs, 

T\Tien  the  night-frost  crusts  the  fen. 

But  on  the  Rhine,  but  on  the  Rhine  they  cluster, 

The  gi-apes  of  juice  divine, 
That  make  our  troopers'  frozen  courage  muster : 

Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine  ! 

Con.  Well  sung,  Wickerd;  thou  wert  ever  i 
jovial  soul. 

Enter  a  trooper  or  two  more. 
Wic.  Hast  thou  made  the  rounds,  Frank  f 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


827 


Frank.  Yes,  up  to  the  hemlock  marsh.  It  is  a 
fitormy  night;  the  moon  shone  on  the  Wolfshill, 
and  on  the  dead  bodies  with  which  to-day's  work 
has  covered  it.  We  heard  the  spirit  of  tlie  house 
of  Maltingen  waiUng  over  the  slaughter  of  its  ad- 
herents :  I  durst  go  no  farther. 

Wic.  Hen-hearted  rascal !  The  spirit  of  some  old 
raven,  who  was  picking  their  bones. 

Con.  Nay,  Wickerd ;  the  churchmen  say  there 
are  such  things. 

Frank.  Ay ;  and  Father  Ludovic  told  us  last 
sermon,  how  the  devil  twisted  the  neck  of  ten 
farmers  at  Kletterbach,  who  refused  to  pay  Pe- 
ter's pence. 

"Wic.  Yes,  some  church  devil,  no  doubt. 

Frank.  Nay,  old  Reynold  says,  that  in  passing, 
by  midnight,  near  the  old  chapel  at  our  castle,  he 
saw  it  all  lighted  up,  and  heard  a  chorus  of  voices 
sing  the  funeral  service. 

Another  Soldier.  Father  Ludovic  heard  the 
same. 

Wic.  Hear  me,  ye  hare-livered  boys !  Can  you 
look  death  in  the  face  in  battle,  and  dread  such 
nursery  bugbears  ?  Old  Reynold  saw  his  vision 
in  the  strength  of  the  grape.  As  for  the  chaplain, 
far  be  it  from  me  to  name  the  spirit  which  visits 
him  ;  but  I  know  what  I  know,  when  I  found  liira 
confessing  Bertrand's  pretty  Agnes  in  the  chestnut 
grove. 

Con.  But,  Wickerd,  though  I  have  often  heard 
of  strange  tales  which  I  could  not  credit,  yet  there 
is  one  in  our  family  so  well  attested,  that  I  almost 
believe  it.     Shall  I  tell  it  you  ? 

All  Soldiers.  Do  !  do  tell  it,  gentle  Conrad. 

Wic.  And  I  will  take  t'other  sup  of  Rhenish  to 
fence  against  the  horrors  of  the  tale. 

Con.  It  is  about  my  own  uncle  and  godfather, 
Albert  of  Horsheim. 

Wic.  I  have  seen  him — ^he  was  a  gallant  war- 
rior. 

Con.  Well !  he  was  long  absent  in  the  Bohe- 
mian wars.  In  an  expedition  he  was  benighted, 
and  came  to  a  lone  house  on  the  edge  of  a  forest : 
he  and  his  followers  knocked  repeatedly  for  en- 
trance in  vain.  They  forced  the  door,  but  found 
no  inhabitants. 

Frank.  And  they  made  good  their  quarters  ? 

Con.  They  did :  and  Albert  retired  to  rest  in  an 
upper  chamber.  Oj^posite  to  the  bed  on  which  he 
threw  himself  was  a  large  mirror.  At  midniglit 
he  was  awaked  by  deep  groans  :  he  cast  his  eyes 
upon  the  mirror,  and  saw 

Frank.  Sacred  Heaven  1  Heard  you  nothing  ? 

Wic.  Ay,  the  wind  among  the  wither'd  leaves. 
Go  on,  Conrad.     Your  uncle  was  a  wise  man. 

Con.  That's  more  than  gray  hairs  can  make 
other  folks. 

Wio.    Ha !    stripling,  art  thou    so  malapert  ? 


Though  thou  art  Lord  Henry's  page,  I  shaU  teach 
thee  who  commands  tliis  party. 

All  Soldiers.  Peace,  peace,  good  Wickerd :  let 
Conrad  proceed. 

Con.  Where  was  I  ? 

Frank.  About  the  mirror. 

Con.  True.  My  uncle  beheld  in  the  mirror  the 
reflection  of  a  hiunan  face  distorted  and  covered 
with  blood.  A  voice  pronounced  articulately,  "  It 
is  yet  time."  As  the  words  were  spoken,  my  im- 
cle  discerned  in  the  ghastly  visage  the  features  of 
his  own  father. 

Soldier.  Hush  !  By  St.  Francis,  I  heard  a  groan. 
{They  start  up  all  hut  Wickerd.) 

Wic.  Tlie  croaking  of  a  frog,  who  has  caught 
cold  in  this  bitter  night,  and  sings  rather  more 
hoarsely  than  usual. 

Frank.  Wickerd,  thou  art  surely  no  Christian. 
{They  sit  down,  and  close  round  the  fire) 

Con.  Well — my  uncle  called  up  his  attendants, 
and  they  searched  every  nook  of  the  chamber,  but 
found  nothing.  So  they  covered  the  mkror  with 
a  cloth,  and  Albert  was  left  alone  ;  but  hardly  had 
he  closed  his  eyes  when  the  same  voice  proclaimed, 
"  It  is  now  too  late  ;"  the  covering  was  drawn  aside, 
and  he  saw  the  figure 


Frank.  Merciful  Vu-gin !  It  comes.  {All  rise.) 

Wic.  Where?  what? 

Con.  See  yon  figui-e  coming  from  the  thicket ! 

Enter  Martin,  in  the  monk's  dress,  much  disorder- 
ed: his  face  is  very  pale  and  his  steps  slow. 

Wic.  {levelling  his  pike)  Man  or  devil,  which 
thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  feel  cold  iron,  if  thou  budgest 
a  foot  nearer.  (Martin  stops.)  Who  art  thou  ? 
What  dost  thou  seek  ? 

Mar.  To  warm  myself  at  your  fii-e.  It  is  deadly 
cold. 

Wic.  See  there,  ye  cravens,  your  apparition  is 
a  poor  benighted  monk :  sit  down,  father.  {They 
place  Martin  by  the  fire.)  By  heaven,  it  is  Martin 
— our  Martin !  Martin,  how  fares  it  with  thee  ? 
We  have  sought  thee  tlois  whole  night. 

M.AR.  So  have  many  others  {vacantly.) 

Con.  Yes,  thy  master. 

]VL\R.  Did  you  see  him  too  ? 

Con.  Wliom  ?  Baron  George  ? 

Mar.  Ne !  my  first  master,  Amolf  of  Ebersdorf 

Wic.  He  raves. 

Mar.  He  passed  me  but  now  in  the  wood,  mount- 
ed upon  his  old  black  steed ;  its  nostrils  breathed 
§moke  and  flame  ;  neither  tree  nor  rock  stopped 
him.  He  said,  "  Martm,  thou  wilt  return  this  night 
to  my  service !" 

Wic.  Wrap  thy  cloak  around  him,  Francis ;  he 
is  distracted  with  cold  and  pain.  Dost  thou  not 
recollect  me,  old  friend  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  you  are  the  butler  at  Ebersdorf:  yoa 


828 


SCOirS  POETICAL  WORKS, 


have  the  charge  of  the  large  gilded  cuj;*,  embossed 
with  the  figures  of  the  twelve  apostles.  It  was  the 
favorite  goblet  of  my  old  master. 

Con.  By  our  lady,  Martin,  thou  must  be  dis- 
tracted indeed,  to  think  our  master  would  intrust 
Wickerd  with  the  care  of  the  cellar. 

Mar.  I  know  a  face  so  Hke  the  apostate  Judas 
on  tliat  cup.  I  have  seen  the  hkeness  when  I  gazed 
on  a  mirror. 

Wic.  Try  to  go  to  sleep,  dear  Martin ;  it  will 
relieve  thy  brain.  [Footsteps  are  heard  in  the  wood.) 
To  your  arms.  {They  take  their  arms.) 

.Enter  two  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  muf- 
fled in  their  cloaks. 
Co:^.  Stand  !     Who  are  you  ? 
1  Mem..  Travellers  benighted  in  the  wood. 
Wic.  Are  ye  friends  to  Aspen  or  Maltingen  ? 

1  Mem.  We  enter  not  into  their  quarrel :  we  are 
friends  to  the  right. 

Wic.  Then  are  ye  friends  to  us,  and  welcome  to 
pass  the  night  by  oiu-  fire. 

2  Mem.  Thanks.    {They  approach  the  fire,  and 
^  regard  Martin  very  earnestly.) 

Con.  Hear  ye  any  news  abroad  ? 

2  Mem.  None  ;  but  tliat  oppression  and  villany 
are  rife  and  rank  as  ever. 
•   Wic.  The  old  complaint. 

1  Mem.  No !  never  did  former  age  equal  this  in 
wickedness ;  and  yet,  as  if  the  daily  commission  of 
enormities  were  not  enough  to  blot  the  sun,  every 
hour  discovers  crimes  which  have  lain  concealed 
for  years. 

Con.  Pity  the  Holy  Tribunal  should  slumber  in 
its  office. 

2  Mem.  Young  man,  it  slumbers  not.  Wlien 
crimmals  are  ripe  for  its  vengeance,  it  falls  like 
the  bolt  of  Heaven. 

Mar.  {attempting  to  rise.)  Let  me  be  gone. 

Con.  {detaining  him)  Whither  now,  Martin  ? 

Mar.  To  mass. 

1  Mem.  Even  now,  we  heard  a  tale  of  a  villam, 
who,  ungrateful  as  the  frozen  adder,  stung  the  bo- 
som that  had  warmed  him  into  life. 

Mar.  Com-ad,  bear  me  off;  I  would  be  away.from 
tliese  men. 

Con.  Be  at  ease,  and  strive  to  sleep. 

Mar.  Too  well  I  know — I  shall  never  sleep  again. 

^  Mem.  The  wi'etch  of  whom  we  speak  became, 
frcm  revenge  and  lust  of  gain,  the  murderer  of  the 
master  whose  bread  he  did  eat. 

Wic.  Out  upon  the  monster  1 

1  Mem.  For  nearly  tliirty  years  was  he  permit- 
ted to  cumber  the  ground.  The  miscreant  thought 
his  crime  was  concealed;  but  the  earth  which 
groaned  under  his  footsteps — the  winds  which 
passed  over  his  unhallowed  head — tlie  stream 
wliich  he  polluted  by  his  hps — the  fire  at  which  he 


warmed  his  blood-stained  hands — every  element 
bore  witness  to  his  guilt. 

Mak.  Conrad,  good  youth — ^lead  me  from  hence, 
and  I  will  show  thee  where,  thirty  years  since,  1 
deposited  a  mighty  bribe.  [Rises. 

Con.  Be  patient,  good  Martin. 
Wio.  And  where  was  the  miscreant  seized  ? 

[The  two  Members  suddenly  lay  hands  on 
Martik,  and  draw  their  daggers;    the 
Soldiers  spring  to  their  arms. 
1  Mem.  On  this  very  spot. 
Wic.  Traitors,  unloose  your  hold ! 
1  Mem.  In  the  name  of  the  Invisible  Judges,  I 
charge  ye,  impede  us  not  in  our  duty. 

[All  sink  their  weapons,  and  stand  mo- 
tionless. 
Mar.  Help!  helpl 
1  Mem.  Help  liim  with  your  prayers  1 

[Jle  is  dragged  off.     The  scene  shuts. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I. 

Tlie  subterranean  chapel  of  the  Castle  of  Griefen- 
haus.  It  seems  deserted,  and  in  decay.  There  are 
four  entrances,  each  defended  by  an  iron  portal. 
At  each  door  stands  a  warder  clothed  in  black, 
and  masked,  armed  with  a  naked  sword.  During 
the  whole  scene  they  remain  motionless  on  their 
posts.  In  the  centre  of  the  chapel  is  a  ruinous 
altar,  half  sunk  in  the  ground,  on  which  lie  a 
large  book,  a  dagger,  and  a  coil  of  ropes,  beside 
two  lighted  tapers.  Antique  stone  benches  of  dif- 
ferent heights  around  the  chapel.  In  the  back 
scene  is  seen  a  dilapidated  entrance  into  the  sa- 
cristy, which  is  quite  dark. 

Various  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal  enter 
by  the  four  different  doors  of  the  chapel.  Each 
whispers  something  as  he  passes  the  Warder 
which  is  answered  by  an  inclination  of  the  head. 
The  costume  of  the  Members  is  a  long  black  robe 
capable  of  muffling  the  face :  some  wear  it  in  this 
manner ;  others  have  their  faces  uncovered,  un- 
less on  the  entrance  of  a  stranger :  they  place 
themselves  in  profound  silence  upon  the  stone 
benches. 

Enter  Count  Roderio,  dresse^  in  a  scarlet  cloak  of 
the  same  form  with  those  of  the  other  Members. 
He  takes  his  place  on  the  most  elevated  bench. 

Rod.  Warders,  secure  the  doors!     {The  doors 

are  barred  ivith  great  care.)    Herald,  do  thy  duty ! 

[Members  all  rise — Herald  stands  by  the 

altar. 

Her.  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  who 

judge  in  secret,  and  avenge  in  secret,  like  the  Deity, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


829 


ore  your  hearts  free  from  malice,  and  your  bands 
from  blood-guiltiness  ? 

[All  the  3f embers  incline  their  heads. 

Rod.  God  pardon  our  sins  of  ignorance,  and  pre- 
serve us  from  those  of  presumption. 

[Again  the  Members  solemnly  incline  their 
heads. 

Her.  To  the  east,  and  to  the  west,  and  to  the 
north,  and  to  the  south,  I  raise  my  voice  ;  wherever 
there  is  treason,  wherever  there  is  blood-guUtiness, 
wherever  there  is  sacrilege,  sorcery,  robbery,  or 
perjur}^,  there  let  this  curse  alight,  and  pierce  the 
marrow  and  the  bone.  Eaise,  then,  your  voices, 
and  say  with  vcm,  woe  !  woe,  unto  offenders ! 

All.  "Woe  !  woe  !  [Members  sit  down. 

'  Her.  He  who  knoweth  of  an  unpmiished  crime, 
let  him  stand  forth  as  bound  by  his  oath  when  his 
hand  was  laid  upon  the  dagger  and  upon  the  cord, 
and  call  to  the  assembly  for  vengeance ! 

Mem.  {rises,  his  face  covered.)  Vengeance !  ven- 
geance !  vengeance ! 

Rod.  Upon  whom  dost  thou  invoke  vengeance  ? 

Accuser.  Upon  a  brother  of  this  order,  who  is 
forsworn,  and  perjured  to  its  laws. 

Rod.  Relate  his  crime. 

Accu.  This  i^erjured  brother  was  sworn,  upon 
the  steel  and  upon  the  cord,  to  denounce  malefac- 
tors to  the  judgment-seat,  from  the  four  quarters 
of  heaven,  though  it  were  the  spouse  of  his  heart, 
or  the  son  whom  he  loved  as  the  apple  of  his  eye ; 
yet  did  he  conceal  the  guilt  of  one  who  was  dear 
luito  him ;  he  folded  up  the  crime  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  tribunal ;  he  removed  the  evidence  of 
guilt,  and  withdrew  the  criminal  from  justice. 
What  does  his  perjury  deserve  ? 

Rod.  Accuser,  come  before  the  altar ;  lay  thy 
hand  upon  the  dagger  and  the  cord,  and  swear  to 
the  truth  of  thy  accusation. 

Accu.  {his  hand  on  the  altar.)     I  swear ! 

Rod.  Wilt  thou  take  upon  thyself  the  penalty 
of  perjury,  should  it  be  found  false  ? 

Accu.  I  will. 

Rod.  Brethren,  what  is  your  sentence  ? 

\Tlie  Members  confer  a  moment  in  whis- 
pers— a  silence. 

Eldest  Mem.  Our  voice  is,  that  the  perjured 
brother  merits  death. 

Rod.  Accuser,  thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the 
assembly  ;  name  the  criminal. 

Accu.  George,  Baron  of  Aspen. 

[A  murmur  in  the  assembly. 

A  Mem.  {suddenly  rising.)  I  am  ready,  accord- 
mg  to  our  holy  laws,  to  swear,  by  the  steel  and 
the  cord,  that  George  of  Aspen  merits  not  tliis  ac- 
cusation, and  that  it  is  a  foul  calumny. 

Accu.  Rash  man !  gagest  thou  an  oath  so  lightly  ? 

Mem.  I  gage  it  not  lightly.  I  proffer  it  in  the 
ciuse  of  innocence  and  virtue. 


Accu.  What  if  George  of  Aspen  should  not  him- 
self deny  the  charge  ? 

Mem.  Tlien  would  I  never  trust  man  again. 

Accu.  Hear  him,  then,  bear  witness  against  him- 
self {throws  back  his  maiitle.) 

Rod.  Baron  George  of  Aspen ! 

Geo.  The  same — prepared  to  do  penance  for  the 
crime  of  which  he  stands  self-accused. 

Rod.  Still,  canst  thou  disclose  the  name  of  the 
crmiinal  whom  thou  hast  rescued  from  justice,  on 
tlrnt  condition  alone,  thy  brethren  may  save  thy 
hfe. 

Geo.  Tliinkest  thou  I  would  betray  for  the  safety 
of  my  life,  a  secret  I  have  preserved  at  the  breach 
of  my  word  ? — N'o !  I  have  weighed  the  value  of 
my  obligation — I  wUl  not  discharge  it — but  most 
wHlbagly  will  I  pay  the  penalty ! 

Rod  Retire,  George  of  Aspen,  till  the  assembly 
pronounce  judgment. 

Geo.  Welcome  be  your  sentence — I  am  weary 
of  your  yoke  of  iron.  A  light  beams  on  my  soul. 
Woe  to  those  who  seek  just  ice  jn  the  dark  haimta 
of  mystery  and  of  cruelty  i  She  dwells  in  the 
broad  blaze  of  the  smi,  and  Mercy  is  ever  by  her 
side.  Woe  to  those  who  would  advance  the  gen- 
eral weal  by  trampUng  upon  the  social  affections ! 
tliey  aspire  to  be  more  than  men — they  shall  be- 
come worse  than  tigers.  I  go :  better  for  me  your 
altars  should  be  stained  with  my  blood,  than  my 
soul  blackened  with  your  crimes. 

[Exit  George,  by  the  ruinous  door  in  the 
back  scene,  into  the  sacristy. 

Rod.  Brethren,  sworn  upon  the  steel  and  upon 
the  cord,  to  judge  and  to  avenge  in  secret,  without 
favor  and  without  pity,  what  is  your  judgment 
upon  George  of  Aspen,  self-accused  of  perjury,  and 
resistance  to  the  laws  of  our  fraternity  ? 

[Long  and  earnest  micrmurs  in  the  as- 
sembly. 

Rod.  Speak  your  doom. 

Eldest  !Mem.  George  of  Aspen  has  declared  him 
self  perjured ; — the  penalty  of  perjury  is  death  1 

Rod.  Father  of  the  secret  judges — Eldest  among 
those  who  avenge  in  secret — take  to  tliee  the  steel 
and  the  cord ; — ^let  the  guilty  no  longer  cumber  the 
land. 

Eldest  Mem.  I  am  fourscore  and  eight  years  old. 
My  eyes  are  dim,  and-my  hand  is  feeble ;  soon  shall 
I  be  called  before  the  thi'one  of  my  Creator ; — How 
shall  I  stand  there,  stained  with  the  blood  of  such 
a  man? 

Rod.  How  wilt  thou  stand  before  that  throne, 
loaded  with  the  guilt  of  a  broken  oath  ?  The  blood 
of  the  criminal  be  upon  us  and  ours ! 

Eldest  Mem.  So  be  it,  in  the  name  of  God  1 

[He  takes  the  dagger  from,  the  altar,  goes 
slowly  towards  the  back  scene,  and  re- 
luctantly enters  the  sacristy. 


830 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Eldest  Judge,  [from  behind  the  scene.)  Dost  thou 
forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  {behind.)  I  do !  {He  is  heard  to  fall  heavily.) 
\Jie-enter  the  old  judge  from  the  sacriaty. 
He  lays  on  the  altar  the  bloody  dagger. 
Rod.  Hast  thou  done  thy  duty  ? 
Eldest  Meji.  I  have.     {He  faints!) 
Rod.  He  swoons.     Remove  him. 

\He  is  assisted  off  the  stage.    During  this 
four  members  enter  the  sacristy,  and 
bring  out  a  bier  covered  with  a  pall, 
which  they  place  on  the  steps  of  the  altar. 
A  deep  silence. 
Rod  Judges  of  evil,  dooming  in  secret,  and  aveng- 
ing in  secret,  hke  the  Deity :  God  keep  your  thoughts 
from  evil,  and  your  hands  from  guilt. 

Ber.  I  raise  my  voice  in  this  assembly,  and  cry, 
Vengeance !  vengeance !  vengeance ! 

Rod.  Enough  has  tliis  night  been  done — (he  rises 
and  brings  Bertram  forward.)  Think  -what  thou 
doest — George  has  fallen — it  were  murder  to  slay 
both  mother  and  son. 

Ber.  George  of  Aspen  was  thy  victim — a  sacri- 
fice to  thy  hatred  and  envy.  I  claim  mii\e,  sacred 
to  justice  aud  to  my  mm-dered  brother.  Resume 
thy  place — thou  canst  not  stop  the  rock  thou  hast 
put  in  motion. 

Rod.  {resumes  his  seat.)  Upon  whom  callest  thou 
for  vengeance  ? 

Ber.  Upon  Isabella  of  Aspen. 
Rod.  She  has  been  summoned. 
Herald.  Isabella  of  Aspen,  accused  of  murder 
by  poison,  I  charge  thee  to  appear,  and  stand  upon 
thy  defence. 

l^Three  knocks  are  heard  at  one  of  the 
doors — it  is  opened  by  the  warder. 

Enter  Isabella,  the  veil  still  icrapped  around  her 
head,  led  by  her  conductor.  All  the  members 
muffle  their  faces. 

Rod.  Uncover  her  eyes. 

[The  veil  is  removed.    Isabella  looks  wild- 
ly round 

Rod.  Knowest  thou,  lady,  where  thou  art  ? 

IsA.  I  guess. 

Rod.  Say  thy  guess. 

Isa.  Before  the  Avengers  of  blood. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou  why  thou  art  called  to  their 
presence  ? 

Isa.  No. 

Rob.  Speak,  accuser. 

Ber.  I  impeach  thee,  Isabella  of  Aspen,  before 
tliis  awful  assembly,  of  having  murdered,  privily 
and  by  poison,  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  thy  first  hus- 
band. 

Rod.  Canst  thou  swear  to  the  accusation  ? 

Bee.  (/(?'.s  hand  on  the  altar)  I  lay  my  hand  on 
the  steel  and  the  cord,  and  swear. 


Rod,  Isabella  of  Aspen,  thou  hast  heard  thy  ac- 
cusation.    Wliat  canst  thou  answer  ? 

IsA.  That  the  oath  of  an  accuser  is  no  proof  of 
guilt! 

Rod.  Hast  thou  more  to  say  ? 

Isa.  I  have. 

Rod.  Speak  on. 

Isa.  Judges  invisible  to  the  sun,  and  seen  only 
by  the  stars  of  midnight !  I  stand  before  you,  ac- 
cused of  an  enormous,  daring,  and  premeditated 
crime.  I  was  manied  to  Ai-nolf  when  I  was  only 
eighteen  years  old.  Amolf  was  wary  and  jealous ; 
ever  suspecting  me  without  a  cause,  unless  it  waa 
because  he  had  injured  me.  How  then  should  I 
plan  and  perpetrate  such  a  deed  ?  The  lamb  turns 
not  against  the  wolf,  though  a  prisoner  in  his  den. 

Rod.  Have  you  finished  ? 

Isa.  a  moment.  Years  after  years  have  elapsed 
without  a  whisper  of  this  foul  suspicion.  Amolf 
left  a  brother!  though  common  fame  had  been 
silent,  natm-al  affection  would  have  been  heard 
against  me — why  spoke  he  not  my  accusation  ?  Or 
has  my  conduct  justified  this  horrible  charge  ?  No  ! 
awful  judges,  I  may  answer,  I  have  foimded  clois- 
ters, I  have  endowed  hospitals.  The  goods  that 
Heaven  bestowed  on  me  I  have  not  held  back  from 
the  needy.  I  appeal  to  you,  judges  of  evil,  can 
these  proofs  of  innocence  be  down-weighed  by  the 
assertion  of  an  unknown  and  disguised,  perchance 
a  malignant  accuser  ? 

Ber.  No  longer  will  I  wear  that  disguise  {throws 
back  his  mantle)     Dost  thou  know  me  now  ? 

Isa.  Yes ;  I  know  thee  for  a  wandering  minstrel, 
relieved  by  the  charity  of  my  husband. 

Ber.  No,  traitress !  know  me  for  Bertram  or 
Ebersdorf,  brother  to  him  thou  didst  murder.  Call 
her  accomplice,  Martin.    Ha !  tumest  thou  pale  ? 

Isa.  May  I  have  some  water  ? — {Apart.)  Sacreii 
Heaven !  his  vindictive  look  is  so  like — 

[  Water  is  brought 

A  Mem.  Martin  died  in  the  hands  of  our  brethren. 

Rod.  Dost  thou  know  the  accuser,  lady  ? 

Isa.  {reassuming  fortitude.)  Let  not  the  sinking 
of  nature  under  this  dreadful  trial  be  imputed  to 
the  consciousness  of  guilt.  I  do  know  the  accuser 
— know  him  to  be  outlawed  for  homicide,  and  un- 
der the  ban  of  the  empire :  his  testimony  carjiot 
be  received. 

Eldest  Jm^GE.  She  says  truly. 

Ber.  {to  RoDERic.)  Then  I  call  upon  thee  and 
Wniiam  of  Wolfstein  to  bear  witness  to  what  you 
know. 

Rod.  "Wolfstein  is  not  in  the  assembly,  and  my 
place  prevents  me  from  being  a  witness. 

Ber.  Then  I  will  call  another :  meanwhile  let 
the  accused  be  removed. 

Rod.  Retire,  lady. 

("Isabella  is  led  to  the  sacristy. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A^PE^T. 


831 


IsA.  (mi  going  off.)  The  ground  is  slippery — 
Heaveas !  it  is  floated  •with  blood ! 

[^Exit  into  the  sacristy. 

Rod.  {apart  to  Berteam.)  Whom  dost  thou  mean 
to  call  ?  [Bertram  whispers. 

Rod.  This  goes  beyond  me.  {After  a  moment's 
thought.)  But  be  it  so.  Maltingen  shall  behold 
Aspen  humbled  in  the  dust.  {Aloud.)  Brethren, 
the  accuser  calls  for  a  witness  who  remains  with- 
out: admit  him.  \^All  muffle  their  faces. 

Enter  Rudiger,  his  eyes  bound  or  covered,  leaning 
upon  tico  members  ;  they  place  a  stool  for  him, 
and  unbind  his  eyes. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou  where  thou  art,  and  before 
■wuom  ? 

Rud.  I  know  not,  and  I  care  not.  Two  strangers 
summoned  me  from  my  castle  to  assist,  they  said, 
at  a  great  act  of  justice.  I  ascended  the  Utter 
they  brought,  and  I  am  here. 

Rod.  It  regards  the  punishment  of  perjury  and 
the  discovery  of  miu'der.  Art  thou  wilhng  to  as- 
sist us  ? 

Ruo.  Most  willing,  as  is  my  duty. 

Rod.  What  if  the  crime  regard  thy  friend  ? 

Rud.  I  wiU  hold  him  no  longer  so. 

Rod.  What  if  thine  own  blood  ? 

Rud.  I  would  let  it  out  with  my  poniard. 

Rod.  Then  canst  thou  not  blame  us  for  this  deed 
of  justice.  Remove  the  jDaU.  {The  pall  is  lifted, 
beneath  which  is  discovered  the  body  of  George, 
pale  and  bloody.     Rudiger  staggers  towards  it.) 

Rud.  My  George  !  my  George !  N^ot  slain  manly 
in  battle,  but  murdered  by  legal  assassins.  Much, 
much  may  I  mourn  thee,  my  beloved  boy ;  but 
not  now — not  now :  never  wiU  I  shed  a  tear  for 
thy  death  till  I  have  cleared  thy  fame. — Hear  me, 
ye  midnight  murderers,  he  was  innocent  {raising 
his  voice) — upright  as  the  truth  itself.  Let  the 
man  who  dares  gainsay  me  lift  that  gage.  If  the 
Almighty  does  not  strengthen  these  frail  limbs,  to 
make  good  a  father's  quarrel,  I  have  a  son  left,  who 
will  vindicate  the  honor  of  Aspen,  or  lay  his  bloody 
body  beside  his  brother's. 

Rod.  Rash  and  insensate !  Hear  first  the  cause. 
Hear  the  dishonor  of  thy  house. 

IsA.  {from  the  sacristy.)  Never  shall  he  hear  it 
till  th  e  author  is  no  more !  (Rudiger  attempts  to 
r7ish  owards  the  sacristy,  but  is  prevented.  Isabella 
e  iters  wounded,  and  throws  herself  on  George's 
body) 

i  SA.  Murdered  for  me — for  me  !  my  dear,  dear 
6on! 

Rud.  {still  held.)  Cowardly  vUlains,  let  me  loose ! 
Maltingen,  this  is  thy  doing !  Thy  face  thou  wouldst 
disguise,  thy  deeds  thou  canst  not !  I  defy  thee 
to  instant  and  mortal  combat ! 

IsA.  {looking  up)  Wo  1   no !    endanger  not  thy 


life  !     Myself !    myself !    I  could  not  bear   thou 

shouldst  know Oh !  {Dies.) 

Rud.  Oh !  let  me  go — let  me  but  try  to  stop  her 
blood,  and  I  will  forgive  alL 

Rod.  Drag  him  off  and  detain  him.  The  voice 
of  lamentation  must  not  distui'b  the  stern  deliber- 
ation of  justice. 

Rud.  Bloodhoimd  of  Maltingen!  Well  beseems 
thee  thy  base  revenge !  The  marks  of  my  son's 
lance  are  still  on  thy  craven  crest !  Vengeance  on 
the  band  of  ye  ! 

[Rudiger  is  dragged  off'  to  the  sacristy. 
Rod.  Brethren,  we  stand  discovered !  "^Tiat  is 
to  be  done  to  him  who  shall  descry  our  mystery  ? 
Eldest  Judge.  He  must  become  a  brother  of 
our  order,  or  die  ! 

Rod.  This  man  will  never  join  us !  He  cannot 
put  liis  hand  into  ours,  wliich  are  stained  witli  the 
blood  of  his  wife  and  son  :  he  must  therefore  die ! 
{Murmurs  in  the  assembly)  Brethren !  I  wonder  not 
at  yom*  reluctance ;  but  the  man  is  powerful,  has 
friends  and  aUies  to  buckler  his  cause.  It  is  over 
witli  us,  and  with  om-  order,  unless  the  laws  are 
obeyed.  {Fainter  murmurs)  Besides,  have  we 
not  sworn  a  deadly  oath  to  execute  these  statutes  ? 
{A  dead  silence)  Take  to  thee  the  steel  and  the 
cord  {to  the  eldest  judge.) 

Eldest  Judge.  He  has  done  no  evil — he  was  the 
companion  of  my  battle — I  wUl  not ! 

Rod.  {to  another)  Do  thou — and  succeed  to  the 
rank  of  him  who  has  disobeyed.  Remember  your 
oath !  {Member  takes  the  dagger,  and  goes  irreso- 
lutely forward;  looks  into  the  sacristy,  and  comes 
back.) 

Mem.  He  has  fainted — fainted  in  anguish  for  hia 
wife  and  Ms  son ;  the  bloody  ground  is  strewed 
with  his  white  hairs,  torn  by  those  hands  that  have 
foiight  for  Chiistendom.  I  will  not  be  your  butcher. 
— {Throies  down  the  dagger) 

Ber.  In'esolute  and  j^erjured  !  the  robber  of  my 
inheritance,  the  author  of  my  exile,  shall  die  ! 

Rod.  Thanks,  Bertram.  Execute  the  doom — 
secure  the  safety  of  the  holy  tribunal ! 

[Bertram  seizes  the  dagger,  and  is  about  to 
rush  into  the  sacristy,  when  three  lo2id 
knocks  are  heard  at  the  door. 
All.  Hold!  Hold! 

[The  Duke  of  Bavaria,  attended  by  many 
members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  enters, 
dressed  in  a  scarlet  mantle  trimmed  with 
ermine,  and  wearing  a  ducal  crown. — He 
carries  a  rod  in  his  hand. — All  rise. — A 
murmur  among  the  members,  who  whisper 
to  each  other,  "  The  Duke;'  "  The  Ch'ief^ 
etc. 
Rod.  The  Duke  of  Bavaria  1  I  am  lost. 
Duke,  {sees  the  bodies)  I  am  too  late — the  vie- 
tims  Ir*  'e  fallen. 


832 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Hen.  {who  enters  with  the  BuJce.)  Gracious  HcaT- 
en  !     0  George ! 

EuD.  (from  the  sacristy.)  Henry — it  is  thy  voice 
— save  me !  [Henry  rtishes  into  the  sacristy. 

Duke.  Roderic  of  Maltingen,  descend  from  the 
seat  which  thou  hast  dishonored — (Roderic  leaves 
his  place,  ivhich  the  Duke  occupies.) — Thou  standest 
accused  of  having  perverted  the  laws  of  oiu-  order ; 
for  that,  being  a  mortal  enemy  to  the  house  of 
Aspen,  thou  hast  abused  thy  sacred  authority  to 
pander  to  thy  private  revenge  ;  and  to  this  Wolf- 
stein  has  been  witness. 

Rod.  Chief  among  our  circles,  I  have  but  acted 
according  to  our  laws. 

Duke.  Thou  hast  indeed  observed  the  letter  of 
our  statutes,  and  woe  am  I  that  they  do  wai-rant 
this  night's  bloody  work !  I  cannot  do  unto  thee 
as  I  would,  but  what  I  can  I  will.  Thou  hast  not 
indeed  transgressed  our  law,  but  thou  hast  wrested 
and  abused  it:  kneel  down,  therefore,  and  place 
thy  hands  betwixt  mine.  (Roderic  kneels  as  di- 
rected.) I  degrade  thee  from  thy  sacred  office 
{spreads  his  haiids,  as  pushing  Roderic y>'o?n  him.) 
If  after  two  days  thou  darest  to  pollute  Bavarian 
ground  by  thy  footsteps,  be  it  at  the  peril  of  the 
steel  and  the  cord  (Roderic  rises.)  I  dissolve  this 
meeting  {all  rise.)  Judges  and  condemners  of 
others,  God  teach  you  knowledge  of  yourselves ! 
{All  bend  their  heads — Diike  breaks  his  rod,  and 
eomei  forward.) 


Rod.  Lord  Duke,  thou  hast  charged  me  with 
treachery — thou  art  my  liege  lord — but  who  else 
dares  maintain  the  accusation,  hes  in  his  throat. 

Hen.  {rushing  from  the  sacristy.)  Villain !  I  ac- 
cept thy  challenge ! 

Rod.  Vain  boy  !  my  lance  shall  chastise  thee  in 
the  hsts — there  lies  my  gage. 

Duke.  Henry,  on  thy  allegiance,  touch  it  not. 
{To  Roderic.)  Lists  shalt  thou  never  more  enter ; 
lance  shalt  thou  never  more  wield  {draws  his 
sword.)  With  this  sword  wast  thou  dubbed  a 
knight ;  with  this  sword  I  dishonor  thee — I  thy 
prince — {strikes  him  slightly  with  the  fat  of  the 
sivord) — I  take  from  thee  the  degree  of  knight,  the 
dignity  of  cliivahy.  Thou  art  no  longer  a  free 
German  noble  ;  thou  art  honorless  and  rightless ; 
the  funeral  obsequies  shall  be  performed  for  thee 
as  for  one  dead  to  knightly  honor  and  to  fair  fame ; 
thy  spurs  shall  be  hacked  from  thy  heels ;  thy 
arms  baffled  and  reversed  by  the  common  execu- 
tioner. Go,  fraudful  and  dishonored,  hide  thy 
shame  in  a  foreign  land !  (Roderic  shows  a  dumb 
expressioyi  of  rage.)  Lay  hands  on  Bertram  of 
Ebersdorf :  as  I  live,  he  shall  pay  the  forfeiture  of 
his  outlawry.  Henry,  aid  us  to  remove  thy  father 
from  this  chai-nel-house.  Never  shall  he  know  the 
dreadful  secret.  Be  it  mine  to  soothe  his  sorrows, 
and  to  restore  the  honor  of  the  House  of  Aspon. 

{Curtain  slowly  falls.) 


THS   EHO. 


INDEX. 


"  Abbot,"  Verses  from  the,  691-2. 
Abercorn,  Marquis  of,  suggestion  of,  re- 
garding a  passage  in  Marmion,  85,  n.  ; 

dedication  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake" 

to,  183. 

■ Marchioness  of,  103,  n. 

Ahercromby,  Sir  Ralph,  tribute  to  the 

memory  of,  105. 
Achaius,  King  of  Scotland,  169,  n. 
Adam,  Riglit  Hon.  William,  a  specimen 

of  minstrel  recitation  obtained  from, 

553. 
Addison,  his  criticism  on  Chevy  Chase, 

539,  540. 
Adolphus,  J.  L.,  Esq.  extracts  from  his 

"  Letter  on  the  Author  of  Waverley," 

391,  7!.;  516,  ?i. ;  527,  n. ;  535. 
"  Ahriman,"  716. 
Albania,  a  poem,  extract  from,  613. 
Albyn's  Anthology,  Songs  written  for, 

660,  061.  675,  676. 
Alexander  III.  "  the  last  Scottish  king  of 

the  pure  Celtic  race,"  5-12. 
Alexandre,     Mons.,     the     ventriloquist, 

"  Lines  addressed  to,"  713. 
"Alice  Brand,"  213.  254,  n. 
"  Allen-a-Dale,"  323. 
Alvanley,  Lady,  654,  n. 
Ambition,  personification  of,  277. 
"Ancient    Mariner,"    Coleridge's,   559. 

474. 
"  Ancient  Gaeuc  Melody,"  679. 
Ancram  Moor,  battle  of,  597. 
Anglo-Saxons,  poetry  of,  682. 
Angus,  Archibald,  sixth  Earl  of,  called 

"Bell-the-Cat,"  130.  143.  171. 
Angus,  seventh  Earl  of,  40.  74.  194.  244. 
"  An  hour  with  thee,"  720. 
"Annual  Review,"  the  critical  notices 

from,  16.  32.  53. 
Anne  of  Geirstein,  Verses  from,  724. 
Anthony  JVow  .Vojo,  555. 
"  Antiquary,"  Verses  from  the,  662-5. 
Anxiety,  effect  of,  in  giving  acuteness  to 

the  organs  of  sense,  297.  356. 
Arbuthnot,  Sir  William,  662,  n.  ;  704,  n. 
Aram,  Eugene,  remarkable  case  of,  361. 
Archers,  English,  126. 169.  462.  498.  729. 

730. 
Ardoch,  Roman  camp  at,  263. 
Argentine,  Sir  Giles  de,  422.  465.  500. 
Ariosto,  Translation  from,  674. 
"  Armin  and  Elvira,"  560. 
Arran,  Earl  of  (1.569),  600,  n. 

• Island  of.  448.  489. 

Arthur,  King,  1.54.  385.  392.  411. 

Arthur's  Seat,  704. 

Artornish  Castle,  469. 

Ascetic  religionists,  249. 

Ascham's  "Schoolmaster,"  note  from, 

411. 
Ashton,  Lucy,  Song  of,  673. 
"As  Lords  their  laborers'  hire  delay," 

715. 
"Aspen,  The  House  of,  a  tragedy," 

796. 
Athole,   John  de    Strathbogie,   Earl   of 

{temp.  Rob  I.),  480. 
■ David    de    Strathbogie,   Earl    of 

n335),  222,  n. 
"  Auchindrane,  or  the  Ayrshire  trage- 
dy," 770. 
Ayr,  loyalty  of  the  men  of,  rewarded  by 

King  Robert  Bruce,  458,  Ji. 
105 


B. 

Baillie,  Joanna,  letter  to,  on  Rokeby, 
353.  Prologue  to  her  "  Family  Le- 
gend," 639.  Dedication  to  her  of 
"Macduff's  Cross,"  T.iS. 

105.  524,  71. ;  729,  n. 

Balfour  of  Burley,  epitaph  on,  666. 

"Ballad,  the  Ancient,  Essat  on 
Imitations  of,"  555. 

"  Ballads,  Imitations  of,"  574. 

from  the  German,"  609. 

and    Poems,    ancient,    very 

few  manuscript  records  of  discovered, 

543.  Printed  in  Garlands,  ib. 
Collections  of,  by  Pepys,  543. 

The  Duke  of  Roxburgh,  ib.  An  anony- 
mous editor,  ib.    Miller  and  Chapman, 

544.  James  Watson,  ib.  Allan  Ram- 
say, ib.  Dr.  Percy,  ib.  Evans,  548. 
David  Herd,  549.  Pinkerton,  rt.  Rit- 
son,  ib.  Scott  (the  Border  Minstrelsy), 
.550.  Sir  J.  G.  Dalzell,  ib.  Robert 
Jamieson,  ib.  Motherwell,  551.  Fin- 
lay,  ib.  Kinloch,  ib.  C.  K.  Sharpe, 
ib.  Charles  Leslie,  iJ.  Peter  Buchan, 
ib.     And  Rev.  C.  H.  Hartshorne,  552. 

Ballantyne,  Mr.  James,  Border  3Iinstrel- 
sy,  the  first  work  printed  by  him,  550. 
570.  Letters  from  Scott  to,  236.  238. 
292.  306.  310.  313.  322.  354.  His  re- 
marks on  John  Kemble's  retirement 
from  the  Edinburgh  stage,  671,  n. 
Constable's  sobriquets  of,  713. 

Mr.  John,  665. 

Bangor,  the  Monks  of,  672. 

"  Bannatyne  Club,  The,"  711. 

Bannatyne,  George,  compiler  of  ancient 
MSS.,  711. 

Bannerman,  Miss  Anne,  her  "  Tales  of 
Superstition  and  Chivalry,"  559. 

Bannockburn,  Battle  of,  460 ;  stanza  18 
to  end  of  tlie  poem.  See  also  notes,  pp. 
495.  501. 

Sansters,  w'hat,  549,  ji. 

Barbauld,  Mrs.,  565. 

"Bard's  Incantation,  The,"  writ- 
ten under  the  threat  of  invasion,  1804, 
632. 

"  Barefooted  Friar,  The,"  681. 

Barnard  Castle,  296.  306.  356.  360. 

Barrington,  Shute,  Bishop  of  Durham, 

"  Battle  of  Sempach,"  619. 
Beacons,  32.  68. 

Bealach-nam-bo,  Pass  of,  209.  253. 
Beal'  an  Duine,  skirmish  at,  233.  267. 
Beattie,  Mr.,  of  Mickledale,  13. 
Dr.,  lines  from,  on  the  power  of 

fancy,  305,  n. 
Bellenden,  36.  71. 

Sir  James,  599,  n. 

Belrinnes,  Ballad  of,  550. 

Bell-Rock  Lighthouse,  lines  on  visiting, 

645. 
Beltane-tree,  the,  589.  593. 
Ben-an  Mountain,  187. 
Benledi,  185. 
Benvenue,  187. 
Benvoirlich,  184. 
Beresford.  Field-marshal  Lord,  tribute  to, 

282,  283.     His  training  the  Portuguese 

troops,  291. 

642.  

"  Bertram,  Harry,  Nativity  of,"  658. 
Berwick,  North,  135. 


"  Betrothed,"  Verses  from  the,  715- 
716. 

"  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray,"  remarki 
on  the  ballad  of,  553. 

Bethune,  or  Beaton,  family  of,  57. 

Bigotry,  personification  of,  276. 

Binram's  Corse,  tradition  of,  161. 

Biting  the  thumb,  or  the  glove,  47.  76. 

"Black  Dwarf,"  Mottoes  from  the, 
666. 

Blackford-hill,  122. 

Black-mail,  32.  263. 

Blackwater,  Battle  of,  in  Ireland,  367. 

"  Black  Knight's  Song.  The,"  683. 

Blackwood's  Magazine,  551,  n.  ;  critical 
notices  from,  408.  513.  536. 

Blair,  Right  Honorable  Robert,  Lord 
President  of  the  Court  of  Session,  death 
of,  269. 

"  Blondel,  the  Bloody  Vest,"  Song 
of,  717. 

Blood  of  which  party  first  shed,  an  angury 
of  success  in  battle,  212.  254. 

Blood-honnd,  or  Sluith-hound,  59.  186 
240.  482. 

"  Blue-blanket,"  the,  704,  n. 

"  Boat  Song,"  197. 

Bohun,  Sir  Henry  de,  his  encounter  with 
King  Robert  Bruce,  400.  496. 

"  Bold  Dragoon,  or  the  Plain  of  Bada- 
jos,"  642. 

Bolero,  a  Spanish  dance,  287. 

Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  allusions  to  in 
"  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,"  277. 
281,  282.  And  in  "  The  Field  of  Wa- 
terloo," 504-511,  passim.  Apostro- 
phe to  the  period  of  his  fall,  455,  456. 

642. 

Bond  of  Alliance,  or  feud  stanching, 
betwixt  the  clans  of  Scott  and  Kerr 
(1529),  57. 

"Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee,"  SoNO  to 
the  air  of,  759. 

"Border  Ballad,"  689. 

Borderers,  English,  excommunication  of, 
by  the  Bishop  of  Durham  (1498),  248 
Disorderly  conduct  of  those  who  attend- 
ed the  Protector  Somerset,  74.  Custom 
of  hanging  up  a  glove  in  a  cliurch  as  a 
challenge,  377. 

Scottish,  moss-troopers  after  the 

union  of  the  crowns,  59.  Religion,  60. 
Speed  in  collecting  large  bodies  of  horse, 
68.  Places  of  their  herdsmen's  refuge, 
ib.  March-treason,  72.  Form  of  Oath, 
ib.  Instances  of  the  cruelty  which  oc- 
casionally attended  their  warfare,  69. 
Regulations  in  1048,  73.  Friendly  in« 
tercourse  with  the  English,  74.  Foot- 
ball play,  ib.  Pursuit  of  marauders 
called  the  hot-trod,  75.  Robbers  quell- 
ed by  K.  James  V.,  247.  Manner  oi 
carrying  on  depredations,  363.  Taste 
for  poetry  and  mnsic,  542. 

Borough-moor  of  Edinburgh,  168. 

Bolhwell,  Adam  Hepburn,  Earl  oiUemp, 
Jao.  IV.),  167. 

Francis  Stewart,  Earl  of  (temp 

Jac.  VI.),  244. 

James  Hepburn,  Earl  of  (temp 

Mary),  74.  118. 

"Bothwell  Castle,"  628. 

Bowhill,  52,  n. 

Brackenbnry  Tower,  314.  362. 

Bracklinn  Cascade,  193.  245 


834 


INDEX. 


IJradford,  Sfr  Thomas,  704. 

ISraiiksome  Castle,  18.  54,  ib. 

■*  Bridal  of  Triermain,"  379.  See 
also  413. 

"  Bridal  Sono"  in  Waverley,  647. 

"Bride  of  Lammermoor,"  Verses 
from  the,  678-9. 

"  Bridge  of  Dee,"  poem  of  the,  552. 

Brigg,  or  Bridge  of  Turk,  185. 

British  Critic,  notices  from  the,  9.  89.  298. 
355.  436,  437.  440.  445.  467.  729.  738. 
747. 

"Brooch  of  Lorn,"  the,  424.  476. 

Brodick  Castle,  Arran,  448.  489. 

Bruce,  King  Robert,  defeats  John  of  Lorn, 
473.  Defeated  by  the  Lord  of  Lorn, 
476.  Crowned  at  Scoon,  476.  Subse- 
quent disasters,  ib.  His  compunction 
lor  violation  of  the  sanctuary  by  the 
slaughter  of  Corayn,  481.  Excommu- 
nicated for  it,  ib.  Observed  omens — 
one  of  a  spider,  ib.  Traced  by  a  blood- 
hound, 482.  Sequel  to  that  adventure 
told  by  Barbour,  484.  Tradition  that 
he  was  at  the  battle  of  Falkirk  inaccu- 
rate, 483.  Crossed  the  Peninsula  of 
Cantyre,  488.     Landing  in  Arran,  443. 

488.  Instance  of  his  humanity,  445. 

489.  His  landing  in  Carrick,  449.  451. 

490.  491.  Defeats  the  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, 493.  Blockade  of  Stirling  Cas- 
tle, 456.  494.  Affected  by  Leprosy, 
and  founds  the  Monastery  of  King's 
Case,  491-2.  His  arrangements  for  the 
Battle  of  Bannockburn,  495.  Encoun- 
ter with  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  459.  496. 
Battle  of  Bannockburn,  460  to  end  of 
the  poem,  and  495  to  end  of  the  notes. 
Disinterment  of  his  remains  at  Dun- 
fermline, 437,  n. 

Edward,  brother  of  King  Robert, 

489.  493. 

Nigel,   another    brother    of   the 


King,  480. 

Sir  John,  of  Kinross,  549. 

Mre.,  of  Arnot,  ib. 


Brunne,  Robert  de,  540.  546. 

Brunswick,  Duke  of,  slain  at  Jena,  104, 
105.  "  Bryce  Snailsfoot's  Advertise- 
ment," 700. 

Brydone,  Patrick,  Esq.,  177. 

Buccaniers,  309.  357.  360.  362.  365. 

Buccleuch,  ancestors  of  the  house  of,  17, 
n.  54,  55,  56.  Romantic  origin  of  the 
name,  76. 

• Charles,    Duke    of,    95,    n. 

Letters  in  Verse  to,  645.  6T3. 

Harriet,  Duchess  of,  12.  95,  n. 


Death  of,  412.     Tribute  to  iier  Memo- 
ry, 466. 

and  Monmouth,  Anne,  Du- 


chess of,  18,  71. 

Buchan,  j\lr.  Peter,  his  Collection  of  Bal- 
lads, 552. 

Buchanan  of  Arnprior,  "King  of  Kip- 
pen,"  268. 

Burns,  Robert,  his  "  Scots  wha'  hae  wi' 
Wallace  bled,"  497.  Structure  of 
Verse  used  by  him,  543.  The  poet 
most  capable  to  relieve  and  height- 
en the  character  of  ancient  poetry, 
559. 

Bury,  Lady  Charlotte,  introduced  the 
author  to  M.  G.  Lewis,  565,  and  to 
Lady  Anne  Hamilton,  602. 

Byron,  Lord,  Remarks  on  a  conversation 
betwixt  him  and  Captain  Medwin, 
13.  572.  His  Satire  on  Marmion,  81. 
Lines  on  Pitt  and  Fox,  85,  86.  Re- 
semblance between  part  of  Parasina 
and  a  scene  in  Marmion,  101,  n.  No- 
tice hy  him  of  the  imitators  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott,  294,  n.,  295,  n.  His  imita- 
tion of  a  passage  in  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  454,  n.  Notes  on  Waterloo,  291. 
502  to  507, passim.  Poem  on  his  moth- 
er's marriage,  552.  Parallel  passages 
from,  203,  n.,  279.  297.  302.  321.  387. 
421.  433.  443.  434.  503.  508. 


Cadogan,  Colonel,  tribute  to  the  memo- 
ry of,  282. 

"Cadyow  Castle,"  598. 

Cadell,  Mr.  Robert,  his  recollections  of 
"  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  181,  n. 

"Cairns,"  68. 

Caledonian  Forest  and  wild  cattle,  598. 
600.  602. 

Cambusmore,  185. 

Cameron,  Colonel,  killed  at  Fnentes  de 
Honoro,  290. 

Colonel,  of  Fassiefem,  killed  at 

anatr(^Bras,  509.  665. 

Sir  Ewan  of  Lochiel,  264. 

Cameronians,  604. 

Camp,  a  favorite  dog  of  the  author's,  115. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  169.  "  The  Bard  of 
Hope,"  561.  His  admiration  of  the 
poem  "  Cadyow  Castle,"  602. 

Lady  Charlotte.     See  "  Bury." 


Canna,  island  and  town  of,  440.  486 
Canning,  Right  Hon.  George,  a  writer  in 

the  Anti-Jacobin,  124,  n.  796. 
Cantyre.  peninsula  of,  488. 
Caraccioli,  Prince,  794,  n. 
"  Carle,  now  the  King's  come,"  Parti., 

702.     Part  ii.,  703. 
Caroline,  Princess  of  Wales,  105,  n. 
Cartwright,  Dr.,  the  first  living  poet  the 

author  recollected  of  having  seen,  560. 
Cassilis,   the  Earl  of  (temp.  Jac.   VI.), 

779.     Bond  by  him  to  his  brother,  771. 
"Castle  of  the   Seven  Shields," 

ballad  of  the,  527. 
Castilians,   their    skill  in  fighting    with 

darts,  61. 
Catiline,  death  of,  506,  n. 
Cave,  Mac-Alister's,  in  Strathaird,  485. 
Caxton,  William,  117. 
Celts,  the,  541.     Their  music  and  poetry, 

541-2.  567-8. 
Chalmers,  George,  his  "  Caledonia,"  163. 

His  edition   of    Sir    David   Lindsay's 

Works,  166.  268. 
Chapel  Perilous,  86.  154. 
Chapman,  Walter,  an  early  Scottish  prin- 
ter.    See  "  Millar  and  Chapman." 
Charles  I.,  King,  364.  369. 
X.    of   France,   in    Edinburgh, 

125,71. 
Prince  Edward,  one  of  bis  places 

of  retreat,  242. 
Charms,  healing,  31.  67. 
Charter-stones,  492 

Chace,  the  royal,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  160. 
Chastity,  punishment  for  broken  vows  of, 

102.  164. 
Chatterton,  Thomas,  558. 
"  Cheviot,"  631. 
"Chevy  Chase,"  539,  540. 
"  Child  of  Elle,  The,"  548. 
Chivalry,  38.  66.  72.  76.  369. 
"  Christ's  Kirk  on  the  Green,"  543. 
Christmas,  137.  173. 

Cid,  the,  in  ^'pain,  metrical  poems  of,  538. 
"  Claud  Halcro's  Verses,"  695, 696. 

698. 
Claverhouse,  Grahame  of.     See  Dundee. 
Clerk,  Sir  George,  his  tenure  of  Penny- 

cuik,  606.  703,  ji. 
John,  Esq.,  of  Eldin,  author  of  an 

Essay  upon  JK'aval  Tactics,  604,  n. 

John,  Esq.  (Lord  Eldin),  711,  n. 

William,  Esq.,  573. 

"  Cleveland's  Songs,"  698. 
Coir-nan-Uriskin,  209.  252. 
Ooleridge,  p.  T.,  his   "Ancient  Marin- 
er," 474.  559.     His  "  Chrislabel,"  13. 

"  The  Bridal  of  Triermain,"  an  imita- 
tion of  his  style,  408. 
Colkitto,  470. 
Collins,  his  flights  of  imagination,  383. 

410. 
Colraan's  "  Random  Records,"  753. 
ColwuUV,  King  of  Northumberland,  100. 

163. 
Combat,  single,  38.  66.  72,  73.  132.  172. 

223.  263. 


Comyn,  the  Red,  424.  428.  477.  481. 

Coneybeare's,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  illustratioM 
of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry,  554. 

Congreve's  "  Mourning  Bride,"  524. 

Conscience,  296.  299. 

Constable,  Mr.  Archibald,  his  "  bold  and 
liberal  industry,"  14.  Extract  from  a 
letter  of  the  author  to,  714,  n. 

George,   Esq.    (Jonathan  Old- 


buck),  567. 
Contributions    of    Scott   to    "  Min- 
strelsy  OF   the    Scottish   Bori- 

der,"  537-608. 
Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  206.  251. 
Cornwallis,  Marquis  of,  638. 
"Count  Robert  of  Paris,"  Mottoes 

from,  726. 
"  County  Guy,"  Song,  709. 
Cowper,  561. 

Cox,  Captain,  of  Coventry,  549. 
Cranstoun,  family  of,  57.  65. 
George,  Esq.,  consulted  by  the 

author  on  hb  attempts  at  composition, 

14,  n. 
Crichton  Castle,  118.  167. 
Critical  Review,  notices  from,  16.  21.  25. 

33.  37.  45.  47.  141.  149.  187.  192.  197. 

239.  270.  272.  297,  298,  299.  311.  313. 

318.  354.  381.  383.  420.  429.  439,  440. 

444.  533.  536.  606. 
Cromwell,  OUver,  his  conduct  at  Marston 

Moor,  314.  357.  359. 
"Crusader's  Return,  The,"  681. 
"  Curanor  Hall,"  poem  of,  548. 
Cunningham,  Allan,  bis  ballad   poetry, 

559.    Critical  remarks  on  Auchindrane, 

795,  n. 
Cup,  a  drinking  one,  at  Dunevegan,  474. 

"  Curch,  the,"  worn  by  Scottish  mat- 
rons, 250. 
"  Cypress  Wreath,  The,"  335. 

D. 

Dacre,  families  of,  70. 
Dahomay,  spell  of,  402. 
Dalhousie,  Earl  of,  tribute  to,  645. 
Dalkeith,   Charles,   Earl  of  (afterwards 

Duke    of   Buccleuch),   dedication    of 

"The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minsuel"  to, 

16.     See  Buccleuch. 
Harriet,  Countess  of  (afterivard 

Duchess  of  Buccleuch),  12.     See  also 

Buccleuch. 

Town  and  Castle  of,  607. 


Dalzell,  (now)  Sir  J.  G.,  his  collection  of 

Scottish  poems,  550. 
Sir  WiUiam,  his  combat  with  Sir 

Piers  Courtenay,  156. 
"Dance  of  Death,  The,"  654. 
Danes,  the,  invasion  of  Northumberland 

by,  323.  366.     Traces  of  their  religion 

in  Teesdale,  366. 
Daoine  Shi',  or  "men  of  peace,"  176. 

259,  260. 
David  I.,  King,  founded  Melrose  Abbey, 

60.     A  sore  saint  for  the  crown,  23,  n. 
"  Dead  bell,"  the,  164. 
Death  of  Leith-hall,  poem  of  the,  552. 
Death,  presages  of,  250. 
"Death  Chant,"  722. 

" ■  of  Keeldar,  The,"  723. 

Debateable  Land,  the,  77. 

Deloraine,  lands  of,  58. 

"Donald  Cairo's  come  again,"  676. 

Donjon,  what,  156. 

"Don  Roderick,  the  Vision   of," 

269. 
"  Doom  of  Devorgoil,"  753. 
Douglas,   the   I'ouse  of,    177.     Ancienl 

sword  belonging  to,  172. 
Archibald,  third  Earl  of,  called 

"Tine-man,"  245.  730. 

'  The  Good  Lord  James"  charg- 


ed to  carry  the  Bruce's  heart  to  the  Holy 
Land,  481.  In  Arran,  490.  Make* 
prisoners  of  Murray  and  Bonkle,  ib 
Often  took  the  Castle  of  Douglas,  493 
His  "  iorrfer,"  »6.  At  Bannockburn 
460.  495.  497.  499. 


INDEX, 


Uonglas,  Wm.,  eighth  Earl  of,  stabbed 

bj  K.  James  II.  in  Stirling  Castle,  225. 

264. 
William,  "  the  knight  of  Liddes- 

dale,"  24.  til. 

Gawaiii.  Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  143. 

of  Kilspindie,  aifecliLg  story  of, 

265. 
Douue  Castle,  225. 
Dramatic    Pieces,    "  Halidon    Ilill  " 

l-i'J.    "Mai;duft"'s  Cross,"  748.    "The 

Doom  of  Devorgoil,"  753.     "  Auchin- 

drane,"  784.    "  Tlie  House  of  Aspen," 

812. 
Drinking  to  excess,   custom   of,   in  the 

Western  Islands,  475. 
Dryburgli  Abbey,  595. 
Dryden,  his  account  of  his  projected  epic 

poem  of  "  The  Round  Table,"  155. 
Duelling,  263,  264. 
Durrgar  (northern  dwarfs),  259. 
Duft",  Ad.im,  Esq.,  645,  n. 
Duiidas,  Right  Honorable  William,  14, 

n. ;  18,  n.  ;  81. 
Dundee,   Viscount  (Graham   of  Claver- 

house),  33.     His  character,  243. 
Dunmailraise,  384. 
"DuNois,  Romance  of,"  656. 
DunoUy  Castle,  473. 
Dunstatfnage  Castle,  473. 
D'Url'ey's  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy,  557. 
Durham  Cathedral,  521. 
"DyiNQ  Bard,  The,"  634. 
" Gipsy  Smuggler,  The,"  658. 

E. 

Edelfled,  daughter  of  King  Oswy,  99. 
162. 

Edinburgh,  ancient  cross  of,  133-4.  172. 

Old  Town  of,  124.  169. 

• Magazine,  the,  critical  notice 

from,  408. 

Review,  the,  critical  extracts 

from,  on  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel, 
16,  17,  18,  19.  23.  31.  33.  43.  48.  49,  50, 
51.  53.  On  Marmion,  85.  92.  101.  104. 
132.  143.  146,  147.  151,  1.52.  On  tlie 
Lady  of  the  Lake.  183.  196.  201,  202, 
203.  205.  208.  217.  225.  230.  238,  239. 
On  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  270. 
280.  283-4.  And  on  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  414.  420.  423,  424.  451.  461.  465. 
467. 

Edward  I.,  King,  liis  vindictive  spirit, 
481.  His  employment  of  the  Welsh  in 
his  Scottish  wars,  494.  t~ets  out  to  de- 
stroy the  Bruce,  438.  486.  His  death, 
486. 

II.  at   Bannockburn,   461.     His 

gallantry,  499.     His  flight,  ib. 

III.,  Motto  on  his  shield,  546. 


"Edward  the  Black  Prince,  To  the 

Memory  of,"  673. 
Egliston   Abbey,  307.  360.     Visited   by 

t^cott,  319. 
Eigg.  cave  in  the  Island  of,  the  scene  of 

a  dreadful  act  of  vengeance,  487. 
Eildon  Hills,  63. 
"  Elfin  Gray,  the,"  translated  from  the 

Danish,  255. 
Ellis,  George,  Esq.,  critical  notices  by,  50, 

n.  ;  124.153.     Dedication  to  him  of  the 

Fifth  Canto  of  Marmion,  124. 
"Elspeth's  Ballad,"  663. 
Elves,  260.     See  "  Fairies." 
Encampment,  Scottish  mode  of,  in  1547, 

169. 
Rnnui,  512.  536. 
Epic  Poem,  a  receipt  to  make  an,  380. 

Poetry,  379. 

'EriLOQUEs."      To    The    Appeal,    a 

Tragedy,   675.     Play  of  St.  Ronan's 

Well,  713.     Queen  Mary,  714. 
'Epitaphs." — Miss  Seward,  639.     Jon 

o'  ye  Girnell,  663.     Balfour  of  Burley, 

666.     Mrs.   Erskine,   685.     The   Rev. 

George  Scott.  726. 
'  Erl  King,  The,"  626. 
Brrol,  Eajl  of,  704. 


Erskine,  Thomas  Lord,  speech  of,  on  hu- 
manity towards  animals,  498. 

William,  Esq.  (Lord  Kinnedder), 


consulted  by  Scott  on  his  attempts  in 
composition,  14.  Dedication  to  the 
Tliird  Canto  of  Marmion,  104.  Pas- 
sage in  Rokeby  quoted  by  him  as  de- 
scriptive of  the  Author,  316.  Reputed 
autiior  of  "  Tlie  Bridal  of  Triermain," 
413.  521. 

Mrs.,  Epitaph  on,  685. 

"  Essay  o.n  Popular  Poetry,"  537. 

" on  i.mitations  of  the  an- 
CIENT Ballad,"  555. 

Ettrick  Forest,  100. 

Eugene  Aram,  remarkable  case  of,  361. 

Evans,  Mr.  T.,  his  collection  of  Ballads, 
548. 

Mr.  R.  H.,  his  republication  of 

that  Collection,  548. 

"  Eve  of  St.  John,"  ,594.  Seealso568. 
573. 

Evil  j)rinciple,  the,  716. 

Ezekiel,  quotation  from  the  prophecies  of, 
221,  n. 


Fac-Simile  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Manu- 
script of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  (for 
page  202),  placed  after  the  Contents. 

Fuin.  meaning  of,  322,  n. 

Fairies,  165.  259,  260,  261.  285. 

"  Fair  iMaid  of  Perth,"  Verses  from 
the,  721-4. 

"  Fair  Rosamond,"  ballad  of,  555. 

Fancy,  power  of,  in  youth,  305.  Lines 
on,  from  Beattie,  ib.,  n. 

"  Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High 
Chief  of  Kintail,"  from  the  GaeUc, 
652. 

" Imitation  of,"  653. 

" to  the  Muse,"  702. 

" Song  of  the,"  339. 

"  Felon  Sow  of  Rokeby,"  hunting  of  the, 
by  the  Friars  of  Richmond,  371. 

Ferragus  and  Ascabart,  190.  242. 

Feuds,  55,  56,  57.  784. 

"  Field  of  Waterloo,"  poem  of  the, 
502. 

Fiery  Cross,  the,  201,  202.  248. 

Fiugal's  Cave  at  ftatla,  440.  487. 

Finlay,  Mr.  John,  Ids  collection  of  bal- 
lads, 551.  His  imitations  of  the  ballad 
style,  559. 

"  Fire  King,"  ballad  of  the,  616. 

573. 

Flanders,  manner  of  reaping  in,  511. 

Fletcher,  his  comedy  of  .Monsieur  Thom- 
as, 554. 

Flodden,  account  of  the  battle  of,  146. 
178. 

"Flodden  Field,"  an  ancient  English 
poem,  extracts  from,  88,  n. ;  167-8. 
178. 

Florinda,  daughter  of  Count  Julian,  285. 

"Flower  of  Yarrow,"  Mary  Scott,  71. 
161. 

"  Flying  Dutchman,  the,"  361. 

"Following"  (feudal  retainers),  128,  n. 

Football,  game  of,  74.  657. 

Forbes,  Sir  William  (author  of  "The 
Life  of  Boattie"),  tribute  to  his  memo- 
ry, 115,  166. 

son  of  the  preceding,  115,  115,  n. 

"  For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that,"  644. 

Forgeries  of  documents,  176. 

"  Fortune,  Lines  on,"  726. 

"Fortunes  of  Nigel,"  Mottoes  from 
the,  705-8. 

Foster-children,  368. 

Fox,  Right  Honorable  Charles  James, 
"  among  those  who  smiled  on  the  ad- 
venturous minstrel,"  14.  Never  a])- 
plied  to  by  Scott  regarding  his  appoint- 
ment as  a  Clerk  of  Session,  81.  Trib- 
ute to  his  memory,  85.  His  compliment 
to  the  author  of  "  The  Monk,"  564. 

Francheniont,  sujierstitious  belief  regard- 
ing the  Castle  of,  139.  170. 


Fraser  [or  Frizel],  Sir  Simon,  ancestor  of 
the  family  of  Lovat,  fate  of,  480. 

Frederick  II.,  King  of  Prussia,  under- 
valued the  literature  of  his  country, 
562. 

"  Frederick  and  Alice,"  618. 

French  army  in  the  Peninsula,  move- 
ments of  apjilied  to  in  the  prophecies  of 
Joel,  iJag.  Retreat  of,  March,  1811, 
289. 

Frere,  Right  lion.  J.  II.  A  writer  in  the 
"  Antijacobin,"  124,  n. ;  812.  Hii 
imitations  of  the  ancient  ballad,  558. 

"Friar  Rush,  116.  166. 

"  Fro.m  the  French."  657. 

Fuentes  de  Honoro,  action  of,  290. 

Fuilarton  of  Kilmichel,  family  of,  495. 

"Funeral  Hymn,"  683. 


Gala,  the  river,  415. 

"Gaelic  Melody,  Ancient,"  689. 

Gait,  John,  Esq.,  epilogue  to  his  tragedy 
of"  The  Appeal,"  675. 

Oarlands  (small  ballad  miscellanies), 
543.  555. 

"Gellatley's,  Davie,"  Songs,  648. 
650.  652. 

Janet,  alleged  witch- 
craft, 650. 

George  IV.,  King,  his  opinion  of  the  au- 
thor's poetry,  238,  n.  Lines  on  hia 
Visit  to  Scotland,  702,  703,  704. 

"German  Ballads,  translated  or  imi- 
tated," 609  to  626. 

German  hackbut-men,  70. 

anguage,  similarity  of  the,  to  the 


Old  English  and  Scottish,  567. 

literature,    introduction   of,  into 


this  conntryi  562.     Afterwards  feU  into 

disrepute.  812. 
"  Ghaist's  Warning,  the,"  translated  firom 

the  Danish  Koempe  Viser,  257. 
Ghost  of  the  Lady  Bothwellhaugh,  603. 
Gilibrd,  village  and  castle  of,  107.  164. 
Gilbert,  Davies,  Esq.,  557,  n. 
Gili-Doir  MagrevoUich,  the  conception  of 

249. 
Gil  xMorrice,  ballad  of,  571. 
O/amour,  29.  65. 

"  Glee-Maiden,"  Song  of  the,  722. 
Glee-maidens,  231.260. 
Glencairn     "The  Good  Earl"   of,  601. 

603.  802. 
"  Glencoe,  on  the  Massacre  of,"  642. 
"  Glenfinlas,"  589. 
Glenfruin,  conflict  of,  between  the  Mao« 

gregors  and  the  Colquhouns,  246. 
Glengarry.     See  Macdonnell. 
Goblin-Hall,  the,  104. 
Goblin-Page,  Lord  Cranstonn's,  64. 
Goethe,  562.  812. 
Golagrus  and  Gawane,  the  kniglitly  tale 

of,  544,  n. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  imitations  of  ballad 

poetry,  559. 
"Gold'thred's  Song,"  692. 
Gordon,   Adam,  gallant   conduct  of,  at 

Homil.lon  Hill,  7.30. 
Colonel,  the  Hon.  Sir  Alexander, 

killed  at  Waterloo,  509. 
Graeme,  or  Grahame,  families  of,  77,  243. 

291. 
Graham,     Rev.    Dr.,    Notes    from    hig 

Sketches    of  Perthshire,    185  passim 

263. 

Sir  John  the,  243.  291. 

Sir  Thomas,  Lord  Lynedoch,  291, 

"  Gr.o'  Brother,  The,"  604. 
Greta  Bridge,  360. 

River,  308.  316.  360,  361.  364. 

"Grey  Mare's   Tail,"    the,  a  cataract 

161. 
Grotto  on  the  estate  of  Strathaird,  de* 

scription  of,  485. 
Ouisards  of  Scotland,  174. 
Gunn.  John,  a  noted  Highland  cateran, 

story  of,  262. 
"  Guy  Mannering,"  Verses  from,  658. 


836 


INDEX. 


H. 
Haddington,  Charles,  tenth  Earl  of, 

703. 
Haig  of  Bemerside,  family  of,  .578.  588. 
Hailes,  Lord,  474.  491.  4'J5.  711. 
Hairibee,  21. 
"  Halbert  Glendinning,  To,"  686. 

" 's  Incantation,"  ib. 

'' Second  Interview,"  687. 

Halidon  Hill,"  a  dramatic  sketch, 

7*J. 
Halkelt,  Mrs.,  of  Wardlaw,  author  of 

"Hardyknute,"  549. 
Hall,  Captain  Basil,  509,  n. 

Sir  James,  61.  509,  n. 

Hamilton,  family  of,  598. 

Alexander,  Duke  of,  703. 


Right  Hon.  Lady  Anne,  600. 

of  Bothwellhaugh,  account  of 

his  assassination  of  the  Regent  Murray, 

599. 

^ —  Lord  Claud,  603. 

Robert,  Esq.,  advocate,  645,  n. 

■  Sir    Thomas,    Lord    Advocate 


{temp.  Jac.  VI.),  789. 

Riglit  Hon.  VV.  G.  (Single- 
speech  Hamilton),  395,  n. 

Hardyknute,  ballad  of,  544.  549.  558. 
The  first  poem  the  author  learnt,  558,  n. 

"  Harlaw,  the  Battle  of,"  an  ancient  bal- 
lad, 544. 
'  Harold  the  Dauntless,"  512. 

" Harfager,  Song  of,"  695. 

"  Harp,  Song  of  the,"  337. 

"  Hatteraick,  Dirk,  Song  of,"  659. 

Hawks,  76. 

Hawthornden,  605.  607,  n. 

Hayley,  William,  Esq.,  561. 

Hayman,  Mrs.,  105,  n. 

"  Health  to  Lord  Melville,"  637. 

"Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  Verses 
from  tlie,  677-679. 

Heath-burning,  252. 

Heber,  Richard,  Esq.,  dedication  of  the 
sixth  canto  of  Marmion  to,  138. 

Hebridean  chiefs,  fortresses  of,  474. 

"Hellvellyn,"  633. 

Henrv  VI.,  King  of  England,  at  Edin- 
burgh, 169. 

Hepburn,  family  of,  74.     See  Bothwell. 

Heraldry,  72.  157.  166. 

Herd,  Mr.  David,  his  collection  of  Scot- 
tish songs,  549.  711. 

Herder's  popular  ballads,  or  Volkslieder, 
571. 

Heriot  or  Hereield,  35,  n. 

Heron,  William,  of  Ford,  and  his  lady, 
129.  157.  170. 

of  Gilmerton,  604. 

"  Hero's  Turge,"  a  rock  in  Glenfinlas, 
211.  254. 

Highlanders,  Scottish,  their  hospitality, 
243.  Music,  196.  243.  245.  The  Bard, 
a  family  officer,  243.  Epithets  of  their 
chiefs,  245.  Boat-songs,  246.  Hardi- 
hood, 247.  Henchman,  ib.  Tutelar 
spirits,  250.  Brogue  or  shoe,  ib.  Cor- 
onach, 206.251.  Respect  paid  to  their 
chiefs,  252.  Oaths,  ib.  Body  guards 
and  domestic  officei-s  of  the  chiefs, 
253.  Cookery,  261.  Creaghs  or  fo- 
rays, 262.  Trust-worthiness,  ;'A.  Tar- 
gets and  Broadswords,  264.  Modes  of 
inquiring  into  futurity,  253.  Ancient 
custom  respecting  marriage,  479. 

Hogg,  Mr.  James,  "  The  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd," his  "Mountain  Bard,"  161. 
164.  His  story  of  the  "  Deai"  Bell," 
ib.  "Pilgrims  of  the  Sun."  467,  n. 
"Poetic  Mirror,"  413.  His  ballad 
poetry,  559. 

Holy  Isl.ind,  or  Lindisfai-ue,  161. 

Home,  family  of,  74. 

Lord  Chamberlain  -to  James  IV., 

his  conduct  at  Floddon,  179. 

Homer,  89,  n. ;  380.  537,  538,  539. 

Homildon-hill,  battle  of,  729. 

Horsemanship,  170. 

Horses,  shrieking  of,  in  agony  462.  498. 


Hostelrie.     See  Inn. 
Hotspur.     See  Percy. 
Hot-trod,  the,  pursuit  of  Border  Marau- 
ders, 75. 
"House  of  Aspen,  The,"  a  tragedy, 

812. 
Howard,  Lord  WilUam,   "Belted  Will 

Howard,"  70. 
Howell  ap  Rys,  a  Welsh  chieftain,  377. 
Howison  of  Braehead,  his  adventure  with 

James  V.,  268. 
"  Houlat,  the  Buke  of  the,"  542,  n. 
Hunting,  184,  185,  186.  240.  365.  600. 

613. 

aerial,  superstition  of,  613. 

"Hunting-mass,"  93. 

"Hunting  Song,"  638. 

"  Huntsman,  Lay  of  the  Imprisoned," 

236. 
Huntly,  Marquis  of,  the   last  Duke  of 

Gordon,  704. 
"  Hymn  for  the  Dead."  52. 
" — —  Funeral,"  683. 

" Rebecca's,"  682. 

" TO  THE  Virgin,"  210. 


"  I  asked  of  my  Harp,"  Song,  715. 

Hay,  Island  of,  470. 

Inch-Cailliach  (the  Isle  of  Nuns),  251. 

Indians,  the  North  American,  362. 

Inn,  or  Hostelrie,  Scottish  accommoda- 
tions of  an,  in  the  16th  century,  164. 

lol  of  the  heathen  Danes,  173. 

Irish,  the  ancient  Tanintry,  367.  Dress, 
ib.  Bards,  374.  Chiefs  required  to  as- 
sist Edward  I.  in  liis  Scottish  wars,  494. 

Isles,  Western,  of  Scotland,  470.  474  to 
476.  483. 

"  IvANHOE,"  Verses  from,  681-684. 

J. 

Jacobitism,  the  last  contests  of,  recited 
in  ballads,  557. 

James  I.,  King  of  Scotland,  his  "  Christ 
Kirk  on  the  Green,"  543.  His  educa- 
tion and  poetry,  546. 

III.,  rebellion   against,  168.     In- 


ventory of  liis  treasure  and  jewels,  492. 

IV.     His  person  and  dress,  128. 

Penance  of,  168.  His  belt,  170.  Ap- 
parition to,  at  Linlithgow,  l68.  Death 
of,  at  Flodden,  179. 

V.  in  minority,  244.     Quells  the 

Border  robbers,  247.  His  progress  to 
the  Isles,  ib.  Why  called  "  King  of 
the  Commons,"  265.  His  attachment 
to  archery,  ib.  Adventures  in  disguise, 
267. 

VI.,  his   conduct  respecting   the 

Mures  of  Auchindrane,  788. 

Jamieson,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  his  edition  of 
"  Wallace  and  Bruce,"  414.  500,  ?i. 

Mr.  Robert,   his   collection  of 

ballads,  551.  588. 

Jeffrey,  Francis,  now  Lord,  his  snecess 
professionally  and  in  literature,  10.  14. 
Extracts  from  his  Criticisms  on  Scott's 
poetry.     See  Edinburgh  Review. 

"  Jock  of  Hazeldean,"  660. 

Joel,  application  of  a  passage  from  the 
Prophecies  of,  289. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  his  ridicule  of  the  ballad 
style,  560.  Reflections  on  visiting  lona, 
441,  n. 

Jongleurs,  or  Jugglers,  266. 

Julian,  Count,  285.  287. 

"  Juvenile  Lines  from  Virgil,"  627. 

on  a  Thun,('?r  Storm," 


ib. 


ib. 


■  on  the  Setting  Sun," 


K. 


Keith,  Sir  Ale.ijander,  705. 

Kel|)y,  a  river  sj)irit,  250. 

"  Ke.mble,  John  Philip,  his  Farewell 
Address  on  taking  leave  of  the  Edin- 
burgh   stage,"   671.     His    opinion   of 


"The  House  of  Aspen"  in  relation  to 

the  stage,  812. 
Kendal,  a  contemporary  of  Thomas  the 

P.ty.mer,  546. 
"Kenilworth,"  Verses  from,  692-4. 
Speech  of  the  Porter  at, 

693. 
Kennedy,  Sir  Gilbert,  of  Barganie,  785. 

Sir  Thomas,  of  Cullayne,  784. 

Ker  or  Carr,  family  of,  57. 

Kerrs  and  Scotts,  fends  of  the,  ib. 

"  KcEvipe  P'iscr,   the,"   a  collection  of 

heroic  songs,  255. 
King's  Case,  well  and  monastery  of,  491. 
Kinloch,  Mr.  G.  R.,  his  collection  of  bai 

lads,  551. 
Kirkwall,  church  and  castle  of,  78. 
"  Kittle  J^^ine  Steps,"  the,  310,  n. 
Knighthood,  72. 

L. 

"  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  180. 

Laidlaw,  Mr.  William,  621,  n. 

Laing,  Mr.  David,  his  Select  Remains  of 
the  Ancient  Popular  Poetry  of  Scot- 
land, 543,  n. 

Lancey,  Sir  William  de,  killed  at  Water- 
loo, 508,  n. 

Largs,  Battle  of,  165. 

"  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  9. 

" Poor  Louise,"  721. 

" the  Imprisoned  Hunts- 
man," 236. 

Learmont,  Thomas,  see  "  Thomas  of  Er- 
celdoune." 

"  Legend  of  Montrose,"  Verses  from 
the,  681. 

Lenuel  house,  seat  of  Patrick  Brydone, 
Esq.,  177. 

Lenno.^,  district  of  the,  246. 

"  Lenore,"  Biirger's,  566. 

Leprosy,  491. 

Leslie,  Charles,  a  ballad-singer,  551. 

Lesly,  General  David,  at  the  battle  of 
Marston  Moor,  358. 

"Letters  in  Verse"  to  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch,  645,  646. 

" "  to  J.  G.  Lock- 
hart,  Esq.,  on  the  composition  of  Mai- 
da's  Epitaph,  712. 

Leven,  Earl  of,  357,  358. 

Lewis,  M.  G.,  some  particulars  respect- 
ing him,  563.  His  "Monk,"  564.  His 
poetry,  ii.  His  "Tales  of  Wonder," 
569.  His  correspondence  with  the  au- 
thor, 572. 

Leyden,  Dr.  John,  his  "  Spectre  Ship," 
362.  Ballad  poetry,  559.  A  Contrib- 
utor to  Lewis's  "Tales  of  Wonder," 
569.   His  Ballad  of"  The  Cloud  King," 

,   573.     His  death,  138,  n. ;  441.  487. 

Lham-dearg,  the  Spirit  of  Gleumore,  165. 
250. 

Lichfield  Cathedral  >U>rmed  in  the  civil 
war,  179. 

Lindesay,  Sir  David,  of  the  Mount,  117. 
Edition  of  his  works  by  Mr.  George 
Chalmers,  167. 

Lord  of  the  Kyres,  603. 

Lindisfarue,  or  Holy  Island,  161. 

"Lines  on  Fortune,"  726. 

" TO  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp," 


721. 


719. 


ON  Captain  AVogan,"  651. 
When   with   Poetry  dealing," 


See  JtrvENiLE." 

Linlithgow  Palace,  description  of,  119,  n. 

Littlecote  Hall,  story  of  u  murder  com- 
mitted in,  375. 

Llywarch  Hen,  a  translation  from  the 
heroc  elegies  of,  374. 

Loch  Coriskin,  432,  433.  483,  484. 

Lochard,  description  of,  185. 

"  Lochinvar,"  Lady  Heron's  sodj,  129. 

Loch  Katrine,  181,  n. ;  187. 

Loch  of  the  Lowes,  96.  161. 

Loch  Ranza,  441.  488. 

Loch  Skene,  90.  161. 


i 


INDEX. 


837 


"  LocKHART,  J.  G.,  Esq.,  Letter  in  Verse 
to,  on  the  Compositioa  of  Maida's  Epi- 
taph," 712. 

"Lockiiart's  Life  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,"  Notes  Explanatory  ami  Criti- 
cal from,  14,  15.  17,  18.  46.  50.  53.  81, 
82.  85.  105.  153.  180,  181,  182,  183.  270. 
282.  284.  319.  353.  355.  381.  408,  409. 
412.  408.  510.  512.  597.  002.  606.  621. 
626,  027,  628.  631.  637.  039.  645.  665. 
672.  721.  726. 

"  Lord  Henry  and  Fair  Catherine,"  bal- 
lad of,  557. 

"  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  412. 

"Lord  of  the  Isles,"  470.  Controversy 
regarding  the  representation  of  the,  471. 

Lorn,  the  House  of,  473. 

Love,  power  of,  19.  The  gift  of  heaven, 
42. 

"  Lucky  MacLeary's  Tavern,"  Scene 
in,  649. 

"Lucy  Ashton's  Sosg,"  678. 

Lynedouh,  Lord,  291. 

"  Lyrical  and  Miscellaneous  Pie- 
ces," in  the  order  of  their  composition 
or  publication,  627-728. 

Lyrical  Pieces.    See  Songs. 

•  Lyulph's  Tale,"  385. 

M. 
Macdonald,  Ranald,  Esq.,  of  Ptaffa, 

"  Lines  Addressed  to,"  645. 
Macdonell,  the  late  Colonel  Ronaldson, 

of  Glengarry,  704. 
Macdonalds  suflbcated  in  the   Cave  of 

Eigg,  487. 
MacDougal,  of  Lorn,  family  of,  473.  476. 
"MacDuff's  Cross,"  748. 
MacDutl',  law  of  the  clan,  ib. 
Macallister's  cave  in  Strathaird,  descrip- 
tion of,  485. 
MacGregor,  Kob  Roy,  254.  662,  n. 
"MacGregor's  Gathering,"  661. 
"MacIvor's,  Flora,  Song,"  650. 
"  MacLean,    War   .^ong,    of    Lach- 

LAN,"  High  Chief  of,  653. 
MacLellan,  tuior  of  Boniby,  beheaded  by 

the  Earl  of  Angus,  177. 
MacKay,  Mr.  Charles,  of  the  Edinburgh 

Theatre,  713. 
MacKenzie,  Colin,   Esq.,   of  Portmore, 
115,  n. 

■  Henry,  Esq.,   his  Essay  on 

German  literature,  562. 

the  Hon.  Mrs.  Stewart,  654,  n. 

IlighChief  ofKintail,"  Fare- 
well TO,"  652.     Imitation  of,  653. 
Mackintosh.  Sir  .lames,  his  Opinion  of  the 
Lay  of  the  Last  .Minstrel,  24,  n. ;  46, 
w.  ;  and  Lady  of  the  Lake,  183,  7!. 
"Mackrimmon's  Lament,"  075. 
MacLeod  of  MacLeod,  family  of,  428, 

71. ;  675. 
MacLeod,  Laird  of,  his  Cruel  Revenge  on 

the  Macdonalds  of  Eigg,  487. 
MacNeil  of  Barra,  family  of,  474. 
MacPherson,  James,  publisher  of  Ossian's 
Poems,  549.  568. 
Mai 
678. 

"  Maggie  Lander,"  song  of,  554. 
Magic,  62,  passim,  66.  75.  l65.  176.  309, 

n. ;  301,  364. 
"Maid  of  Neidp.ith,  The,"  636. 
"Maid  of  Toro.  The,"  635. 
Maida,  Battle  of,  510. 
Maida's  Ejiitaph,  Letter  on  the  Compo- 
sition of,  'US. 
"Major  Bellenden's  Song,"  666. 
Maitland  MSS.,  549. 

Sir  Richard,  of  Lethington,  16th 

century,  poem  bj',  158. 
Makers  (of  poetry),  the,  538,  539. 
Malefactors,  inl'atualion  of,  311.  361. 
Mallet,   David,   his  imitations  of  ballad 

poetry,  560. 
Mammon,  784. 

March,  "Black  Agues,"  Countess  of, 
577. 


March-treason,  37.72. 

"iMar.mion;    a    Tale    op    Floddkn- 

FlELD,"  80. 
Marmion,  family  of,  156. 

Robert  lie,  173. 

Marriott,  Rev.  John,  dedication  to  him  of 

the  Second  Caiito  of  Marmion,  94. 
Mar-ston-Moor,  Battle  of,  357-359. 
Martin,  Rev.  John,  minister  of  Mertonn, 

100,  71. 

Dr.  John,  his  description  of  the 

Western  Higlilands,  249. 

Mary,  (iueen  of  Scots  (Epilogue),  714. 

"  Massacre  ofGlencoe,"  on  the,  642. 

Massena,  Marshal,  289,  290,  ib. 

Maurice,  Abbot  of  Incliallray,  497. 

Mautke-Doog,  the.  Isle  of  Man,  79. 

Mayburgh,  mound  at,  385.  411. 

Mazers,  drinking  cups,  492. 

Medwyn's,  Captain,  remarks  on  his  Con- 
versations of  Lord  Byron,  15.  572,  573. 

Melbourne,  Lord,  572. 

Melrose  Abbey,  22,  23.  60,  61. 
battle  of,  56. 


Melville;  Henry,  Lord  Vise.,  "  Health 
to,"  a  song  on  his  acquittal  in  1806, 
637.     Death  of,  in  1811,  269. 

Robert,  Lord,  704. 

"  J1/C71  of  Peace."     See  Daoine  Shi. 

aierlin,  271.  285.  580,  581.  588. 

"Mer.maids  and  Mermen,"  Song  of 
the,  695. 

Mickle,  W.  J.,  his  imitations  of  ballad 
poetry,  548.  554.  559. 

Milan,  artists  of,  their  skill  in  armory, 
156. 

Millar  and  Chapman,  their  Miscellany, 
the  earliest  surviving  specimen  of  the 
Scottish  press,  544. 

Millar,  Colonel,  of  the  Guards,  509. 

Mingarry  Castle,  470. 

Minstrels,  order  and  office  of,  545.  555, 

"Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Bor- 
der," t^cott's  Contributions  to,  viz., 
Introductory  Remarks  on  Popular  Po- 
etry, 537.  Appendi.\  to,  553.  Essay 
on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad, 
555.  Apjieiuli.x  to.  571.  Imitations 
of  the  Ancient  Ballad,  574-008. 

Minto  Crags,  59. 

"Monastery,"  Verses  from  the,  685- 
690. 

Monk,  Lewis's  Romance  of  the,  564. 

"  Monks  of  Bangor's  March,"  672. 

Monmoutli,  Duke  of,  18,  7i. 

Montague,  dedication  of  Marmion  to,  83. 
His  collection  of  ballads  destroyed  by 
fire,  544. 

Montlily  Review,  critical  notices  from, 
on  the  Lay,  16.  Marmion,  84.  94.  96. 
102.  145.  151,  152.  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  221.  The  Vision  of  Don  Roder- 
ick, 272.  275.  277.  Rokeby,  305,  306. 
312.  314.  332.  335.  346.  350.  354.  The 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  424.  438.  440.  455. 
461. 463.  467.  The  Field  of  Waterloo, 
506  ;  and  on  Halidon  Hill,  744.  747. 

Montrose,  James,  first  Marquis  of,  243. 

Moors,  the  invasion  of  i^pain  by,  285. 

Moore,  Sir  John,  omi.ssion  of  his  name  in 
the  poem  of  "  Don  Roderick,"  the  au- 
thor censured  for,  284.  290. 

Moore,  Thomas,  Esq.,  his  imitations  of 
the  ballad  style,  559. 

Morritt,  J.  B.  S.,  Esq.,  letter  to,  on  the 
death  of  Lord  Melville  and  President 
Blair,  270.  On  the  Vision  of  Don  Rod- 
erick, 284.  Dedication  to  him  of  Roke- 
by, 296.  Letter  on  Rokeby,  319. 
"  Morte  Arthur,"  romance  of  the,  ex- 
tract from  regarding  the  "  Chapell  Per- 
ilous," 154. 

Mortham  Castle,  description  of,  362. 

Morton,  Earl  of.  Regent,  244.  601. 

Moss-troopei-s,  .59.     See  Borderers. 

Motherwell,  William,  his  collection  of 
ballads,  551. 

Mottoes,  "  sooner  make  than  find  them," 
065. 


"  Mottoes  from  the  Waverley  Novels, 

(\fi3  passim  72i5. 
Mull,  the  Sound  of,  470. 
Mummers,  English,  174. 
Murder,  superstition  formerly  resorted  to 

for  the  discovery  of,  773. 
Mure,  John  of  Auchindrane,  784.     His 

son  James,  787. 
Murray,  Thomas,  Randolph,  Earl  of,  at 

Bannockburn,  460.  494,  495,  4%,  497. 

the  Regent,  death  of,  599. 

Mr.    William,    manager    of   l.ve 


Theatre-Royal,  Edinburgh;  714. 
"My  Aunt  Margaret's  Mirror,'" 

Mottoes  from,  721. 
Mysteries,  ancient,  174. 

N. 

Neal  Naighvallach,  an  Irish  King  of 
the  fourth  or  tilth  century,  369. 

"Neck  Verse,"  the,  21. 

Necromancy,  57,  58.  75. 

Nelson,  Lord,  tribute  to  the  memory  of, 
84.  112.  "  Unpleasant  chapter  in  his 
history,"  794,  7i. 

Newark  Castle,  on  the  Yarrow,  17. 

Nicholas,  Grand-Duke  (now  Emperor)  of 
Russia,  "Verses  sung  after  a  din- 
ner given  to  him  at  Edinburgh,"  662. 

"No,  John,  I  will  not  own  the  book," 
652. 

"Noble  Moringer,  The,"  621. 

"Nora's  Vow,"  661. 

Norhara  Castle,  155. 

"Nor.man  Horse-Shoe,  The,"  634. 

" The  Forester's  Song,"  678. 

"Norna's  Songs  and  IncantA' 
TioNs,"  690-700. 

North  Berwick,  135. 

O. 

"  Old  Mortality,"  Verses  from,  666. 

Oman,  Mr.,  703. 

O'Neale,  family  of,  307. 

"  On  Ettrick  Forest's  Mountains 

Don,"  701. 
"  On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe," 

642. 
Orelia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  275. 

287. 
Orleans,  Duke  of,  his  poetical  exercises  in 

English,  546. 
"Orphan  Maid,  The,"  680. 
Otterbourne,  Battle  of,  61.  142. 
Ovid,  10.  784. 

P. 

Padtja,  a  school  of  necromancy,  20. 57. 

Page,  the  order  of  the,  in  chivalry,  369. 

Paisley,  601. 

"Palmer,  The,"  635. 

Palmers,  159. 

"Pardoner's  Advertisement,  The," 
691. 

Park,  Thomas,  his  edition  of  Ritson's 
Collection  of  Songs,  550. 

Passion,  the  ruling,  105.  Lines  from 
Pope  on,  105,  n. 

Peden,  Alexander,  604. 

Peel-town,  Castle  of.  Isle  of  3Ian,  79. 

Penance  vaults,  164. 

Penrith,  "  Round  table"  of,  385.  410. 

Pepys,  Secretary,  his  collection  of  ballaJi 
543. 

Pepper,  Father,  507. 

Percy,  Bishop,  his  copy  of  "  Chevy 
Chace,"  540.  "Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,"  545.  Imitations  of  the  an- 
cient ballad,"  559. 

Henry,  at  Homildon  Hill,  729. 

Thomas,  his  defence  of  the  bishop 


against  Ritson's  criticism,  548. 
"Peveril    of    the   Peak,"   Mottoei 

from,  707-709. 
"Pharos  Loquitur,"  645. 
Philipson,  Major  Robert,  called  "  Robia 

the  Devil,"  378. 
Pibroch,  the,  245. 
"  Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,  '  G60. 


838 


INDEX. 


Picton,  Sir  Thomas,  508. 

Picts,  the,  a  Celtic  race,  541. 

Pilgrims,  159. 

Pinkerton,  John,  his  collection  of  ballads, 
549.  711.     List  of  Scottish  poets,  549. 

"  Pirate,"  Verses  from  the,  694-701. 

Pisistratns,  Homer's  Works  collected  by, 
536. 

PitcairL  Robert,  Esq.,  editor  of  "  Crim- 
inal trials  of  Scotland,"  789.  Ex- 
tracts from  his  work,  785,  786.  789. 

"  Pitt  Club  of  Scotland,  Sosqs  writ- 
ten for  the,"  644,  645. 

Pitt,  Right  Hon.  William,  638.    "  Among 

»  those  who  smiled  on  the  adventurous 
minstrel,"  14.  Procured  for  Scott  the 
office  ofClerk  of  Session,  80,  81.  Trib- 
utes to  his  memory,  84. 152.  His  grave 
beside  that  of  Mr.  Fox,  85,  86. 

Plotcock,  summons  of,  preceding  the  bat- 
tle of  Flodden,  134.  173.  655. 

"Poacher,  The,"  640. 

"  Poetry,  Popular,  Introductory  Re- 
marks on,"  537.  Continuation  of  the 
subject  under  the  title  of  "  Essay  on 
the  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad," 
555. 

'  PoETRT,  RoMAKTic,  Remarks  on," 
379. 

State  of  the  art  of,  at  the  end 

of  the  18th  century,  561. 

Poniatowski,  Count,  507. 

Ponsonby,  Sir  William,  508. 

Pope,  lines  from,  on  the  ruling  passion, 
105,  n. 

Priam,  115. 

Prin^le,  the  late  Alexander,  Esq.,  of 
Whytbank,  95,  n. 

"  Prophecy,  The,"  679. 

Pryse.  "  to  sound  the,"  600.  602. 

Pye,  Uenry  James,  Esq.,  567. 

Q. 

duARTERLT   REVIEW,   critical    notices 

from,  on  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  195. 

206.  223.     Don  Roderick,  272.  276.  278. 

283.     Rokebv,  296.  300.  350.  352.  354. 

Bridal  of  Triermain,  383.  385.  387,  388. 

392.  408.     And  Lord  of  the  Isles,  414. 

'^a.  429.  433.  437.  446.  466.  468. 
"Q.UENTIX  Dcrward,"  Verses  from, 

709-10. 


Rae,  Right  Hon.  Sir  William,  115. 

Ramsay,  Sir  Alexander,   of  Dalhousie, 
cruel  murder  of,  61. 

Allan,  structure  of  stanza  used 

by  him,  543.  As  a  ballad  collector, 
544.  His  "Tea-Table  Miscellany," 
73.  544.     And  "  Vision,"  549. 

Captain,  at  the  action  of  Fuen- 


tes  de  Honoro,  290. 
Randolph,  Thomas.     See  Murray. 
Rattling  Roaring  Willie,  the  Border  min 

strel,  73. 
Ravenshench  Castle,  50.  78. 
Ravensworth  Castle,  223. 
"Rebecca's  Hymn,"  682. 
"  Receipt  to  make  an  epic  poem,"  380. 
"Red  Cross  Knight,  The,"  by  Mickle, 

548. 
Rede,  Percy,  359. 

"  Redgau.ntlet,"  Verses  from,  715. 
"Reiver's  Wedding,  The,"  631. 
Repentance,  tower  of,  753. 
"Resolve,  The,"  639. 
Rere-Cross,  on  Stanmore,  365. 
"  Return  to  Ulster,  The,"  659. 
Riddell,  family  of,  60. 
Risingham,  359. 
Ritson,  Joseph,  his  criticism  of  Percy's 

"ReHques,"   545.     His    collection  of 

Bongs,  549.  711.     "  Robin  Hood,"  550. 
Robert  the  Bruce.     See  Bruce. 
Robertson,  Rev.  Principal,  his  account  of 

the  death  of  the  Regent  Murray,  599. 
Eob  Roy,  death-bed  anecdote  of,  235,  n. 

Bee  Macgregor. 


"  Rob  Rot,"  Verses  from,  673. 

Robin  Hood,  226.  265.  538.  544.  550. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  Esq.,  "the  Bard  of 
Memory,"  561. 

Roderick,  Gothic  King  of  Spain,  defeat- 
ed and  killed  by  the  Moors,  285.  287. 
His  enchanted  cavern,  286.  289.  See 
Don  Roderick. 

"  RoKEBY  "  292. 

Rokeby  Castle,  307.  360.  370. 
family  of,  360.  370. 


Felon  Sow  of,  371. 

Roman  antiquities  at  Greta  Bridge,  360. 
camp,  at  Ardoch,  263. 


"  Romance  of  Dunois,"  656 
Romance  literature,  birth  of,  169. 
Romilly,  Sir  Samuel,  his  opinion  of  the 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  230,  n. 
Rose,  William  Stewart,  Esq.,  dedication 

to,  of  the  First  Canto  of  Marmion,  83. 
Roslin.  78.  607. 
Ro=s.  John,  Earl  of,  his  treaty  with  King 

Edward  IV.,  469. 
William,  Earl  of,  deed  containing 

his  submission  to  King  Robert  Bruce, 

496. 

Sir  Walter,  489.  ' 

"Round  Table,"  154.410. 
Roxburghe  Club,  the,  712. 

John,  Duke  of,  543,  568. 


Rum,  Island  of,  487. 

Russell,    Major-General    Sir  James,    of 

Ashestiel,  80. 
Rutherford,  Miss  Christian,  aunt  of  Sir 

Walter  Scott.  180.  626. 
— : of  Hunthill,  family  of,  76. 


S. 
St.  Clair,  family  of.  78. 
"  Saint  Cloud,"  654. 
Saint  John,  Vale  of.  411. 
St.  Mary's  Lake,  160. 
"  St.  Ronan's  Well,"  Mottoes  from, 

710. 
"  St.  Swithin's  Chair,"  649. 
Saints.     St.  Bride  of  Douglas,  79.     Chad, 

151.   179.     Columba,  593.     Cnthbert, 

161,  162.  164.  Dunstan,  243.  FUlan, 
159.  593.     George,  510.     Hilda,   100. 

162.  Modan,243.  Mungo,  20.  Oran, 
593.  Regnlns  (Scottice  Rule),  159. 
Rosalia,  158.    Serle,  225.    Trimon,  798. 

"  Sale  Room,"  the,  an  Edinburgh  peri- 
odical, 667,  V. ;  671,  n. 

Sallust,  Extract  from,  on  the  Death  of 
Catiline,  506.  n. 

Sangreal,  the,  154. 

Saxons,  the  Anglo,  their  langnage,  542. 
546.  554  ;  and  poetry,  682. 

"  Saxon  War-Song,  682. 

Scalds,  antique  poetry  of  the,  682. 

Scales-tarn,  Lake  of.  386. 

Schiller,  562,  563.  812. 

Schiltrum.  signification  of,  497.  n. 

Scots  Magazine,  the,  extracts  from,  104. 
536.  594. 

Scots  Greys,  704. 

Scott  of  Buccleuch.     See  Bnceleuch. 

of  Harden,  family  of,  71.  161.  174. 


Hugh,  Esq.,  of  Harden,  now  Lord 

Polwarth,  174.  566,  n. ;  568,  n.  His 
lady,  566,  n.  ;  567.  Inscription  for  the 
monument  of  the  Rev.  John  Scott, 
their  son,  726. 

John,  Esq.,  of  Gala,  415,  n. 

Sir  John,  of  Thirlestane,  70. 

Mary,  "the  Flower  of  Yarrow," 


35.  71.  161 

Sir  Michael,  24.  62,  63. 

Miss  Sophia,  the  author's  daugh- 
ter, 621,  n. 

Robert,  of  Sandyknows,  the  au- 
thor's grandfather,  106. 

Walter,   Lessudden,   the  author's 


Sea-fire,  phenomenon  so  called,  474. 
Seaforth,  the  last  Earl  of,  653,  n. 
Seal,  its  taste  for  music,  416.  470. 
"Search  after  Happiness,  the;  or, 

the    Q,uest    of    Sultaun    Solimaun," 

667. 
Seatoun,  Christopher,  fate  of,  480. 
Second-sight,  account  of  the,  241.  593. 
"  Secret  Tribunal  Rhymes,"  724. 
"  Selectors  of  the  slain,"  78. 
"  Se.mpach.  Battle  of,"  619. 
Serendib,  667. 
"  Setting  Sun,"  Juvenile  Lines  on  tia^ 

627. 
Seven  Spears  of  Wedderburn,  40. 

Shields,  the  Castle  of  the,  ballad 


great-grandsire,  138.  174. 

•  Major  Sir  Walter,  the  author's  eld- 


est son,  657. 

■  and  Kerr,  feuds  of  the  families  of. 


57. 


of,  527. 
Seward,  Miss  Anna,  criticisms  by,  26, 

n. ;  33,  n. ;  50,  n.     Letter  to,  50,  n. 

Epitaph  designed  for  her  monument, 

639. 
Seymour,  Lord  Webb,  375. 
Shakspeare,  his  description  of  a  populai 

song,  556. 
Shane-Dymas,  an  Irish  chieflain  in  the 

reign  of  Elizabeth,  369. 
"  Sharpe,  Sir  Cuthbert,  Lines  to,"  721. 
Sharpe,  Charles  K.,  Esq.,  of  Hoddam, 

541,  n.  ;  551, n.  ;  753. 
Shaw,  Mr.  James,  notice  of  a  list  of  Sit 

Walter  Scott's  publications  prepared 

by  him,  567. 
Sheale,  Richard,  the  author  or  transcriber 

of  "  Chevy  Chase,"  540.  554. 
"Shepherd's  Tale,  The,"  628. 
Sheridan,  Thomas,  Esq.,  365. 
Shoreswood,  the  priest  of,  159. 
Sibbald,  Mr.  James,  711. 
Siddons.  Mrs.  Henry,  Epiloguks  written 

for,  675.  714. 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  his  opinion  of  the  bal- 
lad of  "  Chevy  Chase,"  539,  n. ;  540. 

556. 
Sinclair,  Right  Hon.  Sir  John.  705. 
"Sir  Charles    Baudwin,"    Chatterton's 

baUad  of,  558. 
"SirCauhn,"  548. 
"  Sir  Eger,  Sir  Grime,  and  Sir  Greysteil," 

romances  of,  541. 
"Sir    Martyn,"    a   forgotten    poem    of 

Mickle,  extract  from,  554. 
"Sir  Patrick  Spens,"  old  Scottish  song 

of,  571. 
"Sir  Tristrem,"    metrical    romance    of 

"  Thomas  the  Rymer,"  542.  558.  583. 
Skene,  James,  Esq.,  of  Rubislaw,  dedi- 
cation to,  of  the  Fourth  Canto  of  Mar- 
mion, 113. 
Skirving,  Mr.,  author  of  a  BaUad  on  the 

Battle  of  Prestonpans,  557. 
Sky,  Island  of,  description  of  its  scenery, 

432.  483. 
Smailholm  Tower,  description  of,  594. 
"  Smith,  Miss,  Lines  written  for," 

671. 
Smith,  Su-  Sidney,  Tribute  to,  105. 
Smythe,  Professor  at  Cambridge,  573. 
Snakes  and  Serpents,  78. 
Snood,  worn  by  Scottish  maidens,  203. 

250. 
Snow,  description  of  a  man  perishing  in, 

114.  166. 
Snowdoun  (Stirling),  238.  268. 
"Soldier,  Wake— Song,"  715.       ,. 
Soltier,  Sir  John,  71. 
Somerled,  Lord  of  the  Isles,  417.  470. 
iSomerville,  John,   15th  Lord,  415,  n. , 

701,  n. 

Lord  (temp.  Jac.  III.),  anec- 


dote of,  712,  TO. 
Songs — 
Admire  not  that  I  gain'd  the  prize,  758L 
A  Hawick  gill  of  mountain  dew,  703. 
Ah  I  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 

709. 
Ah,  poor  Louise!  the  live-long  day 

721. 
Allan-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  barninft 

323. 


INDEX. 


839 


Bonos. 

All  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  yon 
left  me,  630. 

An  hour  with  thee  !  when  earliest  day, 
720. 

And  did  you  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell, 
617. 

And  whither  would  you  lead  me  then  ! 
340. 

Anna-Maria,  love,  up  is  the  sun,  683. 

Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  old  books  and 
old  wine,  710. 

Ave  Maria !  maiden  mild  I  210. 

A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid,  322. 

A  weary  month  has  wander'd  o'er,  653. 

Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul,  679. 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit,  658. 

Dark  Ahriman,  whom  Irak  still,  717. 

Dinas  Emlii\n,  lament ;  for  the  moment 
is  nigh,  634. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again,  676. 

Dust  unto  dust,  684. 

Enchantress,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has 
decoy'd  me,  702. 

False  love,  and  hast  thou  play'd  me 
this  ?  648. 

Farewell  to  MacKenneth,  great  Earl  of 
the  North,  652. 

Farewell,  merry  maidens,  to  song  and 
to  laugh,  697. 

Farewell  t*  Northmaven,  695. 

Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave,  695. 

Follow  me,  follow jne,  652. 

From  the  Brown  crest  of  Newark  its 
summons  extending,  657. 

Gin  by  pailfuls,  wine  in  rivers,  659. 

Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame,  656. 

God  protect  brave  Alexander,  662. 

Go  sit  old  Cheviot's  crest  below,  631. 

Hail  to  the  chief  wiio  in  triumph  ad- 
vances, 197. 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam,  305. 

Hawk  and  osprey  screara'd  for  joy,  522. 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said,  661. 

He  13  gone  on  the  mountain,  206. 

Hie  away,  hie  away,  649. 

High  deeds  achiev'd  of  knightly  fame, 
681. 

Hither  we  come,  791. 

Hurra,  hurra,  our  watch  is  done,  403. 

I  asked  of  my  harp,  "Who  hath  in- 
jured thy  cords?"  716. 

I  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty 
Helvellyn,  633. 

lU  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven,  523. 

I'll  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelve 
month  or  twain,  681. 

It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season,  657. 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king,  365. 

It  was  an  English  ladye  bright,  48. 

It  was  Dunois  the  young  and  brave, 
was  bound  for  Palestine,  65G. 

I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy,  337. 

Joy  to  the  victors  !  the  sons  of  old  As- 
pen, 819. 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming, 
678. 

Lord  William  was  bora  in  gilded  bow- 
er, 518. 

Love  wakes  and  weeps,  698. 

MacLeod's  wizard  flag  from  the  gray 
castle  sallies,  675. 

Marcli,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale, 
689. 

Measurers  of  good  and  evil,  724. 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  green  wood,  213. 

Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines 
bright,  685. 

My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hood, 
236. 

My  wayward  fate  I  needs  must  plain, 
639. 

Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might,  193. 

O,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair,  319. 

O,  dread  was  the  time,  and  more  dread- 
ful the  omen,  644. 

Of  all  the  birds  on  bush  and  tree,  692. 

Oh  !  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mor- 
tified air,  642. 


SoNog. 
O,  hush  thee,  ray  babie,  thy  sire  was  a 

knight,  658. 
O,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me,  335. 
O  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay  !  50. 
O,  lovers'  eyes  are  sliarji  to  see,  636. 
O,  low  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake 

ofToro,  635. 
O,  Maid  of  Isla,  from  the  cliff,  702. 
Once  again,  but  how  changed  since  my 

wand 'rings  began,  059. 
On   Ettrick   Forest's   mountains  dun, 

701. 
On  Ilallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  bonne 

ye  to  rest,  649. 
O,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  ehow, 

635. 
O,  Robin  Hood  was  a  bowman  good, 

765. 
O,   tell  me,  harper,  wherefore  flow  1 

643. 
Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and 

Poule,  230. 
O,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the 

west,  129. 
Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhn,  660. 
Quake  to  your  Ibundations  deep,  406. 
Rash  adventurer,  bear  thee  back,  402. 
Red  glows  the  forge  in  .Striguil's  bounds, 

635. 
Saufen  bier,  und  br.inte-wein,  639. 
She  may  be  fair,  he  sang,  but  yet,  523. 
Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round 

the  table,  637. 
Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night, 

654. 
Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er,  191. 
Soldier,   wake — the    day   is    peeping, 

715. 
So  sung  the  old  bard  in  the  grief  of  his 

heart,  653. 
Stern  eagle  of  the  far  northwest,  694. 
Summer-eve  is  gone  and  past,  334. 
Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of 

Toro,  820. 
Take  these  flowers,  which,  purple  wav- 
ing, 628. 
That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day, 

52. 
The  Baptist's  fair  morrow  beheld  gal- 
lant feats.  718. 
The  Druid  Urieu  had  daughters  seven, 

527. 
The  Forest  of  Glenmore  is  drear,  632. 
The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 

208. 
The  herring  loves  the  merry  moonlight, 

663. 
The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has 

been  spread,  725. 
The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins 

ring,  679. 
The  moon's  on  the  lake,  and  the  mist's 

on  the  br.ie,  621. 
The  news   has  flown   frae   mouth  to 

mouth,  702. 
The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  h«ar, 

339. 
The  sun  is  rising  dimly  red,  695. 
The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low,  754. 
The  sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill,  672. 
The   violet  in  her  greenwood   bower, 

628. 
There    came    three    merry   men  from 

south,  west,  and  north,  683. 
There  is  mist  on  the   mountain,  and 

night  on  the  vale,  651. 
They  bid  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray, 

216. 
Though    right    be    aft  put  down  by 

strength,  644. 
To  horse  I  to  horse !  the  standard  flies, 

607. 
To  the  Lords  of  Convention  'twas  Cla- 

ver'se  who  spoke,  772. 
'Twas   All-soul's    eve,   and    Surrey's 

heart  beat  high,  48. 
'Twas  a  MarSchal  of  France,  and  he 

fain  would  honor  gain,  642. 


SONOS. 

'Twas  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent, 

717. 

Twist  ye,  twine  ye  !  even  so,  658. 

Viewless  essence,  thin  and  bare,  722, 

Wake,  maid  of  Lorn,  415. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay,  638. 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay?  658. 

We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the 
drum's  rattle,  750. 

What  makes  the  troopers'  frozen  cour- 
age muster  ?  826. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance,  655. 

When  Israel  of  the  Lord  beloved,  682. 

Whence  the  brooch  of  burning  gold 
424. 

When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer, 
773. 

When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang,  672. 

When  the  tempest's  at  the  loudest,  763 

Whet  the  bright  steel,  682. 

While  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  was 
misty  and  gray,  338. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest  ?  108. 

Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  min'd  hall? 
662. 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ?  660. 

Yes,  thou  mayst  sigh,  722. 

Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and 
more  fast,  650. 
Southey,  Dr.   Robert,   Letter   from,   on 

Marmion.  153,  n.     Lines  from  his  Rod- 
erick contrasted  with  some  of  Scott's, 

273,  n.;  275,  n. ;  280.     And  Pilgrim- 
age to  Waterloo,  503,  li. ;  passitn  509, 

71.     His  Imitations  of  Ballad  Poetry, 

559.   569.     Extract  from  his  Life  of 

Nelson,  810. 
Spain,  Defence  of,  under  the  Invasion  oi 

Bonaparte,  287. 

invasion  of,  by  the  Moors,  285. 

War  with,  in  1625-6,  304. 

"  Speates  and  Razes,"  Story  of,  712. 

Spells,  66. 

Spencer,  Earl,  81. 

Spenser,    Edmund,   124.   307.      Extract 

from  his  "  Faerie  Q^ueene,"  283. 
Spirits,  intermediate  class  of,  58. 165. 250, 

251.  361.  603. 
"  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree,"  Legend  of  tha 

174-176. 
Stafta,  Cave  of,  441-2.  487. 
Stanhope,  Lady  Hester,  14,  n. 
Stewart,  Professor  Dngald,  560.  566. 
Stirling  Castle,  225.  264. 
Stoddart,  Sir  John,  13. 
Straflbrd,  Earl  of,  261. 
Strath  more.   Earl   of,   killed  at  Sheriff 

muir,  746,  n. 
Strathbogie.     See  Athole. 
Stuart,  tfir  William,  of  Ochiltree,  murder  - 

of,  in  1588,  244. 
Strutt,  Joseph,  his  Romance  of  Q.neeii- 

hoo-hall,  265. 
"Sub-Prior,  To  the,"  685. 
Snltaun  Solimaun,  667. 
Superstitions,   Popular,   165.  787.      See 

also  "Fairies,"  "Ghosts,"  "Spirits.' 
Surrey,  Earl  of  (beheaded  in  1546;,  77. 
Surtees,  Robert,  Esq.,  524,  n. 
Sutherland,  Duchess  of,  705. 
Swinton,   Sir  John,  730.     Arms  of  tha 

family  of,  732. 
Swiss  Guards,  Massacre  of  the,  in  1792, 

608. 
Swords,  enchanted,  245. 
Sympathy,  cure  of  a  wound  by,  67. 


Tarr/iairm,  a  Highland  mode  of  angnry 
253,  254. 

"  Tales  of  Wonder,  Lewis's,"  569. 

"  Talisman,"  Verses  from  the,  710-19. 

Tanistry,  Irish  custom  of,  367.  801. 

Tantallan  Castle,  136.  172. 

Taylor,   William,   Esq.,   his  version  ot 
"  Lenore,"  560. 

Tccbir,  The,  the  War-cry  of  the  Sara- 
cens, 274.  286. 


840 


INDEX 


Tecs,  the  River,  323. 

Teilh,  the  River,  185. 

"  Tempest,  Song  of  the,"  694. 

Terry,  the  late  Mr.  Daniel,  comedian, 
658,  n. ;  753. 

Theatre,  the,  547. 

Themis,  10. 

Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  or  "  The  Rhym- 
er," account  of  him,  574.  His  Prophe- 
cies, 575.  577.     Legend  of,  631. 

. 541,  542.  546. 

"Thomas  the  Rhymer,"  a  Ballad  in 
Tliree  Parts,  574. 

Thomson,  Mr.  D.,  of  Galashiels,  676,  n. 

Thomson,  Thomas,  Esq.,  Deputy-Regis- 
ter, 492. 

"Thunder  Stokm,"  Juvenile  lines  on 
a,  627. 

Tickell,  Mr.,  his  Ballad  Poetry,  557.  560. 

"Time,"  662. 

Time,  202. 

and  tide,  354. 

Tinchell,  the,  234,  n. ;  568. 

"To  A  Lady,  with  flowers  from  a  Ro- 
man wall,"  628. 

Town  Eclogue,  35,  n. 

Train,  Mr.  Joseph,  his  assistance  in  col- 
lecting information  for  the  author,  491. 
Note  from  (1840),  458. 

Tribunal,  the  Secret,  or  Invisible,  of  Ger- 
many, 812. 

Triermain.    See  "  Bridal  of  Triermain." 

family  of,  410. 

Trosachs,  the,  186. 

"Troubadour,  The,"  656. 

Trouveurs,  or  Troubadours,  538. 

Tunes,  attachment  to,  on  death-beds,  267. 

Tunstall,  Sir  Brian,  slain  atFlodden,  178. 

Turnberry  Castle,  491. 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  R.A.,  433,  n. 

"  Tweed  River,  On,"  6S5. 

Twenge,  Sir  Marmaduke,  at  Bannock- 
burn,  499. 

Tili'isel  Bridge,  145.  177. 

"Twist  ye,  twine  ye,"  658. 
'Two  Drovers,"  Mottoes  from  the, 
721. 


Tyneraonth  Priory,  164. 

Tytler,  A.  F.  (Lord  Woodhonselee),  his 
Collections  of  Ballads,  552.  His  ver- 
sion of  "  The  Robbers,"  503. 

P.  F.,  Esq.,  his  "  History  of  Scot- 
land," 541,  n. 

U. 

Uam-Var,  mountain,  184,  185.  240. 
Unthank,  chapel  at,  65. 
Urisk,  a  Highland  satyr,  252. 


Vai  cyriur,  or  "  Selectors  of  the  Slain," 

78. 
Valor,  personification  of,  276. 
Vaughan,  Right  Hon.  R.  C,  288. 
Vaux,  family  of,  410. 
Venetian  General,  anecdote  of  a,  746,  n. 
Vengeance,  feudal,  a  dreadful   tale  of, 

487. 
Vennachar,  Loch,  185. 
"  Violet,  The,"  628. 
Virsil,  his  magical  practices,  63.  75.     His 

JEneXA  translated  by  Gawain  Douglas, 

Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  143. 
"Virgil,"  Juvenile  Lines  from,  627. 
"Vision,  The,"  a  poem,  549. 

W. 

Wales,  Caroline,  Princess  of,  105,  n. 

Wallace,  Sir  William,  trial  and  execution 
of.  479. 

Walton,  Sir  John,  defeated  by  "  the  good 
Lord  James  of  Douglas,"  493. 

"Wandering  Willie,"  636. 

War,  personification  of,  from  Childe  Har- 
old, 279,  n.     Apostrophe  to,  443. 

"  War-Song  of  the  Edinburgh  Light 
Dragoons, ' '  607. 

" of  Lachlan,  high  Chief  of 

MacLean,"  653. 

" Saxon,"  682. 

Warbeck,  Perkin,  storv  of.  158. 

Waterloo.  Battle  of,  290.  502-511. 

Watson,  James,  his  collection  of  ancient 
poetry,  544. 


"  Waverley,"  Verses  from,  647-652. 

" Lines  by  author  ol,"  652. 

Lines  of,  "  Late  when  ma 

autumn  evening  fell,"  648. 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  280,  281,  282.  289. 

291.     "The  Field  of  Waterloo,"  503 

passim;  642.  644,  645. 
Duche.ss    of,    dedication   of 

"  The  Field  of  \v"aterloo"  to.  502. 
"When  with  poetry  dealing,"  719. 
Whisthng  to  raise  a  tempest,  361. 
Whitby  Abbey,  161. 
"White  Lady  of  Avknel,"  Songs  of 

the,  685-669. 
Whitmore,  John,  Esq.,  &c.,  dedicatioa 

of  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  to,  270. 
"Wild  Hu.ntsman,  The,"  613. 
Wilkes,  John,  Esq.,  182. 
"  William  and  Helen,"  609. 
Willich,  Dr.,  teacher  of  German,  503. 
"Will  Jones,"  Lewis's  ballad  of,  572. 
Wilson,  Professor,  551,  n. 
Wine,  presents  of,  170. 
Witchcraft,  309,  7i.  ;  364. 
"  WoGAN,  Captain,  Lines  on,"  651. 
Wolfian  hypothesis,  537,  n. 
Woman,  apostrophe  to,  149. 
Woodhonselee,  Lord.    See  Tytler,  A.  F. 

Esq. 
"  Woodstock,"  Verses  from,  720-721. 
Wordsworth,  William,  Esq.,  his  poem  on 

Yarrow,  47,  n. ;  52,  n.     Letter  from, 

on  Marmion,  153,  n.     Eulogium  on  the 

Zaragozans,   288.     Imitations    of   the 

ballad  style,  559. 
Wrestling,  prize  at,  266. 
Wynken  de  Worde,  117. 


Xerks,  account  of  the  Battle  of,  287. 


Zaharack,  race  of,  402. 
Zaragoza,  account  of  the  Siege  of,  288. 
Zernebock,  520. 

"Zetland     FisHBIl5tK.>!,     Sono     o- 
THB,"  697. 


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